Sink or Swim

by Bailey, Tessa

  “Andrew.” Jamie came to a stop beside Rory. “Don’t you see you’ve been punishing yourself for years over what happened with Dad? The ridiculous hours you work, not letting yourself be with Jiya. You saved our mother from being killed that night. We made a mistake not calling the police and we can’t take it back now. But you can leave it in the past now and be happy. You’re allowed to be happy.”

  Rory squeezed his shoulder hard. “Come on, A.”

  Was Jamie right? Had he been working himself to the bone for years, forgoing any kind of true happiness, like some pathetic martyr? It was a fact that no matter how hard Andrew worked, he never felt satisfied. Never felt like he’d done enough. Every time he laid a finger on Jiya, the moment seemed almost stolen. Unearned. And maybe that was because he hadn’t forgiven himself over his actions from the night he ended his father’s life. Was it time to forgive himself now? Could he let himself be happy?

  Andrew looked his brothers in the eye in turn.

  He loved them both so much, his chest ached. They loved him back, too. Had confidence in him. They believed he was better than what he’d done. That truth was right there on their faces.

  “I want to do something for those families. I don’t know what yet…”

  “Done,” Jamie said, nodding. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Rory made a sound of agreement. “Say the word and I’ll tell you my plan.”

  Jamie reared back. “How come Rory gets to mastermind the plan? I’m the family genius.”

  Andrew broke off a groan. “Look at me. Turning my brothers into criminals now.”

  Rory raised an eyebrow. “You did not just say that with a straight face.”

  Andrew waded silently through his guilt for another moment, before finally stepping out of it. Onto the shore. The lightness he experienced was almost unbearable and he only wanted one thing. One person. Wanted her in his arms so badly, he ached. But he had a little more work to do first. Just a little while longer, sweetheart.

  “Let’s end this.” he rasped, finally.

  *

  Confronting Handler in the parking lot of his precinct was a deliberate move by the Prince brothers. Rory and Jamie had been unaware of Handler showing up at their house until Andrew told them. After Rory stopped threatening to kick his ass for being secretive, they solidified their plan. Putting it together had taken the whole afternoon and some of the evening, but they’d all agreed securing Andrew’s exit from Handler’s trap couldn’t wait.

  They weren’t out of the woods yet, but having a plan, some kind of control over his life, turned the fear Andrew had been feeling for weeks into determination. And a pretty big helping of anger. Yeah, he’d gone through so many stages of grief since he’d been approached by the cop, but he was damn well skipping acceptance.

  When Handler whistled into the parking lot with a cup of coffee in hand, he stopped short at finding the brothers leaning against his unmarked car. Figuring out which car belonged to Handler wasn’t difficult. The man had been following Andrew all summer and he’d memorized the license plate number early on.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind coming here?”

  “What?” Andrew did a mock double take. “You don’t like people showing up where you work? Imagine that.”

  Handler bared his teeth and stomped to the closest garbage can, throwing his disposable coffee cup through the opening before marching back toward them. Getting right up in Andrew’s face. To Andrew’s right, Rory coiled like a snake, ready to strike, but Andrew barred him from moving with an arm across the chest.

  Handler laughed. “Come on, punk,” Handler sneered at Rory. “Take a swing. I dare you.”

  “He’d love that, Rory,” Jamie said evenly. “But I think we can do better than a black eye, don’t you? He’s ugly enough already.”

  Handler snorted, whipping his attention to Jamie. “Fuck you—”

  “I’d back up a little,” Jamie interrupted, flicking a glance over Handler’s shoulder. “My husband is across the street and he’s having a really hard time being left out.”

  Everyone turned to look at Marcus where he paced like a caged lion on the sidewalk in front of an auto parts store. When Marcus noticed he was the focus of attention, he lifted the front of his T-shirt and made his pecs dance.

  “What can I say?” Jamie sighed. “He’s crazy and I love it.”

  Handler turned back, red faced. “Why the hell are you here?”

