“No. James Cassidy was your father. I am sure of that. Things with Sean and I didn’t start until after… until after Grace’s mother died.”
“But you and Sean? You and Sean?”
“I know it seems extreme, especially for you, but he’s a good man.”
“No. No. No.” I repeated. “He’s not.”
“You know one side of him.”
“Yeah, the one that kills people.” I said a little too loud.
“Okay, I’ll give you that. But there’s always two sides to every story.”
As we circled the block, she reminded me of the night Grace had snuck into the Cupid’s boxing match. When Sean saw her, he was brought back to the night twenty years earlier when he had killed her mother. He had done that for Anne Marie, to prove his love for her. He knew she wanted to stay married his brother, even if he didn’t understand it. But Emily Brennan was trying to break up a marriage, and it was about to crush the only woman he every loved. How could he let that happen? He proved he would kill to make her happy.
“But I couldn’t stay after that. I couldn’t stay with your father. I was afraid he would find out. I was afraid Sean would be put away and I’d be locked up as an accomplice. And after what he did for me? I couldn’t let him burn for that.”
“So you ran away with Sean?”
“I didn’t run far.” She hinted at a smile.
“But you left me. You abandoned a six year old.”
“I know, Ryan. It’s the one thing I regret most in life. But I couldn’t have taken you. Your father would have found out. You understand that, right?”
I did, to an extent, but I still felt betrayed.
“But Sean came home every day and told me about you. He would sneak me pictures, and your artwork, and even some of the stories you wrote when you got older. Through him, I watched you grow up.”
When Sean had come home and told my mother about Grace, that he was almost certain we were having some sort of affair, she lost all hope of seeing me again. She thought she had lost me to a Brennan, just as she had lost her husband to one so long ago. Sean stepped up, yet again, ready to prove his worth and get me back.
“You know he tortured me, right?” Her whole romantic tale still bore a handful of holes.
“He did tell me that. And I was not happy, Ryan. Please believe that. But look, everything he did, although maybe not the easiest path, got you back here to me. He did it. He brought me my son back. We can be a family again.”
“I had a family.” I stopped her, squeezing my fingers into her shoulders. “I had a wife, and a baby coming.”
“I didn’t know any of that when we arranged for her kidnapping.”
“Oh my fucking God. Really? You’re just going to say it that nonchalantly? You kidnapped my wife. You drugged her. She’s fucking pregnant.”
“Shh, Ryan,” she put her fingers to my mouth, “I know this is a lot to take in.”
“You think?”
I turned and walked ahead of her. I didn’t want to hear any more. I came back upon the house and plopped down on the porch step. After a minute or two, she stepped up and sat beside me.
“Have you spoken to Grace since that night?”
“No. I’m a prisoner here. Sean swore to me he’d leave her alone if I left her.”
“And did you tell her that?”
“Yes…. Well, no. I tried, but I don’t think she heard me. I think she had passed out from the cold at about that point.”
“And she hasn’t tried to find you?”
“I’m sure she has.”
“Ryan,” she placed her hand on my thigh. “It’s been four months. You’ve been living at your father’s house. She hasn’t been looking for you, or else she would’ve found you.”
Why hadn’t Grace found me? I knew I couldn’t go searching for her, but why hadn’t she come searching for me? Sure, my phone had been cut off, but she hadn’t been to the house, she hadn’t been to see Rocky, and she hadn’t been to the clubhouse. Those were all carefully monitored places; I would’ve known. And yet, nothing. Did she really never care enough about me to look? Maybe my mother was right when she warned me on the trip east. Maybe Grace and I only fell in love because of circumstance. When push came to shove, we gave up. She gave up.
“She hasn’t found me.”
“She hasn’t.”
“But she loves me; I’m sure of it.”
“Love can only take you so far, son. Everyone has breaking points. We found hers.”
I stood, towering over her. “You… you did this. We were fine. We were happy. Then you came in and ruined us.”
“Ryan,” she stood to meet me, “I simply tested her. I wanted to make sure she was worthy of you. And look what happened.”
“She almost died.” My voice boomed.
“She gave up on you.”
The wind caught up with our labored breathing. I was angry, but maybe only more so because I was seeing things her way. I became angry with Grace. I had done what I had to do to protect her, but she didn’t even put up a fight. It was she who had abandoned me this time. And it was my mother who had saved me. Go figure.
“Hey, let’s go inside. I want you to meet your brother and sister.”
She opened the door, and I followed her inside. She took my hand and led me into the kitchen. There, before me, were two smaller versions of myself: Sarah and Joseph, my siblings. In that kitchen were a mother, a father, and their children. It was a family, and they wanted me.
It almost felt like home.
Almost.
I still wanted Grace.
Grace
“I just think it’s strange that I’ve known you for almost six months now and I’ve never met your husband.”
