Blowback Page 8

  He’s full of shit.

  “It’ll be personal for me when Stevie asks why the fuck I dropped the ball,” I reply bluntly.

  Jesús takes a step forward, but José grips his arm, stopping him. “We’re all friends here,” he says, indicating no blood is to be spilled—yet. “What do you say?”

  He waits for me to answer as if I have a choice. If I don’t do this, then things will end badly for me.

  “Of course, you won’t go without. You’ll get a cut of what I make.” Suddenly, I’m struck with an idea.

  “I’m not interested in money. But I do want something else.”

  José’s lips twitch. Every man has a weakness, and he’s about to find out mine.

  “There is someone I need access to. You get him alone for me, and I’ll do what you want.”

  “Who is this person?”

  Staring him dead in the eyes, I reply, “Benjamin Solomon.”

  José whistles. “You don’t fuck around, amigo.” His comment confirms he knows just who Scrooge is. But I suppose he is known to most, seeing as he’s a millionaire with an infamous reputation.

  “You do this for me, and we’ve got a deal.” The adrenaline courses through me, but I contain my enthusiasm. I realize what this means. By bending to José’s request, I will be at his mercy as he’ll have leverage. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

  After a pregnant pause, he nods. “I’ll see what I can do.” That’s as good as a yes because he’s the Mexican fucking cartel.

  “Once it’s organized, let me know, and I’ll take care of the rest,” I say, not needing to spell it out.

  “You go up against him, and you’ll have an army against you.” José seems amused but also curious about my request to get Scrooge alone.

  “Only if I get caught.”

  “Colmillo doesn’t get caught,” Jesús says with a grin. My personal cheerleader knows about the damage I can inflict.

  José is impressed as he places his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know what you did to get Stevie to trust you so quickly, but if you ever tire of him, you have my number. I could use a man like you on my side.”

  On cue, Luis offers me a white business card. When I read what’s written on the front, I can’t stop my sarcastic smirk.

  José Velez—used car salesman.

  Placing the card into my top pocket, I nod in gratitude.

  “It goes without saying, Stevie cannot know of our little arrangement.”

  “Of course,” I reply. Even though I know José will have no issues blackmailing me if I don’t cooperate the next time he comes knocking. This isn’t a one-time deal. There is no such thing with the cartel.

  “I’ll be in touch then.” José extends his hand, and I shake it, sealing our deal.

  With our business transaction complete, I step aside, allowing Luis to open the door. Luis and Jesús exit, but José stops in front of me. “I don’t know what happened to you, but the demons inside you, they’ll never go away. They’re a part of you. Don’t try to beat them. They’re what distinguishes you from the rest.”

  With that food for thought, he leaves me alone, and I wonder what the hell I just agreed to. Deeper and deeper, I’m falling down the rabbit hole, but it seems fitting—because we’re all mad here.

  Lily

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Hope. I wish I had better news, but your loan has been denied. You simply will not have enough income to make the minimum monthly repayments on what you want to borrow from the bank.”

  “I have enough money for a down payment,” I argue, but Jeffrey Taylor, the asshole bank manager, shakes his head.

  “You do, but with no savings history, we cannot lend to you. We don’t know where that large sum of cash came from. If you wait a few months and improve your credit—”

  I’ve heard it all before. This is the third bank that has denied my loan.

  “I don’t have a few months,” I sharply state, angrily gathering my paperwork from his desk. “It’s not like I want to buy a fucking island!”

  Jeffrey pushes his oversized silver glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m truly sorry, Ms. Hope.”

  Yeah, he looks real sorry.

  Standing abruptly, I shove the papers into my bag, overcome with feelings of frustration and failure.

  “If you reapply in—”

  Clenching the papers in my hand, I inhale, praying for strength. “So help me god, if you say in a few months again, I will strangle you with the cord of your phone!”

  Jeffrey shuffles in his leather chair, looking over my shoulder to no doubt alert security. But I’m leaving. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I don’t.

