Danny opens his mouth. Closes it again. Stares out the window at the courthouse where a woman is leading two small children up the steps. His expression softens.
“Lisa wants kids,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Been asking for a year. I keep on saying after the next job. I need this, Chris.”
He stares silently out the window. I can see his brain working, churning over the reality of our situation. Of his.
I don’t answer.
He wants me to come through for him. Salvage the bank job.
But is that even possible?
I need to see her.After what just went down at the courthouse, my body, my soul, all of me is yearning for her.
She mentioned earlier wanting to go by her apartment to pick up a few things, so I take a detour on my way home and go by.
Maybe it’s the Charger, or maybe it’s just my habits, but I scan every inch of her block before getting out of the car. Once I’m satisfied it’s clear, I take the steps to her door.
She opens a few seconds after my knock and immediately throws herself into my arms and kisses me—which I love, but it feels foreign. Public display of affection? Never in my life.
But I could learn to love it.
Her apartment is the opposite of my house. Photographs—ones she’s taken, I assume—hang on every wall. Her and Jules at the beach, with her folks at a barbeque, a dog she must have grown up with.
There are art books stacked on the floor, filling every shelf. The kitchen is a cute mess, and the sink is overflowing with dirty dishes. There’s a couch with vintage throw pillows and a blanket draped over one arm.
A real, lived-in home. Everything I’ve spent eleven years avoiding.
Avery is barefoot with her hair in a loose knot, wearing an oversized T-shirt that hangs mid-thigh. She can make absolutely anything adorable.
I catch the back of her neck and pull her in, kissing her again. Deeper, longer. She tastes of something sweet.
God, this is just what I need after the day I’ve had. For a few seconds, the Charger with government plates and Danny’s arrest cease to exist. All that matters isher.
When she pulls back, she sees something in my eyes and frowns. “What’s wrong?”
Christ, she’s already able to read me.
“Just a long day,” I say.
It’s a half-truth, and she’s right not to believe me. Her hand lingers on my chest, and her eyes stay fixed on mine, but she doesn’t push it. She leads me to the couch and pulls me down beside her, draping her exposed legs over mine.
We sit there quietly as the sound of the streets drift up through the windows. Traffic, music, someone’s dog barking. Normal sounds. No gunfire, engines revving, or tires screeching. Just a world where people come home, cook dinner, and fall asleep on the couch watching TV together.
A world where people don’t keep a duffel bag packed with cash in the closet.
A want hits me so suddenly that it takes my breath away.
“What if we left?” I ask her.
She looks at me. “Left?”
“Yeah, San Diego. California. All of it.” I don’t know where this is coming from. Some vault in my chest that’s been locked for a decade and is now being cracked open by her. A safecracker breaking into my soul. “I could take you somewhere, Avery. Somewhere quiet. Oregon. Colorado. A nice small town where you could do your photography.”
She stares back at me, trying to figure out if I’m serious. “Chris, I like you, but we’ve known each other for less than a week.”
“I know how long it’s been,” I say, taking her hand.
“And leave? People don’t just leave.” I almost laugh. She has no idea how many times I’ve done just that. New name, new city, new empty house. “I have a job—"
