“So,” I say, “you had company before me.”
He waves me off. “Don’t wanna talk about that.”
“No? What do you want to talk about?”
We sit in silence, staring out at the pool and those wavy bright lines along the sides, against the back trees.
“Your sister had a meeting tonight?” He doesn’t look at me, and instead, tips the rest of his tequila into his mouth and holds out his glass to me for more.
I hope she was at a meeting...
I pour the tequila into his glass. “I don’t want to talk about that.” I fill it past the halfway mark and take a sip of my own.
“Are you two close?”
“Yes and no. Sometimes we were; sometimes I tried so hard to be like her or relate to her, and she liked that. Most of the time, we fought like crazy. By the time we were adults, we didn’t get to develop our relationship because of the drugs. What about your brother?”
“Very close. He was my younger brother.” The way he says it, it means something more to him.
I nod. “My sister’s older.” It means something more to me too.
She was supposed to look out for me...
“I was supposed to protect him,” he whispers. “That’s what older brothers do.” He takes a sip of his drink.
“I wouldn’t know.” I take a quick swig of my own, and it bites back the emptiness. The pain of not having anyone to protect me is overpowered by the alcohol for seconds.
“You live together now. You must be sorta close.”
“Nope.” And I can’t. I won’t. I’m always so close to losing her, and it hurts too much to let her in.
I take another swig, only remembering I have to drive after I swallow.
I think I’ve lulled him into a false sense of security well enough. It’s almost time.
“You’re angry with her.” He leans in toward me. “You’re soaked in it like I’m soaked in tequila right now.”
I am, but I hate the thought of it.
“You keep being angry, you’re going to have regrets.” He takes another sip.
I shake my head and dangle the bottle over the side of my leg between us, swaying it back and forth, staring out at the pool. “I’m reminded every day about what she’s done when I look at my nephew. How she’s hurt us. All the time she was high. The times she O.D’d. The money I’ve spent, the bills I have, the debt I’m in. Of course I’m soaked in anger. I’m drowning. I can’t see straight.” Tears pool in my eyes, and he leans in closer. Close enough to reach for the card. As uncomfortable as it makes me, talking to him, it’s working. He’s distracted.
“Is she clean now?”
“For now,” I mutter. “It’s never for long.”
“Then she’s alive right now, and you’re living with her, but you’re not living with her. You have her, right now, clean and sober, and you have a chance to rebuild. To be with each other, just to be. I’d kill for that right now. I’d do anything.”
I shake my head, tears spilling down my cheeks. “You don’t understand what it’s like…”
“I do. My brother O.D’d too. He stole from me. He promised me so many times it’d get better. That he’d be better. I was angry with him, but I also wanted to believe him, and we had our moments. Not enough, never enough, but those are what I hang on to. Those are all that matter.” He reaches over through the short distance between us and rubs the edge of my hand holding the tequila bottle, down to my baby finger, and it’s the perfect time to drop it, but I won’t interrupt this moment—the way his skin feels on mine.
As he reaches the tip and lets his hand fall away, with tears in my eyes, I lean in, as if I’m going in for a kiss, and pull the card from his pocket at the same time I drop the bottle. It smashes against the patio, and I pull back, eyes wide open, and he stares at the ground between us as I shove the keycard in my pocket without him noticing.
“I’m so sorry,” I choke out, wiping my cheeks.
He shakes his head, and I don’t know if he’s angry or not, but he stands and side-steps toward the house. “Don’t move. I’ll get that.”
I stand up. “I got some on myself. Could I use the washroom to clean up?” I sniffle and follow him into the house. “I know where it is.”
I walk down the hall and through the foyer, down the next hall, lean against the wall, and cover my face with my hands. The thought of Maggie relapsing. Dying. Without us ever making amends.
I have my sister, and I won’t let her close. Do I have her at all?
I stifle my cries as I hear the glass door slide over again.
He’s gone outside. This is my chance. Pull it together.
I clear my throat, wipe my face with my fingers, and creep back into the hallway. Through the window, I see him crouching by the broken glass with a dish towel in his hand, his back to me.
It has to be now.
I flash the keycard in front of the door, and it clicks. I take one last look outside and slip into the room.
Chapter Twenty-Two
White Room
A man sits before me in the middle of the room where the table used to be, tied to a chair. The walls are bare. I take it all in as the door shuts behind me and turn around, reaching for the handle to get out.
“Mmm,” he groans and tries to talk.
I whip around and press my finger to my mouth. If I open the door, and he’s loud, I’ll be caught.
The hostage stares back at me, rope in his mouth and his warm brown eyes wide. This is where he keeps the other hostage now. Maybe the other one tried to get out, and that’s why they killed him. Maybe they moved this one here to stop him getting anywhere.
“Please be quiet,” I whisper, “okay?”
He shakes his head and moans again.
I don’t have much time.
I take a step toward him. “I can help you, but you have to be quiet so I can go.”
He makes no sound, but his eyes are filled with fear. The hostage who died—who was he to this man? Why are they here in the first place?
