Truth & Consequences (Boston Latte Book 2)

by Fiona Keane

  The sun barely began its ascent over the gray Boston sky as I ventured out of the hotel, stealthily avoiding suspicious eyes. As far as anyone was concerned, Julian Molloy’s girlfriend was leaving the building. They probably had eyes and ears everywhere, inside and out.

  I didn’t know where to go. My apartment wasn’t home anymore. Both that dump and Julian’s palace became murder scenes. Oh my God. Emma. I wanted to reach out to her and talk to her about Elliott, but I knew too much. In fact, I didn’t know enough. I didn’t know what story those criminals let release about Elliott’s downfall and, knowing he mixed with a dangerous crowd from elsewhere in Boston, I suspected theories would spread that I was somehow involved. And people know I’m with Julian. Was. Was with him. Well, never really was…wait…we were…but…oh, it’s only four-thirty, and I need a drink like no other. Coffee just wouldn’t cut it after an evening like my last. But it was clear I wasn’t prepared to handle Emma, so work was off my list of options, as was Julian’s home. Why am I even thinking of that place?

  Standing in the snow, my feet chilled as they began to move. I started the long trek across the Common to my apartment. I couldn’t take a cab because I hadn’t a dime to my name. I also…great. No key. Again. Because when I’d arrived at that monstrous homage to excess, it was because Julian and Liam just killed Elliott and we weren’t allowed to stay there, so I had nothing. I continued to walk, regardless, assuming that somewhere between the Common and the hole I once called home, a plan would magically appear and solve the problem on my behalf.

  My heart was a naughty beast. If I hadn’t been dedicated to breathing into my fists so my fingers wouldn’t fall off, I might have allowed it to let my brain think about all the heartbreaking confessions Julian made last night. However, fingers were the most important thing. I needed to keep my fingers. Love. Then and now. The hospital. Day five. Protection. Liam knew. A tattoo. His only love.

  “Haven’t seen you for some time,” a gravelly tone called from the sidewalk, pulling my attention from the foggy haze of my memory. I hadn’t realized I made it back, my frozen toes and weary heart returned me to the scene of a murder, the beginning of my heartbreak. My real landlord stood on the sidewalk, fully dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a down coat while carrying a bag of salt in one hand, sprinkling the crystalline granules along the white cement.

  “Hi, Mr. Stevens.” I was amazed at how easily conversation flowed from my lips, conversation with someone who wasn’t a Molloy, a Daly, a Young, or someone who hated me.

  “Where’ve you been, kiddo? I stopped in for coffee the other day. The shop was closed. You’re not closing down, are ya?” He paused sprinkling as I approached, promptly rushing to hold the lobby door open for me.

  I bit my lip in thought, already aware Julian turned me into a liar, someone I wasn’t. “I was on vacation.”

  “Where? Somewhere warm, I hope.”

  “Oh, um, yeah…it was pretty hot.” Because hell is literally on fire, and Julian is hot, spectacular, gorgeous…okay, stop thinking of him.

  “Hey, listen,” I interrupted his impending conversation, “I think I left my key at work. Do you mind letting me in? I’m really sorry.” I pouted before placing the most innocent and pathetic smile I could muster along my shivering mouth. Mr. Stevens nodded, dropping the salt bag against a wall in the lobby and reaching for his ring of keys.

  “You know,” he said, while entering the second set of doors and leading us toward the stairs, “I’m glad I ran into you, Miss Leary. I’ve spoken to everyone in the building except for you and the tenants in my neighboring unit, but I’ll be needing your lease agreement soon.” An out. See, karma, you can be kind to me.

  “Sure thing.” I smiled, following him up the flights of stairs to my unit. He panted when we were only halfway there, his hefty frame not carrying him as easily as it may have in the past. The loud clinking from his key ring while unlocking my apartment felt too invasive and raw against my tired ears. Part of me hoped his key no longer worked, willing the universe to ban me from ever stepping foot in that place again. Click. Open. So much for helping me twice, karma.

  “Whoa,” someone spoke from behind us, the billow of smoke beginning to choke me. “You’re alive. Like, I totally thought you were abduct—hey, Mr. Stevens.”

