Everything for Us (A Bad Boys Novel)

by Leighton, M.

  On shaky legs, I make my way across the room to Nash. The closer I get, the more flushed and flustered I feel. There’s something about him today, something that makes me feel hotter than usual. Stimulated. Ravenous.

  Something is niggling at the back of my mind. Like trying to dig up bones from a deep, deep grave, I wrestle it to the surface until I’m able to put my finger on what’s bothering me.

  “Your hair . . .” I say dazedly when I stop in front of him.

  Nash reaches up to run his fingers through it. It’s loose, the long bangs framing either side of his face. I’ve only seen it pulled back or tucked behind his ears. Never hanging loose like this.

  Yet it’s so familiar.

  “It was wet when I left,” he says flatly, by way of explanation.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came looking for you. You weren’t at the condo and you weren’t answering your phone, so I called Olivia to see if she’d heard from you. She said you were here. Having lunch. She just didn’t say you weren’t alone.”

  The muscle in his jaw twitches as he looks over my shoulder at Jensen. But I’m not paying much attention to that. I’m busy digging up bones. Old bones that have never really seen the light of day.

  Until now.

  Until today.

  But today they’re out of the ground, battering me like a thousand tiny knives, penetrating me all the way to my heart, to my soul.

  I can’t stop the gasp. Or the pounding of my pulse. Or the crumpling of my lungs.

  “It was you. In New Orleans, it was you,” I whisper, feeling breathless and crushed.

  Nash’s brow wrinkles, but he doesn’t ask any questions. Or make any denials. He’s quiet as he waits. Waits for me to finally put two and two together.

  All at once, every detail comes rushing back. I’d written that night off as part of my excessive drinking, especially when Nash (who was really Cash) had said he wasn’t in New Orleans that weekend. I’d thought it was surely an erotic, drunken dream or hallucination.

  Only it wasn’t.

  Standing here staring at Nash, feeling the way I feel about him, feeling the undeniable connection to him that I felt even back then, I realize that it was this Nash at Mardi Gras that night so long ago. It was this Nash who came onto the balcony and turned my body and my world upside down. It was this Nash who made every day and every kiss with his brother seem like . . . less.

  After that night, I always felt like there was something missing when I was with the Nash I knew. It seemed that I was always searching for more with him. Yet I never found it. We never quite clicked.

  Not like this.

  And now I know why.

  It was never him that I was supposed to click with. It wasn’t him I was searching for. It was never him that stirred me to the point of complete abandon.

  It was his brother.

  And from the moment I saw the real Nash, from the moment he took my blindfold off in the car when he rescued me, I was drawn to him. I didn’t really know why, other than that he saved me, but I was. Inexplicably, undeniably drawn to him. And now I know why. Now, with his hair hanging loose to frame his pained face, I see what my memory has kept hidden from me.

  I remember.

  I fell in love that night. Almost two years ago. In New Orleans. On a balcony. Overlooking a crowd. With a complete stranger. I fell in love with a ghost.

  As the details fall into place in my mind, clicking together like so many puzzle pieces, the inevitable question follows.

  Why?

  “But why? Why would you do that?” Nash has the decency to look ashamed. Deeply ashamed. But I don’t care. I want to twist the knife. I want to hurt him. Like he wanted to hurt me. Like he did hurt me. Like he is hurting me. “Did you hate me that much?”

  Much to my dismay, I feel tears well in my eyes. I’d thought my heart was breaking before, but nothing compares to the pain I feel now. He used me just like my father used me. I was nothing more to him than a pawn, just like I was never anything more to my father than just a pawn. Maybe I just moved on from one bastard to another.

  “It had nothing to do with you,” Nash says simply, quietly.

  “But it did. You . . . you touched me. And kissed me. And you . . .” I trail off, embarrassment stinging my cheeks as I think back to what I let him do to me. What I enjoyed him doing to me. “Oh God. You . . . you . . .”

  I look around for somewhere to run, for a place to hide. I’ve never been more hurt and humiliated.

  Perceptive as he is, Nash takes my arm before I can bolt and leads me back through the front doors to the sidewalk outside. He pushes me toward the end of the building, but I jerk free of him. “Don’t touch me.”

  He looks wounded and I feel the tiniest bit of gratification that he can be reached, that he’s not completely impervious to pain. But the small amount of guilt I might be able to inflict upon him is a raindrop in the ocean compared to what he’s done to me.

  My stomach twists and I bend slightly at the waist, fighting the urge to double over completely, to somehow protect my vital organs from the unbearable pain of it all. “Oh God, oh God, oh God. I let you do those things to me.”

  I feel nauseated.

  “Let me explain.”

  “What is there to say? I get it. You hated your brother so much. You wanted to hurt him and you thought abusing his girlfriend would be a nice way to do that. You don’t care about anyone but yourself and your stupid revenge. What else is there to know? To understand?”

  “For the most part, you’re right. All I could think of when I saw you on the balcony that night was that you were my brother’s girlfriend, that you were the beautiful woman who should’ve been mine. Only you weren’t. You were his.

