by Debbie Burns
“I’ve got this. Sit your ass back down.”
After hoisting Sam over his shoulders like he weighed no more than a big bag of dog food, Nico had shoved Josie toward the door.
After smacking the front door shut behind him, he locked his free hand around the back of her arm. “Don’t look back.” His words had been gentler than they’d sounded inside. He headed for the cab without even clarifying that it was hers.
He got Sam splayed across the back seat before turning to her. “When he wakes up, tell your brother if he steps foot into one of these houses again, I’ll kill him myself, you got that?”
Busy reliving the cruelty in his words the last time they’d spoken in that hospital room, it had taken her a few seconds to respond. “Screw you for not helping him!”
“Who do you think dialed your number? He was too wasted.”
“The Nico I knew would’ve gotten him out of here.”
“The Nico you knew isn’t shit anymore. He got his ass handed to him.”
She’d been debating how to respond when he opened the passenger-side door and tossed the driver a hundred-dollar bill from a wallet padded with money. In her heart, she’d known he was dealing, but somehow, seeing all that cash still crushed her.
“If anybody follows, take them straight to the hospital,” he directed the driver. “If no one does, take them home.”
He’d turned toward the house without looking her way and had taken several steps when he spoke again. His back had been to her, and his words had been muffled by the blare of the music. So much so, Josie was beginning to doubt what she’d heard. “As soon as I can get away, I’ll bring help.”
Josie glanced at her phone. That was nearly two hours ago now. Maybe she’d heard him wrong.
A handful of drowsy minutes passed. She was refreshing the washcloth when there was a burst of knocking at the door. Her body tensed as she debated if she had a better chance of it being Nico, the police, or someone worse—someone Jena had sent—on the other side.
She put a finger to her lips as Sam jerked his head up from the floor. “Quiet, Sam, let me see who it is.” Keeping a finger over her lips, she stepped over her brother.
Still delusional, Sam grabbed her calf and screamed, “No! Stupid bastards. Kill you! Kill you! No!”
The door blasted open like a bomb had gone off. Splinters of wood around the dead bolt flew across the room. Sam clawed at her to get her out of the way as two men burst into the room.
Josie screamed as a bear of a man—someone she’d never seen before—reached Sam, flipping him onto his back and pressing his knee against Sam’s chest.
She knew the arms that grabbed her even before she could focus on his face. Nico.
“Stop that screaming,” Nico directed the guy. To Josie, he asked, “Is anyone else here?”
“No. It’s just us. Tell that man to get off my brother!”
Sam’s captor was a massive man with thick arms covered in tattoos. She blinked a few times as it sank in what he was holding. He had a gun in one hand, pressed sideways against Sam’s shoulder as he held him to the floor. A medic bag had fallen out of the other hand and was on the floor next to them.
“We brought meds. Douglas is an EMT. Off duty. He can get Sam sedated enough to keep him calm until it passes.”
Slipping out from Nico’s grasp, Josie sank next to her brother. She had to twist his head to get his attention off the man and onto her. “It’s okay, Sam. They’re here to help.”
“Don’t let them shoot me up with anything,” Sam spat. “Can’t take no more of this. No more. No more.”
She smoothed back his damp hair. His hazel eyes were still so dilated their color had all but vanished.
“It’s just something to help you sleep,” Douglas said.
Sam nodded. “Sleep. Thirteen. Twenty-seven. Eleven. Sleep is good.”
Nico shot Douglas a look. “Let’s just do this.”
“You’re sure it’s safe?” Josie asked.
Douglas assured her it was. Whatever was in the syringe, Josie was surprised how well it worked. In the span of few minutes, the tension lining Sam’s face slipped away the same way water dripped off soaked sycamore leaves in the front of her building.
Afterward, they moved Sam from the floor onto the couch. Josie would’ve thought his nod was one of thanks until he said, “Seven. Don’t know what I was thinking. Seven is best.”
