by K. Ryan
"These little town blues are melting away..."
. . .
Wallace slumped to the floor in a bloody heap and hell followed.
There was no time to react, no time for Dom to even raise his Glock to Wallace's VP because the barrel of another gun leveled right at him. An explosion rang in his ears and heat shot through his right shoulder. He crumbled to the sticky floor, already wet with Wallace's blood, and he closed his eyes to the cacophony of roaring gun blasts, shattering glass, and screaming bouncing off the bar's walls.
Air whooshed around him as a body collapsed just inches away from him. Dom turned to find Marcus's lifeless black eyes staring back at him, blood gaping from the hole in his head. Shock and horror stunned his limbs, kept him locked in place on the floor as the bullets whizzed through the room. More shouts. More cries for help. More blood splatter. More limbs and bodies falling to the floor.
Finally, Dom managed to roll onto his side, where he came face-to-face with the man he'd just murdered in cold blood. Doc dropped to his knees, covering the pooling wound in his chest until he fell face-down at Dom's feet. Another Warlord cut fell to the floor. Dom turned his head as the sound of sirens blaring echoed from the front door and just grew louder with every thundering beat of his heart.
He somehow crouched onto all fours just in time to witness Eli and another Warlord cut trade bullets to the stomach. His wet fingers groped for a gun, any gun, and when he finally found one, he snapped it to his right, firing aimlessly into the abyss of bullets and blood. Smoke fogged the space above him, but he continued to fire until the gun clicked, empty and useless.
Dom tossed the gun aside and grabbed the first bar stool he could find for cover, but he was too late. Fire exploded in his foot, his side, and his left shoulder. Agony split his body in two as he tumbled back down to the floor, slipping and sliding around the glass and puddles of crimson.
Somewhere above him, there was shouting. More gunfire. More explosions.
ZZ's body lay slumped over a table, right next to the Warlord he'd just killed. Casey crawled toward the front door with one arm—the rest of him covered in blood from the waist down. His bleary eyes scanned the room for any Horsemen cuts, but all he could see was red. All he could hear was screaming.
Was that his voice? Was it someone else's?
Suddenly, light poured in through the front door and shouts echoed from the back hallway.
"Hands up!" a voice boomed from behind him. "Weapons down or we'll fire!"
What was the point? Was anyone else even alive?
Hands groped his neck to check for a pulse and he choked, mumbling incoherently and numb with agony. It was too much. Too much blood. Too many bullets.
Suddenly he was suspended in the air, settling back on something soft and cool, a stark contrast from all this heat.
Then consciousness reared its ugly head. All he could think was, as he was rolled out into the parking lot on a gurney and lifted into an ambulance, that this was the last time he'd ever see the sky as a free man.
It was a really shitty night, too. The city air clouded the sky, hiding all the stars he desperately wanted to see one last time.
As the ambulance doors shut, all he could see was Lexie. Chloe. This was the consequence. This was the price.
Everyone was gone now. The life he'd known. The family he'd tried and failed to protect, to avenge. Everything that mattered had been taken from him in a fiery string of bullets.
He'd done this.
He'd brought this on himself.
There was no comfort here. No absolution. Now that it was over, he wished he could go back to the moment where he'd had a choice so he could make a different one.
But now, that moment was gone too.
. . .
Isabelle
I opened the cab door and slid out, finally putting my feet on solid ground, finally in front of my brownstone. With its rows of polished windows, high planes and arches, and age-washed brick, it really was a sight for sore eyes. I'd forgotten how much I'd missed this place and how much I loved it until it was right in front of me again.
The cab door slammed behind me as Cooper hobbled around the side and limped up the steps, waiting for us at the top as if to say, Come on, guys. You're literally killing me here.
A low chuckle echoed around me and I turned to find Caleb with his head ducked under the passenger side window as he handed the driver some bills. Nerves shook through me as Caleb slung his bag over his shoulder with one hand and gripped the handle of Cooper's empty crate with the other. His eyes lifted to my building and they widened, awestruck at the sight before him.
His lips parted and his chest heaved.
I knew what he was thinking. It was written all over his handsome face, the same face I'd get to wake up to every morning and fall asleep with every night.
Nothing about our lives together had played out the way we'd planned—not even this move to New York—and that was okay. We still made it. Finally.
I wasn't so sure I believed in things like destiny and fate, but I felt the weight of them now as the inevitable enveloped me and held me close. This was where I was always supposed to be. Right here, with this man, in this city.
I climbed a few steps, ready to reach for the rest of my life.
"Hey," I smiled at him from over my shoulder and gestured with my head to the front door. "You wanna do this or what?"
Caleb's lips curved up into that crooked grin I knew so well and nodded. Then he jumped up the stairs and followed me inside.
EPILOGUE
Three Years Later
Caleb
I glanced at the stack of paperwork from over my laptop and sighed. Well, I could stay a little bit longer and finish going through the damn things or I could say screw it, go home, and take care of it on Monday. I blew out a deep breath, mentally ticking through all the work I still needed to do: ordering supplies, finishing up payroll for the month, tweaking next week's schedule, and calling the buyer for some new equipment I had my eye on. My eyes darted to the wall right next to my desk and my lips lifted at the sight.
