Hush, Hush

by Franco, Lucia

  Hush, Hush

  by Lucia Franco

  Copyright © 2019 by Lucia Franco

  Edited by Nadine Winningham

  Proofread by Amber Hodge

  Cover Design by Okay Creations

  Photography by Regina Wamba

  Cover Model Hannah Peltier

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Also by Lucia Franco

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Epilogue

  Balance

  One

  Blank

  Also by Lucia Franco

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other novels by Lucia Franco

  Standalones

  You'll Think of Me

  Hold On to Me

  Off Balances series

  Balance

  Execution

  Release

  Christina, Keena, Kenya, Lowrey, Gretchen, whatever epically amazing person you woke up as today, sister is my favorite name for you.

  Jill, we ride together, we die together.

  Aubrey and Natalie for life.

  This book wouldn't have been nearly as fun to write without you guys. Thank you both for the hysterical memories.

  One

  "Where are you coming from all dolled up like that?" I rub my sleepy eyes, then reach under the throw pillow for my cell phone to check the time. It’s 4:04 a.m.

  "Shit, Aubrey, I’m sorry," my roommate says. "I didn't mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep."

  The walls of our apartment are paper-thin, making it almost impossible to get a good night’s sleep. Then again, I’m used to it.

  "It's not a big deal." I sit up and reach over to turn on the lamp on the end table. I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch.

  "These shoes are killing my feet." Natalie plops down on the opposite end of the couch. Her head falls back and she turns to look at me. "I'm so worn out," she groans. "I can't believe how late I got home. How the hell am I gonna get up for class in the morning?"

  "I don't know why you always keep such an early schedule," I say, my voice groggy. "You should see if you can change it up and take some night classes."

  Natalie carefully tugs off her fake eyelashes and drops them on the coffee table in front of us. "You know I can't. I have to work."

  This is a usual thing for us. "No, you don't. I don’t even know why you do."

  "Because I'm not going to be a little rich bitch and rely on my parents, only for them to get mad when I don't heel and take everything away. Fuck that."

  I chuckle. Today is the first day of our senior year at Fordham University in Manhattan, and not much has changed since we met as freshmen. I'm still a broke college student here on a full scholarship, and she still has tons of family money but refuses to use it. Being complete opposites, I didn’t think we’d get along at first. She’s Hollister and I’m whatever’s cute straight off a Goodwill rack. I can get lost in the latest romance bestseller, meanwhile Natalie only reads anything with glossy pages and celebrity pictures. She’s rap and I’m pop. Carmine’s Italian vs. Chef Boyardee. The list is extensive, but our taste in guys and the lack of filter on our tongues were enough to make us click, and we’ve been best friends ever since.

  "I guess I see your point."

  I didn’t really. People with her mentality rile me up. Coming from nothing, and I mean dirt-poor nothing, it's hard to process why anyone would want to struggle when they didn’t have to. Still, I love her.

  Natalie turns and lies on her back. She places her head on my lap and looks up at the ceiling. "Trust me. Money doesn't make you happy, Aub. All it does is cause more problems," she says, her voice low, empty.

  "I'd give anything to not have to worry about living expenses, or if I'll even have enough to get a few extra things from the grocery." My body can only take so much nasty, cheap soup and day-old coffee.

  "You need a new job," she states.

  Another thing we do all the time.

  After fulfilling the first-year requirement of living in the dorms, Natalie immediately wanted to move out, and she’d wanted me to move with her. I didn't have the luxury of leaving since I couldn't afford to live on my own, and my scholarship included room and board on campus. But Natalie insisted I didn't have to pay and begged me to move with her. I didn't like taking handouts from anyone, so we’d made a deal. She covered moving expenses and rent, and with my small part-time job at the laundromat, I paid the utilities. After the second year, I had a handle on my studies and a second paying job. Not that I like it, though—I hate watching kids.

  "Tell me about it,” I say. “Come Friday, I'll be stuck with the two little monsters all damn weekend while their parents take a vacation to Martha's Vineyard. I shouldn't complain, though. The money is good."

  She laughs as she removes her diamond hoops and places them next to her fake lashes. "I don't know how you deal with crying kids after school and work. I'd rather strap a mattress to my back."

