by Fiona Keane
I hadn’t pictured it like that, with Julian coming to me after a week of nothing, asking me to make his coffee. Some things don’t change after all, babby. He stood at the end of the counter, in the small space denoting an entrance for staff. Julian stormed through it two weeks ago, with complete disregard for boundaries I hadn’t defined or enforced. Goose bumps spread along my skin just feeling his eyes on me while I made his coffee. I reheated my sad almond milk, adding extra honey to Julian’s mug, and brewed enough espresso for both of our drinks.
“Um,” Matt whispered, leaning against the counter at my side, “that’s not the same ass munch from Tuesday, is it?”
“No.” I chuckled. “It’s his older brother.”
“I assume he’s just as much of an arrogant prick then, huh?”
I looked beyond Matt’s shoulder at Julian, his blue eyes apprehensively staring at me, and returned my glance to the mugs in my hand. “He’s an even bigger one,” I whispered, walking around him to hand Julian the steaming latte. “Anything else I can get for you?” A hug? Maybe. My mind screamed at me with frenzied terror at the mere thought of him just days prior. Had my heart finally won? Won what? This isn’t a contest to which I know the rules. I remembered only shattered pieces of a nostalgic puzzle to which I hadn’t concluded a truth. He’s waiting for me. I let my eyes scan the enormity of Julian, his vigorously well-maintained frame stretched into flawless height. With the mug in his right hand, Julian motioned with his left arm to the window.
“Is it too much to ask if we could talk?” His voice was hushed. “I won’t keep you.” That is a threat I don’t like. In my dreams, he always promised to keep me. I nodded, slowly following Julian to the small table next to the snow-covered window. He pulled out my chair first, waiting for me to sit before he pushed me under the table and took his own seat. His knee bumped mine, forcing a thunderous wave of electricity through my skin.
“Sorry,” he muttered, his eyes darting to the window. I bit my top lip, lost with similar nerves and consuming emotion while we sat in a heavy silence. His eyes returned to me, drifting along my face to the necklace. I watched him, studying the way his eyes squinted in realization, glowing slightly brighter before they found mine.
“How do we…”
I reached my right hand across the table, briefly holding his fist clenched with nerves while my skin seared by his contact. “Just think of it as two old friends sharing a cup of coffee.”
“Two old friends.” His lost gaze trailed from my hand to my eyes, reflecting a hint of the sparkle lost whenever I saw him on the news.
“Two old friends,” I repeated, removing my hand and replacing the burn of his skin beneath mine with the scalding warmth of my mug. Julian cleared his throat and adjusted his posture, both forearms resting on the table and his head tilted to the right while he watched me.
“I’m honored you kept that,” he said, gesturing to the necklace. “Fuck, Aideen. How—” Julian’s hands lifted, allowing his face to take refuge behind his fingers while his head shook in disbelief.
“I know,” I whispered. “I don’t know how either, Julian.” Julian. His name chilled me, warmed me, pulsed through me like it was my own blood. It came too naturally to my tongue, as if part of my personal lexicon. My tongue, my lips, they would only ever say his name; his name was the solitary sound my mouth willed to speak.
“I wanted to come here every morning,” he blurted. “I had these dreams that I would come here every morning, waiting for you to be ready to talk to me, hoping you would even want to talk to me.”
“What stopped you?”
“Your temper.” He smiled, his soft chuckle breaking the ice that trickled in from outside and lingered between us. “And I know you’re a person of space. When I woke up on Sunday…”
“Julian,” I shook my head, “please don’t. Not right now.” His hands dropped to the table, reaching for his mug while I pleaded with him to not start the discussion of our weekend, the omissions and truths. I knew I wouldn’t last five minutes without access to a hefty box of tissue and maybe three bottles of wine. I do love wine. He has fancy, tasty wines in his fridge. Don’t go there, mind. Not yet.
“What are you doing tonight, Aideen?” His stare was piercing, slicing fragments of me while I replied to his velvet sound.