  Yanking open the door, I push aside the pathetic guard and ignore the stares of the customers. They can stare all they want. They mean nothing to me.

  Shoving open the glass front door, I trudge through the snow to my truck, almost tearing the driver’s door from its hinges. Once I’m inside, I toss my bag to the floor and give in to the overwhelming urge to scream. I slam my palms against the steering wheel, hollering like a crazy person.

  I feel remotely better, but when the screams die, I’m faced with the truth. I am screwed.

  Deep down, I know buying the ballet studio won’t make a difference to Avery’s health. She’s growing weaker and weaker each day. But when she takes her last breath, I want her to know her studio, her pride and joy won’t be forgotten. She won’t be forgotten. It’ll live on even when she won’t.

  I want to do this for her because I know how much it means to her. But I can’t, thanks to the Jeffrey Taylors of this world.

  I’ve saved a lot of money and fast, thanks to the generous tips of a baby-faced stranger I’ve dubbed George. Each time he comes in, he throws down at least a couple thousand dollars. There is no way he is twenty-one, but since he has become quite the generous tipper, the bouncers turn a blind eye.

  But it doesn’t matter. I could have saved triple what I have, and I still wouldn’t be an ideal lending candidate. My fingers itch because I know someone who is.

  I’ve tried to avoid doing this, but now, I’m desperate. Reaching for my cell, I dial my brother.

  “Hey,” he answers happily. “How’s your day?”

  I didn’t tell him where I was going today because I didn’t want to have to deal with the fact that my brother is a selfish asshole. But now, I don’t have a choice.

  “Terrible. My loan got denied.” Silence, so I continue. “I have enough money for a down payment, but without a savings history, I may as well have nothing.”

  “Lillian—”

  But I cut him off. “I’ll give you what I have, and I promise, I’m good for the rest. The banks won’t say no to you. The loan would be in your name, but I’d handle everything. I just need—”

  But it doesn’t matter what I need because Christopher won’t help me.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  “Why not?” I question, not checking my anger at the door. “Why can’t you? You’re the one who told Jordy your money is ours, right?”

  “It’s complicated,” he replies, which is code word for I’m a self-centered bastard who doesn’t give a damn.

  “Uncomplicate it then,” I bite back. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. Please, Christopher. Avery is dying.”

  “Buying the studio won’t change that,” he says gently, but all he does is piss me off further.

  “You don’t think I know that?” I cry, sniffing back tears of anger. “Avery was there for me when Mom wasn’t. This is the least I can do for her. How can you be so heartless?”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, she wasn’t the only one who was there for you,” he states, appearing wounded by my comment. “Stop being such a spoiled brat.”

  “Excuse me?” I spit, utterly offended. “How am I being a spoiled brat? I want to give a sick woman, who is the only mother I know, her last dying wish, but I can’t because I don’t have enough zeroes in my bank account! Maybe if
you hadn’t run off, leaving me to fend for myself at sixteen years old, I wouldn’t have to ask you to help me now!”

  This isn’t his fault. It’s his prerogative to say no. But what he’s giving me right now are excuses, and I can’t help but compare this selfishness to when he left. This argument has been a long time coming. I haven’t told him what his leaving did to me. I thought I was okay with it, but I’m not.

  “Well, maybe if you didn’t fuck my best friend and weren’t stupid enough to fall pregnant, then I wouldn’t have left!”

  And there it is. The truth. It’s been the big, fat elephant in the room that we’ve both tread lightly around. But now, the gloves are off.

  “I didn’t just fuck him,” I spit, refusing to stand by and allow him to refer to what Lachlan and I had so crudely. “I loved him. And he loved me.”

  Christopher’s mocking snicker angers me further. “You believe whatever you have to, to sleep better at night.”

  “He was going to propose to me!” The moment the words tumble free, I slap a hand over my mouth. But it’s too late.

  “What?”

