Wrong Question, Right Answer

by Elle Casey

  Lucky levers himself up and looks down at me, but he doesn’t say anything.

  The glow fades fast under his scrutiny and I start to feel uncomfortable. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  His expression is one I know well. Regret. He’s still not saying anything.

  A push on his chest with all my strength forces him to roll over enough that he slips out of me and falls onto the floor.

  There’s a big thump and a crash as he knocks things off my coffee table. “Ow,” comes his voice from the floor.

  I stand up and quickly gather my bits of clothing from various places. I’m on my feet walking away by the time he’s sitting up.

  “Where’re you going?” He sounds confused, which makes no sense. I’m doing what needs to be done, and he should be thanking me for it.

  I take the stairs two at a time. “Away!” I yell, eager to put as much distance between us as I possibly can. I cannot believe I just had sex with Lucky. What in the hell is wrong with me? Have I not punished myself enough? Do I need to destroy him, too?

  His voice follows me up the stairs. “Can I join you?”

  I pause just outside my bedroom door before answering. Even though it’s tempting to continue this train wreck, I know I can’t. My life is already screwed up enough, and I don’t need to take Lucky down with me. “No!” I slam my bedroom door behind me and lock it, pausing a moment to rest my trembling hand over my racing heart before continuing on to the shower.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I’m lying in my bed staring up at the ceiling when my phone buzzes a second time. The first buzz woke me. I turn my head and look at the nightstand where it’s resting. The screen is lit up, indicating there’s a message waiting.

  How did it get there? I don’t remember bringing my phone up to my room. And now that I think about it, I don’t remember bringing myself up here. There’s a vague sense that something’s off in my life but I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.

  I let my mind wander, attempting to put together the little clues that are trying to filter into my sleep-fogged brain. My stomach churns, reminding me that I had way too much to drink last night. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was at the pub. I was there with the team and they were late. I kicked some guy’s ass and almost got him busted up. Why don’t I remember the team being there?

  A vision of Lucky’s face flashes across my mind. My heart nearly stops when I remember what we did in the alcove by the old phone booth. Oh, shit! Not again! I force my hands to stay next to me on the mattress. They want to touch my lips that are now tingling with the memory. Other parts of me begin to grow warm.

  I’m remembering more: A cab ride. Lucky followed me home. Came inside. I clutch at my shirt over my chest, the pain under my ribs abrupt and sharp. Oh, God! I slept with him! I turn my head and look at my phone again. Is that him calling me? I’m both freaked out and hopeful, a sad mix of emotion.

  My pillow feels damp next to my cheek. I reach up and touch my head, finding my hair wet. Did I take a shower? With Lucky? No, not with Lucky. I remember the shower, and he definitely wasn’t in it with me. But holy shit, I remember other things now. Lots of things. Feelings . . . sensations . . . hope . . . fear . . . his heavy body on mine. Heat builds between my legs.

  The back of my hand rests on my hot forehead. I can’t believe I did that with him! What’s wrong with me? Do I want to completely destroy my life? Haven’t I done a really great job of that already?

  I roll over, hissing out my anger. Dammit. As if my life weren’t complicated enough. I get to my feet and sway a little, the alcohol still working its black magic. I rub my stomach. Damn. I need to get something in there. Thibault’s magic no-hangover mix, for one. I walk over to the other side of my bed and pick up the phone, almost fearing I’m going to see Lucky’s name there.

  I’m both relieved and disappointed to find a text from Thibault waiting for me.

  T-BO: Have you seen Lucky?

  His message makes no sense to me. Have I seen Lucky? I smile bitterly. Yeah, I have. Hanging over my face. The memories are coming back way too fast and way too furious: the sweat dripping off him right before it landed on me, the feel of him inside me, the fire he set in my heart. It’s all too clear now, almost like he’s still here with me. I shake my head, forcing the memories to go away as I tap out a response on my phone.

  Me: Not since last night.

  That’s an honest enough answer.

