by Jc Emery
“Stand down,” Uncle Jim says. “Find a place to put the new guy.”
“Playing hostage wasn’t part of the deal,” Leo says.
I shrug my shoulders and sigh. “You didn’t barter for your choice in accommodations.”
It takes several minutes for all the men to lower their weapons.
Dad charges forward and knocks Michael out of the way, then shoves Leo into the open closet we just got Michael out of. Slamming the door shut, he says, “Fuck. Jim, I’m running out of places to put all the WOPs you keep adopting.”
“Blame your negotiations team for that,” Jim says and approaches Michael. His eyes slide to mine, and he smirks. I can’t tell if it’s a “Ruby is going to beat you” smirk or a “well done” smirk. He directs Michael into the living room with his pointer finger.
When I have Dad’s word that Leo won’t be harmed, I cross the room and rush into Jeremy’s arms. He sighs deeply and crushes me against his body. To my surprise, all the tears I thought I would cry dry up, and the urge to freak out disappears.
“I can’t stand to ever see you in danger again,” Jeremy says.
“I know.” He didn’t say it, but I know he’s thinking it. “I can’t stay.”
“No, you can’t. Not until this is over,” he whispers against my forehead.
“Don’t tell me this is goodbye.” I can’t bear it if he breaks up with me. I know I have to go to school, because not getting to is all I could think about when I was certain I was a dead girl. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You’re not losing me, but I need to focus on my job here. The best way I can do that is if I know you’re safe.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice breaking. I shudder and take a deep, controlled breath, refusing to cry.
CHAPTER 26
January
3 months to Mancuso’s downfall
The blue-gray sky fogs over as the afternoon clouds roll in. Damn it. Dad always accuses the city of being foggy and hard to drive in. Honestly, I think he just hates every place that’s not home. It’s not like Fort Bragg is all that sunny and hot either. Oh well, he’s just gonna have to deal, and hopefully he doesn’t bitch too much.
Sometimes I miss him a lot. If I’m being honest with myself, I miss him all the time, though when he’s more annoying, it’s not so bad being three hours away. Still, it’s been almost a year since I started school here, and while I love the program and the city, it’s not home. I guess you never know what you have until it’s gone.
I stretch my legs out and eye the worn wooden slats beneath my feet. Even after a year, this place still doesn’t feel like home. I like the room Dad got set up for me in a rental house that Forsaken’s San Francisco charter owns. I am lucky to room with only two other people—an impressive feat in the city this clogged and expensive. Unfortunately, one of those people is a bear of a man who stands over six foot five and weighs, I’m guessing, at least three hundred pounds. He goes by the name Ratchet, and he loves to talk about all the San Francisco charter’s history. Ratchet is the sergeant at arms for the SF charter, and he does his job well. Of course, Ratchet doesn’t babysit me for free. No, every time Dad comes down, he has a new bag for my burly buddy that’s filled with some of the club’s finest weed. All in all, it’s a system that seems to work for both men. And Ratchet isn’t so bad. We’re definitely not hanging out and painting each other’s toenails, but this was the deal. I wanted to go to school, and with all the danger surrounding the club, the only way I could go was if I was under club protection. And there’s no place safer than in a house they own.
My other housemate isn’t really a Lost Girl, but she is certainly on her way to being one. She helps out around the club and does a lot of favors for the guys. She’s pretty nice and never brings anybody home, which I appreciate. At the end of the day, though, it doesn’t matter how nice any of these people are. They’re not my family, and it gets a little lonely here, especially because he isn’t with me.
I wish things were different and I could live with my classmates near campus rather than in this rental across the city in the Sunset District. But I don’t dare say that to Dad. As it is, he already likes to remind me how lucky I am to be able to go to school in the city on his dime, and the apartments near school are well above reasonable in his opinion. Plus, the whole warring-outlaw-empires thing kind of kills that fantasy.
