by Tessa Bailey
“Oh my God . . .”
Speaking of holy Sundays, I’m pretty sure Katie’s ass up in the air is what heaven looks like. Her trembling thighs are the pearly gates and I’m just a sinner, begging Saint Peter to get inside. I’ll work on that metaphor later. Right now I’m a little busy sixty-nineing with the girl I never had the courage to dream about. She’s going for broke now on my cock, whimpering as she sucks down, down to the base, thanks to the tongue whipping I’m giving her. My lungs are going to explode I’m breathing so heavy, my hips pumping like a desperate animal’s. Fuck, I could have busted already, but I’m determined to taste Katie’s pleasure before that happens and—
“Jack!” She grinds back against my mouth, thighs shaking out of control and come shoots up my cock so fast, I groan and flick my tongue along Katie’s convulsing flesh, refusing to stop until she’s wrung out. My stomach constricts so hard with the climax, I must be dying. My body moves without any kind of mental command, writhing and bucking, trying to get rid of the liquid lust that seems to be never-ending.
Across the room, I catch sight of Katie in the mirror. Bent over, her eyes are squeezed shut, but her hand pumps up and down my dick, white drops of moisture landing on her tits . . . and another round of spasms seizes me, turning me inside out. “Katie, Katie. Jesus, Katie.”
As soon as I’m back down on earth, I sit up and wrap her in a bear hug from behind, truly not giving a rat’s ass what fluids end up where. My universe slides into a sweet spot when she sags back against me, her head lolling against my shoulder. “Amen,” she sighs.
Our winded round of laughter is interrupted a few seconds later when my phone rings, somewhere in the room. A quick check of the bedside clock has me frowning. Who the hell is calling me at ten o’clock on Sunday morning? The mystery is solved when I find my jeans and retrieve my cell from the pocket.
“Ma?” I answer, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What’s up?”
“Jackie, you around?”
For some reason, my mother can’t seem to grasp that I don’t live in the neighborhood anymore. In her mind, I should still be downstairs playing video games with Danika. “I’m across town.” Sensing Katie curling up on the bed behind me, I reach back and stroke her hair. “Everything okay?”
“There’s no hot water again and the super is on vacation.” I hear her roommates in the background, cursing the man to an early grave. “Can you come have a look at the boiler? You’ve still got that key to the basement, right?”
If by key, she means the jimmy I used a few times to beat the lock, then yes, I have it in my sock drawer, back at my apartment. Dammit, I was going to take Katie out for breakfast. I’m still new at having a girl, so eggs are as far as I’ve gotten, but a plan for the rest of the day would have formed once I got some coffee into me. No way I’m dragging her across town on Sunday morning, either. Not when she looks so peaceful, glowing from an orgasm in the messy white sheets. And asking her to meet my mother could freak her out when everything is so new. I can’t chance it. “Yeah, Ma. I’ll be over in about an hour. Hang tight.”
I hang up the phone, stowing it in the pocket of my jeans as I pull them on. “Hey, my mother needs me over in the Kitchen—just for a while.”
She nods, studying me. “You have to go.”
“I don’t want to, Snaps, but yeah.” Finding my shirt and shoes on the floor, I make quick work of getting dressed. After I pull on my coat, I lean over Katie on the bed, taking a long inhale of mint. “I need to see you later.”
She smiles up at me, stretching her arms up over her head like a lazy kitten. “You know how to find me.”
My mouth works hers in a slow, promising kiss. “Damn right I do.”
When I take one last look at her beautiful form on the bed and leave the room, I don’t expect to be a different man the next time I see her.
Chapter 15
Katie
Is it a trait exclusive to women where the slightest thing can make you second-guess everything? Or it is just me who is now obsessively replaying the last twelve hours and wondering what went wrong? Each time I think I’ve landed on my potential misstep, however, I remember the way Jack looked at me while leaving my hotel room this morning. Like it was tearing him apart just to walk out the door. So where is he now?