Bright, vivid colors splashed the wall as the images came into clearer focus. I dragged my gaze from one to the next: a few round circles with dog ears scribbled with black crayon, some green trees, a few that were just colorful scribbles, a yellow sun shooting out rays, three stick figures, then another one with four stick figures.
Screw it.
I was going home.
Getting ready to leave didn't take long—I shut my laptop, filed the few forms I'd managed to finish today, grabbed my coat, and locked my office behind me.
"Finally heading out, huh?"
I glanced over my shoulder and shrugged. It was getting easier and easier to leave early and I didn't feel guilty about it at all.
"Don't worry, boss," Saul laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "I'll hold down the fort for the rest of the day."
"Aw, come on," I shook my head, rolling my eyes up to the ceiling. "I'm leaving an hour early. Not a big deal."
He shifted his weight a little and shuffled toward the front office of the shop with that familiar double-limp hobble. After two surgeries and months of physical therapy, Saul wasn't exactly back to his old self, at least not physically, but everything was still a work in progress. Just like the shop.
Now Saul practically pushed me out the door and laughed in my face.
"Go on now," he half-ordered, half-chuckled. "Get outta here. I mean it. I don't want to see your face in here all weekend, you hear?"
I mock-saluted him as I shrugged on my coat. "Got it."
A few of my guys threw a wave my way, some of the others called out to me to enjoy my time off, and the rest were too busy finishing up their projects for the day to notice me sneaking out early—just the way I liked it.
Heading outside, I zipped up my coat and shoved my hands in my pockets to keep warm just in time to catch myself from slipping and falling right on my ass.
&nb
sp; "Shit," I muttered under my breath and pounded out a quick, frustrated text to Saul to let him know somebody needed to get out here with a shovel and some salt before someone hurt themselves.
Once I had my bearings again, I set off down the street to start my four-block trek home with fat snowflakes floating down from the sky and coating my shoulders. It had been pretty damn cold here earlier this week, but today, the cold was tolerable. That was probably the biggest adjustment for me: the bitter, snowy New York winters.
The first time I ever saw a foot of snow piled outside our door, I just about shit my pants. Not to mention the fact that even though I had a truck for the shop, driving in snow and walking around in snow were two very different things. Or the fact that I could only ride my bike about six months out of the year if I was lucky...yet another adjustment.
New York might as well have been a foreign country, but I was a fast learner and I had the best teacher. Once I got the hang of the city's flow, I relished life here. There was always something new, always some restaurant to check out, always some band playing somewhere we could see, always some new adventure in the park, always something moving and changing and it didn't take me long to fall in love with it.
After 30 years stuck in a town where nothing ever happened, the city was a welcome change.
Luckily enough, I'd managed to catch a building right at the perfect time about four months after we moved here. It wasn't exactly the size I'd been hoping to find and it'd needed more than a little spit-shine to get it ready for business, but the location was what sold me. This way, I was always close by and at the end of the day, that was what really mattered.
Finally, I turned down our street and took the steps two by two to get inside faster. The snow was really starting to come down now and I had to stomp my feet a few times to get all the build-up off my boots as I unlocked our front door. When I shut the door behind me, I waited. Depending on the day, my welcome could vary. Sometimes I had so many arms wrapped around me I could barely move. Sometimes I was treated a little indifferently if I was interrupting. Sometimes I just heard their voices calling out to welcome me home.
I didn't find any of those welcomes now. The whole place was dead silent, which was particularly disconcerting considering Cooper usually barked his ass off when I came through the door.
It was just too damn quiet.
My heart pounded as I slipped off my snow-covered boots and coat. Swallowing back some irrational panic didn't really help either. There was probably a logical explanation for why I still stood here by myself.
And I didn't wait to find out either.
I swiveled around to the kitchen, only to find some leftover drawings of motorcycles and crayons sitting on the table. Okay, next option. I took our stairs two-by-two, ignoring the stiffness in my knee, and headed right for the nursery, sticking my head in the doorway and finding it empty yet again. My lips curved up a little—this room always managed to calm my nerves.
Pale yellow walls cocooned the room with a crib against one side of the wall and a comfy love seat on the other. Gender neutral, Isabelle had called the paint color, and as always, her foresight was spot-on. Books were piled high on a bookshelf right next to the rocking chair, which was exactly where I'd half-expected to find them. That was still his favorite hang-out even if this wasn't really his room anymore.
I slapped my hand on the door frame in frustration and let my eyes drift over the delicate, winding mural of two intertwined trees with their branches reaching out above the crib. That sight would never get old.
There was one more place I needed to try before I could really let the panic set in and I tip-toed down the hallway until I could push our bedroom door open ever-so-slightly. My breath left my lungs in one long sigh of relief.
Of course they were still here. Where else would they be?
Isabelle was nestled into her pillow, her hair fanned out around her like something out of a dream. Beautiful. Peaceful. Mine. And there, curled into her arms was the reason I couldn't love her more. He shifted a little in her arms and blinked back at me as I padded closer.
