Everything for Us (A Bad Boys Novel) (18 page)

I remember.

I fell in love that night. Almost two years ago. In New Orleans. On a balcony. Overlooking a crowd. With a complete stranger. I fell in love with a ghost.

As the details fall into place in my mind, clicking together like so many puzzle pieces, the inevitable question follows.

Why?

“But why? Why would you do that?” Nash has the decency to look ashamed. Deeply ashamed. But I don’t care. I want to twist the knife. I want to hurt him. Like he wanted to hurt me. Like he
did
hurt me. Like he
is
hurting me. “Did you hate me that much?”

Much to my dismay, I feel tears well in my eyes. I’d thought my heart was breaking before, but nothing compares to the pain I feel now. He used me just like my father used me. I was nothing more to him than a pawn, just like I was never anything more to my father than just a pawn. Maybe I just moved on from one bastard to another.

“It had nothing to do with you,” Nash says simply, quietly.

“But it did. You . . . you touched me. And kissed me. And you . . .” I trail off, embarrassment stinging my cheeks as I think back to what I let him do to me. What I enjoyed him doing to me. “Oh God. You . . . you . . .”

I look around for somewhere to run, for a place to hide. I’ve never been more hurt and humiliated.

Perceptive as he is, Nash takes my arm before I can bolt and leads me back through the front doors to the sidewalk outside. He pushes me toward the end of the building, but I jerk free of him. “Don’t touch me.”

He looks wounded and I feel the tiniest bit of gratification that he can be reached, that he’s not completely impervious to pain. But the small amount of guilt I might be able to inflict upon him is a raindrop in the ocean compared to what he’s done to me.

My stomach twists and I bend slightly at the waist, fighting the urge to double over completely, to somehow protect my vital organs from the unbearable pain of it all. “Oh God, oh God, oh God. I let you do those things to me.”

I feel nauseated.

“Let me explain.”

“What is there to say? I get it. You hated your brother so much. You wanted to hurt him and you thought abusing his girlfriend would be a nice way to do that. You don’t care about anyone but yourself and your stupid revenge. What else is there to know? To understand?”

“For the most part, you’re right. All I could think of when I saw you on the balcony that night was that you were my brother’s girlfriend, that you were the beautiful woman who should’ve been mine. Only you weren’t. You were his.

“I went up there with the intent of getting back at him, with humiliating him. Humiliating both of you. I won’t deny that. But from the moment you kissed me, I wasn’t thinking about my brother. Or revenge. Or anything. Except you. I’m a bastard for wanting to use you, yes. For going through with it. But I’m the one who paid the price for it.”

“Oh, and just how, pray tell, do you think you’ve paid the price for it?”

“For all the fury and bitterness I feel, there’s one thing that’s always been at the back of my mind. One thing I’ve never been able to forget, no matter how much I tried. That night. With you. I’ve never been able to forget you.”

The pain is too fresh, the wound too deep to listen to one more word. The sincerity in his eyes isn’t enough to penetrate the cloud of shrapnel surrounding my heart.

I shake my head and close my eyes against him—against his face, against his words, against the love that just won’t die, not even under the sword of such betrayal. “I’m done. This is too much for me. You warned me and I didn’t listen. That’s my own fault. The only thing I can do now is keep from making the same mistake again.”

“Marissa, please.”

That one word is another excruciating slice to my heart. It nearly takes my breath, this star-crossed love I feel. In many ways it feels so right, but, in reality, it is so terribly, terribly wrong.

Without turning to look at him, I speak the hardest words I think I’ve ever spoken. “Leave me alone, Nash. Just go away and leave me alone.”

Squaring my shoulders and raising my chin, I swallow the devastation and make my way back into the restaurant, pretending to be the partly whole person I was five minutes ago before I was torn apart by Nash.

But it’s all a façade.

I know, deep down, I’ll never be the same again.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Nash

For the first time in seven years, I have to dig deep to find the anger I’ve lived with every day for so long. It’s buried beneath whatever this is I’m feeling for Marissa and that horrible guilt and pain I feel for what happened in New Orleans.

I know I hurt her. Badly. I feel it in my chest, in my gut, in my bones. It’s a deep, aching, nagging pain. Like a boxer took to me with nothing on his fists but fury. With nothing more than a few words and the devastation emanating from her, she beat the shit out of me. And, somehow, in the process, she stole the only thing that’s mattered to me for all this time, the only thing that’s kept me alive—rage. She took it the night she stood in front of a mirror and watched me ram my body into hers from behind. She stole it from me and I just didn’t know it.

Until now.