  T-BO: He’s missing.

  I frown at my phone. It’s 9:30 in the morning. Today is Saturday and there were no plans for us to go to work this weekend. How could Lucky possibly be missing?

  Me: Shut up Thibault. Ur drunk. Go back to bed.

  T-BO: I’m coming over.

  Me: I just got up. Give me 10.

  T-BO: I’m coming over now.

  When my brother gets his head stuck on something, there’s no changing it. I stumble around my room grabbing my dirty jeans and a pair of short boots with small heels, pulling them all on in record time. I throw on a ratty T-shirt and am running a brush through my hair just as the front door opens and then slams shut downstairs.

  “You up there?” Thibault shouts.

  “I’ll be down in a sec. Start a pot of coffee!” It’s too late for Thibault’s no-hangover mix to have any effect; I should have drunk some last night. I’m just going to have to take the pain of my headache and bad choices like a woman. I’d take them like a man, but then I’d have to whine all day, and I don’t like whining.

  I slide a toothbrush and some paste around my mouth a few times before abandoning my efforts at looking halfway decent to go downstairs and meet my brother in the kitchen. He’s seen me look way worse than this.

  I find Thibault standing over an empty pot he’s just starting to brew. I walk over and pull two mugs out of the cabinet to his right. I can’t face him. What if he knows?

  “You haven’t seen Lucky?” Thibault asks.

  “I told you, I saw him last night. Just like you.” My pulse is racing again. I hate lying to my brother, but I hate even more the idea that I was so weak last night. I shouldn’t have let Lucky in. He played me like a fiddle just so he could get some. Asshole. I’m definitely kicking him in the nuts when I see him again. He’d better not tell anyone what we did.

  “Did you know he was at my place last night?” Thibault asks.

  I shake my head. I don’t trust my voice to sound honest.

  “He left me a note. Said he was gonna be out of touch for a little while. What the hell does he mean by that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  I’m panicking. Did he leave because of me? Of course he did. Why else would he disappear? I hate that I was so coldhearted last night. I should’ve let him stay. He could’ve slept on my couch, at least. I’m so messed up right now. I want to punch him and hug him at the same time. Maybe he’s more messed up about his sister than we realized.

  Thibault turns around and leans his lower back against the counter. “Why was he over here?”

  “How am I supposed to know?” I busy myself with gathering sugar and cream that neither of us ever uses. I’m angry now. Angry that I’m being forced to lie to Thibault.

  “Why are you so touchy? It’s just a question.”

  I shrug. “I’m worried about him, just like you are. Is that a crime?”

  Thibault stares at me for a few long seconds. I ignore him, walking over to the pantry to find something to eat. I’m not really hungry now, though; more than anything, I’m avoiding his penetrating stare. I swear, sometimes he sees right through me.

  “Did he share a cab back here with you?”

  I answer from inside the pantry. “Maybe. I don’t remember much of last night, actually. I had too many teas.”

  Thibault grunts his response. The coffee starts to percolate and the smell filters through the kitchen. I pretend to be very busy hunting up breakfast when what I’m really doing is avoiding facing the music. He knows. I know he does.
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br />   “I hope he can be back for work on Monday. We really need him on the next case.”

  “Oh yeah?” I stick my head out of the pantry. “What’s going on?”

  “Ozzie got a call late last night from Captain Tremaine. They’re having a problem up in the Sixth Ward again.”

  I grab a random box of cereal and come out. “What are we going to do?”

  “We don’t have all the details yet, but it sounds like one of the groups over there is getting a little more sophisticated. Using a lot of social media for their transactions and linking in through private chat groups. They want Lucky and Jenny in on this one, but they also need us to do some old-school surveillance.”

  I nod. “Cool.” This is exactly what I need to get my mind off Lucky. Work. Danger. Adrenaline. Yeah, buddy.

  I get out two bowls and pour the cereal, grabbing spoons out of the drawer on my way back to the table.