I didn’t start worrying until an hour ago, when Sunday afternoon turned to evening and the sky dipped from eternal blue to butterscotch gold. My phone is deadly silent on the bedside table. Not that I’ve been sitting here all day, waiting for Jack to call or anything. No, I showered and brought myself out for a bagel, ate it while wandering along the East River, dodging joggers and bike riders all the while. I’ll never apologize for the frivolous shopping spree for knickers that followed, because purchasing silky underthings and having them wrapped in tissue paper is simply good for the soul. Calls to my parents were made to assure them I’m still breathing. My mam detected in my voice that I’m keeping a secret, but she didn’t hassle me about it too much, since my da was standing within ear shot.
Remembering the conversation with my da causes my shoulders to sag. Before leaving Dublin, I was so sure we were past any talk of the Olympics, but he’d brought it up this morning, mentioning some new equipment he bought. Just in case I want to work on my competition technique when I come home. His attempt at casual had failed miserably, however, stretching a long silence between us. Am I being selfish? Refusing to give my father the outlet of training me again? My goal for this trip was to begin remembering Sean for his life, not his absence, but maybe it will take my father longer to get here. Like another four years.
Laughter in the hallway outside my room jolts me back to the present, making me realize I’m sitting in the dark. Night is creeping in, the sun having set. How long have I been sitting here thinking? I move to turn on a light, shifting the knots in my stomach. Was I a one-night stand for Jack? I want to call him and make sure he’s all right—at this point, I’m worried—but what if he ignores my call? Or worse. What if he answers and explains that his whole spiel about seeing me again later was nothing more than standard protocol?
I eyeball my phone, my fingers itching to dial. Don’t do it. The unknown is better sometimes, isn’t it? If Jack wanted to see me, he knows where I am.
Resolved to make the most of the night, I begin shoving items into my purse. Hotel room key, cell phone, credit card, ID—
There’s a knock at the door.
My heart bottoms out at my feet like a plunging elevator. Jack. It has to be Jack. No one else in New York has my room number. I shouldn’t have doubted him.
But when I open the door, my gaze drops several inches from where I expected to find Jack’s reassuring green eyes, landing on appraising brown ones instead.
“Instructor,” says Danika, sliding past me into the room, leaving a trail of orange blossom scent behind her. “Nice digs. You ready to go?”
“Go?” I try not to be obvious about my disappointment—or searching the hallway for Jack—before closing the door. “Go where?”
“Out.” She spins the desk chair around with a single finger. “Jack got held up in the Kitchen with his mother’s boiler. He’s not sure if he’ll make it out tonight, so he sent me to be your guide for the evening.”
“Which part of that was a lie?” I say it without thinking, but I’m glad for having the question out there. Even if it hangs in the room like dirty laundry. She’s made the mistake of telling an untruth to someone with more law enforcement experience and I can’t let her get away with it. Honestly, I want to. I want to take her word for it and believe Jack is being thoughtful. Knowing I’m being duped would eat away at me all night, though.
Danika cocks her hip and laughs, obviously having decided to double down on the fib. But her eyes are troubled. “Jack didn’t mention you were the suspicious type.”
“I’m not. Not outside of work, anyway.” I toss my purse onto the desk. “I appreciate you coming here and offering to take me out, but I
’ll be fine on my own.”
Her lips thin, spine straightening. God, she really is gorgeous and . . . I like her. There’s so much going on inside her head that she can’t fully hide. Throw in her obvious backbone and she might as well be Irish, for all her stubborn qualities. Too bad she’s met her match. And her match’s confidence is being bolstered by frilly pink underpants. “I promised him I’d show you a good time,” Danika says. “I don’t break promises to my friends.”
“Jack told me how good a friend you are. How you and your family . . . helped him when he was younger.” Her mouth parts with surprise, but she seems more upset than touched. And all at once, this stand-off seems stupid and pointless. “Maybe I shouldn’t have blurted that out, but my stomach is all gross and queasy. Could you just tell me if he’s with another girl and get it over with?”