  “Open a window and I won’t call the police,” Mr. Stevens warned, pointing a finger at Jack before turning back to me. “Listen, dear, give me a call if you need anything. I know that coming back from vacations can be a transition.”

  “Huh?”

  “The water pipes in this weather, the heating vents…it could all be wicked wrong from not being used for a week. Just head down if you need something. Okay?”

  “Oh, right,” I agreed. “Thank you for letting me in, Mr. Stevens. Have a wonderful rest of your weekend.”

  He retreated, reaching the stairs while hollering back at Jack and me. “Open a window, Greene, and you’re very welcome, Miss Leary!” With his heavy frame creaking against each tread of the stairs, I sighed with relief.

  “Dudette, I thought you’d been abducted or, worse, gone to live with your parents or something. Yikes. Are you okay?”

  “It’s so early. What are you even doing awake?” I fell against the small wall outside of my door, still unable to enter. I crossed my arms, watching my stoner neighbor in his gray sweatpants and hoodie with a tie-dyed image of Jimi Hendrix across the front. His posture mirrored mine, resting against the opposite wall while we talked.

  “I got a job since I last saw you. I don’t get home until like midnight, so this is actually my dinner time right now. Want to come in for some room temperature chicken patties?” After everything I’d eaten with or at Julian’s, the thought of eating lukewarm chicken patties on my stoner neighbor’s couch actually sounds like the most pleasurable thing I can do, even therapeutic.

  “I can’t. I’m exhausted. Next time? Congrats on the job, though. Where is it?” He nodded, scratching the top of his shaggy brown hair.

  “I’m working at MIT, in one of their labs taking care of the animals overnight.” He shrugged. “It pays well, and I can make sure for at least eight hours a night, they’re loved.”

  “That’s actually really sweet, Jack.” I went from spending the last week with a murderer to hanging out in the hallway with an animal rights activist stoner. What a difference!

  “Everyone needs someone to look out for them. You know? Hey, speaking of work, I went in for coffee like you said a few days ago and the place was closed.”

  “I was on vacation.”

  He nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. “With your boyfriend?” No. Yes. No. Wait, was I still obligated to care anymore?

  “Pardon?” I didn’t know what lies I could break. I left Julian an hour prior. I didn’t care about his reputation anymore. He could fix it on his own. Was that even real? Or was that whole bit part of his game to get me back…if that was even true.

  “I just figured it was one of those guys who’s been around here.” He shrugged, shifting his weight.

  “Oh, no. I’m really tired, though. I’ll be heading into work on Tuesday if you want to stop in then. I’m going to…just…good mor—night. And congrats again on your job, Jack.” Who? Which guys had been around here? I’ll head back to work on Tuesday. That gave me two days to figure out a plan for handling Emma. Lovely. I need to find out if there’s a funeral for Elliott. Isn’t it better if I go? Isn’t that more realistic…no…Malcolm will be there. Elliott tried to kill me.

  Reality became so destructively twisted that my blood could no longer function as it should. I waved Jack away, placing my hand on the burning knob of my door and turned it while my mind willed my apartment to not look the same. I didn’t want to be home. A gust of stale, pungent death slapped against my face as I entered the cold, hostile studio apartment. That was all in my imagination. It actually smelled horrendous, like bitter, acidic cleaning formula, but the memory that accompanied me into my apartm
ent sent my mind into a tailspin as it couldn’t let go of my last memory in that space.

  I tip-toed into the room with tentative footsteps, almost too terrified to make my presence known in the abyss that once was my home. It was like I no longer belonged within those narrow walls, barricaded by the life of a young woman who was no more.

  My bed was freshly made in crisp linens that weren’t mine. It hurt my eyes to glance around the apartment, noting the uncharacteristic tidiness and updates. The blindingly offensive citrus smell pouring from the gleaming bathroom burned my sinuses as I quietly inched into the doorway, my heart instantly flipping to the memory of Julian holding me while I froze in his arms, naked and drunk, after he saved me. Stop thinking about him. He isn’t real. None of this was. And yet, all my heart was capable of doing was thinking of him: how he held me, the dangerous glow of his eyes when he noticed the way I looked in my nine thousand dollar dress, the way he always held my face in his hands, his breathtaking smile, his perverted threats…the destructive secrets he withheld from me.