“Moving.” I bit my lip. “Trying to, at least.” Julian’s brow furrowed, meeting with confusion and disappointment. I felt it. I lost my thought while observing Julian’s tongue slowly moisten his perfect lips. I want to bite them. Both of them.
“Moving?”
“I can’t stay in that apartment anymore,” I clarified. “You know that. It’s a horrible place that only brings me pain. Even after you had someone clean and redecorate it. You really don’t understand boundaries, do you?”
“Not when it comes to you,” he replied, his face calm. “May I at least take you to dinner before you move? Nothing formal. Consider it two old friends sharing a laugh.”
“A farewell party.” I nodded, looking away from him. “Bon voyage?” Julian’s formidable hands crawled along the table, grasping both of mine while his thumbs pressed into my palms, dragging my attention back to his radiant eyes. His skin was soft, warming my hands while he cradled them.
“It doesn’t have to be.” His whisper barely crackled from behind his moistened lips. It doesn’t have to be. Doesn’t it?
Buried deep within Julian’s determined, hopeful stare was desperation flickering like a violent thunderstorm.
“Doesn’t it?” My eyes drifted, avoiding the swirling clouds of gray and blue, which provoked my heart with the fervor of a storm at sea. “I don’t know what to believe, Julian. I don’t know what to remember.” His hold against my hands tightened, grabbing my attention and my eyes.
“You said my name three times now.” His lips fought their desire to smile. “I don’t frighten you as much as I did.”
“Oh.” I laughed. “You still scare the shit out of me, but at least we can be honest about it.” I watched his lips fall into a silent pout, humoring my confidence even further.
“Julian.” I tugged my hands from his grasp, catching his eyes. “Knowing what I know and assuming to understand what you’re capable of, my mind is being held captive and in the dark. I can’t imagine living without fear. It’s everywhere. You’re everywhere. I have to go.”
Chapter Eighteen
Matt scurried toward the table, his expression one of hesitance while his eyes wandered between our hands that remained unbound atop the table. “Uh…” He swallowed, practically trembling with fear beneath the aura of Julian. “Phone…for you, Aideen. It’s, um, it’s Emma.” I looked from Matt to Julian, whose jaw now clenched with tension, like a wire prepared to snap.
“Will you,” my gaze pressed on Julian as I reluctantly stood from the table, “will you wait? I’ll be right back.” I stepped away without his response, but his fingers impulsively and tightly locked around my forearm. Spinning to stabilize myself, I scowled at him with confusion.
“Be careful.”
I nodded, receiving his release in response, and walked behind the counter to answer the phone. My back burned, aware of Julian’s presence stoically rigid and domineering, changing the energy inside. Lifting the receiver to my ear, I tried to only glance at Julian from my periphery.
“Emma?”
“Oh, Aideen. I’m glad I caught you,” she buzzed into the phone, her tone drastically calmer than when she came over a few days ago. “We have the details set out and organized. It’s tonight. I mean, the service. He wanted to be cremated, so we’re not going to have people invited to that. I guess. So…will you come? It will be a mass and some refreshments after. You know how our mom is with food. This is so awkward. I mean…it’s Elliott.”
“Of course I’ll be there, Emma.” I waited for her ramble to conclude. “Which church?” The figure in black, the darkness consuming my periphery, was still in his seat, casually sipping coffee—and all I w
anted was to get off the phone with Emma and return to him.
“Saint Robert’s in the North End. Mass begins at seven. Listen, I have to go. My mom’s nagging me to finish some floral arrangements. Bye, Aid.”
I set down the receiver and let a hefty sigh leave my lungs. Wow. Elliott was really, truly never stepping foot in our coffee shop again. We would never share pizza or Chinese food and ogle pretty people in the Common on warm summer evenings. We would never fight again. He was dead. Elliott left this world because he somehow broke through layers of security at Julian’s home with the intent of killing one of us. I pulled my body from the counter, realizing I’d lost myself in a trance while reflecting on the enormity of Emma’s simple call. Matt returned to ringing in customers and preparing drinks, so I slowly walked to Julian, like a moth to his dangerously dark flame.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” I sat across from him, receiving his eyes above the lip of his coffee mug. Swallowing, he licked his lips and placed his mug down, his fingers unhurriedly tapping along the ceramic.
