“So. Uh, how long you been living here?”
“Not really sure.” He scans the room thoughtfully. “One day I started keeping my shit here, and suddenly I had half a closet and my own drawer in the bathroom. Maybe three years?”
“Thinking about kids?”
“Don’t know. Maybe.”
We fall silent. It’s heavy. More of that awkwardness. More of the distance that’s been growing between us for a decade.
Head lowered, I twist my fingers in my lap. “Not gonna ask me about my life? I mean… even Axe did that.”
He zeroes in on me, expression hardening. He should want to know, shouldn’t he? How I’ve been living, who I’ve been hanging out with?
My heart sinks. “I’m… sort of getting the feeling you’re not all that happy I’m here.”
He moves his hand over his mouth, assessing me. Finally, he says, “I’m just… surprised to see you. I thought Jimmy was pretty clear about you not coming back here.”
I arch a brow. “So?”
“It was an order, if I remember.”
“I don’t take orders from Jimmy.” A half-truth. I pick my battles with my father. Like Axe, Jimmy has this need for control. He’s the king, and his rule is law. But I’m his daughter, not one of his men. And I can only take so much of that shit.
“He pulled you out of here for a reason, Gracie,” my brother says. “South Bay is not a place for a girl like you. And this life? It’s not safe.”
I purse my lips. “You may not know this, Jack, since it’s been five years since you bothered to pick up the phone, but I’m not agirl anymore. Jimmy might have ordered me to stay away, but he didn’t order you to stop speaking to me. You did that all on your own.”
Okay.Maybe Iama little mad.
Jaw ticking, he pushes to his full height, crossing his arms, big muscles bulging. Same shit Linc tried to pull on me a half hour ago at the coffee shop, same thing his father used to do. God, they look alike. Linc looks more like his mother. But Jack? Spitting image of the man who used to use my stomach as a punching bag. Right down to the piercing green eyes. Though his father’s were colder, emptier.
I swallow back my visceral reaction to that move, digging my nails into my palms. Jack would never be that man. He’s not capable of that kind of hate. But sometimes it’s hard not to draw the comparison. My brain understands the difference, but the nerves twisting in my stomach seem to have forgotten.
I hold his stare, waiting for an apology, or maybe an explanation. We were close, and then we weren’t. He abandoned me, and I still don’t know why.
A loud buzz snags his attention, and he tugs out his phone. He eyes the screen, then grabs his cut from the counter. “Axe needs me.”
Club first, family second.
“Sure, Jack.” I nod to the cup on the counter. “Don’t forget your coffee.”
His eyes linger on it a little too long, then he backs away. “Too sweet for me after all. See you later.”
Then he’s gone, the door slamming behind him. The rumble of his bike comes a minute later, as I’m dumping his caramel coffee down the drain.
9
Freshly showered,gym bag slung over my shoulder, I step outside the Ringhouse, South Bay’s only boxing club. Fatigue is just settling into my muscles when the owner of the place appears, headed my way.
“Hey, Walt. Bit late for you to be here, isn’t it?”
The silver-haired man pats the metal box he’s got shoved under his arm. “Wanted to top up the till for tomorrow.”
“I could set you up so you’re not dealing with so much cash. Most people don’t carry much on them these days anyway. It would mean a lot less trips to the bank.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “You know me. I don’t like dealing with all theseapps. And I like going to the bank. Lookin’ into the eyes of the people who are touching my money.”
I snort. Walt Mercer is the definition of old school. Mid-seventies, army vet, traditionally trained boxer. Does his taxes by hand. Takes zero bullshit and fucking hates change. That’s probably why I like him so much.