“If I take your gag out, you’ll be quiet?”
He nods and I take it out. He gasps for breath, looking up at me desperately.
“Why are you here?” I whisper.
“They tricked us,” he hisses, and I lean in to listen. “My brothers and me. They’re bad men. You have to help me and my brother. He let one of us go, and he’s keeping me and my brother—”
“Shh!” I creep back to the door and open it.
Tackman’s still outside picking up glass. I have the urge to leave, but guilt keeps me in the room. I know what happened to his brother. His brother was murdered, and he could be next. I can’t trust Tackman and his promises. I can’t let another man die.
“I want to help you,” I say.
“Oh, please! You have to tell somebody I’m here. Alexander Crass and Christopher Crass. I have a family, my wife—my children—I have to see them again.”
“I’m going to do anything I can to get you out. If I do, you have to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“You come to the police with me, and you tell them who did this to you.”
More fear fills his eyes, and he doesn’t speak.
“I have to go; you have to promise me.”
“Yes,” he hisses, “yes. You have to be careful. You’re our only hope. My brother, have you seen him?”
In a tarp.
I swallow and shake my head.
“Please, miss.”
I nod and put the gag back in his mouth, smelling a putrid sweat on him until I take steps back to the door. I peek out, and Tackman’s not outside. He’s nowhere in sight.
I glance back at the hostage, Alexander, and slip out the door. I walk back to the kitchen, outside and drop the key card in the bushes beside my chair before I sit.
Hopefully Tackman doesn’t find it. He must have a spare once he realizes it’s missing. When the time is right, I can use it. I need proof against Cathrine
to make sure she doesn’t come after me, and this is the proof I’ll need to put Tackman and his men away.
He comes out the sliding door with a quizzical look. “Where were you?”
“I went to my car for…” No, he won’t buy that. “I was going to leave.”
He frowns.
“I never open up like that to anyone,” I pick at my fingernails with my hands in my lap, “and I got scared.”
He considers this, staring down at me, then reaches out for me. I let him, but he simply moves me to the side. “Don’t step near the glass. I can’t see it all. I’ll have to clean it in the morning.”
I nod and stand up, stepping aside as he walks toward the pool, and I follow him. He sits on one of the chaise lounge chairs, and I sit on the one opposite him. “We’ve been here before.”
I nod. Despite having been grabbed and the gun action the day the hostage got loose, Tackman has a way of calming me.
Making me feel like while he’s in control, and when he’s around, I won’t get hurt.
Maybe that’s why I’m attracted to him, besides his good looks, he’s a protector, or he wants to be. He tried to protect his brother, but he couldn’t. He gets exactly how I feel about Maggie. Helpless.
The sadness in his eyes lingers as he stares out at the pool.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I whisper. “Your brother. You wanted to protect him, but we can’t.”
The words hit me as I say them. I know it, and yet I can’t accept it.
“I didn’t know how back then,” he mutters, wiping his fingers over his lips.
“You’re right. I have a chance with her, and I’m too scared to take it. I’m so scared to lose her, I can’t appreciate that I have her.” I let out a whooshing breath and rub at my tender bottom lids.
He stands, walks across the patio and takes a seat beside me, facing the pool with his back turned to me slightly. His woody cologne is heavier tonight. Because he was meeting Cami?
Maybe. But Cami came and left, and I’m the one here, sharing things with him—things I’ve never shared with anyone because he’s felt the same. Feeling the warmth from his body close to me. Letting him see me cry.
“You ever learn something that could have changed everything if you’d just known it sooner?” he asks.
“I just did,” I sway toward him enough for my arm to brush against his back, “tonight, with you.”
He leans back against me, close—too close.
I stand, putting distance between us as quickly as I can. “I should go.”
I’m close enough with the enemy now. Anything more is... What is it?
He turns to me, stares up at me, and his eyes ask me not to go.
It’s dangerous. That’s what it is.
Anything more is dangerous.
“Thank you for seeing me,” I say. “And sorry about the bottle.”
He shakes his head without a word, and I turn away slowly, then walk around the side of the house.
There’s a hostage in the white room, and I was cozying up to the man holding him there.
The man who murdered the hostage’s brother, or ordered it, or consented to it.
The only thing getting me up and out of there was that fact.
Danger.
But it’s what brought me closer to him tonight in the first place. Danger of a different kind—intimate—vulnerable.
Confused, my chest fluttering, I drive home with all the windows down and the breeze flying through my hair, eager to talk to Maggie—really talk to her—and open myself up to the hurt for the chance to share something beautiful. For the chance to put aside anger, hope, fear, and the future, and be present with her and Andy.
The only things that matter.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Break
After work, I picked up a tub of ice cream from the grocery store. I figured Andy could use a treat, and Maggie and I could sit down and eat some on our own while we talk. I’ll tell her how much I want to rebuild our relationship, and how proud I am that she’s on the right track, because like Tackman said, I have that chance.
I won’t let it slip by.