I can find enough of the anger and determination to see this through, but I know the driving force of my life is gone. And what the hell I’ll replace it with, I have no idea. I guess I’ll have plenty of miserable time to figure that out.

But first there are some things I have to take care of. First, there are loose ends to tie up.

Speeding toward the interstate, away from Atlanta, I dial Cash’s number. He picks up after one ring.

“Where are you?”

“We’re stopped getting gas. On our way back to the club. Why?”

“I’ll meet you there. I’ve got a few things to tell you. I’m bringing an end to all this, once and for all.”

He doesn’t ask questions, although I’m sure he wants to. But on the phone, a cell phone no less, it’s just not smart to talk in too much detail.

“Okay. We’ll be there in probably half an hour.”

“I’ll be a while longer. There’s somewhere else I have to go first.”

“I’ll wait,” he replies.

For the first time since seeing him again, I have the urge to hug my brother. To look him in the eye so he can see that I really have missed him and I really don’t hate him.

Maybe there’ll be time for that before I go.

We hang up and I take the familiar path to the prison. To see my father one last time. And then I’ll be gone.

* * *

The setup is a little different this time. It’s like the kind of prison visitation you see in the movies—two long rows of cubicles with a glass panel between them and dirty, black phones on the wall. If my first trip to the pen hadn’t made the consequences of a life of crime seem very real to me, this one certainly does.

They bring Dad out shackled and cuffed, like the violent criminal they think he is. He looks older than he did a few days ago. I know that’s not possible, but that’s how it seems. I wonder if asking us to give up on getting some justice and freeing him from prison is taking its toll.

Obviously he doesn’t know me very well
, I think. Or else he’d have known that I’d never give up. Not until my dying breath. He’d know that I’ll see the bastards responsible for wrecking our lives pay. If it’s the last thing I do.

Even as I think about my lifelong mission, the fire is a little more muted than it has been in the past. I guess something other than hatred and revenge has finally taken up some of the space in the vacuum Mom’s death left inside me.

Dad sits down in front of me and picks up the phone. I do the same.

Finally, he smiles. “It’s still so good to see you. I just can’t get over how much you’ve changed.”

“Not all of it has been for the better, Dad.”

Even though it’s impossible through the glass between us, I can almost feel his sigh, like a heavy breath settling down around me.

“You’re strong, son. You always were. Stronger than you knew, even. You’ll overcome this. I know it.”

I nod. “For the first time in a long time, I’m beginning to think I can. I guess I finally realized that there are some things more important than revenge. Even for a man like me.”

“Don’t say that like you’re some kind of monster. Deep down, you’re still the same good kid. Smart, kindhearted, driven. I think you just had a little more of your brother in you than any of us realized. And he had a little more of you than I ever gave him credit for. That just makes you both even more perfect in my eyes. The key is learning to live with all that in a balanced way.”

“Nah, that’s not the hard part. Finding someone else who can live with it,
that’s
the hard part.”

Dad frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shake my head, for a moment wishing I could rid it of thoughts of Marissa, but knowing that if I ever manage to do that, I’ll be a lesser person in the very next breath.

“Nothing.” Dad’s perceptive gaze makes me so uncomfortable I have to look away. “Look, the reason I came today—”

“Let me say this before you go any further. Son, whatever it is you think is so wrong with you, it’s nothing that the love of a good woman can’t fix. And if she’s good enough and strong enough and
worth
your love, she’ll stick right by you. Life has dealt you a shitty hand.
I
have dealt you a shitty hand. And I’ll never forgive myself. But don’t live out the rest of your days miserable and alone and blaming yourself for the past. You’ll end up wasting the very bright future you have ahead of you.

“Just because it doesn’t look like what it did when you were in high school doesn’t mean it’s not a future worth having. Find a new dream. Chase a different sunset. It doesn’t have to involve a degree and a suit and tie, although it can if that’s what you still want. You’re young and smart and capable. It can be anything you want it to be. The only thing you have to do to see it happen is to make peace with the past. And with yourself. Let it go and move on. That’s still the best advice I can give you. The past is like quicksand. It’ll suck you in, and you’ll die there if you’re not careful.”

“What if I don’t know how to move on? What if I don’t have a direction now?”

Or what if the direction I want to go doesn’t want me? What if I’m not good enough for her?

“Find one. It’s there. You just have to look for it.”

I don’t want to talk about moving on or think about impossible futures anymore. I came here for a reason. I need to see this through and get the hell out of here. Out of Atlanta. Off dry land.

