Jasmine
From the door of the apartment, I watch Ty stroll along the hall to the stairwell, where he turns and gives me his irresistible grin. I wave and shake my head, and he laughs before he disappears down the stairs.
With a sigh, I close the door and go back into the living room. He turned up late yesterday afternoon, along with a takeout, and stayed the night as though that was completely normal. When I saw his battered face, I totally freaked out.
He laughed and told me I should’ve seen the other guy, as though that should make me feel better about the bruises on his body. And he’s sure that whoever was behind the hijacked deliveries won’t be chancing their luck again, now they know they’ll be crossing the Viking Bastards. So that’s good, I guess, although it didn’t stop me thinking about whatmight’vehappened.
I know he can take care of himself. This is his life, always has been, and he thrives on the danger, addicted to the adrenaline rush. He’s never walked away from a fight in his life, and he never will.
It’s a good thing I’m leaving in three days. I don’t want the constant worry that one night he won’t make it home. Not that we’d ever commit to each other again in any case, but that isn’t even the point.
The apartment is almost done, with just the heavy furniture needing to be dumped. I could fly home tomorrow, if not for the memorial service on Thursday. The ghosts have all but gone, but not because I’ve thrown out so much junk.
It’s because of Ty. He often hung out here with me when Mom was working, but over the last few days it’s like he’s purged the bad memories of our last fight, when I told him I was moving to live with my dad.
I catch sight of the corner of a shoe box that’s wedged under the couch. Frowning, I pull it out. It’s the one I was about to sort through when Ty first turned up on Friday night. I’d forgotten all about it.
Do I really want to trawl through another thousand faded receipts for things Mom bought years ago? I glance at a half-filled garbage bag. It’s so tempting just to toss it, but I can’t, and so I lift the lid with a resigned sigh.
What the…
I collapse onto the couch, clutching the box as though it’s my lifeline. It’s filled to the brim with all the homemade cards I gave her, the strange little things I made in kindergarten, and a frayed blue hair bow that even now I remember wearing constantly, until all the sparkly plastic gems fell out.
Even my old school report cards are there.
She kept everything I gave her.
I press my fist against my heart, trying to ease the pain that’s eating me up inside. Maybe she had loved me in her own odd way. My throat aches with unshed tears as I relive my childhood through my mom’s carefully hoarded mementos.
It’s almost lunchtime before I go check the mail. I’ve set up a forwarding service to start from Friday, in case I haven’t contacted everyone I should have. There’s only one letter in the box so I take it inside and rake my fingers through my hair.
I feel like crap, which is hardly surprising after ugly-crying for the last hour, but it’s also unlocked a hard knot in the center of my chest. Strange—I’d gotten so used to it I hardly noticed it anymore, but now that it’s gone, there’s a sense of peace.
Guess I need to deal with whatever this mail is. I glance at the envelope and frown. It’s addressed to me. I rip it open, and there’s a check made out in my name. I pull out the compliments slip.
Dear Ms. O’Brien,
Enclosed please find check for final payment of wages owed to your mother, Ms. Kelly Gallagher, made out in your name.
Huh. Didn’t expect that. I scan the rest of the brief message and the black and white logo for the Hammer.
Tyler Jenson.
For a second my gaze skims over his name at the bottom of the paper, uncomprehending.
Tyler. Jenson.
Heat washes through me, and my face burns.Tyowns the Hammer?
No way. He would’ve told me. We talked about his job just the other day, and he said he’s still working for his dad.
Did he really say that?My brain’s scrambled, and I can’t remember. Maybe I simply assumed. It wasn’t like I asked him outright.
The words blur, and the old, familiar humiliation twists through my chest. Ty always knew how much I hated my mom stripping in sleazy clubs. How it crushed me that she’d put out for any of the Bastards or their hang-arounds because she believed it made her special to them.
My stomach churns. Even at fourteen I knew what they really thought of her, andspecialdidn’t come close.
And Ty hired her to work in his club.