  I could no longer stand in the bathroom, haunted by the softness with which Julian carried me in his arms. I didn’t know how I ended up at my kitchen table, my eyes frozen on the small kitchen next to me. The curtain was gone, replaced with a new fabric that I hadn’t purchased at a festival in the Common. It was almost like someone attempted to erase my past, taking small pieces of my memories from my life and replacing them with artifacts not of my own. More lies. This isn’t real. The sun rose and poured in through the open shades, warming my back as I tumbled onto the table and closed my eyes.

  “Julian,” I sobbed into his arm, the warmth of his skin radiating through his crisp dress shirt, “they’re trying to take it all away from me. Don’t let them. Please.”

  “I won’t let them keep you from me.” He turned to pull me more tightly against him, my nose tickled by the knot in his loosened tie. “They can’t.”

  “They’re trying to take you away. They’re taking my memories. They’re taking our memories.”

  “I’ll keep them, Aideen,” he persisted. “I’ll lock them away. I’ll keep them safe. I will do whatever I can. I’ll do whatever it takes.” I couldn’t catch my breath, the thought of losing him consuming and overwhelming my heart.

  “Don’t let them take it away,” I sobbed, beginning to choke while hyperventilating. “Please.”

  “I won’t, babby.” I felt his lips against my forehead, unable to move from me. “You have my word. I’ll do whatever I can to fix this.”

  “Julian, you don’t understand. They’re trying to erase you. They’re trying to take you from my mind, from my memory. Please don’t let them take you away from me. You have to do something! Don’t let them take you away from me!”

  “I won’t,” his voice roared as footsteps shuffled into the room. “Get your fucking hands off of her!” My head failed to move, weighing heavily against Julian’s chest while hands probed at my biceps, forcefully trying to pull me from him.

  I flew from the table, my lungs gagging on swallowed tears, unable to catch my breath as I bolted from another dream. They were becoming clearer, more tangible, and emotionally unstable with each sleep. Frequent. It was like my mind and heart wouldn’t let me win and move forward. I fell asleep at the table, hunched over the top, leaving my arm to fall into a numbing sleep. I heaved myself away, wandering mindlessly and slowly around the space.

  A heavy cloud followed me like the nagging migraines that accompanied me for months. But this time, the cloud was connected to my heart, like a kite whose string was tied to the slowly beating, but painfully aching center of me. I miss him. No, I don’t. I didn’t miss being kept from the truth, hidden like a rejected toy left to be taunted with what would have been.

  Am I supposed to talk to someone? A doctor? A therapist? I had no idea how to begin unraveling what was real and what was a farce developed to protect the Molloys from the damage they had done while corrupting Boston. The chances of me surviving a research project like that were slim to none. Surely Liam and Julian wouldn’t allow me to piece that puzzle together while they watched from their thrones.

  From the warm glow of light drifting in through curtains I hadn’t purchased, I realized the day finally began its descent into the afterlife, slowly becoming a memory. All of it was becoming just that: a memory. Mine were missing. I knew that much, but now I had to decide if Julian could replace them, and at what cost, or if they were forever lost just like the sky before a sunset, blurring away and never again to be shared.

  I couldn’t eat. The thought of food, even Jack’s chicken patties, tossed my stomach. I didn’t want to drink anything. Swallowing was effort, and I had none. I had nothing. I slept for hours in a lurch over my table, but my swollen eyes and shattered heart meandered in a melancholy desire to be inside of my bed for an eternity. The new, crisp and luxurious linens were beyond what I could afford. I can’t sleep on these. They stink of Molloy money. But I didn’t have the energy to tear them off. My fingers were too weak. I need to eat. I tore off one corner of the sheets, satisfied with myself, and climbed under the rest of the covers. Fucking Molloys. These sheets are heavenly. It was ironic that a demon would want something so angelic to comfort himself while alone. Go to sleep. You’re depressed. Your heart is broken, and you just need to sleep it off. You can wake up when they’re all dead and you magically live in San Francisco or something. Deal.

  I thought the incessant pounding was in my dreams, which for once weren’t of Julian, or fake Julian. I didn’t know anymore. Note to self: Who cares what the Molloys do to you now? Make an appointment with a therapist as soon as you can crawl from this stupor beneath the world’s most amazing bed linens. Don’t lie. You know the covers on his bed were the best. They smelled so…like him. Oh, stop. Stop. Stop.