  “I went up there with the intent of getting back at him, with humiliating him. Humiliating both of you. I won’t deny that. But from the moment you kissed me, I wasn’t thinking about my brother. Or revenge. Or anything. Except you. I’m a bastard for wanting to use you, yes. For going through with it. But I’m the one who paid the price for it.”

  “Oh, and just how, pray tell, do you think you’ve paid the price for it?”

  “For all the fury and bitterness I feel, there’s one thing that’s always been at the back of my mind. One thing I’ve never been able to forget, no matter how much I tried. That night. With you. I’ve never been able to forget you.”

  The pain is too fresh, the wound too deep to listen to one more word. The sincerity in his eyes isn’t enough to penetrate the cloud of shrapnel surrounding my heart.

  I shake my head and close my eyes against him—against his face, against his words, against the love that just won’t die, not even under the sword of such betrayal. “I’m done. This is too much for me. You warned me and I didn’t listen. That’s my own fault. The only thing I can do now is keep from making the same mistake again.”

  “Marissa, please.”

  That one word is another excruciating slice to my heart. It nearly takes my breath, this star-crossed love I feel. In many ways it feels so right, but, in reality, it is so terribly, terribly wrong.

  Without turning to look at him, I speak the hardest words I think I’ve ever spoken. “Leave me alone, Nash. Just go away and leave me alone.”

  Squaring my shoulders and raising my chin, I swallow the devastation and make my way back into the restaurant, pretending to be the partly whole person I was five minutes ago before I was torn apart by Nash.

  But it’s all a façade.

  I know, deep down, I’ll never be the same again.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Nash

  For the first time in seven years, I have to dig deep to find the anger I’ve lived with every day for so long. It’s buried beneath whatever this is I’m feeling for Marissa and that horrible guilt and pain I feel for what happened in
New Orleans.

  I know I hurt her. Badly. I feel it in my chest, in my gut, in my bones. It’s a deep, aching, nagging pain. Like a boxer took to me with nothing on his fists but fury. With nothing more than a few words and the devastation emanating from her, she beat the shit out of me. And, somehow, in the process, she stole the only thing that’s mattered to me for all this time, the only thing that’s kept me alive—rage. She took it the night she stood in front of a mirror and watched me ram my body into hers from behind. She stole it from me and I just didn’t know it.

  Until now.

  I can find enough of the anger and determination to see this through, but I know the driving force of my life is gone. And what the hell I’ll replace it with, I have no idea. I guess I’ll have plenty of miserable time to figure that out.

  But first there are some things I have to take care of. First, there are loose ends to tie up.

  Speeding toward the interstate, away from Atlanta, I dial Cash’s number. He picks up after one ring.

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re stopped getting gas. On our way back to the club. Why?”

  “I’ll meet you there. I’ve got a few things to tell you. I’m bringing an end to all this, once and for all.”

  He doesn’t ask questions, although I’m sure he wants to. But on the phone, a cell phone no less, it’s just not smart to talk in too much detail.

  “Okay. We’ll be there in probably half an hour.”

  “I’ll be a while longer. There’s somewhere else I have to go first.”

  “I’ll wait,” he replies.

  For the first time since seeing him again, I have the urge to hug my brother. To look him in the eye so he can see that I really have missed him and I really don’t hate him.

  Maybe there’ll be time for that before I go.

  We hang up and I take the familiar path to the prison. To see my father one last time. And then I’ll be gone.

  * * *

  The setup is a little different this time. It’s like the kind of prison visitation you see in the movies—two long rows of cubicles with a glass panel between them and dirty, black phones on the wall. If my first trip to the pen hadn’t made the consequences of a life of crime seem very real to me, this one certainly does.

  They bring Dad out shackled and cuffed, like the violent criminal they think he is. He looks older than he did a few days ago. I know that’s not possible, but that’s how it seems. I wonder if asking us to give up on getting some justice and freeing him from prison is taking its toll.

  Obviously he doesn’t know me very well, I think. Or else he’d have known that I’d never give up. Not until my dying breath. He’d know that I’ll see the bastards responsible for wrecking our lives pay. If it’s the last thing I do.

  Even as I think about my lifelong mission, the fire is a little more muted than it has been in the past. I guess something other than hatred and revenge has finally taken up some of the space in the vacuum Mom’s death left inside me.

  Dad sits down in front of me and picks up the phone. I do the same.

  Finally, he smiles. “It’s still so good to see you. I just can’t get over how much you’ve changed.”

  “Not all of it has been for the better, Dad.”

  Even though it’s impossible through the glass between us, I can almost feel his sigh, like a heavy breath settling down around me.

  “You’re strong, son. You always were. Stronger than you knew, even. You’ll overcome this. I know it.”

  I nod. “For the first time in a long time, I’m beginning to think I can. I guess I finally realized that there are some things more important than revenge. Even for a man like me.”

  “Don’t say that like you’re some kind of monster. Deep down, you’re still the same good kid. Smart, kindhearted, driven. I think you just had a little more of your brother in you than any of us realized. And he had a little more of you than I ever gave him credit for. That just makes you both even more perfect in my eyes. The key is learning to live with all that in a balanced way.”