Though Forsaken has made progress in recent months—creating an alliance with Leo Scavo and letting him and Michael work with the club to take down Tony and the rest of the Armani-wearing baddies—nothing is really settled yet. Dad says Carlo and Emilio have been quiet, which is never a good thing, so he’s extra paranoid these days, being calmed little by the inside information Michael and Leo have provided.
After everything that happened at Ian’s house with Rig and Daniel, Jeremy and I haven’t talk too much. It breaks my heart because I think I love him more with every passing day, despite our distance, than I did the night I agreed to marry him. When he and I do talk, the conversations are short and we stick to pleasantries. At the end he always says, “You’re still my girl, right?” Just before I hang up, I say, “Always.” And every single time I end up in tears because even though he says the words faithfully, they sound hollow and do little to mend my broken heart. He says I haven’t lost him, but it certainly feels like I have. With that void in my life, I need Dad and Holly now more than ever.
Even Grandma has stepped up her game and brought her new boyfriend down to meet me. Only I already knew the guy. I try really hard to block out images of Grandma and Old Man Hill making out like teenagers. Unfortunately, that which has been seen cannot be unseen. And I appreciate my vision too much to splash bleach in my eyeballs.
It’s just a few more minutes of sitting and waiting. I’m bundled up in my Forsaken hoodie, enjoying the sounds of the city, sleepy as it may be around here. The familiar growl of Dad’s bike sounds down the road, and I jump up from my seat and rush down the flight of stairs that brings me to the sidewalk. Excitement overtakes me—I might get a shopping trip out of this. Dad makes the trip down twice a month, and at least one of those is with Holly. His last trip down, he didn’t bring her, so this time she will be coming with him.
My heart falls when he comes into view, rolling down the street alone on his bike. Holly’s not with him, and that worries me. It’s not like I keep track of which time she comes and which time she doesn’t come, but she has consistently visited at least once a month. The times she doesn’t come with Dad are normally because he’s doing something for the club they don’t want her to have to see. But her not being here right now makes me nervous, freaking me out that maybe he finally screwed up their relationship. And just when I was convinced she was so stupid in love that there was nothing he could do to mess it up.
When he pulls into the short driveway that ends at the single-car garage that’s barely bigger than a queen-size bed, he cuts the bike off quickly, removes his helmet, and strides to me with a big grin on his face. I’m starting to think maybe he smoked a little too much before he left Fort Bragg, because there are very few things in this earth that can make Sterling Grady smile that wide when he sober. He envelops me in a tight hug, even lifting me off the ground like he used to when I was little. Yep, definitely high.
“How stoned are you, old man?” I love that he’s happy to see me, but I can’t help but question his strangely upbeat mood.
“Not very,” he says. “I’m just happy to see you.”
“I’m happy to see you, too, so don’t take this the wrong way—where the hell is my Holly?” I pull back and give him a disappointed pout.
“Decided it was best she stay behind this time,” Dad says. Asshole.
“Why would you go and do something stupid like that?”
“I needed to talk to you alone,” he says. With everything ugly that’s happened with the club lately and all the turmoil and grief, I can’t imagine he has good news to share. He seems to be pretty u
pbeat, but his wanting to talk to me alone is troublesome. The whole situation is making me paranoid. If he tells me Jeremy is hurt or isn’t being patched in, I’m going to lose my shit. I’ll be back home faster than he will, he can bet on that.
“Because…” he says. Draping an arm over my shoulder, he leads me up the stairs and sits in one of the two wooden chairs on the front porch. I take the other, trying to give him the opportunity to explain himself before I get upset. It takes longer than I think it should for him to give me a reasonable explanation for his poor behavior, but when he does, I instantly regret being a jerk. “I could never ask a woman to marry me without first asking for your blessing.”
I sit in silence, staring at him in confusion. He wants to marry Holly? That’s why he didn’t want her to come? My brain is slow to process it, but really, if there were ever an excuse for denying me my Holly time, this would be it.
