Freedom (32 page)

“Maybe not telling you was their way of sparing you from this shit. The less you knew, the better. You couldn’t be brought in for questioning; you’d be useless to people on both sides if you were completely ignorant. Like Sean and Cooper said, you were only good for leading them to Robert, assuming he’d seek you out. And he did.”

“They’ll try to kill him. Marchetto and his guys haven’t been arrested yet and a lot of the time, these guys get off; the arrests blow up on technicalities. The first thing they’ll do, or they’re already attempting to do it, is kill the evidence. Robert is the evidence as far as they’re concerned.”

“You heard Cooper. Robert already turned in audio recordings and the wiretap, so that’s done.”

“Marchetto doesn’t necessarily know that. Just because Cooper is aware of the recorded meetings, doesn’t mean Marchetto knows the Feds have possession of them. If Marchettto thinks his son is holding onto this info to use as leverage for himself to cut a deal, Robert is a walking target.”

Dylan sighs. “I think Robert knows that, and that’s why he’s been running.”

The waterworks taper off and I clean my face as best I can with the tissues. My skin feels hot and blotchy, and I am overwhelmed with fatigue.

“I’m sorry I compared myself to an orphan. I really don’t have any right to feel sorry for myself, especially since you were orphaned as a child. Your circumstances were out of your control. Mine are delusions I’ve been perpetuating for years, thinking there was nothing wrong with how we lived, and that I was an innocent benefactor to whatever my father provided. I’m such an idiot.”

“Hey, you are not to blame for anything your dad did.” Dylan pulls my chin up towards him with two fingers. “There’s nothing idiotic about trusting your parents. We all want and need that. And there’s not much you can do when they disappoint you.”

As he leans down and kisses me with barely a sweep of his lips against mine, it’s enough to lessen the pain. He moves back slowly, surveying my eyes, as if he looks hard enough, he could see deep inside of me.

“I’m definitely not qualified to give advice on fathers. Mine killed himself when I was a teenager,” he says.

“Tell me about that, Dylan. Please,” I beg.

Dylan pauses for a moment, and I can tell he’s struggling with how to tell me because sometimes it hurts too much to say these painful things out loud.

“I was destroyed when my dad committed suicide. It was seven years after my mom’s death. He had been MIA for most of that time and we only survived because of Carson’s strong will and friends like Lauren’s family. I assumed my father didn’t think twice about leaving Carson and me all alone. And I was hurt that he loved my mother more than us. At least, that’s how a screwed up fifteen-year-old saw it.

“For a long time, I mostly felt anger towards him, and I took it out on everyone else. It took a long time—maybe not until I met Brian—for me to understand that my father and Brian were living with a different kind of pain. I can’t explain it, and I hope I never know what that’s like.

“When I got the call about Brian’s suicide, I started feeling angry all over again. I grieve for my friend’s pain, but I’m angry that I’ve had to lose him. It’s a selfish feeling because Brian, like my dad, was the one I looked up to. Brian had to succeed in the program because that meant I could succeed. It’s pretty scary when the guy you idolize leaves you in the most violent way. First my dad and then Brian.”

When Dylan’s expression twitches, as if he’s holding back tears, I reach my arm up around his neck and bring him closer to me. I force a kiss on him, which is not at all tender. My tongue pushes for more and he returns the kiss with fervor before gently removing his lips from mine.

“You need to rest. It’s been a helluva night and it’s late. You need real sleep.”

He turns down the bed covers and rolls me underneath. I grab his shoulders and pull him down with me, causing him to lose his bath towel in the process. His naked body is glorious and the perfect medicine for anything that ails me. I want to get lost in him and forget about my father and Robert and all the ugly news I expect more of.

“Emma,” Dylan whispers. He grabs the towel off the floor and covers his perfectly sculpted ass and thighs. “I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re in this… vulnerable condition.”

“You could, and I’d let you,” I say rather sharply. “I don’t want to keep crying. What’s wrong with having sex to feel better?” I am thinking of what I did to him the night before and how Dylan submitted to my touch.

“Nothing is wrong with it. I’m trying to be a stand-up guy here—the shoulder for you to cry on—not the guy who fucks the pain away.”

“Why can’t you be both?”

