“Oh shit.”
The painful reality takes its sweet time setting in, one second after the other. Shame bites into me first. Then guilt. Finally hate. It’s the typical symphony of self-loathing I’m more than used to enduring.
As my cheeks heat up to the reddest color possible, I hear something rustling behind me. I turn and barely catch a wad of fabric thrown in my direction—a dish towel, which I assume I’m supposed to use to cover...something. Before I can decide what, I’m shoved aside and backed into a corner by bulldozer strength. Daze.
“Mutt,” he stammers, his voice strained. “Hey... What are you doing here, buddy?”
“Auntie Lyra,” the little boy repeats on cue. I can’t see his face, but I imagine him still staring up at the ceiling, wringing his tiny hands. “She told me that I have to stay here tonight so...so you can learn your responsibility—”
“Sammy?” a woman’s voice rings out, tense and worried. “Sammy, where are you?”
Footsteps race down the hall seconds after, and another figure enters the apartment. She’s tall, with a strawberry-blond head glimpsed beyond Daze’s shoulder. My nostrils flare, catching a whiff of crisp, feminine perfume like my mother used to wear. Expensive but simple.
“Oh, Sammy,” the woman says sternly. “What did I tell you about holding hands when we—” Her exasperated groan conveys she finally notices the scene taking place in my corner as I scramble to compose myself. “Damn it, Daze! What the hell?”
“What the fuck, Lyra?” Daze hisses, matching her disgust pitch for pitch. “What were you thinking? Bringing him here without telling me—”
“Maybe you should answer your goddamn phone,” Lyra snaps. “I was worried sick about you!”
“You have a funny way of showing it,” Daze says, laughing in that empty way only he can.
“Have you even been watching the news?” Lyra moves so that I can see her clearly.
If she isn’t Daze’s sister, she’s his clone. Though slightly older, her gray eyes blaze with that same piercing intensity.
“Or have you been too busy fucking—shit. I mean…Sammy, baby?” She switches to a sweeter, softer tone as she crouches before the boy. Smiling for his benefit, she fingers a lock of his golden hair. “Why don’t you go into your Daddy’s room for a second while we have big grown-up talk time?”
“Wait—” Daze turns and snatches something from the counter. “Here,” he says, shoving a bundle of fabric into my arms.
Whatever it is reeks of sweat, and I flex my fingers against the soft cotton, unfolding it cautiously. It’s his shirt. Without having to be told, I wrench it on over my head. Thank God it’s long enough to cover most of me, including my panties that were on perfect display.
“Well, don’t let me interrupt your little party,” Lyra snipes from the doorway. Her gaze flicks over me once and narrows.
A white blouse and black slacks only intensify her disapproving mood, reminding me of one of the matrons from primary school. She has the glare down pat.
“Sweetie, you can join the other child,” she says, gesturing toward Sammy. “Trying out a new breed, eh Daze? At least this one is sober—”
“That’s enough. You’re my sister. Not my damn mother.”
“No,” Lyra says tersely. “It’s not ‘enough.’ And yeah, I thought I should bring your son to your home, for once. Do you have any idea what a mess you left last night? And then, with everything else going on, I was afraid you’d gone and gotten yourself killed—”
“Jesus Christ, Lyra!” Daze winces, gritting his teeth. “Don’t pump my kid with your fucking paranoia!”
“Watch your mouth,” Lyra counters. “Though maybe I was worried for the wrong person?” She scoffs and nods toward his hands, which, while clean, display minor bruises. “How the hell are you going to explain that to your parole officer? You’re lucky Silas isn’t pressing charges!”
“I’m lucky?” Daze stiffens, his body radiating tension. “Mutt,” he snaps to the boy. “Go into my room. I’ll be there in a second. And...” He shoots me a wary look from the corner of his eye. “Stay.”
“Oh yes, please stay,” Lyra says with fake enthusiasm. “Don’t let me ruin your fun. Sammy, honey, take Daddy’s friend into the bedroom, will you? The adults need to have a little chat.”