  “Forget I said anything.” I try to backtrack, but it’s no use. I picked this fight, and now I have to deal with the repercussions.

  “How do you know that?”

  My silence fills in the blanks. He knows Bull told me. Although he’s never asked me what my relationship with Bull is, he knows. He saw us together. He heard him call me Tiger.

  “Your track record with men is reflective of our mother,” he slurs, hurting me beyond words. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree it seems.”

  Hot, angry tears stream down my cheeks. “Go to hell.” I end the call, throwing my cell onto the passenger seat and cradling my face in my palms.

  Ugly words were exchanged, but they needed to be. It’s time we stopped playing happy family because we’re not. Christopher now knows I think he’s a selfish asshole. While he’s made it clear he thinks I’m a whore.

  Sniffing back my tears, I realize I can’t go to the only person I want to see. The other night with Bull was a mistake. I shouldn’t have slept with him, no matter how good it felt. Not just physically, but emotionally as well.

  Never in my life have I felt so alone, which is ironic. In my head, I thought Christopher coming back would be the miracle cure, but it hasn’t been. All it’s done is highlight the damage to our relationship. I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to go back to what we had.

  Running a hand down my face to wipe away my tears, I take a deep breath and start the truck. I’ll drop by the deli near Avery’s apartment on my way and pick up some chicken soup. Jordy is staying late at school for basketball practice, so I can spend some quality time with Avery.

  Putting the truck into drive, I merge onto the highway and make my way to Cleveland. The drive gives me time to think, and as usual, my thoughts drift to Bull.

  The other night was different. Our passion has always had a sense of urgency to it, but underneath it, I felt his hunger, and his desire for me ran deeper than just a casual hookup.

  The night everything turned to shit, he thanked me for making him feel, which was apparently a big thing for him. Since Damian’s death, it seems he has been shut off to the world. But for someone who claims he doesn’t feel, that’s all he’s shown me since we met.

  Sighing, I know I will have to face the inevitable sooner or later and visit Lachlan’s grave. Before I take Jordy, I want to be able to go there without this heavy feeling pushing down on my chest. I’ve told him about his father, about what a kind, caring man he was, but I’ve left out the details of how he passed away.

  I don’t want Jordy focusing on that one negative aspect when there are a thousand other positive ones to embrace.

  Before Bull entered my life, things were relatively simple. But now, everything’s a clusterfuck. However, with the chaos has come the truth. I just need to learn how to accept this gigantic curveball that’s been hurled my way.

  I drive the rest of the way with the radio turned up, hoping to drown out the thoughts that won’t go away.

  Once I pick up the chicken soup, I park my truck in front of Avery’s building. It’s snowing, so I put on my hood and make a mad dash for the front door. It’s warm inside the elevator, and everything inside me begins to thaw.

  It’s a nice feeling, seeing as the past few weeks, I’ve been stuck on cold. I make my way to Avery’s apartment with her keys in hand. I’m looking forward to spending some time with her. Unlocking her door, I hear the gentle hum of the TV in her room.

  Softly closing the door, I tiptoe down the hallway, not wanting to make any noise in case Avery is asleep. Carrying the chicken soup, I gently push open the door and peek around the doorjamb. Avery’s tiny frame is snuggled under the blankets.

  Deciding to let her sleep, I creep into her bedroom and turn off the TV. The glass of water I left by her bed yesterday is still there, untouched. Walking toward her bedside table, I reach for the glass, intent on refilling it with some fresh water.

  However, when I glance over at her still form, a heaviness settles over me, and I freeze. I watch for the gentle rustle of blankets, in sync with her breathing, but there aren’t any, and that’s because she isn’t breathing.

  “Avery?” I whisper, my voice cracking.

  Silence.

  I know what I’m seeing, but I can’t…I won’t accept it. How can I?

  With hesitant fingers, I slowly peel back the blanket from Avery’s form. She’s just sleeping, I reason with myself, but her gray complexion hints otherwise. The life that animated the only person who loved me unconditionally is gone because she…is gone.

