by W. H. Vega
“No,” I say, “No, it’s not. Thanks for...getting that.”
“Sure,” she smiles, dropping the flirty act entirely. “But can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead,” I say.
“What...Well, what are you going to do now that you’re back?”
I realize, as I meet this strange girl’s gaze, that I have no earthly idea. “I’ll figure something out,” I tell her. “I always do.”
“Here we go!” Garrick roars, arriving back with a foursome of drinks in hand. He passes out the cocktails and raises his own glass high. “To coming home again!”
“To coming home!” the girls say happily.
I’m the only one who can’t force the words out of his mouth. Instead, I simply take another drink. Welcome home indeed, I think, before the world starts to blur blissfully.
***
“Hey...Hey, Trace...” says a girlish voice from a million miles away. A slow, steady pounding begins to ring through my head as I rise back up from unconsciousness.
“Mmm?” I manage to mutter, keeping as still as I possibly can.
“I’m going to make some breakfast,” says the voice, growing nearer, “You want anything?”
I crack my eyes open as slowly as I can, fighting to keep the impending headache at bay. Two bleary blue eyes look back at me in the near darkness, and for a moment I can’t quite remember where I am. That is, until I hear Garrick’s telltale snore echo through the cramped apartment.
Then, the events leading up to this moment start to fill themselves in. The first bar. The second bar. The third and fourth bars. The cab ride home. The girls bringing us upstairs. The feel of my blonde haired companion writhing on top of me. Me, too drunk to really care either way.
Some welcome wagon.
“That would be great,” I whisper, forcing a smile onto my lips. “Thanks, Mindy.”
“No problem,” she says, “But, for the future, it’s Mandy.”
I groan softly as the girl makes her way out of the room. Looking around the lightening room, I see Garrick and the brunette from last night curled up on a twin bed just across the space. Well, that is far too close for comfort, I think. In the semi-darkness, I managed to locate and put on my clothes. Proud of my effort, I follow Mindy—Mandy—out into the kitchen.
The apartment has all the markings of barely-twenty-something life. Twin MacBooks, splashes of pink and green everywhere, cute crafts and store-bought Bohemian touches. Not that I have any room to be judgmental. The apartment that’s waiting for me just screams “almost thirty commitment-phobe with trust issues”. So, there’s that.
Mandy’s heating up some butter in a saucepan when I trudge into the kitchen. She smiles over her shoulder, wearing nothing but a beat-up DePaul tee shirt. As cute as she looks there, I’m sorry to say that whatever lone spark might have flown last night is totally extinguished, now. She’s very sweet, and even seems pretty bright, but there’s no way that I could ever see her again once I walk out that door.
I’ve learned, by now, that women are only interested in bad boy types when they still think there’s some hope of fixing them. The women that have wandered into my life for days or weeks at a time are all enamored with the idea of my troubled past, for sure. But once they realize that the shadow hanging over me isn’t going to be dispelled by a batch of cookies or a back rub, they all run for the hills.
I’m used to it, by now. And I don’t blame them, either. I wouldn’t want anything to do with me either, if I was a girl. The fact is that I found the one woman who could ever understand me, ever truly love me, and I lost her for good.
“You want some coffee?” Mandy asks, her back to me.
“Sure,” I say, my eyes falling on the morning paper. “Leave it black, though. It’s not coffee if you put anything in—”
The breath leaves my lungs in a rush as my tired eyes focus on the front page of the paper. For a moment, I tell myself that I’m hallucinating, that this is just another of my goddamn daydreams. But as I pull the paper toward me with shaking hands, the room for doubt closes up all around me.
It’s her. Smiling triumphantly in a crisp blazer with her hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. Even a decade older and wearing some crazy kind of lawyer costume, I recognize her immediately. How could I not? Hers is the face that’s starred in every one of my sweet dreams these past ten years, scarce as they’ve been. And now, there she is—or at least, the newsprint version of her. It’s Nadia, no doubt about it.