“Okay.” I look down as something warm brushes my hand, and I wind up staring into a pair of eyes so wide they swallow nearly every ounce of light in the room. Endless. “Come on,” Sammy says before tugging pointedly on my arm.
Before I can reconcile the consequences, I’m already crowding into the narrow space beside the bed. Without warning, Daze marches over and kicks the cinder block propping the door aside, slamming it shut.
“Just what the fuck were you thinking?” I hear him bellow.
“What was I thinking?” Lyra counters. “What were you thinking? Apparently not about Sammy when you beat the shit out of someone on his front doorstep! He is alive, by the way, and conveniently seems to have amnesia, so he hasn’t named you. Yet.”
“Don’t change the subject. You let that fucker into your house,” Daze roars. Something heavy slams against the wall. His fist? The sofa? I can’t decide which would be strong enough to rattle the apartment to its rafters. “When I let you take custody, you were supposed to, I don’t know, protect the kid or something? Instead, you serve him up to Silas for ‘visitation.’ And I’m letting you know now—If I see him again, I’ll kill him—”
“Don’t even joke. Not with your rap sheet, and I won’t be an accomplice next time your ass goes to prison,” Lyra warns. “And I can’t help that Sammy’s uncle is a ‘fucker’ as you put it. Not that fatherhood has taught you much of a lesson. I sure hope you used a condom this time. Maybe you should think before you screw someone, eh?”
“So what? You bring Mutt here to punish me? Well, don’t you get the wanna-be-mother of the year award?”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Two sets of footsteps resonate through the floor, heavy and stern. “You listen to me, Daze Marcus Keaton, don’t you ever insult me like that again. You’ve been out for what? Three months, and yet you’ve barely utilized your visitation. Say what you will about Silas, but at least that fucker shows up every now and again. Not to mention, he has a goddamn house with actual rooms and clean sheets on the bed for Sam to sleep on, and he at least makes sure not to leave beer cans lying around when he does!” Materials rustle, most likely the garbage strewn on the floor. “Seriously, could you at least pretend like you want custody? If not for me, then for Sammy’s sake?”
“So you can take him back whenever you feel like it? Fuck you, Lyra.”
“Fuck me? Well, at least I’m on birth control. Look...” She sighs, and I sense lighter steps drifting deeper into the apartment. “Let’s cut the bullshit. All I care about is Sammy, and I think that somewhere beneath the booze, you do too—”
“Don’t even fuck around,” Daze hisses. “You know I do.”
“Good. Then be here. His school was canceled today because of the mess going on downtown—”
“What mess?” Daze interjects.
“You really haven’t been paying attention to the news, have you? Where the hell have you been anyway? I’ve left you at least a thousand texts… It doesn’t matter. There was an explosion over in Cherry Lane. No one’s dead. They think it was a gas leak or something, but it’s hell with all the traffic redirections—”
“Cherry Lane?” Daze says thickly. “Ain’t that where that new-age church is? Salvage or whatever—”
Salvation. The main headquarters is located there, and panic erases everything else like hate and rage. Is Father okay? Was he there during whatever happened?
I look for my cell phone as Daze’s voice seeps through the door.
“You said no one was hurt, though? That’s good.” His voice is a fraction deeper. Louder. Like he knows I’m listening, and that reassurance is directed toward me alone. I’m grateful, if uncomforted in the slightest. “Do they know what caused it?” he adds.
“I don’t know,” Lyra says. “But since Sam doesn’t have school, I can’t watch him unless I take off work. Then I remembered that he has a perfectly good father who can do the honors. Let him stay the night. Take him to school in the morning. Be here with him. He needs you, Daze.”
“I don’t need a fucking lecture, Lyra. Least of all from you. How’s Jamie, huh? Still a goddamn dropout?”
“Nice one, Day,” Lyra says softly. “Shitty mother or not, at least Sammy has someone to tuck him in at night while his dad’s out being a goddamn criminal. I mean it, Daze. You blow this visit, and I’ll terminate what little rights you have left. Then I’ll take Sammy for good, and he’ll grow up knowing you only as the delinquent neighbor who sometimes shows up unannounced to family reunions. Do you understand me?”