“I would certainly hope so,” he muttered. “What did Emma want?”
“Elliott’s funeral mass is tonight, but that’s not what I need to talk to you about. She came over a few nights ago to tell me he…”
I couldn’t believe we were talking around the fact Elliott was murdered in Julian’s bedroom. Moreover, I didn’t understand why I cared more for Julian in this moment than I cared for the entirety of Elliott’s life.
“She mentioned you.” Julian’s interest was piqued, but only his eyes shifted with my words. His body remained cautiously calm. Dangerously still.
“Yes…” he probed, blinking once.
I leaned forward, his body finally copying my posture while we engaged in a hushed conversation. “She was going on about how you and I spent the week together. Whatever. She mentioned something about fancy dates and fancy rings. For one, you’ve never given me a ring.”
“Not yet.” His lips flirted with a smile before his expression faded. “You think she’s referring to the ring from Maureen?” Blushing, I felt infuriated, but Julian’s flirting continued to imbed itself under my skin. Seriously, though, I need the number for his dentist. I’m calling them after I make my therapy appointment.
“Don’t you? Is that just too much of a coincidence? I’d only worn it twice. Once in public, the night we went to the theatre. That’s all, Julian. Maybe it’s nothing.”
“You’ve been harnessing your impeccable research skills.” He nodded with approval. “Can I tell you something now, Aideen?” No babby? He didn’t wait for my permission to continue, his fingers still tapping against the coffee mug.
“I tried explaining to you on Saturday night.” He paused, surely filled with the same horrid remorse tightening my heart within its cage. “I asked you what changed to make you more accessible to someone other than me, or my perverted brother, and it all clicked together. When you and Liam were dancing, some of our security informed me that there was an attempted break-in at my home. You hadn’t time to pack, and everything taken to the hotel for you, except for your Suffolk sweatshirt, was new.” He remembered my sweatshirt. Why does that detail, the fact he so casually spoke about my favorite article of clothing, churn my heart into a puddle of mush?
“All of your things brought in by my sister, or whatever you crammed into that small suitcase of yours, were still at home.” His eyes left mine momentarily, scanning the space around us. “We really shouldn’t be having this conversation so publicly.”
“Julian, do you want to make it right between us?”
His eyes widened, transforming into a vivid blue. Did I really just ask that? I have spent the last week enraged at the mere thought of him and now, sitting across from him, all I want is him.
“I’ve never wanted something more. I want that more than oxygen, Aideen, more than anything. I want you more than anything.” His stare pierced through me. “I don’t know how else to tell you that.”
“You can show me,” I told him, hoping my confidence would last. “Stop lying to me. Stop keeping things from me. No omissions. Tell me.” I didn’t know if things could be right between us. I didn’t know if there was an us. What I did know was that I wanted to understand whatever the heck he was having a difficult time divulging to me in that moment. I’m about two sips away from knocking my cup against his head.
“It’s your ring, Aideen. What I know of you is that you’re not ostentatious. You’re quite the opposite of my sister, in other words. Frankly, you’re so damn stubborn that you wouldn’t accept anything fancy from anyone.” He smiled, but it quickly faded. “Emma knows that. She isn’t your friend, but she knows you wouldn’t be one to accept gaudy bobbles from your boyfriend.”
“But he gave me this.” I twirled the pendant in my hands. “And I…I love this.” He. My boyfriend.
“He knew you would because he loves you.” Julian watched me while his words so calmly left his perfect lips, a casual reminder of his affection. “But you never would have accepted something so ridiculous as that fucking ring, Aideen. I know that. Maureen didn’t. It’s the only thing not originally belonging to you that’s been where you’ve been when something’s gone wrong.” He loves me. Wait…
“You’re suggesting I’ve been followed through a five thousand dollar Tiffany ring.” I gaped at him. “A ring that your sister gave me. You’re really accusing your own blood of that? Wow. You people are insane.”