“They finally closed that case,” Mandy says, setting a cup of coffee in front of me.
“Huh?” I ask, bewildered.
“Oh yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know,” she goes on, “There was some gross kiddie pornographer on trial, just now. Big news. All the pundits going crazy. But they finally managed to put him away. The trial got all kinds of press because the prosecutor was so young. And hot, obviously. That goes without—”
“She’s in Chicago,” I say to myself, staring down at the paper. “Here, in the city.”
“Well sure,” Mandy says, “She’ll probably run this place one day. I know I’d vote for her. Hell, I’d go door to door with little ‘Vote for Faber’ buttons if I—Where are you going?”
“I just—I have to—” I say, standing in a rush and tearing out the front door, “Thanks for the coffee, Mandy!”
“No problem...” she says, as I slam the door behind me.
All at once, it’s like my body shifts to a whole new center of gravity. My legs pump beneath me, carrying me out into the city below. She’s here, hidden somewhere in this mess of mortar and steel that I tentatively call my hometown.
And I’m going to find her.
Chapter Four
Nadia
Work Work
I shoulder through the front door of my apartment building, arms loaded with files and reports. My entire body is practically vibrating with excitement and energy. I always get this way right before I start digging into a new case.
No matter how many tangled webs of crime I set to unraveling, that rush never seems to diminish. Maybe, once I’m old and jaded, this will all feel rote and dull. But I have trouble imagining a time in my life when taking down dangerous criminals ceases to be a thrill. This work is what I was born to do.
The congratulatory cake had hardly been cleared when the partners pounced on me with another case. I take it as the ultimate compliment that I’ve become their go-to associate lawyer, even if the workload can be a little intimidating at times. The three horsemen of the firm cornered me in my office earlier today and presented me with a fresh, juicy case for me to sink my teeth into.
“You’ve got momentum on your side, Faber,” Mr. Brewer had told me, his rich voice boosting my confidence by the syllable.
“It’s a doozy of a case,” the ruddy Mr. Roberts had gone on, smiling excitedly, “Huge drug ring in the city finally showing signs of weakness. These guys have been eluding us for years, but one tiny misstep, one little chink in the armor, can easily be all we need to bring them down for good.”
“This is exactly the kind of thing you’ve always gone nuts for,” Mr. Santos had pressed, his eyes gleaming, “The guys running this thing are real lowlifes. They recruit kids, young guys, to do all their risky business for them. I can’t tell you how many juvenile homicides we can link back to their operations.”
“It does sound like the kind of case I crack best,” I’d told the partners with an admittedly cocky grin. “When can I start on it?”
In response, they’d dumped a pile of paperwork a foot high onto my desk and told me to have at. I was a little overwhelmed by the immediacy of the assignment, but eager all the same. The fact that they’ve trusted me with something so huge, so important to them, bodes really well for my future at the firm. Hell, it bodes well for my future just about anywhere. These guys aren’t the biggest team in Chicago, but they are one of the best. If I can establish myself here, I can pretty much waltz into any job I want on th
e other side.
But no pressure, I think to myself as I hurry into the elevator. If I just think of this as any other case, everything will be fine. I don’t want to work myself into a frenzy and choke for no good reason, after all. This may be a tough, complicated case, but I’m one hell of a lawyer. It’s nothing that I can’t handle if I really put my mind to it.
I catch myself holding my breath as the elevator passes the floor below us. I’m half hoping that the car stops and half praying that I can make it up to my floor uninterrupted. Today has been such a whirlwind that I really haven’t even had time to process my interaction with Gerard, my oh-so-handsome and seemingly brilliant neighbor.
I have to admit that his sticky-note advances aren’t exactly the way I prefer to operate. I don’t like to do a lot of chasing, where men are concerned. Even if that just means making the first phone call. If a guy is interested, I rather he make it clear. It’s not like I have hours of free time at my disposal.