“Think he’s picking Lotto numbers?” Nico paced the room as Douglas packed up. He took his time eyeing her stack of homework, her backpack, and other things that made her feel like a kid who’d been stuck in a time capsule while he’d kept aging.
She sat on the edge of the saggy couch with Sam’s feet on her lap. No one talked, making her wonder what sort of connection there was between Nico and Douglas. Had Douglas come along out of friendship or debt?
The memory rushed in of the last time she and Nico had been on this couch, hands exploring each other, legs entwined. She wondered if he was having similar thoughts. Then she remembered that wild pain from when he’d walked out of her life and did her best to shove the memory from her mind.
Exhaustion, blame, and disbelief circled through her. She didn’t know where scientists stood on the whole nature versus nurture thing. Regardless, she still blamed her mother. If not for the genes Skye Pictures had passed to her son, then for letting her kids wind up in foster care after she’d overdosed enough to nearly kill herself. Josie had been eight; Sam had been seven.
Josie remembered the Sam before foster care, happy and playful and caring. The Sam who came back didn’t look people in the eye and he bit his nails to the quick, and he ground crayons into waxy clumps. How long had it taken him to laugh again? Josie couldn’t remember. She was so young then; she hadn’t understood how dark the world could be.
Not that her mom was even around to take the blame. She hadn’t been home in three days. She’d landed a bit part in a made-for-TV historical and had made friends with the casting director, which Josie took to mean she was sleeping with him.
Douglas headed for the door, and Josie slipped out from under Sam’s feet. “Thank you for coming. For helping him.”
“Yeah, well, just remember, I was never here.”
Nico offered a single nod to Douglas and said, “I’ll catch up later.”
Leaving Josie to close the busted door, he headed, uninvited, into the kitchen. When she walked in after him, he was standing at the sink, helping himself to a glass of water.
She stopped in the doorway, her heartbeat increasing from the slow thud of exhaustion to a stuttering tap against her rib cage. Nico belonged to the streets now. To drug trafficking. To guns and violence. Not in her kitchen, holding her favorite glass, drinking water that never forgot to carry the taste of iron.
“I won’t forgive you for being there and not helping him. I won’t forgive you for any of it.”
His smile was soft, but she could see the anger brewing in the tension lining his jaw and in his stormy eyes. “You could blame yourself a little too. Maybe he’ll grow up when he doesn’t have you directing his every move.”
He set the glass in the sink and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. She didn’t budge from the doorway. He paused in front of her, sucking up all the air. She was reminded of the way the Santa Ana winds carried an angry heat in late summer that made it hard to breathe.
“I heard you stole a car with an old woman in it,” she spat out. “Heard you threw her out and left her on the side of the road.” His hands tightened into fists, which, for some reason, only made her want to provoke him more. “Do you know what these rumors do to Francie? Do you even care?”
It gave her a brush of satisfaction, being able to anger him. She’d built up a fear of him over the years, but it was falling away like a layer of skin she was shedding. In its place, anger and a humiliat
ing love vied for first place.
When he didn’t defend himself, some of her satisfaction waned. “Most of the time I wish I’d never met you,” she said into his silence.
One of his hands locked around the side of her jaw so fast she didn’t have time to flinch. His thumb pressed into her chin. “Me too. It would all be so much fucking easier.”
There were things she knew before their lips touched. Everything she believed in would be contradicted in a relationship with him. Worse, she’d be ushering in a bigger mess of danger than Sam was. And any romantic ideals she’d held over the loss of her virginity were girlish fantasies. But somehow, no matter how far away he’d seemed, she’d always known it could only be Nico.
Pressing in and quieting everything else was the faint whisper in her gut that it would end badly. Experience told her that, with Nico, there was no other way.
And still it didn’t stop her.
Chapter 22
The squeak of Josie’s door had her eyelids fluttering open. Startled by the bright light pouring in through the windows, she sat upright. Or attempted to. Her head pounded, her tongue was thick and dry as a salt lick, and nausea rolled over her in a slow wave. Welcome to the other side of that drinking thing.