  “You sure you don’t remember Lucky coming over here?” Thibault is staring at me again.

  I can’t meet his eyes. I set the bowls down on the breakfast table with a bang and drop into my seat. I jab at the sugar-frosted flakes with my spoon. “I already told you, no. Quit asking me. Jesus, I feel like I’m in an interrogation right now.” I look up at him and glare. “Did I do something wrong?”

  He shrugs. “You got really drunk. You weren’t there when Ozzie got the call, so you couldn’t be part of the meeting.”

  I throw my free hand up. “As far as I knew, we were there to celebrate, not work. And when I celebrate, I drink tea. End of story.” I take a big bite of my cereal, crunching it and letting an errant drop of milk fall from my lips to the bowl.

  “Maybe next time you should drink just one and stop there.”

  I talk with my mouth full. “Maybe next time you should mind your own damn business.” I throw my spoon down, get up, and leave the kitchen, afraid I’m going to blow up at him more than I already have. Thibault is used to it, but normally I have a good reason to go off, so it’s cool. Right now, though, I don’t exactly know what’s fueling my anger. Am I embarrassed? Ashamed? Worried? I can’t make any sense of it. I hate it when I don’t even know my own mind.

  I go upstairs to my room, shutting and locking the door behind me. Grabbing my phone off the table, I send out a quick text.

  Me: Where are you? What’s going on?

  I wasn’t going to talk to Lucky. I had planned to let this thing fade into the background for us and move on with my life like nothing ever happened, but his disappearance changes things. If he left some strange, mysterious note for Thibault after leaving my house, I have a responsibility to look into that. No one on the team is allowed to go off the range. We watch out for each other. It’s dangerous being out in the weeds without backup.

  I wait for an answer that doesn’t come. It pisses me off. We had sex less than twelve hours ago. He owes me a response at least.

  Me: Listen, asshole. You need to answer me.

  My hands are shaking. I don’t know if it’s from anger, worry, or something else.

  I try one more time.

  Me: If you don’t answer me I’m going to tell everybody what you did.

  The answer comes quicker than I expect.

  Lucky: What WE did, you mean.

  I can’t stop the smile that comes over my face. I am such a sucker for a bad boy. Lucky’s no bad boy, but he sure knows how to act like one sometimes.

  Me: I was drunk.

  Lucky: So was I.

  His reaction makes me more than a little sad. Damn it all.

  Me: Where are you?

  Lucky: Don’t worry about it.

  I want to throw my phone across the room, but I don’t; the screen’s already cracked and almost falling off the damn thing. I send another small message.

  Me: Tell me.

  Nothing comes, and I’m not going to beg. If he wants to be a jerk and make everybody worry about him, fine. I know he’s alive. He’ll come back when he’s done with whatever it is he’s doing. He’s probably nursing his wounds. I know I will be for a while. I put the phone back on my side table and go downstairs.

  “He’s fine.”

  Thibault fixes me with a stare from across the room where he’s waiting on the coffee to finish. “Lucky? You talked to him?”

  “Yes. Like I said, he’s fine. He’s just going to lie low for a little while.” I sit down at my spot, pick up my spoon. “I don’t know why.” No way can I tell my brother what Lucky and I did or how I was able to get in touch with him so quickly.

  “Why’s he answering your text and not mine? Or did you call him?”

  I dive into my bowl of cereal, talking around the limp flakes. “I texted him. But he’s not going to text me back anymore. Just leave him be.” I stare into my bowl.

  Thibault walks over and sets a hot mug of coffee down in front of me. Taking the chair across from mine, he digs into his cereal as well. I think we’re going to eat in companionable silence, but he destroys that idea with one question.

  “Something happen between you guys last night?”

  I drop my spoon with a clang into the dish and glare at him. “Could you mind your own fucking business, please?”

  Thibault smiles at me, sly fox that he is. “Something happened. Don’t try to deny it.” He narrows his eyes. “But what could it be to get you so riled up? Hmmm . . .” He pokes at his flakes with his spoon, never taking his eyes off me. He takes a bite and chews real slowly.

