Page 52
Beneath me, the car judders to a halt. I’ve stalled out again. Gus sighs in exasperation, and Cora throws him a look.
“It’s fine, babe,” she tells me. She guides me through restarting the car. Again. While I try to ignore the pricking sensation behind my eyes.
In his office, I tried to show Liam how strong I truly am. I’m stronger than my trauma. And it’s Liam who’s been helping me through it. The thought of being taken from behind still frightens me, but there are other ways for me to enjoy giving myself to Liam. He’s so good to me, and so good with me. Lavishing attention on my body, on my wants and needs. The way he’s been prioritizing my pleasure makes me feel… worshipped.
The lone, stalled car in the parking lot purrs back to life.
Cora cheers for me. She whoops loudly, but I think it’s mostly to annoy Gus, because there’s a tiredness to her enthusiasm. Her patience is waning, same as it was at the gun range. I don’t fault her for it, and certainly not for her tough-love approach, it’s just not what I was used to growing up.
When my mam taught me how to ride a bike, she made me feel like we had all the time in the world. Another beginner’s lesson in another empty parking lot, much smaller than this one, in sprawling American suburbia. It must’ve been in our church’s lot, though the fact that I can’t remember makes my eyes prick with tears again. I do remember my helmet clearly, bright pink with daisies.
And of course I remember my mam. The bandages she kept in her purse for the inevitable scrapes on my knees, the ham sandwiches she’d packed because she knew it’d take all day. The encouragement, the pride in her eyes. The love. She was the best, my mam.
It’s what made her leaving hurt that much worse.
Liam helped me through that trauma too.
In front of me, the high school parking lot blurs, the foggy sky blending down into the asphalt. I blink away my tears as I reach for the gear shift. I rarely think about my mam anymore. There are days when I can’t help it, like the holidays or her birthday. Or special occasions, like my graduation or the youth group’s occasional pageants.
My wedding.
“Babe?” Cora asks gently.
Sensing both her and Gus’s eyes on me, I shift into first, pull the brake, and shut off the car—properly, this time. I take a deep breath and smear away my first set of tears before they fall.
“I think I’m good for today,” I say to the windshield. I don’t wait for Cora to reply, I just unbuckle my seatbelt and get out of the car. I feel stupidly weak as I circle around to the passenger side. I take the long way, trying to avoid Cora, but she traps me in a hug anyway.
“There are different types of weapons,” she says firmly. She doesn’t give me time to respond before letting go and climbing into the driver’s side.
On our way back to the city, the fog thickens into drizzle, then rain. I watch fat drops wriggle across the passenger window as Cora turns on classical music. I think it’s Vivaldi, something strings-heavy and aggressive. The raindrops seem to shake with the violins’ intensity.
There’s nowhere to hide in this car. The music vibrates into my skin, nothing like the soft piano lullabies my mam used to play before bed. Those felt exactly like the chenille blanket she’d tuck around me before kissing my forehead.
When she walked out of my life, I’d already grown taller than her by several inches. But even when I was a teenager, before my da died, she’d still kiss me on the forehead, standing on her tiptoes while I tried not to be too obvious about crouching down.
In another version of my life, with my da still alive and my mam still around, she’d kiss me like that at my wedding. I’d be standing next to my groom, and my mam would stand on her tiptoes to kiss him on his cheek and me on my forehead.
She’d always liked Liam, especially the way he treated me. If she were still herself, she’d be happy that he’s my groom. She’d be thrilled to attend our wedding. Even if she knew it was a temporary arrangement, she would celebrate my temporary happiness.
Through the car speakers, the aggressive violins crescendo. When they crash into silence, my heart twists painfully in my chest. A temporary arrangement, I have to remind myself.
That’s all this is.
Chapter 26
Brioni
Per our agreement, Cora, Gus, and I tell no one about our trip to the suburbs. It’s another secret I have to keep, another lie I have to confess to Father Ryan.
Since seeing Father Naughton with Estelle that night, I’ve been avoiding the older priest in all capacities. It’s too difficult for me to think of him as a man of the cloth now. Father Naughton isn’t just a priest, he’s a man in love, someone with his own turmoil that I don’t need to burden with my confessions.
With Father Ryan, my driving lesson was easy to confess to. My soul needed forgiveness for it. But I still haven’t been able to confess to my lust for Liam. It feels too right.
And that scares me.
It scares me in the same way that shooting a gun now feels too right. At first, I was frightened by simply picking up the weapon. Now I’m frightened by how much I like firing it.
Guns and lies are part of the mafia life. They’re essential to who Liam has to be. And now that they’re essential to my commitment in this role, I thought I’d endure them the way I would a chore. But it’s become more than that.
