Blowback

by Monica James

  “Bull—”

  When I hear her walking toward me, I jolt back, nostrils flared. “Just don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” she asks, wounded by my retreat.

  But I can’t have her near me, comforting me because all I see is her body lying under that tarp and not Paul’s.

  “I’ve never seen you like this. Why are you pushing me away? I thought we were past this.”

  And we are. That’s why I’m pushing her away.

  She shakes her head and reaches for the door handle. “You know what, fuck this. Take me home. I am so sick of—”

  But this time, I’m the one who doesn’t let her finish.

  Hustling forward, I grip her wrist, drawing her into my chest to stop her from struggling. “I’m scared, all right!” I exclaim hoarsely. “And that’s why you haven’t seen me like this because I’ve never been more terrified in all my life. And when I’m scared, I do this. I push people away!”

  Plumes of smoke fill the space between us as Tiger gasps. “Scared?”

  Nodding, I let her go, defeated. “I’m scared for you, Tiger. I’m afraid you’ll get hurt. Or worse. All I can see is having to bury your body in a shallow, unmarked grave, and that will…fucking kill me.”

  My admission spills out of me, unable to stop.

  “Paul was my…friend. My first fucking friend. I didn’t deserve him, but the stubborn son of a bitch wouldn’t leave. But this is what happens to the people I care about. They die. Every time I touch you, you’re covered in blood.” I mean that literally and metaphorically.

  “I hope I don’t die,” she softly soothes, reaching out to cup my cheek. I need her comfort more than I need air to breathe. “But you’re not God, Bull. Only He knows the fate of our future.”

  “Well, he’s a sadistic fucker because what seventeen-year-old kid deserves to be lying dead in the back of a pickup?” I cry, gripping my palm over hers.

  She searches my face, surprisingly calm while I’m about to lose my shit. I unfasten two buttons on my shirt, needing air.

  “Bull, it’s okay.” She cautiously moves closer, then wraps her arms around me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been hugged this way. I don’t deserve this comfort, but I accept it because I need it. I need her.

  She hugs me tight, allowing me to grieve for a life I never wanted to live.

  “I’m sorry,” I say against her shoulder. “I’m sorry for everything.”

  She inhales sharply because does that everything include killing Lachlan? I honestly don’t know anymore.

  “So, you care…about me?” she asks softly.

  Inhaling her familiar scent, and curving my body around hers, I don’t stand a chance to deny her something she shouldn’t want but does. “Yes. Too much.”

  Her body stops trembling, and a peace settles between us. The truth can’t set us free because we will never be free until revenge is served, but whatever this is, it finally feels like I can breathe again.

  Untangling myself from her arms, I meet her beautiful eyes. I never thought this was possible, but being with her calms the storm within. “Let’s go. Paul deserves something better than a fucking shallow grave.”

  She nods, chewing on her bottom lip.

  With a labored sigh, I tuck the tarp around him securely. I will never be able to rid that image from my mind. And I deserve for it to be there.

  “Where are you taking him?” Tiger asks, rubbing the cold from her upper arms.

  “Away from here. There is no way I will be laying him to rest in a place his killer owns.”

  Tiger nods.

  I open the door for her, and she climbs into the truck, watching me as I close the door and round the hood. So many fucking…feelings are swarming around in my chest, and I think I’m going to be sick. I jump into the driver’s side, and just before I start the truck, I open the console.

  Paul’s gift now highlights what a fucking asshole I truly am.

  Without explanation, I loop the keys on the key chain, wishing I could use the luck of this bull to bring back my friend. But I can’t.

  Turning on the engine, I get the hell outta Dodge.

  We’re both quiet, the talk radio merely background noise until Tiger closes her eyes, and with a sigh, she whispers, “I care too much as well.”

  No matter how far I drive, the feelings don’t subside.

  Lily

  “Sorry I haven’t contacted you sooner,” says Fred Cole, Avery’s lawyer, as he escorts me into his small office.