  “Nah, that’s not the hard part. Finding someone else who can live with it, that’s the hard part.”

  Dad frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I shake my head, for a moment wishing I could rid it of thoughts of Marissa, but knowing that if I ever manage to do that, I’ll be a lesser person in the very next breath.

  “Nothing.” Dad’s perceptive gaze makes me so uncomfortable I have to look away. “Look, the reason I came today—”

  “Let me say this before you go any further. Son, whatever it is you think is so wrong with you, it’s nothing that the love of a good woman can’t fix. And if she’s good enough and strong enough and worth your love, she’ll stick right by you. Life has dealt you a shitty hand. I have dealt you a shitty hand. And I’ll never forgive myself. But don’t live out the rest of your days miserable and alone and blaming yourself for the past. You’ll end up wasting the very bright future you have ahead of you.

  “Just because it doesn’t look like what it did when you were in high school doesn’t mean it’s not a future worth having. Find a new dream. Chase a different sunset. It doesn’t have to involve a degree and a suit and tie, although it can if that’s what you still want. You’re young and smart and capable. It can be anything you want it to be. The only thing you have to do to see it happen is to make peace with the past. And with yourself. Let it go and move on. That’s still the best advice I can give you. The past is like quicksand. It’ll suck you in, and you’ll die there if you’re not careful.”

  “What if I don’t know how to move on? What if I don’t have a direction now?”

  Or what if the direction I want to go doesn’t want me? What if I’m not good enough for her?

  “Find one. It’s there. You just have to look for it.”

  I don’t want to talk about moving on or think about impossible futures anymore. I came here for a reason. I need to see this through and get the hell out of here. Out of Atlanta. Off dry land.

  I take a deep breath before I say what I have to say. I know Dad won’t like this tactic; it’s in Davenport blood to resist being extorted, which is essentially what I’m doing. If guilting someone into action can be considered extortion, that is.

  “We’ve all made some sacrifices, Dad. I think you’ll agree with that.” My father nods. His expression is one of profound contrition. I feel bad already. “I think you’d also agree that I’ve had to do some pretty extreme things.” Again he nods. He won’t meet my eyes. “I have something to ask in return now.” He raises his gaze and narrows his eyes on me. “You’ll be getting more visits soon. I want you to promise me that you’ll do exactly what’s asked of you. That you can and you will trust me enough to just do it. Your sons are grown now. Let us handle this.”

  I look long and hard into his eyes. If I could put a message in his brain, I would. But I can’t. The best I can hope for is to keep him alive in here long enough for Cash to do his thing and get stuff in order for Dad’s appeal and the trial of the mafia.

  I’ve done all I can do. I’ve arranged for two of the three testimonies that could put these men away for life, and Dmitry’s taking care of getting some new leadership in the Bratva, leadership that will see to Dad’s safety and to that of my family in exchange for putting Slava and his men in prison. The rest is up to Cash. And maybe Marissa. And, of course, Dad. He has to testify or the RICO thing won’t work.

  He still hasn’t said a word. He’s thinking, wondering.

  So I continue. “You don’t need to understand anything yet. You just need to promise me you’ll do what’s needed. For me. For us. For all of us.” I can’t say much more. I don’t want to tip off whoever is listening. It could put Dad’s life in danger. Well, even more danger, I guess. “Prove to me that I’m all the things you think I am. Prove to me you still have faith in
me. And then maybe I’ll believe it.”

  That’s low. But it’s necessary.

  And it’s working.

  I can see it on his face.

  He nods. “Okay.” A pause and a sigh. “Okay.”

  * * *

  I feel an ache of emptiness in the pit of my stomach that’s not usually there. Maybe it comes from getting a little time with Dad and then having to give him up and leave again. Maybe it comes from being reunited with my twin, then having to turn around and let him go. Maybe it’s just leaving in general. This was home for a lot of years.

  I’m leaving. Leaving family. Again. Leaving town. Again.

  I guess I could stay.

  But really, I can’t. This isn’t the life for me. There’s no place for me here. Not yet; anyway. Maybe eventually. Someday. But not now.

  A little voice in my head says I’m forgetting one thing that could be causing this feeling, one person.

  Marissa. Maybe leaving her is what’s making me so miserable.

  I grit my teeth.

  If that’s the case, then I’m on the right track. Leaving is the best thing I can do for her. Get away from her, leave her alone. And there’s nothing else I can do to help Dad or Cash with what’s about to happen. I’ve done all I can do. I’ve served my purpose. And I’m getting Mom some justice. I should be on cloud nine.

  It’s just a little more of a hollow victory than I thought it would be. Than it would’ve been before I met her.

  Marissa.

  I push her out of my mind for the thousandth time as I pull into Cash’s garage. This is my last stop before I head back to the coast.

  I’m heading there as a favor to Dmitry. He asked that I do something for him in return for his testimony. It sounds like a small price to pay for his help in getting justice for Mom and freeing Dad, so of course I agreed. But first I get to deliver some good news to my brother. Finally.

  Even though I’d say Cash heard the garage door, I knock before entering. No sense in starting things off on the wrong foot because I see him and his girlfriend in a compromising position.