“Morning, dear. I thought you might want something to eat.” Myra stepped into her room, Tidbit at her heels. She was dressed and bright-eyed and balancing a tray in her hands, making Josie feel even more out of sorts.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she glanced over at Zoe’s bed to find it empty. “What time is it? And where’s Zoe?” She cleared her dry throat and added, “She didn’t wake me up. And is Carter watching Buttercup?”
“Everyone’s just fine, dear. You can give yourself the gift of a minute to wake up peacefully. Sometimes I forget you were raised to think your middle name is Atlas.”
“I wasn’t raised with a middle name at all,” Josie said, rolling her neck. There was an awful crick in it, which meant she’d slept at a terrible angle.
“I guess Josie Pictures says all it needs to say.”
Josie shot a look toward the partially closed door and frowned. She hadn’t heard that name spoken aloud in years. Myra had said it aloud a time or two, but that was a month or so after they’d met, after Josie had gathered the courage to tell her everything there was to tell about the life she’d left behind.
“No one heard. They’re both outside,” Myra said with a wave of her hand. “It’s a beautiful morning. The patio’s half-full, but it’s one of those fortunate days when no one’s in much of a hurry, and everyone’s having a nice time.”
A glance at the alarm clock showed it was a quarter to ten. Josie couldn’t remember sleeping in this late in all her life. “Linda doing okay? I needed to help prep this morning.”
“They’re fine, and the last of the quiches and scones are coming out of the oven as we speak. And no one’s any worse for the wear. Except you maybe. I’m guessing you have a headache.”
“A splitting one.”
“Have a sip of tea. It’s chamomile. It’ll calm and rehydrate you more than anything with caffeine would.” Myra set the tray on Josie’s lap and sank carefully beside her. From his spot on the floor, Tidbit shuffled backward, then took a running jump, just making it onto the bed. He scrambled over Josie’s legs and over to her other side where he settled down into a beg, paws planted, ears forward, offering an almost imperceptible whine.
On a plate next to the tea was an apple-cheddar scone, warm and with a lump of butter on the side. Josie’s mouth watered in anticipation of the dense, salty-sweet scone. After a few sips of tea, she pinched off a piece and nibbled cautiously, doing her best to ignore Tidbit’s cocked head and hopeful stare. Her wary taste buds exploded at the sharp flavor of cheddar and the tart apple. Somehow, it was exactly what her rioting stomach wanted.
Sometime in the middle of the night, she’d woken up and felt miserable enough to head to the toilet. She’d been thankful when she didn’t throw up. But maybe doing so would’ve gotten some of the toxins out of her system.
One or both of her parents had been alcoholics. She didn’t know enough about her dad to say with any certainty. All she knew was that, whenever her mother had spoken of him, she’d referred to him as “that worthless alcoholic.” Whether it was true or not, last night made it clear Josie had every reason to ward off alcohol for good. Carter’s hands on her body on that dance floor had woken a sleeping dragon of desire and a fresh tidal wave of fear along with it. One beer in, she’d been just tipsy enough to believe a few more drinks might send those feelings into the depths of oblivion. No surprise, they’d only heightened them.
Josie pulled a pillow behind her and rested against the headboard. “Where’s Zoe?”
“With Carter. They’re in the shed working on the fairy houses he promised to help her build.”
Of course. Seeing Myra’s inquisitive look, she said, “I didn’t sleep with him if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“I wasn’t, but I’d only have applauded you if you had. It’s rare that women allow themselves the gift of wild abandon, especially after taking on the role of motherhood as you have.”
Josie rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t deny her skin still tingled where Carter’s hands had been on her body. When they’d gotten home, she’d leaned on the hood of his car during a wave of queasiness. He’d ended up carrying her all the way up here to her bed. On her side of their connected room, Zoe had been sleeping like a log and hadn’t so much as stirred.