“Another—” Danika cuts herself off with a laugh. “No. I mean, shit, McCoy. Did you just hear yourself? Jack talked to you about how he grew up. He won’t even talk to me about it. And I was there.” She throws a hand in my direction and plops down on the bed. “You showed up and . . . look, it’s corny, but I swear a light went on inside of him. Trust me, he’s never been this way about anyone and . . .”
“And?” I manage.
She closes her eyes, shoulders sagging. “He’s fucking it up. I don’t know. Something happened today when he went to visit his mom.”
Just like that, my worry from before multiplies and expands to fit every available inch of my insides. How many hours have I wasted waiting for him to call, when I should have been trying to get in contact? “Do you know where he is?”
Her laugh holds no humor. “I can probably narrow it down to a few places.”
Something heavy thuds in my belly, like a dropped baton, but I ignore it and focus on the problem at hand. “Okay. Just take me to Jack. We’ll find out what happened today when we see him.”
Danika chews on her lip a moment, then shakes her head. “I can’t.” Her voice is agonized, but firm. “I’m sorry. If he wants to fuck this up, fine. But I won’t do it for him.”
“Don’t you think it’ll happen sooner or later?” I move to stand in front of her, waiting until she lifts her gaze from the floor. “Take me to him. Or I’ll go to Hell’s Kitchen and track him down myself. Alone. In the dark. Holding a big, touristy map and an I Love New York T-shirt.”
“So no matter what, I end up on Jack’s shit list.” Defeat seems to weigh her down. “You drive a hard bargain, McCoy.”
Seeing she’s about to cave, relief cools the burning in my chest. “It’s not a bargain unless we both get something out of it, right?”
Danika stands and gives me a long, level look, as if she’s searching me for clues. “There’s a possibility we could find my friend and bring him back. That’s enough for me.”
It’s obvious she’s not merely referring to the present. To finding Jack tonight and bringing him home. And I’m suddenly terrified about what I’m about to discover.
Danika and I don’t talk much, except to agree that taking a cab crosstown will be quick this time of night on a Sunday. The bellman hails us one and we do nothing but exist in the heavy silence as the car flies through yellow lights and honks at pedestrians, all while punching buttons on the radio. Danika is the one who gives the driver our destination and obviously I don’t recognize the streets or location.
Until we pull up outside.
I met Jack on the curb outside of this bar, when I was taking pictures of my mob hit sites. He asked me to come inside with him for a drink, but I declined. Told him I don’t go into bars. I still don’t, right? No. But if Jack is inside there, I have no choice. Until now, I haven’t allowed myself to wonder how I’d find him. I’m starting to get an idea, though, and my heart is knocking against my ribcage, my fingers clutching my purse so tight, they’re bloodless.
Danika raps on my window, having already exited the cab. The dread in her expression is almost enough to make me ask the driver to return to the hotel. Then I think of Jack. His face in the candlelight last night, eyes vulnerable.
I want you to understand me.
Everything is different with you, Snaps.
Forcing some steel into my spine, I climb out of the cab and slam the door behind me. The sidewalk feels funny beneath my feet as we walk through the bar’s entrance. Danika links her elbow with mine as we enter. Jack is inside. I know it before we’ve taken two steps—and I’m ashamed of myself for almost chickening out. Now that he’s nearby, all I can think of is fixing whatever is wrong. Finding out what kept him from me tonight. Pounding piano music, singing and laughter comes from the rear of the establishment. Danika and I trade a look and head that direction. The smell of beer and cologne and dust fight for attention. The male customers we pass do the same, elbowing each other and hooting, shouting offers of drinks. Honestly, I’d like to box their ears over some of the cruder offers. Shameful.
A crank turns in my middle as we progress towards the piano music, my skin crawling over the drunken state of so many people. Bleary eyes leer at me from the bar, bottles are raised to lips, a chair tips and crashes to the ground to my right. All I can think about is my brother. How one person having too good a time resulted in him losing his life. Resentment builds up inside me so tight, I can barely breathe.
But my lungs must have drawn in a fair amount of oxygen, because every last bit whooshes out when I spot Jack.