  “That’s fine, Mr. Cole. I’ve been busy.” He gestures for me to sit as he rounds his cluttered desk.

  He takes a moment to move paperwork aside, searching for Avery’s file. I sit on my hands to stop them from shaking. I’m on edge, but I suppose I have been since the moment my son was taken from me.

  But tonight, that changes. Well, I hope.

  When Fred finally finds Avery’s paperwork, he pushes his silver glasses up the bridge of his nose. He reads over the file, his stiff upper lip not really giving much away.

  “Okay,” he says once he’s turned over the page. “Ms. Everland was very specific in what she wanted. With no children or living relatives, she has left everything to you.”

  I blink once, needing a moment to process what he’s just revealed.

  “Her apartment will be used as equity toward what she owes the bank for the ballet studio, but it won’t be enough to pay it off completely. She has a small savings, but it seems all the money she had was put into the studio. All her possessions are also yours.”

  I don’t know what to say. I’m the sole heir?

  Tears sting my eyes because even in death, Avery has ensured I’m well looked after.

  “I will have to finalize everything with the bank, but it was Avery’s wishes that the studio be left to you. Are you in a position to buy it?”

  I clear my throat. “I just need a little time to get everything together, but yes, I think I will be.”

  Mr. Cole reaches for his ballpoint pen and writes something down. “Excellent. Once you’re ready, we can go over your figures and see what’s needed. But I think you’ll be able to come out of this either being the new owner of the studio or Avery’s apartment.”

  This sounds like a dream come true, but I can’t ignore the stabbing in my chest. This “dream” has come at the expense of Avery passing. Not to mention, this would solve all my problems. I started dancing to better Jordy’s life, so making a fresh start in a different state sounds like just the thing we need.

  But what I intend to do tonight stirs a moral dilemma. Do I deserve such happiness when I plan to help Bull take another man’s life? I can live a new life but at the expense of another. Nausea rises.

  “I understand this is a difficult time. Think about it, and I’ll be in touch next week,” Mr. Cole says, misreading my silence for shock and not guilt, which is what I feel.

  Just when I think he’s done, he passes me an envelope. When I see the script writing on the front, tears instantly spring to life.

  “It’s a letter from Ms. Everland,” he discloses, in case I don’t recognize Avery’s handwriting. “She asked me to give it to you on her passing.”

  Fingering the corner of the envelope as though it’s the most precious thing in the world, I nod quickly, unable to speak.

  “Here are her keys”—he slides them across the desk—“in case you wanted to go through her things. But take your time. Let me organize everything, and I’ll be in touch as soon as I have any news.”

  The jeweled ballet slipper key chain was a gift from me. I eye it, nostalgia washing over me. I’ve been so focused on finding Jordy that my grief has taken a back seat. That doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about Avery, though. I think about her every single day.

  But now, it hits me that she’s really gone.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cole.” Standing, I swipe the key chain from his desk. “You have my number.”

  Placing the keys and envelope into my bag wit
h shaky fingers, I exit the office and almost slip on the linoleum as I race out the front door. The falling snow caps the landscape beautifully, making it look like I’m lost in a winter wonderland. But I can’t appreciate its beauty because all I can think about is the ugliness in my life.

  Letting my tears fall, I walk to my truck and dig out my keys. Just as I open the door, my cell rings. Reaching for it, I see the caller is private. My stomach drops, and my fingers tremble as I answer the call.

  “Hello, darling sister.”

  His voice is filled with nothing but triumph, and why shouldn’t it be? He’s in control.

  “Where is Jordy?” I can’t keep the desperation at bay. I want to play it cool, but I can’t. “I want to speak to him.”

  “You’re in no position to be making demands,” he chides, clucking his tongue.

  I no longer feel the cold because hearing Jaws’s voice sets everything alight.

  “What do you want?” Seething, I’m envisioning ways of hurting him and hurting him slowly.