  Avery is dead.

  The chicken soup I’m holding tumbles to the floor. My shaky hands are unable to hold anything because the room spins around me. Slumping onto her bed, I stare down at the woman who was my mother, my mentor, my friend.

  I should have been here. She shouldn’t have died alone. My heart breaks at the thought. “I’m s-sorry,” I cry, ugly tears streaming down my cheeks. I failed her.

  On autopilot, I reach for her phone and dial 911. I speak robotically, disbelieving this voice is my own. When the operator asks if she’s breathing, I tell her no, and from the looks of it, she hasn’t in quite some time.

  The paramedics arrive minutes later, confirming what I knew to be true. They said she died peacefully, but how do they know?

  Is there such a thing when death is involved? It’s something we tell ourselves to lessen the grief, but I don’t think this hole in my chest will ever go away.

  The paramedics gently usher me away from Avery when I stand silent, eyes wide. I can feel the color draining from my cheeks, but I can’t let her go. I’m not ready. Shrugging them away, I run toward the bed and throw my arms around her cold, stiff form. Sobbing uncontrollably, I beg her to come back to me.

  “Don’t leave me,” I bellow, choking on my tears. “Please don’t leave me.”

  But she’s already gone.

  “Is there someone I can call for you, sweetie?” asks the paramedic. I know he is just trying to help, but I don’t want his help. I just want this nightmare to end.

  “No,” I whisper, refusing to let Avery go. The only person I have in this world is gone.

  Everything I was so certain of is no more. I had direction, but now, I’m so lost. My game plan is now obsolete.

  Where do I go from here?

  Once they took Avery’s body away, they informed me an investigation would take place because she died alone in her house. It was evident she succumbed to the cancer eating away at her, but it was standard protocol.

  I have the number of Avery’s lawyer, who has her affairs in order, but I will call him tomorrow. I can’t deal with that now. I left a message for her brother who lives in Canada, asking for him to call me. They aren’t close, so I’m not sure if he’ll call me back.

  The funeral home told me to take my time, and when I was ready, we could go over t
he arrangements. These arrangements they speak so flippantly about are a person. Even though she is no longer here, I hate that she’s merely a task to them.

  I have numerous missed calls from Christopher, but he is the last person I want to speak to at the moment. The blame game is real, and I don’t want to get in another fight with him when he expresses his condolences because actions speak a lot louder than words.

  Now that Avery is gone, buying the studio is so bittersweet. I wanted to do it for her, for her to see her hard work flourish before she left this earth, but it’s too late. She’s gone, and I’m left without her and her studio.

  I don’t know what happens now. With her gone, I assume the bank will liquidate the assets of the studio to pay off her business debts, and anything else will be distributed in accordance to Avery’s will. She told me she had her affairs in order, but I was so certain I would have enough money to take over her business that I didn’t want to hear the alternative.

  It’s always easier to live in denial…but I can’t anymore.

  With two bouquets of white roses in my hands, I trek through the snow with a numb mind and body. After everything that’s happened today, you’d think this was the last place I want to be, but strangely enough, being here gives me comfort. And when I stop in front of the marble gravestone, I realize it’s because it brings back the feelings of being loved.

  My tears have long dried, and I don’t think I can shed anymore. Lachlan’s grave is simple but beautiful, just like him. The epitaph is short but appropriate.

  Much loved son and brother.

  Taken away too soon.

  It saddens me that father isn’t added because I just know he would have been a great dad. I don’t know his parents, and it never occurred to me to look them up. A month ago, I thought their son had abandoned Jordy and me, but now, I wonder if maybe I should seek them out. If they would like to meet their grandson.

  I think Lachlan would have liked that.

  Uncapping the bottle of water I brought, I fill the vase attached to the headstone and carefully unwrap one bouquet of roses. I arrange them, and when they’re sitting perfectly, I sigh happily. They look beautiful. I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything at all.