All day at work, I tried to devise a plan to approach Casey about what he might have on Cathrine, but I’m out of my depth. What could make a loyal employee of ten years want to betray their employer?
The only person I can think of who might have some knowledge is gone to Vancouver, but there is one person she put me in contact with before she left. I’ll pay Billy a visit tonight after dinner and hope that he’s at work.
I get in, and Maggie’s wearing one of our mom’s only dresses, a pink and blue floral print. She looks more like mom than ever, and it brings up emotions I’ve stuffed down with the anger and pain I’ve felt.
Mom wore that dress during good times, mostly. Family events. Holidays. We still had some of those before they passed, but I never think about them because I’m too angry at them for leaving us.
Maggie hasn’t left—not yet. Not this time.
“You look nice,” I tell her, and she smiles, the last of the golden sunlight kissing her cheek as she pulls on oven mitts. “You made dinner?”
“I baked some cookies for you guys.”
“Chocolate chip!” Andy calls from their room.
“Well,” I pull the ice cream from my bag. “Maybe we can make ice cream sandwiches tonight!”
“Yes!” Andy runs into the kitchen chanting “yes” over and over.
“Well, you guys can, because I need to go out for a while.”
“Mom,” Andy groans.
“Hey, you’ll still have your treat with Jo.”
He stomps back into the living room and buries his head in the couch for dramatic effect.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
She avoids eye contact as she pulls the tray of cookies from the oven. “I have a date.”
“You do?” Don’t get angry. Don’t get judgmental. She’s doing okay; she’s healthy; she can make her own decisions. “Well, what time will you be back?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter?”
I put the ice cream in the freezer. “I have to go out tonight.”
“Oh, well, do you think you could cancel?”
“Why wouldn’t you have asked me to watch Andy instead of assuming I can?”
“It was a last-minute thing.” She pushes her curled hair from her face and takes off the mitts. “I didn’t think you’d mind. You love hanging out with Andy.”
“Of course I do.” I take a step closer and lower my voice. “I also love when you don’t just assume I’ll do something for you and actually ask first.”
I’m not proud of the edge to my tone, but going out for me is a means of actual escape, and this date might be something like that for her too.
“Okay,” she sighs, “well, this is important to me, so can we compromise, and I’ll be home when you need me to?”
I rub my brow, considering it, and she rolls her eyes. “What?”
“You expect me to just stay all locked up in here and not have my own life.”
I shake my head. “I just expect you to ask me when you need my help instead of just expect you’ll get it.” This is getting so far off track, but I can’t keep getting used like this so she doesn’t have to take any responsibility for her life. This isn’t a conversation to have right now, when I wanted us to get closer. This will rip us apart if I let it. “Listen, I need to leave by ten.”
She frowns. “What are you doing at ten?”
“None of your business.”
“So, you get to know mine, but I don’t get to know what’s going on with you? I’ve been worried about you. You’ve been stressed lately, and I know the bills are bad, and you have a lot on your shoulders, but you can talk to me about it. I hate when you shut me out.” She leans against the counter and sighs. “You always shut me out.”
“I wanted us to talk tonight. I want to be more open with you about things.”
S
he raises her brow but refuses to look at me. She doesn’t believe it.
“I want you to be happy, Maggie. I want you to feel like you can talk to me, and I want to be able to talk to you. Go on your date, be back by ten, and we’ll talk tomorrow night?”
“Fine,” she whispers, rounding the counter and disappearing into their room.
I pull through the drive-through of the Yellow Dip, and the same young girl is in the window, handing me my order of chicken nuggets. Maggie can re-heat them tomorrow for Andy.
“Is Billy here?”
She shakes her head. “He doesn’t work here anymore.”
My heart sinks. “What? Since when?”
But I already know. Since Katie brought me here. He doesn’t want to be found by Locke Industries—or us.
“About a week ago,” she says. “You know him?”
I need to get his information. If it was less than a week ago when we saw him, he’ll still have a paycheck coming.
“Yeah, he said he was coming to get his paycheck stub and that we’d hang out after. Can I pick it up for him?”
“We mailed it out to him.” She leans out from the window, checking out the long line of cars behind me.
“Well, if you have anything else here of his, could I get it to take to him? Save him a trip back here.”
Anything might help, even if it doesn’t have his address on it.
“Calvin,” she calls over her shoulder, “you got anything of Billy’s back there?”
“Huh?” a man shouts.
“Could you please pull over into that spot, ma’am?” she asks, pointing to the lot. “If there’s anything, Calvin’ll bring it to ya.”
“Thank you.” I pull out of the line and into the spot, hoping he comes out with something.
A young man jogs out and stops at my window, his hands empty. “You the lady who’s picking up Billy’s things?”
I nod.
“Only thing he left was a t-shirt cause it gets hot in the back sometimes, but our manager threw it out. She didn’t think Billy would be back for it.”
“Ah, okay.”
“Yeah,” he rubs at his neck, “she’s a real bitch. It was his favourite shirt. He shouldn’ta left it. I think he knew he wasn’t coming back.”
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