Still, it might be nice to have a new man around. It’s been a couple of months since my last successful date, and the batteries in my trusty vibrator are starting to wear out. It could be nice to have someone to blow off steam with, especially once this case starts heating up. Maybe it’s not commonly considered good practice to date someone in the same building you live in, but I’ve definitely found myself in stranger situations.
As I fumble for my apartment keys, balancing the precarious stack of files and folders, I find myself remembering my time at the Daniels’ once again. Those fleeting months have been occurring to me more and more, of late. It’s like the memories of my foster siblings and everything we went through together are vying for my attention. I suppose I never really dealt with everything that happened to me in that house, in a lasting sort of way. Repression has always been my go-to strategy for dealing with the past. Questionable, sure—but effective.
Hurrying into my crisp, familiar apartment, I’m suddenly struck with how far I’ve truly come since my time in the foster system. Walking into the Daniels’ home, for instance, was like walking into a crypt. A crypt populated by the not-quite-dead. The foundation seemed to shudder beneath us, every dish and utensil was resolutely sticky, and the air always smelled of beer and stale cigarettes.
And yet, for all of that, there was a quality of hominess to the bedroom I shared with Conway, and the basement room that Garrick and Trace shared. This apartment that I share with Carly...it’s never managed to feel like home the way those tiny spaces did.
There’s some adage about home being wherever the people you love happen to be. But if Conway and Garrick and Trace are the only people I’ve ever loved in this world, then what the hell am I left with? If I have no idea where any of them are in the world, then how can I ever feel at home again? For all I know, they could be scattered around the country, or even the world. Or maybe even...No. I won’t allow myself to think that they might be gone. That would be far too painful to consider.
I hear the front door swing open once again as I skirt into my bedroom and unload the files onto my desk. Carly must have skipped her usual happy hour routine and come straight home, for once. My ears perk up as I hear her voice, lowered in a sexy whisper. Even more interesting is the voice that answers hers—a male voice that sounds awfully familiar. My curiosity is piqued as I listen to Carly rummage around for a bottle opener, giggling girlishly the way she only does when she’s seriously flirting.
My fascination gets the better of me, and I poke my head through my bedroom doorway. Carly is standing with her back toward me, cradling a bottle of red wine to her ample chest. Her voluptuous body is wrapped up in a creamy, hip-hugging dress that would put the ladies of Mad Men to shame. I follow the line of her gaze, peering around her stunning figure to determine who, exactly, she’s summoned for a glass of wine and some sultry conversation. A man’s form shifts into view in the kitchen, and I feel my jaw drop open.
It’s Gerard.
A deep pang of annoyance and frustration runs through my gut as I watch Carly flirt shamelessly with the handsome man downstairs. I realize, of course, that he’s fair game and all, but seriously? He dropped his number off for me this morning. Even if I’d planned on jumping at the opportunity, Carly didn’t even leave me a decent opening. There may not be a ring on his finger, but there are certain courtesies that you give your roommate of, what, five years? She could have at least waited until I passed on the guy before she pounced.
“Oh, you’re home!” Carly says, catching a glimpse of me from the kitchen.
“That’s right,” I say, forcing a congenial smile onto my face, “How’s it going, Gerard?”
“Nice to see you again,” he replies warmly, “It’s been a while!”
“Ha. Yeah,” I say, painfully awkward as I can sometimes be. “Well, I’ll just leave you guys to...whatever.”
“Nonsense,” Gerard says, waving his hand to dispel my words, “Come have a glass of wine with us!”
“Yeah,” Carly says, her tone not quite convincing, “Come on, Nadia.”
I look back and forth between them, wanting nothing more than to disappear into my bedroom with a stack of law books pushed up against the door. I hate getting myself into situations like this—charged with drama and tension and a whole mess of crossed lines. There’s nothing that makes me more uncomfortable than being drawn into other people’s relationships.