A fresh wave of embarrassment rolled in as she remembered something else. She’d gotten back up after Carter tucked her into bed. She’d tugged out of her dress—and out of her bra—while he was standing a foot away. How much had he seen in the dark? Considering he’d helped her into her nightgown, there was little hope much had been left to his imagination.
Instead of getting back in bed, she’d stepped close and tucked her head in the crook of his neck and draped her arms around his waist. How long had they stood like that? She had a terrifying feeling she’d asked him to stay with her. Dear God, what had she been thinking? No wonder her mother had had a new guy every month. Alcohol certainly broke through barriers.
“Why are you going to New York with him?” She took another cautious nibble of the scone.
“You may not have noticed, but I’m getting up there in years. It’s not every day a woman my age gets an offer to be chaperoned around such an amazing city. I went once in my youth, but I barely remember it. I’d love it if you came with us.”
“I can’t, Myra. I can’t risk it.”
“You have to test that ID sometime.”
“Not in an airport. And not yet.”
“It’s a long trip, but maybe the four of us could drive. Though Zoe would miss much more school that way.”
“It’s okay, Myra. You know how I feel about big cities. And there’s the tea garden to run.”
“I didn’t hold out much hope I’d be able to convince you. But will you let me take Zoe?” Myra let out a small breath and locked one bony hand over the other. “Please.”
It wasn’t a question but a plea, a raw, vulnerable one. Josie met her gaze, and her heart sank at the sadness in Myra’s pale-blue eyes.
“It’s that book,” she added. “The one about the Statue of Liberty. We’ve read it together dozens of times. ‘The Great Lady,’ she always says. I want to be with her when she sees it. If I had a bucket list, this would be at the top of it. And all she needs to fly is a social security card. Which she has, thanks to that man we found.”
Josie clamped her hands around her warm cup. Myra never asked for anything. How could she possibly refuse this one request from the woman who’d given her and Zoe everything?
“Okay.” It came out small and feeble and helpless. Before now, she’d never thought of okay as the worst of the four-letter words.
&n
bsp; Myra brushed unshed tears from the corners of her eyes. “Thank you, Josie. She’ll be in good hands.”
An image from last night filled her mind. Carter was a good man, and an honest one. And she trusted Myra with her life. Zoe would be okay. “Have you said anything about it to her yet?”
“Not about her going of course, but this morning she heard that Carter’s taking me. I think she’s bubbling over at the hope you might let her go along as well.”
“How soon are you thinking?”
“The weekend after next if the tickets aren’t too steep. Thursday afternoon through Sunday or Friday through Monday. Depending on whether you want her missing two days of school or just one.”
“Being without her that long is going to be harder on me than it is her.”
“Carter said he’d leave you his iPad, and something or other about an upgrade and unlimited live video time.”
“That might help.”
Josie let the thought settle in as she dropped a few crumbs in Tidbits reach. He inhaled them with a flash of the tongue.
So, Zoe was going to New York, to all those fun places Carter had mentioned. Josie had no doubt that letting her go was the right thing to do. It was a solid step toward living a life that Josie was afraid to lead. At the very least, she could raise Zoe not to carry her fears. However rough Zoe’s start might’ve been, she didn’t have to carry those scars. God only knew if the memory of any of it was buried into the recesses of her young mind.
“Thank you.” Myra brushed Josie’s hair back and planted a light kiss on her forehead. “I know I don’t have to tell you this means a great deal to me, but it does. Now eat and rest up. Take a bath maybe. Our world won’t stop without you being our fearless leader for one morning.”
Chapter 23
One of the things about being six meant that Zoe still looked angelic in her sleep. Thick eyelashes, full lips, and a face not yet lined by experience or time. Rather than waking her, Josie slipped into bed beside her and draped an arm around her petite frame. They still had a few minutes before Zoe needed to get ready to head for the Dubuque Regional Airport, where she, Myra, and Carter would be catching a short flight to Chicago in two hours.