“I don’t use that word lightly.” He bit his bottom lip. “I’m telling you someone had their hands on it before you did. That someone followed you, waited in the reeds like a predator, wishing for the opportune moment to find you vulnerable.”
“Where’s the ring now?”
“An abandoned factory in Southie,” he whispered. “Waiting to…explode.”
“Who would hate me so much to do such a thing?” My fingers still twisted the black and white diamonds dangling from my neck. It was utterly chilling to imagine someone despising me enough that they would plot my demise.
“I don’t think someone is following you because they hate you. I think someone is following you because they’re obsessed with you and they hate me. I have an inkling we’ll learn more tonight.”
“Tonight,” I nodded, “because I’ll be in the same space as Emma and Malcolm. Vulnerable.”
“Let me go with you,” he urged, his hands releasing the coffee mug. “Please, Aideen. Let me make it right.”
I stood from the table and stepped toward Julian, watching his body turn at the sight of my approach. I lifted his chin with my right hand, trembling against the feeling of his forming stubble. God, he is a beautiful disaster.
“You don’t need my permission to fix the errors in your ways, Julian Molloy.” Our eyes burned into one another, and my heart slammed within its confines. “You’ll never make it right, but I think you know that already. You’ll never make this disappear. If you know anything about me, you know that I need answers and I need honesty. Pick me up at five for that dinner you promised. We can go to the funeral together, and then I’m moving.” Away. Julian held my fist while he stood, bending toward my face. His lips were warm, sparking the electricity flowing beneath my skin at the softest of his lingering kisses against my forehead.
“I’ll see you at five, babby.” There it is.
***
I was ready to go at four, pacing my apartment—surely disturbing the tenants living beneath me. I obsessed and replayed every detail from his arrival at the coffee shop since I walked home. I thought about it in the shower. I thought about it while trying to find the perfect black outfit for Elliott’s funeral that would also still be appropriate for dinner. I thought about it while applying enough mascara to dye my hair, and I was still thinking about it. I went from aggressively despising Julian for his secrets, the fear and loneliness of knowing he kept part of my life from me, to wanting more. I was in an uncomfortable limbo between dream and reality, but both w
ere consumed with Julian Molloy. Damn Julian Molloy. It was driving me insane, so I paced and paced. Had I not really wanted this? Did I not want him to magically show up at work? No. I wanted it. Wanting. Just like he promised.
I peered out the open window in my kitchen at quarter to five, my heart fluttering at the sight of David standing against a white SUV on the curb next to my building. He’s here. Why am I nervous? I hate him so much all I can think about is how lovely that letter “A” looks on his back, his pretty, deliciously muscular back. Yep, I hate the bastard. Taking a deep breath and shaking my fingers to rid the nerves flying throughout my body, I opened the door to my apartment.
“Dudette,” Jack greeted me as he stepped out of his doorway. “Wow. You’re like super hot.”
“Thanks.” I blushed, surprised at his greeting. “Have a great night, Jack.” I started walking away, but he called after me, his inebriated giggle filling the hallway between our units.
“You better be careful out there,” he stressed, “looking like that, Aideen. For reals. Do you need me to drive you somewhere?” His footsteps were on my trail, and as much as I enjoyed Jack’s company, I was suddenly nervous to be with him. Something rubbed at my frayed nerves, prodding the raw tissue in my mind, and I wanted to quickly distance myself from him. You’re not used to people calling you hot. It’s a compliment from a harmless stoner who sees you like a friend. It wasn’t that. It was the way his pupils hadn’t widened while greeting me. They were always the size of dimes.
“Oh, no,” I replied politely, at least three steps ahead of him on the stairs. It shouldn’t have irked me, seeing as we were both leaving, but I was uneasy about exiting the building with him. He was so kind, unconditionally compassionate when I needed a friend, but his eyes were different. Something was peculiar about him. He’s sober. As my hands pushed against the glass door of our lobby, Jack close on my tail, I noticed David reach for the back door of the SUV and Julian’s long legs stretch onto the pavement. Thank Buddha.