Ever since I realized that my looks could get me into trouble with unwanted attention, I’ve been as careful as can be. I was almost throttled by Nancy Daniels when Paul started leering at me all those years ago. I’d rather not repeat the experience.
“That’s OK,” I tell them curtly, “I actually have a lot of work to get done. New case.”
“Oh. Shoot,” Carly says, pouting theatrically.
I don’t buy it for a second, but at least she’s letting me off the hook. My roommate can be a little selfish sometimes, especially where men are concerned, but it’s not like she’s going out of her way to make me miserable.
“Some other time, then,” Gerard says, “You two would make for fascinating company, I’m sure.”
“Right,” I say, ignoring his odd phrasing, “Later, then.”
I close my bedroom door with a sigh of relief. Better to let those two play their little mating games alone. Sure, it would have been nice if Carly hadn’t blatantly stepped on my toes with the whole Gerard thing, but it’s not actually that big of deal. I probably wouldn’t have followed through with him, anyway. Knowing my luck, he’d hear a single detail about my childhood and try to head-shrink the daylights out of me. Not exactly my idea of successful foreplay, thanks very much.
Tuning out the giddy conversation in the kitchen as best I can, I turn my attention to the case at hand. I settle down at my desk and pour over the reports of the intel that’s been gathered so far. It looks like there are some key suspects that have been singled out as possible ringleaders of the drug operation, so that’s certainly somewhere to start.
I haven’t done a lot of work with huge networks of criminals in the past. Usually, I’m focused on catching one creep, rather than an entire ecosystem of crime. But if the partners think that I’m up to the challenge, who am I to turn the case down? If I can just make sense of how the cells all operate within the drug ring, I can start to figure out who needs to be punished, who we can bring in, what my next moves are going forward.
The rest of the world starts to fade away as I burrow deeper and deeper into the details of the case. Justice may not be cut-and-dry, but every case still feels like a puzzle to me. Not much has changed since I was the dorky girl at mock trial, getting a kick out of fake witnesses and evidence. Of course, the whole thing has stopped feeling like a game anymore. These are people’s lives that I’m investigating, people’s fates that I’m deciding. No one takes this more seriously than I do, that’s a fact.
After what feels like five minutes, I hear the front door close again. I glance at the clock and have to check it twic
e. Two hours have gone by since I first sat down with the case file. Time flies when you’re trying to bring dangerous criminals to justice, I suppose. I’m just about to jump back into the task at hand when my bedroom door swings open a hair.
“Nadia?” Carly says, her voice loose and happy.
“Hey Car,” I say shortly, keeping my eyes on the papers before me, “What is it?”
“I just...Wanted to say sorry,” she says, “I can tell you’re pissed that I invited Gerard over. You’re not that hard to read.”
I grit my teeth and turn to face my roommate. The last thing I want to do is have this conversation right now. Carly’s framed in my doorway, her gorgeous features pulled into an expression of genuine concern.
“It’s totally fine,” I assure her, “I really wasn’t that interested, anyway. Gerard is all yours if you want him.”
Carly’s nose twitches in irritation. “Oh, how kind of you,” she drawls.
“You know that’s not how I meant it,” I say, “And don’t go getting pissy with me two seconds after you apologize, OK?”
“God. Why are you so wound up? she asks, “It’s not like you to get this way over a guy thing, Nadia.”
“I’ve just got a lot of work to do,” I tell her, “The partners just handed me this new assignment, and I think it’s going to be really important in my career. Plus...I don’t know. My mind’s just been all over the place, lately. I guess I’ve been all wrapped up in my work and...feeling kind of lonely, honestly.”
“Oh, Nadia...” Carly says sympathetically, taking a step toward me.
“No, no, don’t feel bad for me,” I say as my roommate approaches.
“Come here,” she insists, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. I can’t help but laugh at her unapologetic approach to literally everything, even being a source of comfort. “If you want to talk about anything, you know where I live,” she says.