  The pounding continued, despite the argument between both halves of my subconscious. I did agree with one half, at least, and reminded myself to schedule a doctor appointment. I waited, hoping to hear my landlord or Jack’s voice on the other side. Is it him? No. He wouldn’t have come so soon. Would he? Of course he would. He’s insane. But he stayed away and let me process things at his house. He didn’t overwhelm me when we needed to think. Blood pumped coarsely through my veins, awakening me with fright and anxiety. I didn’t want to answer the door. I couldn’t see anyone.

  “Ai—” A sniffled sob grumbled sadly into my door. “Pl…please…it’s Em…Emma.” Emma. Oh, f-u-c-k. For the briefest of seconds, I hoped to turn and have Julian direct me with my next steps. Confused with why my heart would automatically require his support, I lifted from bed and shook him from my mind. Hardly.

  The doorknob felt warm, burning with evil while I turned it to reveal Emma’s white face. Tears stained her cheeks with lines of red and gray, leaving trails of Elliott in their wake.

  “Oh, Aideen.” She tumbled into the doorway, collapsing against me. “I have been trying to call you.” Play dumb. He would tell you to play dumb.

  “Emma,” the softness in my voice was foreign to me, “what’s wrong? What happened? Oh my gosh…come and have a seat.” That was too inviting. I wouldn’t even have let myself into my apartment so generously. Tone it down a notch, babbster. Oh, what? Emma’s hands trembled while clutching my shoulders, her body wildly shaking as she struggled to compose a thought.

  “It’s Elliott,” she sobbed. “He’s…they…found him yesterday afternoon. He had…oh my God, Aideen…”

  “What happened?” More like, “What did Liam Molloy arrange for his death to appear like?”

  “He took some drugs, and…he took his own life.” Emma collapsed on the side of my bed, her fingers tightly grasping the soft comforter, threatening to break the fibers with her hold. “Did you know he…I mean…he did some stuff, but Elliott…”

  “Oh.” I covered my mouth, my fingertips catching the tears that trailed from my eyes. They were legitimate tears, responding to the opportunity to finally grieve Elliott. I knew I n
ever would be able to fully grieve him with so many questions left unanswered, but Emma’s presence reminded me it was safe to at least express some remorse that a soul left our world. I sat next to her on my mattress, wrapping my right arm around her shoulders as she fell once more against me. Her body rippled with pain as each sob bellowed. Julian’s voice rang out in my mind, something he told me a week prior that chose then as the moment to poke itself through my thoughts. “Emma Daly is not a friend of yours.” But how was I meant to play this? Who was telling me the truth? I had no one.

  “Emma,” I whispered, combing her hair with my palm, “what happened?”

  “He,” she sniffled, pausing between attempts at catching her breath, “they said Elliott was in his bathroom, water running and everything. His gun…it was in his hands. I just can’t believe he would have done that. I had no idea he was…he was so…sad.”

  “Drugs change people, Emma,” I muttered. “Maybe he lost control. I don’t know. Oh my God. I’m just…I’m in shock.” And I want to tell you that Julian and Liam killed him, but I can’t…I don’t want to. I would then have to admit that Elliott came to kill me…or Julian…that detail hadn’t entirely been worked out.

  “I haven’t told our parents yet, Aideen. I can’t. Mal…Malcolm said he’ll do it for me.” I’m sure he did.

  “I asked him if he knew about Elliott using drugs or being depressed, and…he said Elliott did a lot of drugs. Heavy stuff, too. I had no idea,” she continued. “He’s going to help me plan the funeral. You’ll come, won’t you?” Fuck to the no, I will absolutely not come.

  “Let me know when it is.” I sighed, shifting as Emma stood from my bed. “I’ll be there.” With a gun and my running shoes.

  “Listen,” I called as she began pacing my apartment, gnawing at the remnants of her chipped purple nail polish, “I’ll be going in to work on Tuesday. Don’t come all week. I’ll manage. I want you to figure this out and take time to grieve. You hired that Matt kid, right?” It felt like forever ago since I looked at Matt for two seconds before suffocating on Julian’s testosterone a week prior.