“You always have a quick answer or a fast fist.” His mouth curves into a smile, and my groping limbs retreat and take the hint to relax.

He swiftly pulls on a pair of sweat pants underneath his towel as though he’s not allowed to have sex on his mind. “I can go down to the front desk and get a pizza delivered or something. I’ll pay cash and have it go through reception so we’re not
violating
Cooper’s little set of rules. You must be hungry.”

I chuckle and cry at the same time. “Oh, Dylan. Thanks for making me laugh. Pizza instead of sex,” I mumble. “We both know sex sounds a lot better than pizza.”

“Yeah, I do know that, and under different circumstances, I’d be all over you.”

“I don’t want food. And I don’t want you to leave me alone. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says softly then climbs under the covers next to me.

When I roll onto my side and hug him, he sighs. He can’t tame me, but he sure knows how to calm me.

His hand is under my shirt, splayed against my bare back as he pulls me closer to him.

“It won’t always be like this,” he whispers with his mouth pressed against my temple. “Over time, it will get easier to deal with the pain of disappointment and loss. My life has been easier with you in it.”

“Really? Thugs tailing us, fights with my ex-boyfriend… This is easier?”

“Believe it or not, yes. I know exactly what I want to do and what I should do, and fortunately, they’re the same thing.” As he rubs his cheek against mine, his five o’clock shadow scratches my swollen, tender skin in a pleasant way. I wish he’d let me do more than hug him.

“You sound so sure of yourself.”

“I am. And that’s because of you, Emma.”

His baby blues lift and crinkle at the edges when I prop my hands and chin on his chest and look at him.

“And you didn’t know anything about Agent Cooper MacKenzie and his background?” I ask.

“No. When I saw you go off with him, I freaked. Seriously, I always thought he was an okay guy, but that move, having you jump on his bike and taking you away from me—I wanted to kill him.”

“No, you didn’t. You wanted to punch him.”

“That, too.”

“But you didn’t.”

“You didn’t see the part where I drove over here and walked through the hotel lobby plotting Cooper’s demise. I think I counted backwards from one hundred for forty solid minutes, and I took so many deep breaths to calm down that I’m surprised I didn’t pass out. My shrink would be proud that he doesn’t have to visit me in jail tonight.”

I smile at his attempts for me to see past the horrible events of the evening and to realize that what I have with him is genuine.

“What made you trust, Cooper?” Dylan’s voice is steady yet nervous.

“Something about his connection to Carson. I’ve seen it at work. And he was there when we met with Robert the first time at the restaurant. When he told me to get on the bike and that he’d make sure you were with me soon, I didn’t doubt him. He knew I couldn’t be separated from you for very long.”

“Yeah?” Dylan tilts his head.

“Yeah.” I plant a kiss on his sternum. “What made you trust Cooper?”

“I didn’t have a choice. He had my girl. The only person I wanted was being held hostage by Easy Rider.”

“Oh, he wasn’t holding me hostage.”

“Not knowing what he was doing and where he was taking you almost drove me over the edge. Remember King Kong beating his chest on top of the Empire State Building? If Cooper had called any later than he had, that would have been me up there.”

I chuckle and hiccup at the same time, like a scared child who is recovering from a major tantrum.

“And what about Sean?” he asks. “Did you have any indication that he could spring this kind of information on you? I wasn’t sure what I thought of him when he came to the house. I didn’t know if I could trust him.”

“That’s because you don’t know him the way I do. I always knew Sean was better than my dad. If Sean saw something was wrong, he wouldn’t look the other way. That was my father’s mistake, believing that anyone who works for him would be loyal if he paid him enough. Sean was willing to lose a very good salary and risk his life, I guess. If my dad is that involved with Vinnie Marchetto, then it is a huge risk to do what Sean did. The only person I’m furious with is my father for doing this to my family… and me for believing all his bull for so many years.”

“Maybe our former G-Man, Cooper, is wrong. We don’t know for sure if your dad will be arrested—”

“Dylan, don’t even try to gloss this over for my benefit. I’ve lived with this crap for many years. I should have seen the signs.”