  I get up from the table, swiping my bowl and spoon off it and walking over quickly to dump them in the sink. “I’m done here. See yourself out.”

  “You think that’s a good idea?” Thibault’s words follow me down the hallway.

  “Not talking about this with you!”

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt!”

  Too late. I run up the stairs, determined to put this behind me, my heart aching in my chest. God, please take care of Lucky. I’m not there to watch his back, and I don’t want him to get hurt.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The weekend goes by way too slowly. When Monday finally arrives, I end up at work an hour early. It’s 8:00, but I’m not alone. Dev and Jenny are in the workout area getting an early start on the day too. She’s several months into her fitness program with Dev, the man in charge of our training, and it’s really paying off.

  When she first arrived she looked like a typical computer geek—someone who sits at a desk all day munching on chips. But now she’s a lean, mean, case-cracking machine. Mostly. Dev has been trying to teach her how to use a singlestick, but she’s resisting. Unlike her sister May, Jenny is a pure pacifist. I can hear her whining from across the warehouse.

  “But I work at the computer. I’m never going to need to hit anybody with a stick.”

  “Probably not,” Dev says, “but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be prepared. Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean you get to be an exception to the rule.”

  She giggles and I roll my eyes. The two of them are so ga-ga over each other it’s stupid. I’m not jealous, though. Their love works, even though the deck is stacked against them. Between them they have four kids and two disabilities, a mother who took off after one of the kids was born, and an ex-husband who isn’t a shining example of fatherhood to the other three. They’d never admit it, but I think they like coming to the warehouse; it’s less work than being at home with that loud, crazy crew.

  “Hey, Toni,” Dev says, emerging from the shadows. “How was your weekend?”

  “Fine,” I lie. No way would I ever tell him how long and empty it seemed and how I second-guessed myself every five minutes. Regret is already eating away at my soul.

  Dev and I are friends, and I consider him practically an adopted brother, but he’s never been somebody I’ve shared my feelings with. Nobody is, really, except maybe Ozzie. He pretty much sponsored me when I got out of prison, and he managed my life for me when I couldn’t. He’s the only one in the world who knows how I feel abo
ut anything, and we haven’t talked much since May entered the picture. Even my brother is kept an arm’s length away. Thankfully, Thibault didn’t say another word to me about Lucky over the weekend, or I don’t know what I would have done to him. It might have helped that I avoided him like the plague.

  I don’t like anyone in my business. Charlie—my ex-boyfriend—once told me it was because I fear that once people get a really good look at what I have inside, they’ll run for the hills. Whatever. I’m okay with being only half there, so long as I can be there at all.

  “I hear you and Lucky disappeared Friday night,” Dev says.

  Jenny comes out of the workout area and stands next to Dev, looking up at him. “Really?” she asks. “Why am I just hearing about this now?” She looks at me and smiles, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “What happened?”

  I frown at both of them. “Nothing happened.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean for it to. It makes me sound guilty, and we all know it. I try to soften my tone. “Nothing happened at all. I don’t really know what he did. I got piss-drunk and took a cab home.” I lift my chin at them, moving for a re-direct of the conversation. “What’d you guys do? I didn’t see you there.”

  “We couldn’t make it,” Jenny says.

  “Yeah,” Dev adds, “the kids had a sleepover planned, and we had to pop popcorn and supervise.”

  The two lovebirds smile at each other.

  I force a smile to be polite. “A sleepover? Sounds like fun.” Not.

  Jenny is no dummy; if I keep talking, she’s going to figure out that something’s up, so I walk toward the stairs. Jenny’s one of those girls who’s always in matchmaker mode, and the last thing I need is to be matched with a guy who tangles me up inside the way Lucky is doing right now. When I finally do settle down with someone, he’ll be boring. He won’t get me riled up; he’ll calm me down.