  Andrew pushed off the car and straightened, forcing Handler to back up a step. He’d never taken the time to notice he was taller than the cop. That the man had deep grooves on the sides of his mouth, his eyes, that were highlighted now by the yellow street lights. He looked bitter and unhappy, reminding Andrew a lot of his father. Andrew was all too aware that he could have ended up like this. If he didn’t have people who loved him. His brothers. His Jiya.

  If he didn’t have hope.

  But he did. He had hope now because he’d learned to place trust in those who deserved it. Since his father’s death, he’d been carrying the burden of guilt, along with everything else. Finances, household responsibilities, two jobs. To an extent, he loved being the one who organized and executed. The brother that could always be depended on. But he was going to carry his responsibilities for the right reasons again, like he had as a younger man. Not because of guilt, but because he loved seeing his family happy and secure. Their acceptance of his mistakes and refusal to let him face the consequences alone made him confident in being loved, an important part of the Prince family, more than he ever had before.

  “You enjoyed the hell out of holding me to the fire, didn’t you?” Andrew said quietly. “Making me feel like scum for what I did to protect my mother. Maybe I did do something unforgivable, but my father was the furthest thing from innocent.” A beat passed. “Not like those tourists you executed in the Castle Gate, right?”

  Emotion bled from Handler’s face until he was nothing more than a husk staring back at them. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Need a memory jog?” Rory asked, holding up his phone and hitting play on the surveillance video from the night of the shooting.

  It was almost eerie how little reaction Handler showed to the footage, apart from the quick breaths he took through his nose, his lips in a tight line. “That son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah,” Rory said. “He was.”

  “But a resourceful one,” Jamie added. “He loved to hedge his bets.”

  “He told me the cameras weren’t working,” Handler said almost to himself. “The place was a fucking dive, you—”

  “The kind of place you’d purposely not record, right? So there wouldn’t be evidence of the fights and drug use and affairs.” Andrew shrugged. “None of us were close to our father, but if I had to guess, I’d say that’s exactly why he had the cameras. He collected dirt, in case he needed to use it against someone.”

  “Now you’re using it against me,” Handler spat.

  “Not unless we need to.” Andrew leveled him with a look. “Three copies of this video are in a safety deposit box. We retained a lawyer this afternoon and he now has instructions for what to do with the footage if I’m ever arrested. Or if anyone in my family—and I’m including the Dalals—is arrested or subjected to any kind of harm, physical or professional. That means none of your bullshit intimidation tactics or bogus health code violations. That means staying the fuck away from all of us. If you don’t, one copy of this video goes to the media, another to this precinct and the final one will be sent to your family.”

  Handler’s expression had been murderous until that last part when he flinched. It was subtle, but Andrew caught it. Jamie was the one who’d searched online until he found a rarely used Facebook profile for Handler. From there, he was able to piece together that the man had a wife and two grown daughters in college.

  “You could still pursue my father’s disappearance. You could try and bring me down,” Andrew sa
id in a low voice, stepping closer to Handler. “But you’ll never find the final piece of evidence you’d need to convict me. I’ve got mine right here and it’s damning as hell. So what’s it going to be? I don’t care if you run your side business as long as I’m left out of it—”

  “You think it’s easy having two kids in college on my salary?” Handler cut in. “Save your fucking judgment.”

  “Like he said,” Rory piped up. “We don’t care. Just find someone else to run your errands. Andrew is done.”

  Handler was silent a moment, his attention straying to Rory’s phone. “I thought he had a gun.”

  “Yeah?” Jamie asked, a fine edge of irritation in his voice. “What’s your excuse for the second guy?”

  The cop didn’t speak for several seconds. “How can I be sure that video never surfaces?”