  "I need that money, Nat. I don't have a choice. I wonder if I can give them NyQuil all weekend." I laugh when her eyes widen. "I'm kidding!"

  My parents had died in a four car pileup on the Southern State Parkway on Long Island when I was seven, and my grammy raised me and gave me what she could, which wasn't very much. I’d gotten a job at the local pool as a lifeguard as soon as I was old enough, then during the winters, I worked as a hostess at an Italian restaurant. I even filled in as a dishwasher when they were short-staffed. Whatever money Grammy didn't need for bills, I socked away. But now those savings were gone—living in the city isn’t for the poor or the
middle class—and I need to figure something out.

  Natalie sits up and pulls off her five-inch Louboutin’s. The red-bottomed, black lace-up pumps are sexy as hell. I want them, but I know I'll never be able to afford them. She drops the shoes to the overshined waxed wood floor like she's taking off work boots.

  "I can't believe you walk around serving shots in those heels all night. Aren't you afraid you're going to ruin them?"

  "It has its rewards."

  One corner of her mouth pulls up as she reaches for her purse on the floor. Her hand disappears into her clutch, then she takes out three stacks of hundreds banded together. She throws each one at me. My eyes widen as I catch them.

  "Where did all this come from? Did you see your parents?"

  Aubrey rolls her navy-colored eyes at me in obvious annoyance. "That's a fuck no, Aub. That's a week of work." She points to the stacks of bills in my hands.

  "Get the hell out of here. One week?" This was more money than I made in a year. With one stack of these bills, I could get everything I desperately needed right now but couldn't afford. "Why are you walking around with this much cash in New York City?"

  Natalie walks to her room and returns with a familiar book. I hand her back the money after she sits next to me and flips open a weathered dictionary about nine inches thick. The middle is cut out, leaving a big, empty square. She places the money inside, then closes it and stacks it in between the books on the coffee table. No one would guess it's a fake, and no one would think to pick it up. I came up with the idea when we’d wanted to hide something that held value in our dorm, and it's a tactic we’ve used ever since.

  "Don't worry, no one knew. I carry a clutch for a reason. It’s the perfect size to hide under my armpit. Once my coat is buttoned, no one can tell."

  "What if you get mugged?"

  She eyes me like I'm stupid. "When? While I’m sitting in a cab? I know better than to walk these streets at night, Mom."

  Ever since I started the part-time nanny gig a year ago, her new thing is to call me Mom when I worry about something she does. The little monsters call me Mom too, but that's a different story.

  "You could've gotten a crazy cab driver, like in the movie The Bone Collector." I get cozy under my blanket and Natalie climbs under it at the opposite end. "Go straight to the bank. Don't leave that here."

  "I'm going after my first class to put some away. It's not like I can deposit it all at once. The bank would make me fill out paperwork, then question where it came from. I have to deposit small chunks at a time."

  Interesting. I didn’t know that. I check the time on my phone. My alarm will be going off in a couple of hours, a little earlier than normal. I need some extra time to get ready for the first day.

  "When you're ready to quit changing shitty diapers and wiping snotty noses, let me know. There might be an opening coming up where I work."

  I giggle at her suggestion. "I can't be a shot girl. For one, I can't afford to wear the clothes you do, you know that. And two, I'm not clumsy, but I know I would drop the tray on someone. I'd end up having to pay for it all, too."

  Natalie shifts on the couch. "The money is so good, though. You just gotta leave your morals at the door."

  "To serve shots?"

  She's quiet for a long moment and I think she's asleep, until she says, "When you're ready to make money—and I'm talking about money like what you saw tonight, money you could use to help Grammy out with—let me know."

  I eye the dictionary and think about the stacks of cash I’d held. After all my necessary expenses for the month are paid, I deposit whatever money I have left into Grammy’s bank account. Even though I’m struggling, my grammy lives on social security and needs the money more than I do. The winters have been brutal the last few years, and if my little scraps of cash help pay her heating bill, then I could do without.

  As sleep overtakes me, I think about Nat’s offer. The cash she brought home. The simple luxuries I could treat Grammy and myself to with money like that. I’d get her a flat screen TV and get rid of the '80s monstrosity in her living room. I’d replace my cheap winter coat that hardly does a thing to create a barrier between the cool air and myself. Maybe even new boots to keep my toes from going numb when the temperature dropped. If I made that much cash, I could finally get Grammy out of the shack she lives in.