Dylan strokes my hair and gazes at me with such a loving tenderness. The only man that shocks me is Dylan and his desire to be with someone like me. He has worked so hard to be the opposite of anyone that resembles the damaged, deceitful people attached to me. I don’t want him to put his emotional health at risk and jeopardize his progress because he accepts me as I am.

I love him too much to keep him bonded to a destructive family like mine. A father in prison, a grandmother who refuses to talk about our family dirt, and an unstable mother who has legitimate nervous breakdowns… I can’t envision Dylan and I going to visit my father at Rikers or wherever he’ll end up. And would Dylan feel obligated to help my obstinate mother who would rather pop a Valium with a tumbler of Scotch than seek real help? I don’t want to lasso Dylan to that never-ending hell, and I don’t necessarily want to be a part of that family anymore, either.

Yet, if I break all my connections with my family and let any lingering love or affection for my parents decay to nothing, can I start clean with Dylan? Is it possible or am I setting myself up for a future of regrets that would also hurt Dylan? How much psychological melodrama can a guy like Dylan handle? Under the circumstances, I could be the worst possible woman for him.

Twenty-Five

Dylan

Carson gets tired of me walking slowly so he sprints ahead of me and makes it to our trailer long before I get there. By the time I get home from school, there are police cars, an ambulance, and Lauren and her parents and a lot of other familiar faces. They are crying, and I hear people mumbling to me and to each other that they are so sorry. I don’t want this to be happening, and I hate them all for acting this way.

A policewoman makes me stand by a cop car, and I see Carson come from behind the back of our trailer with some more cops. He’s wiping his face as if he’s been crying. I have never seen my brother cry. The woman won’t let me go to our trailer or anywhere near Carson. They only want to talk to him.

I drop my backpack on the ground and wait for Carson to come get me and tell me what’s going on; he’s the only one I want to talk to. I know this is bad, especially since it is happening behind the trailer, not inside. I hear the whispers about my dad, but the ambulance guys haven’t brought him out; instead, they keep talking to Carson. He is almost eighteen, only three years older than me, but they all know he is in charge because he acts like it.

It may be minutes or hours that pass as Lauren stays with her parents, looking over at me and crying. All I can think is how lucky she is to be standing there with both of her parents. My mom died when I was eight, and we’ve rarely seen my dad over the years—he barely exists.

When someone slips a warm arm around my shoulders, I look up. It’s Archie. I know it is worse than I can imagine because Archie’s eyes are watery. No one is talking to me now, they expect me to be quiet and stay still, but I am not an idiot. I am well aware that it is my father behind the trailer, and no one wants me to see him.

A policeman walks Carson over to me, and Archie puts his other arm around him. Carson starts sniffling. I don’t know why, but it makes me angry. We are not supposed to have any more bad stuff happen to us. My mother was supposed to get better, and when she didn’t, my father said we would all get through her death together, even though he started disappearing on us, and Carson had to take over.

I escape from Archie’s embrace with every intention of getting behind our trailer to see what is going on for myself.

“No!” Carson grabs my arm. My brother is strong. He glares at me with tears in his eyes. “You can’t go over there, Dylan. Dad is gone.”

As he grips my arm tight enough to make bruises, a stretcher comes around the side of the trailer. As I expected, the body on the stretcher is covered from head to toe with a sheet. It still sends waves of sickening shock through me.

I know another parent has left me.

I think I start crying more over my father’s death than my mother’s because he knew how sad Carson and I were when our mother died. He knew, and he didn’t care what it would do to us; he only wanted to stop his own pain.

But he left Carson and me all alone.

People keep leaving me.

***

Working for my brother and taking orders from him is one thing. Taking orders from Cooper and Sean is another. It is only going to last so long with me. I am not about to sit around a hotel room waiting for news from them about what the FBI is or isn’t doing with Emma’s father and the Marchetto crime family. Even though I feel kind of sorry for the guy, I can’t give two shits about Robert when I have Emma bouncing off the walls in this little room, anxious about everyone.

I have her imprisoned in a hotel room with me, and you would think that is all I need. Yeah, old Dylan would be all over this one, making sure we were naked twenty-four seven—screwing, eating, screwing, and watching TV, and then screwing again. My brain used to love those easy agendas, and my body never complained. Thoughts like that make me feel pretty ill about the kind of selfish prick I used to be.