by W Winters
As if answering or interrupting me, or maybe hating my confession – I’m not sure which – the old floor creaks. It does that when the seasons change. When the weather moves from bitter cold to warm. The old wood stretches and creaks in the early mornings.
Still, I can’t breathe for the longest time, feeling like someone’s with me.
Any sense of safety has vanished.
I wish Jase were here. It’s my first thought.
Even when he hides from me, I still wish he were here. I’m choosing to stay away and yet, I wish he were here. How ironic is that?
The back and forth is maddening. Be with him, simply because I want to. Or hold my ground because he can’t give me what I’ve given him. Truth and honesty in their rawest form. He makes me feel lower than him, weaker and abandoned. It’s hard to turn a blind eye to that simply because I want his protection and his touch.
It hurts more knowing I went through my darkest times naked in his bed. Bared to him, not hiding this weakness that took me over. He couldn’t even tell me what happened that landed my pathetic ass in jail.
Without a second thought, I snatch my phone off the table and dial a number. Not the one I’ve been thinking about. It’s not the conversation I’ve been having in my head and obsessing about for the last hour.
No. I’m calling someone to get my life back. My life. My rules. My decisions. My happiness.
The phone rings one more time in my ear before I hear a familiar voice.
“There’s only one thing I’ve ever had control over in my entire life, and it’s been taken away from me.”
“Jesus Christ, Bethany. Could you be any more dramatic?” My boss sounds exasperated, annoyed even and that only pisses me off further.
Leaning forward on the couch, I settle my heels into the deep carpet and prepare to say and do anything necessary to get my job back.
“I need this, Aiden,” I say and hate that my throat goes dry. “I can’t sit around thinking about every little detail anymore.”
“Did you take a vacation?” he asks me.
“No.”
“You need to get out of town and relax.” The way he says ‘relax’ feels like a slap in the face. Is that what people do when they’re on leave for bereavement?
“I don’t want to relax; I just want to get back to normalcy.”
“You need to adapt and change. That takes a new perspective.”
Adapt and change. It’s what we tell our patients when they’re struggling. When they no longer fit in with whatever life they had before. When they can’t cope.
“Knock it off,” I say, and my voice is hard. “I’m doing fine. Better than fine,” I lie. It sounds like the truth though. “I need to feel like me, though. You know me, Aiden. You know work is my life.”
“Go take a vacation and I’ll think about it while you’re soaking in the sun.”
“I can’t.” I didn’t realize how much I needed to go back to work until the feeling of loss settles into my chest like cement.
“Well, you can’t come back.”
“Why the hell not? Why can’t I go back to what was?”
“Why can’t things go back? Do you hear yourself, Bethany?”
“Stop it,” I say and the request sounds like a plea. “I’m not your patient.”
“Your leave is mandatory. You aren’t welcome back until the leave is over.”
“My patients are my life.”
“That’s the problem. They shouldn’t be. You need something more.”
“I don’t want something more.” The cement settles in deeper, drying and climbing up to the back of my mouth. It keeps more lies from trickling out.
“I’m looking out for you. Go find it.” The click at the other end of the line makes me fall back onto the sofa, not as angry as I wish I was.
Fuck Aiden. I’ll be back at work soon. I just have to survive until then. I hope I remember this moment for those long nights when I can’t wait for my shift to end.
Swallowing thickly, I consider what he said.
I need something else.
Something more.
A memory forms an answer to the question: what is my “something more?”
Marry me.
My palm feels sweaty as I grip the phone tighter, then let it fall to the cushion next to me.
Marry me. His voice says it differently in my head. Different from the memory where he told me to do so because then I wouldn’t have to testify against him.
I can’t see straight or think straight. I’m caught in the whirlwind that is Jase Cross.
Knock, knock, knock.
Startled by the first knock, feeling as if I’ve been spared by the second, I stop my thoughts in their track. Someone at the front door saves me from my hurried thoughts, but the moment I stand to go to the door, I hesitate.
I shouldn’t be scared to answer the door. I shouldn’t feel the claws of fear wrapping around my ankles and making me second-guess taking another step.
I will not live in fear. The singular thought propels me further, but it doesn’t stop me from grabbing the baseball bat I put in the corner of the foyer last night. The smooth wood slips in my palm until I grip it tighter and then quietly peek through the peephole.
Thump. Thump.
My heart stops racing the second I let out a breath, then put the baseball bat back to unlock the door and pull it open. “What the fuck is wrong with me,” I mutter to myself.
“Mrs. Walker,” I say and then shut the door only an inch more as the harsh wind blows in. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
The older woman purses her thin lips in a way that lets me know she’s uncomfortable. She has the same look every time she stands to speak at the HOA meetings. Which she’s done every time I’ve been there. I glance behind her to check my lawn, but the grass hasn’t even started to grow yet.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
Her hazel eyes reach past me, glancing inside my house and I close the door that much more until it’s open just enough for my frame, and nothing more.