  “I want a lot of things,” he replies smartly. I listen for any background noise, hoping to get a sense of where he is, but it’s quiet.

  “Cut the bullshit. You’re calling for a reason, so tell me what it is.”

  “You were always such a demanding little thing. Remember that one time you begged and begged for that Barbie? Which one was it again?” he asks, while I inhale sharply, as this trip down memory lane has me feeling a pang of guilt.

  “Barbie and the Rockers,” I reply, shivering as the snow falls around me.

  “Ah, that’s right. And I got it for you, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  “I did everything to make you happy. That Barbie was bought with the money I stole from a little old lady, by the way. But I stole for us to provide you with the best childhood I could,” he says, guilt-tripping me further. “And you thank me by fucking my best friend and now, fucking the man who wants me dead.”

  “Christopher, please,” I beg, holding back my sobs. “Just give me back my son. Whatever you want, I will do it. I just need Jordy back.”

  “Now you decide to listen. This all could have been avoided if your boyfriend did what he was told.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I counter, which is true. He is so much more.

  “So you just fuck random men then?”

  A hiss leaves me because it’s evident Christopher sees me as nothing but a slut.

  “I’m sorry about Lachlan. I know I hurt your feelings.”

  He is deadly quiet.

  “I can’t help but feel responsible for this. You’re so bitter, angry. You’re not the brother I once knew. But you can’t help who you fall in love with. You should know that.”

  I’m playing a very dangerous game, but I need to know what he wants.

  And he takes the bait. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You once told me you met a woman. Bianca. I could tell from your voice that you loved her. What happened?”

  “Nothing happened,” he spits, anger fueling him. But I know what happened. She didn’t love him enough. The fact she is living with Stevie, Christopher’s nemesis, confirms this.

  It hurts when you love and want someone, and they don’t feel the same way in return. In my brother’s case, it’s turned him into the obsessed psychopath that he is today.

  “I don’t believe you. But you loving her shows me you’re capable of love. You once loved me,” I add softly, hoping if he has any heart left, he’ll end this here and now.

  The emotion unsettles Christopher. “That was a long time ago, Lillian. As I see it, we’re on opposing sides now.”

  “So, tell me what you want,” I cry, sick of these games.

  “He was supposed to go in there and do one fucking job. But now, I fear he’s deeper than I want him to be. They like him. He’s made friends with the people who betrayed me. The people who deserve to be dead!” he shouts, wounded.

  “And because of this, things have become…complicated. He’s become a liability, a thorn in my fucking side.”

  Christopher is right. He never anticipated Stevie or José liking Bull. Nor did he realize no one tells Bull what to do.

  “So, I have another proposition for you.”

  Gulping, I brace for impact. But nothing can prepare me for this.

  “Bring him to me, and I will give you back your son.”

  “What?”

  “I will tell you where I am on the proviso you bring me Bull.”

  I can’t speak.

  “This was supposed to be simple, but now it’s just becoming bothersome. I have my own arrangements put into play anyway. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, finally finding my voice.

  “It means if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. I am sick of waiting. But this asshole doesn’t get off scot-free. We had an agreement, and he didn’t hold up his end of the deal. Therefore, he must pay.”

  “Who are you?” I spit, shaking my head in disbelief. “You can’t treat people this way.”

  “Why not? It’s survival of the fittest, and if you show any signs of weakness, you’ll pay with your head.”

  I don’t understand any of this. What happened for things to get this bad?

  “Bull won’t come. I don’t mean that much to him,” I reveal, but I begin to question if that’s entirely true. And so does my brother.

  “You underestimate the power you have over him. Bring me Bull, and I will give you Jordy.” And it’s that simple.

  But nothing in this situation has ever been just that.

  “Let me talk to him,” I beg.

  Christopher sighs heavily, and just when I think he’s going to say no, my heart is suddenly whole again.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Jordy!” I cry, muting my sobs behind my hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course, I’m okay. Best vacation ever. Thanks for letting me go.”