  Two

  Two classes complete, and I'm in dire need of a huge serving of caffeine to get through the rest of the day. There's a little hippie coffee shop a few blocks over that Natalie wants to meet at. I have about an hour and a half before my next class to spare.

  Walking inside, I spot my best friend immediately, wearing ripped jeans, white Converse, and a peachy pink shirt she's tied into a knot on the left side of her hip. No makeup or jewelry, hair in a messy bun, she's a stark contrast to what she’d looked like early this morning. Natalie is already sitting down with two coffees and a muffin that I know is vegan. She's into all that healthy clean eating shit.

  I drop my books to the floor, and she slides one of the drinks my way. I give her a grateful smile and cup the hot mug in my hands, and take a sip. I sigh, making a scene about it. She knows how I love my coffee.

  "You didn't have to get me a coffee. Thank you."

  She rolls her eyes and shrugs it off. "Will you just shush. Honestly, I don't know how you drink it like that, but it's cool."

  "It's just some sugar." I smirk. I have a terrible sweet tooth.

  "It's sweetened condensed milk and cream of coconut. Just thinking about it hurts my teeth."

  "Try it." I hold it out to her but she shakes her head as if I'm offering up liver and onions.

  "No thanks. I'll stick to my lavender cappuccino."

  She's obsessed with drinking lavender coffee and swears it's helped with her anxiety, but I call bullshit.

  "Lame," I say, and take a sip. "How were your morning classes?"

  "They'll be easy breezy. The professor for my Law and Society class is hot as fuck. I might have to try and bone him," she says, wiggling her brows. "The man is a walking sin, and I'm not exaggerating. He shouldn’t be allowed to teach."

  "Sometimes I think you were a guy in your previous life."

  "I probably was. I didn't see a ring, not that it matters, but he was wearing a white Henley that I could easily see his tats through. His chest and back are covered in ink." She all but drools. I laugh, hoping she doesn't fall into a puddle at her chair.

  "Just his chest and back? No sleeves?"

  Now she has hearts in her eyes.

  "Both arms, babe," she says. "And he was wearing these slate gray slacks that hugged his fine ass." She mock whimpers. "And his boots… He looked fresh off fashion week. If I didn't know the name of the class, I wouldn't be able to tell you what it was about. I couldn't stop staring. I want to do bad things with him."

  I sip my coffee. "You and all the other girls too, probably."

  Her eyes flare and I chuckle. Natalie is competitive.

  "I'll cut their eyes out with my nails if they look at him."

  "I bet he's gay," I say, killing her vibe.

  "Probably is. It’s so unfair." She pouts for a moment. "All the hot guys who can dress better than me are always gay and taken. Always. They're scooped up real quick. I need a gay best friend. No strings attached, a guy I can gossip with and shop with and hang out with all the time."

  "When you find him, tell him it's a package deal, because I want one too," I say.

  "Only because I love you will I do that. You know girls never share when they get one." She smiles. "So…" Her voice trails off.

  "No," I say immediately, and put my coffee down. I know the scheming look in her eyes.

  "But it's your twenty-first birthday in two weeks and I want to take you out."

  "I'm sure I have to work."

  She levels a stare at me. "I know you don't. I already checked your calendar. You have Mom duty this weekend, but your birthday weekend is wide open," she announces and
smiles.

  "I'm going to see Grammy."

  Natalie isn't impressed and gives me a droll stare. I can't help but laugh again. All we ever do is laugh.

  "All weekend long? Stop lying. See her during the day, and then you’re mine that Saturday night. We won't hit the clubs until at least ten, then you'll have Sunday to recuperate. If you want to spend all day with her, fine, but at night you're mine, and I'm taking you out. And before you say anything else to find a way out of it, I'm paying for everything and dressing you up." She smiles.

  I groan in protest. "Nat, I don't want to."

  "That's too bad. You live in the greatest city in the world. You don't have a boyfriend, and you're turning twenty-one. We're going out," she states firmly, not taking no for an answer.

  "I need a boyfriend."

  "You don't have time for a boyfriend," she counters.

  "True, but after a night of drinking, I'm going to wish I had one."

  "Then hook up with a rando in a bathroom and move on."