Mark was a little drunk, but his point was valid. Ryan had been gone for six months. I had all but given up hope that I would ever see him again.
“Does he not want to meet me? We’ve been going out once or twice, sometimes three times a week for the past three months. Doesn’t he get jealous?”
I held my tongue, hoping his rant would veer in a new direction. Mark knew exactly what I wanted him to know about me. I had slipped up about my father and his MC ties, but that ended up being enough of a conversation to last us for three months, sometimes three times a week. He was fascinated by my childhood, having been born to “normal people”, as he put it. He had new questions for me each time we saw each other. Luckily, none of those questions needed me to answer something that might give him an idea of the last year of my life.
“Okay, that settles it. After this drink, I’m going to march up to your house and demand to meet your husband.”
“Mark, no.” I quietly begged.
“Come on, Grace. I want to meet him. I want to know who was good enough to steal you from your fascinating life and make you settle down. I want to know what type of a man can steal Grace’s heart.”
The pieces began to shatter. My chest tightened and my breathing became labored. My eyes welled up, and my face scrunched.
“Grace? Are you okay? Grace?” He was instantly sober and by my side, checking my pulse.
“Stop.” I batted him away. “Just stop.”
He looked into my eyes, and it was as if he knew. It was as if he could see everything I saw, think everything I thought.
“When did he leave?”
“He didn’t leave. But he never came back.”
“The night I came into the hospital… that was the last time I saw him. But…” It was too hard to say out loud. “I don’t… I don’t…”
“It’s okay.” He was rubbing his hand up and down my back.
“I think… I think they might have killed him.”
Mark stopped, facing me toward him. “Who?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t talk about it. “Please, don’t… don’t make me.”
I collapsed into his chest as he ran his fingers through my hair. The waiter probably came by five times to ask if I was all right. Ma
rk simply shooed them away and allowed me to cry.
He walked me home that night and kissed my forehead. “If you need anything, I’m here.”
I needed something the next day, and the next. We spent every day of the following two weeks together. I didn’t tell him about Ryan or Sean or Aunt Kathryn or Anne Marie Carter, and he didn’t ask.
“Thank you, Mark, for everything.”
“You say that as if I don’t get pleasure being with you.”
“Ha.” I laughed. “It can’t be that much fun hanging out with a woman who is nine months pregnant.”
“You’d be surprised.” He winked.
We took the few steps up to my building. “Do you need me to walk you all the way up?” He sincerely asked.
“Neh, I’m fine. I’ve gotten pretty good at waddling up these steps.”
“Okay then.” He squeezed my hand before letting go. “Goodnight Grace.”
“Goodnight Mark.”
But we didn’t walk away. I didn’t go upstairs, and he didn’t cross the street. We just stared at each other, until one of us, I’m not sure which, stepped in.
It was soft and slow at first, as if we were testing the waters. He tasted like red wine, a taste I hadn’t realized I missed. His tongue tentatively found mine, asking for permission to push deeper. I opened my mouth, accepting his request. It felt good to be kissed, to be wanted. He grabbed my hair in his fist and tightened, bringing my face even closer to his. It was something Ryan would’ve done, something I would’ve loved, but it didn’t feel the same, it didn’t feel right. I pulled away, shaking my head in his face.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. I just can’t.”
He pushed my hair from my face. “Grace, yes you can.” He leaned in closer, pressing me up against the door. I felt trapped. His hands moved up my hips.
“Please, Mark, no.”
“Okay. Okay.” He repeated, but didn’t stop his fingers from grazing my breasts.
“Mark.” I took his face in my hands. I wanted to tell him he was drunk. I wanted to tell him he would be angry with himself when he sobered up. I wanted to tell him something, anything, but I couldn’t think of a single word.
Across the street, at the bar where we met, Ryan was sitting in the window, holding a pint glass, staring at me.
To our child,
It occurred to me today that I might never meet you, I might never hold you, I might never be given the opportunity to tell you that I love you. It was a decision I made to keep you safe, but now, it doesn’t seem fair. My mother left when I was six years old. She never gave me a reason, just packed up and moved out. For that, I’ve resented her my entire life. Will you feel the same toward me? Will you never know why I had to leave?
And what will your mother tell you about me? Will she hide the full truth to preserve my memory? Or will she refuse to even tell you my name because of the pain she will forever feel?
I write this letter not knowing if you’ll ever read it, if I’ll even send it. I more write it for me. I write this letter to remind myself of why I’ve chosen the path I am currently on, why I threw myself back into a life that I vowed to leave. It’s for you; it’s all for you. And that I will be sure to tell myself today, tomorrow, and past the light.