“Like crystal,” Daze snarls. “But tell me one thing? Why tonight, huh? Don’t pretend like you don’t fucking know what Silas is up to. You doing his dirty work for him now, Lyra?”
“What...what do you mean?” Lyra’s voice cracks, betraying unease. “Isn’t any night good enough to be with your son?”
“Yeah,” Daze admits. “Except the other night you told me to stay the fuck away from you and Mutt, and then you pulled that ‘permanent custody’ bullshit card. So why the change of heart all of a sudden?”
“Don’t forget that you begged me to take custody, Day. But… Fine.” Her voice lowers, and I have to strain my ears just to follow the rest of the conversation. “You’ll find out anyway, but you have to promise me. Promise me...that you won’t go looking for any trouble.”
“That depends,” Daze says carefully. “What has that motherfucker done now?”
“Daze...”
“Just say it!”
“Fine! You didn’t hear this from me, but...there’s a rumor that there will be another fight soon. He’s resurrecting the ring, but I don’t know where—”
“Looks like your favorite fucker is meddling in gambling again. Remember how you used to ride my dick about ‘arms sales’? Now look at what’s replaced me.”
“It isn’t like that,” Lyra says quickly. “Besides, you stepped down, remember? But I know that you can’t seem to resist starting trouble wherever he goes—”
“You’re not stupid,” Daze says coldly. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what a ‘fight’ means when it comes to Silas. They won’t be placing bets on the winner, that’s for fucking sure. He’s toying with the mob, Lyra. With cartels—not the fucking boy scouts! You going to stand aside and watch him start a war, just so long as he lines your pockets? Do you miss the life that fucking much?”
“It’s just a fight, Day,” Lyra insists, but her voice breaks a second time, betraying another lie. “And you don’t talk to me about missing the life. You going to get those tattoos removed finally, or what? Besides, Silas promised that nothing would come of it. He has it under control.”
“Bullshit! He lied to you. Though what else is new? So much for that fucking uncle of the year award,” Daze hisses. “Son of a bitch! I told you to keep him the fuck away, Lyra! You don’t watch out and that uncle, whose money you love so much? He’s going to get Sammy, and you killed—”
“I’m not involved,” Lyra admits. “Just stay out of it, Daze. Promise me—”
“Get the fuck out.”
“Not until you promise that you won’t go after him. Think of Sam—he’s already lost his mom. You want him to lose his dad too?”
“You want me to watch him? Well, I’m watching him. Now get the fuck out.”
“Fine, Day.” I hear Lyra move to the door, only to hesitate near what I assume is the threshold. “His bedtime is at eight. He needs to be at preschool by nine-thirty tomorrow, and don’t forget he’s allergic to tomatoes. And feed him some real food this time, huh? No fast food shit.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Try not to screw up too badly, and I’ll let you have him for the weekend, huh? That’s what you’ve been asking for. Just stay in tonight. Please.”
The door slams, cutting her off. In the resulting silence, I finally notice faint, persistent scratching noises coming from behind me. I whirl around to find Sammy sitting cross-legged beside an overflowing laundry basket. A red backpack lies beside him, and he has a coloring book on his lap.
“Daddy says I’m not allowed to sit on the bed until he puts on the blue sheets,” he explains before I even think to ask.
Currently, the sheets on the mattress are red. Apparently, Daze color codes his rendezvous. Nice to know. God, I can’t even look at the mussed piles of cotton, so I stare down at my hands, still shaking, balled into trembling fists. Once again, that resounding question echoes off my skull—What am I doing?
I turn just as Daze wrenches open the door to the room. His eyes cut to mine before darting to Sammy. “Hey, buddy,” he says softly. “Me and my uh...friend need to chat. Why don’t you go find my phone and look up Spongebob? I think it’s on the couch somewhere.”
“Okay.” With meticulous care, Sammy bundles up his crayons and carries his backpack into the other room.