“Is your grandson doing all right?” I ask her, reminding her about the last time we spoke. When she needed help and I came to her aid. Technically to her grandson’s aid, who’d been struggling with his parents’ divorce and needed someone to talk to.
“I was wondering if you were all right?” she clips back.
“Me?”
“There’s been some activity… some men around your house lately.” Her eyes narrow at me, assessing and I’m not sure what she’ll find. I close the door behind me to step outside on the porch.
“Men?” I question.
“A number of them. In cars that seem… expensive. Same with the clothes.”
“Are you suggesting I’m some sort of escort, Mrs. Walker?” I throw in a bit more contempt than I should, in an attempt to get her to back off.
“No. I think they’re drug dealers.” Her answer isn’t judgmental. Just matter of fact.
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I have to cross my arms a bit tighter.
“This is what happened to your sister. Isn’t it?”
Words escape me. The memory of my sister on the steps right in front of me causes the cold to seep into my skin, and then deeper within. I can see her there still. I can’t tear my eyes away from her. God help me, I’m losing it. She looks just as I saw her last. Except for her hair, she’s wearing it like our mom used to. Memories flood my thoughts. None of them good.
“Are you all right? You’re as white as the snow,” Mrs. Walker says as she grips my shoulder and I snap, pulling myself away from her.
“Please leave me alone,” I tell her and refuse to look back at my sister. I can feel Jenny’s gaze on me. It’s like she’s sitting right there on the porch steps. Watching us now, but not saying anything.
I don’t move until Mrs. Walker does, leaving in silence. It’s only when she’s walking down the stairs that I dare look at them.
My sister’s not there. Of course she’s not. She’s gone. My sister’s gone.
Whipping my door open, I pace in the hall.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to get the fuck out of here.
My keys jingle as I lift them from the hook in my foyer. I nearly leave just as I am: unshowered and in pajamas. I haven’t even brushed my hair yet today. With my hand on the doorknob, I settle my nerves.
Just take one breath at a time. One day at a time.
Shower. Dress. And then I’m heading to Laura’s.
She’ll help me. She has to know a way out.
If Jase loves me, he’ll give me space. I just need to breathe. He’ll understand if I go away for just a little while. I’ll do what Aiden said. I’ll go away. Somewhere no one knows. I have to get away from here. Somewhere in the back of my mind, my inner bitch is laughing at me for thinking Jase would ever let me leave. He doesn’t know what my mother told me though. I can’t fall for him. I can’t risk it and knowing that makes me want to run faster than I’ve ever run in my life.
Jase
It’s always quiet out here. Although it was quiet last time as well, and that’s when everything fell apart.
Rows and rows of stones. Centuries have passed and nothing’s changed. I think that’s why I come here. It doesn’t matter what happened before or after, the stones stay in familiar rows like silent sentinels.
I’ve lived with many regrets and many failures. It’s not often that I can see them the moment they happen. I shouldn’t have told her to marry me. Now that it’s done though, I can’t stop from wanting to tell her again and again until she agrees.
I can make that right.
Unlike so many other things I can’t fix. The gust of breeze blows dried flower petals across the gravestone before me. With the petals clear of it, it’s easy to read my brother’s name etched in stone.
I’ll make it right with her. There’s only so much I can make right, and she deserves it. Not many do.
If I had to pinpoint a time when everything changed, a single moment when everything went wrong, I’d be forced to choose between two.
The first is the moment Romano hired a hit on me that went awry and resulted in a funeral for my closest brother. An old soul at such a young age, he never did anything to anyone. Tragedy changes a man forever.
If fate had ended its interference there, I don’t think my brothers and I would have a normal life, but it wouldn’t be one so cruel. Maybe one more empty though.
“I figured I’d find you here,” Seth calls out from a distance. Shoving his hands into his black windbreaker he makes his way to me. I’m not ready to leave though.
The second moment is when Carter was taken by Nicholas Talvery, beaten, and changed into a broken boy hell-bent on fighting the men who lived to destroy us. He blazed the path for us, viciously and mercilessly. Because of him we stayed. We didn’t have to run; we were more than capable of fighting together.
Two old men, men who ruled ruthlessly, they’re the ones so easy to blame.
Since then, everyone has left us and no one could be trusted. Pillars of life crumbled to insignificant dust in favor of simply surviving and adapting to be more like them. To dedicate our lives to destroying them before they could do the same to us.
I hate what we’ve become, but I can’t let go of how it all started and what still needs to be done.
Talvery is dead; Romano is close to gone, but Marcus is still here. Still giving orders, still deciding everyone’s fate as if it’s his right. They may be the root cause of it all, but Marcus planted the seeds, Marcus knew.
“I’ll make them all pay.” The promise to my brother drifts away in the bitter wind.
“What’s that?” Seth asks and then braces against the harsh chill, zipping his jacket before glancing at the stone on the ground. I can see the question written on his face, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead he tells me, “I didn’t hear what you said.”
He’s taller than me, just barely. But on the hill of the grave he looks taller still.