Your father
Ryan
Days flew by. I stopped by the townhouse for breakfast each morning. I’d walk into the house, and my mother would be in the kitchen, poaching eggs or flipping pancakes. Sean would be seated at the table making some joke about a small story or headline in the daily newspaper. Sarah and Joseph would run downstairs and chug a glass of orange juice before waving goodbye and heading off to school.
“Bye!”
“See you later!”
Door slam.
“Those kids.”
“You’d think they’d learn to start waking up earlier.”
“Why do I even make breakfast anymore?”
“For the men, of course.” Sean would give me a wink as I pulled on the wooden chair from the table and took a seat.
Then we’d joke about the kids together and see just how long we could distract my mother from her daily chores. We’d quietly laugh every time she left the sink to comment on one of our jests. It became ritual. It became fun.
Weeks piled on. Sean insisted that I start spending the evenings at the house too. I had no one waiting at home, so why not spend the time with family… with my family? He cooked dinner, most everything on the grill. Mom would tell us about the flowers she planted, the books she read, and the crazy news she heard on the local television station. Sarah and Joseph would complain about their history teacher, argue over a topic in their economics class, or gossip about the “it” couple.
“They actually did a story on the evolution of cup holders. Cup holders. A whole story. Six minutes. It was so boring.”
“Why did you watch it then?”
“It was on.”
It was always her reason.
“Did you see Baily and Jason making out in the middle of the cafeteria?”
“She’s not even hot.”
“I didn’t ask you if she was hot.”
“Well, you should have.”
I knew everything that had happened daily in each of their lives. I brought up names I had heard from them, asking how so-and-so was doing just so I could have more of a reason to hold a longer conversation. But I didn’t need a reason. I was interested in their lives, and they were interested in mine.
Months spiraled through. Business was booming. Sean was the president, I the vice, and Danny the treasurer. I was saving the sergeant in arms position for Rocky, as he had the extensive firearms knowledge from being a Cupid for so many years. We had eighteen patched-in members and two prospects. Our clubhouse had all the necessities, including a bar, kitchen, pool table, and seven bedrooms in case anyone needed a place to crash. I ended up spending most nights there, combing through the books, finding places where we could save time, energy, and most importantly, make more money. It was always about the money. As soon as I began pulling in five large a week, I started feeling the power of greed. I knew there was a way to double my income, and I would try practically anything. After I had exhausted all my regular contacts, I decided to test the limits of my new family.
“Hey Joseph, talk to me for a sec.”
“What’s up, Ryan?”
“Tell me about your school.”
“Private, probably two fifty in each grade, so a thousand in all. Mostly rich kids, a handful on scholarship.”
“Drugs?”
“Pretty available, if you know where to look.”
“Interest?”
“Taking?”
“No.”
“In dealing?”
“Yes.”
“With a cut?”
“Of course.”
“Then, yes.”
Within three days of their new venture, Sarah and Joseph had to begin taking pre-orders because they couldn’t hold the product long enough. Neighboring school kids snuck over during breaks, first just a few, then a handful, and then it became suspicious. We set up a sort of pyramid scheme: me at the top, then my siblings (it was still so weird to say siblings), and then two representatives at each school with enough interest. My income doubled. And then it tripled. And then I stopped keeping track. As I said, business was booming.
“Tomorrow.”
“What’s tomorrow?”
“We take over the Cupids.”
“Just like that?”
“You’re going to set up a meeting with Rocky. Hopefully it’s amicable, but we should be ready for anything.”
I pulled out my phone, and searched through my contacts until I reached his name. The phone rang and I set it on speaker. I held my finger to my lips, signaling for Sean to keep his mouth shut.
“You got Rocky.”
“Rock, it’s Ryan. It’s a new number.”
“As I live and breath, I thought you disappeared on me.”
“Hey Rock,” I flakily laughed. “Sorry, man, just been busy.”
“Is Grace not letting you out of the house?”
It stung. It stung harder than I thought it would. “Ha. Yah, something like that.”
“I’ve heard rumors.”
“What sort of rumors?”
“The kind that make no sense to me… about you… and Sean?”
“I’ll clear all that up for you soon enough.”
“I guess that’s all I can ask, huh? Well, then to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Wanted to see if you were up for a cup of coffee in the morning. I wanted to run something by you.”
“Absolutely. You know I’d love to hear anything you have to say.”
“Great. Ten? The place around the corner from my old apartment.”
“I’ll be there.”
As I hung up, I smiled at Sean who cocked his head, asking me to finish my thought.
“Take the guys into the bunker under the clubhouse. If Rocky agrees, I’ll bring him back to the club. If not, you have full reign for a sneak attack.”
“Time?”
“Give me until eleven.”
“I like where your head is at. Really good work, Son.”
He patted me on the back as he walked out of the room. He called me “Son”, and I didn’t hate it.
Death of Cupids (The Blood of Cupids MC) Page 11