"Hi, Daddy."
I smiled down at him and reached out to push some blonde hair away from his forehead. "Hey, Connor."
He shot me a wide, gap-toothed grin even as I moved my attention to his mother, whose eyes, the same eyes I saw mirrored in our son, watched this interaction with a softness I was seeing a lot of these days.
"Hey, Iz," I murmured as my lips found her skin and she smiled into my kiss.
By now, Cooper finally remembered he had a job to do and leapt off the bed, huffing and puffing a measly bark until I ruffled the fur on top of his head.
"You're home early," she mused, staying right where she was, all cuddled in the warm blankets and pillows even as Connor reached out for me to pick him up.
"Just wanted to get out of there and get home, I guess," I grinned as Connor wrapped his arms around my neck.
"What did you guys do today?" I asked him.
"Mommy tired," he informed me in that sweet little voice I'd never get enough of.
I glanced at Isabelle, who just shrugged against the pillows like this was really nothing new, which in retrospect, really wasn't, and I turned my attention back to Connor. "Yeah, but you remember why, right?"
He nodded, reaching out to tug the scruff on my chin. I laughed and gently pried his fingers away.
"What else did you do?"
"Play with Tooper. Read book. Legos," he rattled off easily and reached for my goatee again even when I batted his hand away. "Ice cream!"
I laughed and glanced at Isabelle. "Ice cream? Today?"
"I know," she just rolled her eyes at me, but that soft look in her eye bounced right back when her gaze shifted to Connor. "Mommy had hot chocolate instead."
She tossed the comforter back, but that was about as far as she got. I shifted Connor to my hip a little more and pulled her up until she slid out of bed carefully, and a little stiffly too, I noticed. As soon as she had two feet on the ground, my arm slid up her hip and I smiled when her swollen stomach pressed into my side.
"You feeling okay?"
She nodded, her face flushed just enough to let me know this exhaustion was nothing but normal. Nothing to be worried about. I leaned down, brushing my thumb across her cheek, and kissed her before Connor tugged on my chin again.
"Potty, Daddy," he whispered in my ear.
"Okay, buddy," I whispered back. "Thanks for telling me this time."
He just nodded shyly. There was no need to rehash the epic potty training fail we'd had the night before that ended with me covered in piss from the waist down and Isabelle laughing her ass off.
"Well, I think this is as good a time as any to get dinner going," Isabelle reached out to scratch Connor's belly. "Hey, Con-man, tell Daddy what we're making for dinner."
He didn't hesitate.
"Pizza!"
My shoulders shook with laughter and I smiled as Isabelle and Connor exchanged kisses before she started out of the bedroom with Cooper right on her heels.
"Pizza and ice cream all in one day?" I told him, cocking an eyebrow at him. "You must've been really nice to Mommy, huh?"
He nodded slowly with a faux-innocence that had me wondering if maybe there was a little more to their day than what they both let on.
"Oh hey, Caleb," Isabelle called over her shoulder, her voice catching as her hand rested on the doorframe. "You got some mail today."
Judging by the way that softness in her voice dropped into something more sober, I had a pretty good idea what mail waited for me in the kitchen.
"Dom?"
She just nodded, shooting me a weak, supportive smile, and disappeared down the stairs. I blew out a deep breath and squeezed my arms around my son, reminding myself once again that I was a lucky son of a bitch to be here right now.
Dom's letters had started about six months into his sentence, right after he'd gotten released from the medical ward, and right aft
er my first visit with him. From what I could tell, and the little he gave away in his letters, I was pretty much the only one he had any regular contact with outside of his lawyer. Lex had visited regularly when he was still in the hospital, but once you get a 25-to-life sentence with little hope of parole, your marriage doesn't really have a leg to stand on.
His letters were disorganized, muddled with random musings about everything from prison politics to prison food most of the time and other times, he wanted details about my family and my business, but regardless of topic, they kept coming. That was what I needed to focus on.
They didn't come often, but when they did, I made sure to get my reply in the mail the next day. I guessed it had less to do with what was left of our friendship and more to do with the sharp reminder of what could've been, of what our lives could've been like if we'd made different choices that night, and neither of us wanted to forget that.
But, for now, I'd have to shelf that letter until after we put Connor to bed. Reading Dom's letters was better done when I could take a few moments to myself and read them in solitude where my family couldn't see the emotions that came with reading them.
"Daddy," Connor tugged on my chin to get my attention. "Havta go potty."
"Okay, okay. Sorry."
Once we were in the bathroom, we went about our normal routine. Connor didn't really want much help from us at this point, but since he wasn't completely ready to be in the bathroom by himself yet, I leaned up against the door, trying to give him as much space as possible. I stared at the tiled floor and swallowed hard, thoughts of prison, orange jumpsuits, and losing life as you knew it flashed across my mind. It wasn't exactly easy to get down there, but I tried to make the trip a few times a year. It looked like I was going to have to make that trip again sometime in the near future.
"Daddy?"
I glanced up and grinned at Connor, who was sitting on his little potty chair and staring up at me in furrowed concentration. "Yeah?"