“You found me,” I comment and huff a sarcastic laugh. “Should have gone somewhere else.”
“I have good news and bad. I didn’t think you’d want to wait for either,” Seth tells me, and the way he lowers his voice suggests an apologetic tone.
“Let’s have the good news first,” I tell him, staring off into the distance past the rows of gravestones to the green grass, waiting to be filled.
“There are patterns in the movements of the men we’ve been watching.” Seth takes a half step closer and adds, “Marcus’s men.”
I focus all my attention back to Seth. “Patterns?” He nods and says, “Between the ferry and the trains. They’re transporting something.”
The smell of fresh dirt and sod blow by us as he adds, “They’re spending a lot of time at each location. Declan thinks there are holding points.”
“And what about Marcus? Where is he?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Find him.” My answer is clipped, but easy enough. It’s progress in this slow game of chess and we’re carefully moving pieces on the board.
“Bethany still doesn’t know about Jenny?”
“No. I’m not telling her until I know where she is and that she’s alive still.”
“Right,” he says. The single word brings defeat to the air and I can’t place my finger as to why. “I don’t know that we’d be able to sneak up on him or set something up without him knowing. He has eyes everywhere. The more people we follow, the more are involved--”
I cut him off, knowing the risk involved, knowing Marcus will more than likely know when we come for him. “Just find him.”
“Of course. I’m on it.”
“And the bad news?”
Bethany
“Why don’t we take it from the top?” Laura asks me in her living room as I pace in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the park. Although, from up here on the twentieth floor, it’s merely a square of green.
“Which top?” I ask her. “The one that involves Jase or the one that’s easier to swallow?”
“I get the easy one, you’re on leave and need to go on vacation before Aiden will quit being an ass. That one I’ve got. How about the one where you went to jail?”
“I don’t think I was technically in jail since I never saw a cell.” I don’t stop my pacing.
“So the money is gone, but Jase doesn’t care. All the evidence is gone and he wants you to marry him just in case this happens again?”
I only nod.
“See, it’s the marriage thing that I may be hung up on…” she trails off as she lowers herself to a dusty rose velvet chair and takes a sip from her tall wine glass. She settled on prosecco when I said I didn’t want any coffee and word-vomited up everything – including seeing my sister on my front porch steps. I’m surprised she didn’t go straight for the vodka.
“The ‘marry me’ part? Not seeing my dead sister and feeling her there?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes we see what we want to see. You feel alone and need someone to talk to. You didn’t want to tell me about the money. She was your rock for a long time…”
Was. Past tense. My steps slow to a stop as I pull my still-damp-from-the-shower hair away from my face and look back down at the park.
“I’m sorry about the money,” I say and have to clear my throat after speaking. I’d say anything for her not to bring up Jenny again. She’s gone. Truly gone.
Fuck. It shouldn’t hurt like this still, should it?
“Don’t worry about the money--”
Cutting her off, I ask, “Will you hide me?” Shock flashes in her eyes. Swallowing thickly, I continue, “I don’t know how you got the money, but there’s obviously a lot I don’t know. If there’s any way to hide me – please do it. I just need to get away for a while.”
“Away from Jase, you mean?” She barely says the words and I nod.
“I need to cope an
d think on my own and he’s just…”
“All consuming,” she finishes my statement for me, but somehow the words seem to be meant for someone else as she looks past me, staring at the white and blush striped curtains instead.
“Yes.”
She nods once, downing her glass and then standing up, all the while not looking at me. As she rounds the corner to her kitchen, no doubt to fill her glass, she tells me, “I have someone I can call. I can ask him for a favor.”
Hope is nowhere in her cadence; her tone is resigned.
I can feel some hope though. A tiny bit at the idea of being away for just a little while. Enough to get out of the chaos. Enough to breathe. Taking out my phone, I contemplate telling Jase just that. To give me space and time. That I’ll be back.
I slip my phone back into my jeans. Not yet. He’s not going to like it. He needs to get over it, though. There are plenty of things I don’t like about this arrangement either, and I’ve rolled with the punches as best as I can. I return to gazing at the park and brush my fingers against the cool glass. I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never been so… so helpless.
I hear Laura before I see her and I’m quick to turn my back on my reflection as she lets out a long breath.
“Did you call?” I ask her and she doesn’t answer immediately. Instead she stares through me, looking to the park outside.
She snaps out of it as I bite out her name.
“What?”
“Did you call?” I ask her again and an eerie feeling crawls over my skin at the way she swallows before answering me, although she only nods.
“What’s wrong?” I question her and she shakes her head, then returns to her seat.
“It’s just work. Not you.”
Relief isn’t so forthcoming, but I don’t think Laura’s lying to me. Especially not when she offers me a tight smile.
“Is it Michelle? Is she okay? I heard dealing with the pica condition has been difficult.”
Her hair swishes as she shakes her head. “She’s doing fine. All your patients are fine,” she says as she leans back, moving her hair to one side and braiding it. “Don’t worry about them, you workaholic, you.”