“You say no, I won’t do it, kid. I gotta know you’re good with this.”
“It’s always been me, you, and Grandma,” I say thoughtfully. Even before Holly, something felt like it was missing in our family. Now that we have her, I know she’s the piece that was missing.
“Yeah, a lot of shit is changing. Club’s lost people—we’ve lost people.” His voice is so low it’s barely audible. “She’s pregnant. Due in June.”
My breath hitches, trying to make sense of each bomb he’s dropping. I search my heart for a clear thought but can’t find one. I love Holly, I love Dad, and I’m sure I’ll love the baby, too. But a very large, selfish part of me is suddenly terrified that a biological child she gets to raise is going to matter more to her than I do. And I’m so far away…
“That’s awesome,” I say, forcing myself to push through my own petty concerns. Dad notices the slight unease in my voice and raises his eyebrows.
“June? How long have you known?” I ask. The idea of being left out of this monumental event upsets me. I was just home for Christmas a few weeks ago. If she’s due in June, Holly has to be like four months along now. She would have known over Christmas. She would have known at Nic’s voting-in party, which I fucking attended back in December. She might have even fucking known at Thanksgiving. What the fuck?
“A while now, but there was some spotting and a chance she wouldn’t make it. Holly didn’t want to tell you about her until we knew she was going to be okay,” he says. A soft smile takes over his entire face.
“I’m going to have a sister,” I say in astonishment. The idea of having a mini Holly and not a mini Dad pacifies me some.
“Hey, you’re still my baby girl, okay? I don’t give a shit how old you get or whose old lady you become, got that?”
I nod my head and take the opportunity to change the subject. I want to feel undiluted happiness for Dad and Holly, but I just can’t shake the fear that I’m going to rate second from now on.
“You been taking care of Jeremy for me?” I ask.
Dad gives me a flat look and shakes his head. “Fuck that kid.”
“Come on, Dad. I love that asshole.” I know he’s only joking—I think—but I want to know. I have to know he’s looking out for him.
“He the only asshole you love?” He smiles wide.
I choose not to squander his good mood. “Nah, you’ll always be the first asshole I ever loved.”
“About Holly?” he says.
“What about her?” I ask playfully.
“Yes or no, kid. Quit busting my balls.”
“If you don’t marry her, I’ll disown you,” I say and give him a soft smile. “Finally picked a winner.” Because he has. Holly is nothing like my mother, and thank God for that. She’s strong and loyal and already a great mom. Once I get over the nagging jealousy of having to share, I know I’m going to be way excited to finally have a sibling. I’ve always wanted someone else to know that the struggle of being Sterling Grady’s child is real.
“Layla’s fucked up and missing out on the best thing she could ever have,” Dad says. He raises his chin in the air and avoids eye contact, probably because I’ve started crying. The subject of my mom always does that to me. It doesn’t matter how long she’s been absent for or how old I get—she’s still my mom, and I think I’m always going to have an empty spot in my life where she should be. “She’s sick, baby girl. Only reason that keeps her away is her sickness. You gotta know if she could be here and be good to you, she would be.”
“But she’s not,” I say in a messy, rushed mix of words and tears.
“No, she’s not, but that’s not on you. That’s on her. Don’t got to like the shit she does to love her.”
“Fuck.” I wipe my tears, and Dad chuckles lightly and leans over, patting my knee. Subject change. I need another fucking subject change. “Now about Jer...”
“The best I can promise is that I won’t kill him and I’ll try to keep him from getting killed,” he says reluctantly.
“Fair enough.”
We’re quiet for a long while as we watch the sky darken. I can’t really say the sun’s setting since the Sunset District is under a perpetual fog due to its close proximity to the Pacific Ocean. It being late January doesn’t help either.
Eventually, Dad stands and stretches out. I follow his movements as he cross the porch and opens the front door, saying, “Now, I heard you’re learning about frostings in your new class. Show me my money isn’t being wasted.”