  “Our word will have to be good enough.” Sensing they’d won, Andrew jerked his chin at his brothers and started to skirt past Handler, but he changed his mind when he remembered Handler had gone to Spice, sat in Jiya’s presence, just to intimidate him. Andrew grabbed Handler by the collar and jerked him close. “Listen to me, motherfucker. You ever—ever—go near my girl again, the video will be the last thing you have to worry about.” He breathed in and out, chest shuddering. “Are we done here? Do we have a fucking deal or not?”

  “Yeah,” Handler gritted out. “We have a deal. You’re out. Don’t release the footage and you won’t hear from me again. Happy?”

  The final weight lifted off Andrew’s shoulders and he shoved the cop away.

  Minutes later, when they watched Handler drive out the precinct parking lot and out of sight, Jamie and Rory pulled Andrew into a silent hug. At least it was silent until Marcus threw his giant gorilla arms around them all and asked if they could get tacos.

  Tacos would have to wait, though.

  Andrew had a ring to buy.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  You could hear a pin drop at the Dalal family kitchen table. Whereas their meal with the Chauhans had been a jovial affair, the atmosphere as they ate dinner tonight would have been more appropriate at a wake. Her mother had gone for full-scale drama by forgoing cooking and ordering takeout, instead, something she’d only done twice in Jiya’s lifetime.

  Why would we order takeout? We make the takeout.

  That was what Jiya had been told growing up, every time she begged her mother to order pizza for supper. By age ten, she’d finally given up hope and asked Andrew to sneak her slices whenever the Princes had pizza for dinner. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but he must have given up his own slices for Jiya, because there was no way three growing boys had left a scrap of cheese behind.

  She barely stopped herself from letting out a lovesick sigh into her mapo tofu. When her mother’s razor-sharp gaze ticked up and landed on Jiya’s face, she knew thoughts of Andrew were visible on her face and no amount of willpower would hide them. It couldn’t be helped, though. She missed him.

  There was something afoot, too. None of the Prince brothers had been home all day, which wasn’t unusual since they worked non-stop during the summertime, but something dense hung in the air over their neighborhood, making her stomach roil. Had they found more information about those possible gunshots at the Castle Gate?

  Rain started to fall gently on the roof and Jiya’s mother threw up her hands. “Rain now, too? What else can go wrong?”

  Jiya and her father exchanged a knowing glance, but didn’t hold it for long, lest they get caught and verbally bitch slapped. With a discreet cough, Jiya started to ask her mother her plans for next week’s specials menu when there was a knock on the front door. At first, Jiya thought it might be the rain or a tree branch being knocked into the side of the house. The wind had definitely picked up outside, along with the rain. It was coming down in buckets now.

  But the knock sounded again and her father rose from the table, wiping his mouth and setting down his napkin. “Keep eating. I’ll get it.”

  The front door was visible from the dining room, but only if Jiya leaned back in her seat and looked down the hallway, which she did now, balancing on the back legs of her chair. “Are you expecting a package, mother?”

  No answer, just a weary hum. The silent treatment was definitely in full swing.

  “Please, mother. You can’t just ignore me forever—” Jiya broke off mid-sentence when her father opened the door to reveal Andrew. “What…”

  Their eyes met briefly over her father’s shoulder—and his burned. Water dripped from the ends of his hair onto the shoulders of his white T-shirt, the rain having turned it all but translucent. His gaze moved back to her father and he said some words Jiya couldn’t hear over the pounding in her chest. What was going on?

  Her father turned and gestured to her. “Jiya, come.”

  Was it her imagination or was there a smile playing around the edges of her father’s mouth? “It’s Andrew,” she murmured to her mother, dropping her chair legs back to the floor and rising as if in a trance. No, she was in one as she moved down the dark hallway toward the love of her life where he stood soaked in the doorway, exuding intensity from every inch of his body. “Come inside,” she whispered, unable to draw breath. “It’s raining.”

  Andrew looked up as if he’d just noticed the weather for the first time and stepped over the threshold. Then he took another step, and another, until she had to tilt her head back so she wouldn’t have to break eye contact. “Your father just gave me permission to propose to you,” Andrew said, his attention moving to someone over Jiya’s shoulder. “But I would like it from you, too, Mrs. Dalal. If you don’t mind.”