Good. At least he doesn’t witness the second I tighten my fist and send it flying toward a face that’s the aged version of his.
“Hey! Listen—” Daze snatches my wrist, too strong to resist—tugging my arm as hard as I dare doesn’t free it.
“Let me go!”
“Lower your voice,” he warns directly against my ear. “I know you’re pissed. Okay?”
“Pissed? I’m beyond pissed. You have a child?” My voice radiates fury, but it’s barely louder than a whisper. “That’s typically something you announce before sleeping with someone you just met!”
Isn’t it?
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “That and the fact that your politician father is planning a run for governor. Or the leader of the free world, or whatever the fuck. Frances Heywood. You really thought I didn’t recognize you?”
“What?” Shock washes over me like ice water. How stupid I’d been to think I’d found shelter in anonymity. “Get away—” I jerk back only to find myself locked within a vice grip.
“Relax. Frankly, Princess, if I wanted to hurt you, I could have any moment before now.”
“But you knew,” I croak. “For how long?” A paranoid suspicion sneaks into my thoughts before I can quash it. “Were…were you following me? Did you want to hurt—”
“Don’t be crazy,” he snaps. “I saved your life, didn’t I? But now...I need you to return the favor.”
Every muscle in my body stiffens, and I borrow another one of Hale’s insults. “Go to Hell.”
“Hear me out.” He’s frowning again, his eyes narrowed and fixated somewhere beyond my head. His teeth seize his lower lip hard enough to draw a tiny bead of blood. With every second, his grip on my arm tightens though he doesn’t seem to realize it. “I need you to stay here and watch the kid for a few hours. Two, maybe three tops—”
“Are you serious?” I find myself laughing.
He never does in return.
“Trust me,” he insists.
“I’m starting to hate those words—”
“Look, have you stopped to think what might have happened to you if I wasn’t there?” He reaches out suddenly and tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. The motion doesn’t resonate the way it should. I’m not intimidated. My skin heats instead, and I don’t pull away. “And I’m not talking about you jumping off some fucking bridge. I know you heard what Lyra said. Your ‘church’ had a ‘gas leak.’ You aren’t stupid enough to believe that, are you?” He waits, nodding as though my silence is the only answer he needs. “Think why that might be, Frances. It’s not like your father doesn’t have enemies. In fact, if you knew the full reach of Michael Heywood’s influence, your pretty cross alone wouldn’t be enough to shield you from his many sins—” He nods to my throat.
And my chest tightens. Too many fears battle for supremacy all at once. Father. Explosion. Followed. All I can do is meet his gaze and rasp, “You’re scaring me.”
He winces as if struck. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Please. Two—four hours tops. When I get back, I’ll explain. About your brother. About my tattoo. Everything I know.”
My eyes go wide as I process the implication. “You lied to me—”
“Hale didn’t kill himself.”
“W-What?”
Daze doesn’t even flinch. It’s like he transforms in an instant, becoming a colder man with a voice like ice on my skin. I can’t even question him. I’m struck dumb.
“He didn’t off himself. He was murdered,” he adds, “and I have a pretty good idea who did it. Do you want to know the truth? Then trust me. Not them—your father or your future-boyfriend-arranged-husband, or whatever the fuck—me. Four hours tops.”
He lets me go and heads toward Sammy. I watch as Daze lowers to his knee, so he is on his son’s level.
“Hey Mutt, Daddy has to go out for a bit. My friend is going to hang out with you while I’m gone, okay?”
Sammy nods, and Daze gives him a quick embrace before standing back up. Witnessing the tender moment between father and son feels wrong. I barely regain my balance before he’s already at the front door, wrenching it open. Something makes him look down at his bare chest, and he snatches a gray hoodie from a hook along the wall before storming into the hallway.
“He’s allergic to tomatoes. Bedtime is ten, but I’ll be back before then.”
“Wait!” I race after him, but I don’t even catch him descending the steps—he’s so fast.
“Four hours,” I hear him shout.
And then he’s gone.