My mouth parts and then spreads wide in excitement. Dad has taken special interest in my courses because they involve food. He says he likes to test how my skills are coming along, but I know it’s really because he likes to be fed. Just as I close the front door behind me, he says, “By the way—before you get going in the kitchen, you should call your boy. He won’t say it, but he misses you.”
“He doesn’t sound like he misses me when we talk on the phone.” I’d love to call Jer. I just don’t want to call and get the same bullshit I’ve been getting since I left Fort Bragg for culinary school almost a year ago. It’s just not the same. He’s not the same.
“Club’s on its way to a good place—a safe place—but the shit that boy is going through to help get us there? Fuck, Chey. Call him and say whatever the fuck it is you two say to each other. Just talk to him. Let the little asshole know you want to know how he’s doing.”
“Since when do you give me relationship advice?” I ask, taken aback by his attempt at helping my failing relationship. This conversation takes me back to another conversation we had about this same thing—only Dad and I were on opposing ends then.
“Since he did the right thing and let you go so you could be safe,” he says and disappears down the long hall toward Ratchet’s room in the back of the house.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “He did.”
With Dad out of sight, I head for my room where I can have a little privacy. He isn’t one of those people who gives advice freely. I doubt he wanted to say anything about it since he’s not an authority on healthy relationships—he basically lucked out with Holly and her Stockholm Syndrome because, honestly, nothing else could explain it—so he must find this awfully important to bring it up. My cheeks heat at the idea that I matter so much to Jeremy that a few encouraging words from me could turn his mood around. I see it happen with Dad and Holly, but they’re in a very different place than Jeremy and I are.
It was nearly a year ago now that I thought he and I were going to run away together and get married, but that didn’t happen. Part of me wishes it had turned out differently and that, instead of being in the small room with unfamiliar walls and a rather impersonal décor, I were in another small room tucked into his side as we learn how to live together. But in my fantasy, I’m back home in Fort Bragg with a gold band on the fourth finger of my left hand and with the last name Whelan and maybe, just maybe, one day a baby of our own on the way. But that’s not how life has turned out, and I’m slowly coming to terms with that. Like an idiot, the thought finally occurs to me that if I’m struggling with my new re
ality, maybe Jeremy is struggling with his new reality as well.
I grab my phone from the cheap, plastic bedside table where it’s been charging, disconnect the cord, and sit at the foot of my bed. After bringing up my contacts and pressing the touch screen where Jeremy’s face appears, I wait in hopeful anticipation as the phone rings. I shouldn’t be nervous about calling him. I love him, and he says he loves me still, even despite the distance. Even despite how short-lived our quasi-engagement actually was.
I take a deep breath and force myself to shove off the impending disappointment when his voicemail picks up. When it’s time to leave a message, I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Better not, I guess. I don’t even know what I was going to say to him, much less how to convey exactly how I feel. Because I guess that’s the point of Dad telling me to call him, so that I can tell Jeremy what it means to me.
The moment my phone starts ringing I swipe my finger across the answer button and I bring it to my ear. I didn’t even check the caller ID before saying, “Hey.” My voice is soft and encouraging. In an attempt to get him to talk to me—really talk to me. Not that bullshit crap he tries to pull where he always says he’s fine and everything is good and that the club is settling. I know all that already. Just because I’m a few hours away doesn’t mean I’ve been exiled from the club. I keep in touch with Alex and occasionally Aunt Ruby—though not as much lately. She’s just not in a place where she’s up for talking, and I don’t really know what else I can say to her. Nothing seems to make anything any better.
“Hey, babe,” Jeremy’s deep voice says from the other end. “What’s up?”
Relief washes over me, showing me how disappointed I was at not getting to talk to him. Sometimes I don’t even realize how sad our distance makes me until he’s on the other end of the line telling me bullshit stories about work that mean nothing, matter little, and don’t do shit to make me feel any better.