  Jiya was the epicenter of an earthquake. Everything inside her shook.

  Was this real? The moment had all the elements of a dream. The darkness of their house, the white noise provided by the rain, the way everyone seemed to be standing still. So still. No, please let this be happening. Please. The possibility of a lifetime with her best friend being snatched away would leave her legless. She didn’t have to turn around to know her mother’s exact pose. Chin lifted, arms crossed, one foot turned out. “Well,” her mother said. “Ask permission.”

  “Mother,” Jiya rasped.

  “No,” Andrew said, brushing their fingers together. “I want to.” He looked into Jiya’s eyes as he spoke and she knew in that moment Andrew had been tempering his feelings for her when they were together. What poured from him now almost made her gasp. His love overwhelmed him, owned him, rocked him, and he let her see it all. Let her parents see it, too. “Being in love with your daughter is the best part of my life. I’m not a good Catholic, but every day I thank whoever is listening up there for putting her on this earth. On that first day we met, your eyes, Jiya…her eyes when she opened the fence in the backyard to invite us over…glued me together when I really needed it. She was my glue until I got stronger. And now all I want to do is use that strength she built in me to protect her. To build her a home and a family. I want to love her for the rest of my life and never, ever leave her side. I will worship her. Please will you let me do that, Mrs. Dalal?”

  Hot tears rolled down Jiya’s cheeks, her heart rejoicing in her chest. She was laughing and crying and saying his name and making no sense. But she somehow found the ability to turn and look at her mother—to find she was crying, too. Even though she still looked slightly pissed.

  “It certainly took you long enough.”

  Andrew’s shoulders drained of tension, his breath releasing in a rush. “She deserved the best man I could be. It took me a while to find him.”

  “And you’ve found him now?”

  “Yes.” Andrew leaned down and kissed Jiya’s forehead. “I’ll always be my best when I’m with her.” He took a ring box out of his pocket, kneeling down on one knee, and Jiya’s legs turned to jelly at the sight of her breathtaking Andrew, so fiercely determined and brimming with adoration. She crammed her fingers to her lips to keep a cry from escaping. “Jiya Dalal. You’re
holding my soul in your hands. Marry me. Cook breakfast with me every morning. Let me hold you and make you safe. Forever, sweetheart. Keep me grounded while I watch you fly.”

  A hiccupping sob escaped her. “Yes.”

  Andrew let out a rushed of sound, like a tire deflating, and slipped the ring on to her finger. When she looked at it for the first time, she could only make out the twinkle of a diamond through her tears, but truthfully, it could have been from a gumball machine and she would have said yes to this man. Andrew Prince was her soul mate, her best friend…and now her fiancé.

  And as he rose to his full height, his hand sliding over her right hip and squeezing just a touch, she wanted to devour him. Inside her head, she could hear her breaths like echoes coming from a cave. If he’d proposed, there was obviously nothing stopping them from being together now. Physically. His rule was no longer valid and her body responded with a swelling of lust.

  Andrew shifted on his feet in front of her, licking his lips and dropping his mouth to hers, delivering a chaste kiss in deference to her parents who were watching them like hawks.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast, then?”

  She buried the knowing smile that tried to dance along her lips. “I’ll be there.”

  “Good.” He kissed her cheek, then lifted her hand to drop another one on her knuckles. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Dalal. I promise to make her happy.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Dalal sighed, laying an arm across Jiya’s shoulders. “I think you will. Good night, Andrew.”

  “Good night.”

  Andrew closed the door behind himself and then she was standing in the hallway with a ring on her hand, rain pelting the windows of the house. And she was back to believing that Andrew showing up to propose had all been a dream. She was suddenly desperate to prove to her psyche that it had been real—and even more desperate to touch the man she’d just promised to marry. “I’m going to turn in early,” she murmured to her parents. “I’m suddenly exhausted.”