He’s playing the piano with an almost desperate focus, an unlit cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth. His body lists to the right, eyelids drooping, before he jerks back upright and continues to play. Stubble decorates his jaw and chin. He’s still wearing his shirt from last night, but black ashes crisscross on the front, directly over his heart, like he’s been rubbing at it with soot-stained fingers. Around him, the decidedly older customers dance, slapping his back occasionally in encouragement. Amongst a scattered deck of cards, there’s a bottle of vodka perched on the piano, almost empty, within Jack’s reach . . . and every sound is blocked out, apart from the rapid breathing in my ears. Everything begins to connect. That feeling Jack was lying to me in the park, the night I danced in the fountain.
No. Not a regular thing. Meaning showing up to the academy drunk.
I won’t drink around you again, Snaps.
There’s been a niggling voice in the back of my head, telling me I was missing something important. And to me, this is as important as anything else in my world. Does Jack have a drinking problem? Is that what kept him away from me tonight?
“McCoy,” Danika calls over the noise. “You all right? Katie.”
The piano cuts off abruptly and Jack’s head flies up, his gaze landing on mine like a plane crash. His face pales, mouth forming the word no. No. Everything around me stops, moving in slow motion, but my thoughts fly by at a million miles per hour. My leg muscles are screaming from the strain of not running. Of standing still. I should go. I should leave now. This is bad. Jack lied to me about something he knew was important. Alcohol took my brother away. I’m not rational about that. I never will be. I’m so mad and helpless and sad, all at once.
I’m leaving. I have to leave.
Jack stands slowly—cautiously—and staggers his way closer. I see the torment in his glazed eyes. My name is on his lips, but I can’t hear anything over the pounding in my head
Run. Go.
He reaches out for me.
Jack
Eight hours earlier
“Ma,” I call, letting myself into the apartment. “Check the water now. Let it run for a few minutes.”
There’s no answer, just a chorus of voices squawking in the living room. Sighing, I close the door behind me and lock it. I’m anxious to get back to Katie. Fixing the boiler has taken a lot longer than expected and I’ve been down in the basement for a good two hours. Breakfast is only a pipe dream now, but maybe it’s not too late to bring Katie out for lunch. Or shit, a museum, more old crime scenes, the Empire State Building. Wha
tever touristy thing she wants to do.
Knowing Katie wants to spend actual time with me out of bed is, like, this crazy fucking rush and I’m standing right in the middle of it, letting it whip and twist around me. I’m trying not to think about the borrowed time we’re on, but the ticking clock sits in my throat like a dried wad of glue, making itself known every time I swallow.
“Jackie,” my mother shouts from the living room. “Come in here. There’s a couple someones who haven’t seen you in a while.”
Curious, I set down my backpack containing the jimmy and some tools, then move down the unlit hallway towards the voices. As soon as I turn the corner, I see them.
Two women.
Faces from my past that have changed slightly with age, although it’s only been about eight years since I was eighteen and they were in their late thirties. Since the last time I saw them. Which was the night before I secured a job unloading freighters down at the docks, moving my mother and me out of the brothel weeks later.
After what happened in the dark while my mother was out running errands, I couldn’t stay there anymore, spending every single night on Danika’s couch, even when my mother wasn’t working. But they’re here now, smiling at me and it’s as though not even a single day has passed since—
“Jesus. Say hi, Jackie,” my mother prompts me, coming over to pat my shoulder. Her expression is incredulous, probably over my uncustomary silence. And of course it would be, because she has no idea what happened with her so-called friends. She’ll be finding out over my dead body, so I break through the ice surrounding me and croak a greeting.
“Hiya, ladies. Long time no see.” I reach out for a handshake, preparing myself not to flinch when they touch me. They scoff at the formality, though, closing in on me at the same time and wrapping me in a bear hug. Nausea pumps wildly in my stomach and I breathe through my nose, in, out, in, out, focusing on not throwing up. The ice on my skin turns to sharp shards, puncturing the outer layer, making me bleed. At least, that’s what it feels like.