  If only he knew the truth.

  “Is Uncle Christopher treating you well?”

  “He’s the best, Mom! He’s taken me scuba diving. And hiking. I’m having so much fun. He told me you couldn’t come ’cause you had to work at the studio. I’m sorry I said you were a hooker. Uncle Chris told me where you’ve really been.”

  I gulp. So Christopher was the one who fed him such lies.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Avery was sick? I get it now. I’m sorry for being so ungrateful.”

  My mouth parts because I am speechless. Jordy has never apologized to me. And why is Christopher painting me as some sort of saint?

  “There’s no need to be sorry, sweetie. I didn’t want to worry you. I miss you so much.”

  “I miss you, too. I gotta go, okay? I was in the middle of Call of Duty and was kicking zombie butt. I love you. Bye, Mom!”

  I don’t get a chance to say I love him back because he’s gone, just like that. He is having the time of his life while I want to curl into a ball and die.

  “See? He’s safe and having the time of his life. For now,” he adds. “Give me what I want, and I will do the same.”

  “How am I supposed to do this? He’ll know,” I exclaim, not seeing how this is going to work.

  “Again, you underestimate your worth to him. You’ll figure it out. So, the question is, who do you love more? I’ll call you later, and I expect an answer.”

  “Christopher! Christopher? No!” I scream into the phone when the line goes dead.

  I frantically press redial, but it tells me the service is unavailable, which probably means the phone has already been disconnected.

  Anger, fear, and sadness hit me all at once, and I grip the doorframe to hold myself up. The rules have changed, but how can I choose? How can I do what Christopher wants me to do? I cannot sacrifice Bull to save Jordy. But if I don’t…

  My stomach roils, and I fold forward, suddenly becoming sick. I dry heave, wanting to dispel this sickness within, but I can�
��t. What sort of compromise is this?

  “Miss, are you all right?” an elderly gentleman asks, stopping by my truck.

  Peering into his wise eyes, I realize if this choice is made, Bull will never get to this man’s age because if I have to choose, I will always choose my son.

  “I’m fine. Thank you,” I say on a rushed breath, standing upright and quickly jumping into my truck.

  I can’t feel my fingers so it takes me three attempts to get the key into the ignition. Once I do, I put the car into drive and head over to the motel. The gala doesn’t start for a few more hours, but I have my dress and everything else I need.

  My mind is blank. I feel numb. What is the alternative here? With Scrooge, at least he deserves everything he has coming, but neither Bull nor Jordy are guilty of any crime. But one of them will have to pay to sacrifice the other.

  I don’t bother wiping away my tears when I pull into the parking lot of the motel. I walk toward Bull’s room on autopilot. The door opens before I even have a chance to knock. But that’s Bull—always aware, until now.

  “Tiger?”

  I don’t reply. I merely step into his arms, needing his comfort and his warmth. So when he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight, I realize I am irrevocably in love with him. I always have been.

  “What happened?” His scent calms the madness for a split second. It returns far too soon.

  “Christopher called me.”

  His entire body stiffens beneath me as he ushers me inside the room.

  Reluctantly, I let him go, but I’m unable to meet his eyes.

  “What did he say?”

  Toeing over a small hole in the carpet, I shrug helplessly. “He said the rules have changed. He said he has made his own arrangements to take care of Stevie, and it’s only a matter of time. But he wants something else.”

  “And what’s that?” Bull knows—he always does—but he wants me to say it. If I do, it’ll make all of this real.

  “He wants me to trade you…for Jordy.” I finally confess and meet his eyes.

  He nods with a heavy sigh, weighing what I just revealed. I don’t know what I expected to see, but him being this calm isn’t it.

  “Is that all he said?”

  “Pretty much. Jordy is fine,” I say with a quiver. “He has no idea what’s going on.”