I take a deep breath before I say what I have to say. I know Dad won’t like this tactic; it’s in Davenport blood to resist being extorted, which is essentially what I’m doing. If guilting someone into action can be considered extortion, that is.

“We’ve all made some sacrifices, Dad. I think you’ll agree with that.” My father nods. His expression is one of profound contrition. I feel bad already. “I think you’d also agree that I’ve had to do some pretty extreme things.” Again he nods. He won’t meet my eyes. “I have something to ask in return now.” He raises his gaze and narrows his eyes on me. “You’ll be getting more visits soon. I want you to promise me that you’ll do exactly what’s asked of you. That you can and you
will
trust me enough to just do it. Your sons are grown now. Let us handle this.”

I look long and hard into his eyes. If I could put a message in his brain, I would. But I can’t. The best I can hope for is to keep him alive in here long enough for Cash to do his thing and get stuff in order for Dad’s appeal and the trial of the mafia.

I’ve done all I can do. I’ve arranged for two of the three testimonies that could put these men away for life, and Dmitry’s taking care of getting some new leadership in the
Bratva
, leadership that will see to Dad’s safety and to that of my family in exchange for putting Slava and his men in prison. The rest is up to Cash. And maybe Marissa. And, of course, Dad. He has to testify or the RICO thing won’t work.

He still hasn’t said a word. He’s thinking, wondering.

So I continue. “You don’t need to understand anything yet. You just need to promise me you’ll do what’s needed. For me. For us. For all of us.” I can’t say much more. I don’t want to tip off whoever is listening. It could put Dad’s life in danger. Well, even
more
danger, I guess. “Prove to me that I’m all the things you think I am. Prove to me you still have faith in me. And then maybe I’ll believe it.”

That’s low. But it’s necessary.

And it’s working.

I can see it on his face.

He nods. “Okay.” A pause and a sigh. “Okay.”

* * *

I feel an ache of emptiness in the pit of my stomach that’s not usually there. Maybe it comes from getting a little time with Dad and then having to give him up and leave again. Maybe it comes from being reunited with my twin, then having to turn around and let him go. Maybe it’s just leaving in general. This was home for a lot of years.

I’m leaving. Leaving family. Again. Leaving town. Again.

I guess I could stay.

But really, I can’t. This isn’t the life for me. There’s no place for me here. Not yet; anyway. Maybe eventually. Someday. But not now.

A little voice in my head says I’m forgetting one thing that could be causing this feeling, one person.

Marissa. Maybe leaving her is what’s making me so miserable.

I grit my teeth.

If that’s the case, then I’m on the right track. Leaving is the best thing I can do for her. Get away from her, leave her alone. And there’s nothing else I can do to help Dad or Cash with what’s about to happen. I’ve done all I can do. I’ve served my purpose. And I’m getting Mom some justice. I should be on cloud nine.

It’s just a little more of a hollow victory than I thought it would be. Than it would’ve been before I met her.

Marissa.

I push her out of my mind for the thousandth time as I pull into Cash’s garage. This is my last stop before I head back to the coast.

I’m heading there as a favor to Dmitry. He asked that I do something for him in return for his testimony. It sounds like a small price to pay for his help in getting justice for Mom and freeing Dad, so of course I agreed. But first I get to deliver some good news to my brother. Finally.

Even though I’d say Cash heard the garage door, I knock before entering. No sense in starting things off on the wrong foot because I see him and his girlfriend in a compromising position.

He answers quickly. Fully clothed.

The first thing I do is hand him the keys to his car. He frowns as he takes them.

“Thanks for the loaner. I won’t need it anymore, though.”

“You getting your own ride?”

“Nah. I’m heading out today.”

As perverse as it sounds, it pleases me that he looks a little dismayed. “What? Just like that?”

I nod. “Just like that.”

“So no justice for Mom, then? That was all just bullshit? You’re just gonna go back to that hellhole of a life you’ve been living?”

“Oh, there will be justice for Mom, but my part is done. The rest is up to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I know my smile is smug. “I’m bringing you your racketeering case, wrapped up all nice and neat. All it needs is a bow.”

If an expression can be equated with someone holding their breath in anticipation, Cash’s is. “What?” I smile even wider at his question. It’s little more than a reverent whisper.

“In exchange for his life, Duffy has agreed to testify.” Cash starts to speak, and I’m sure I know what he’s going to say, so I hold up my hand to stop him. “He was also much more agreeable once he realized that all three top men in this cell of the
Bratva
would be gone and the new person in charge will be . . . friendly to us.” I can see that eases Cash’s mind a bit. “He’ll testify to contract killing. For immunity, of course. He’ll go into witness protection afterward, just in case Slava has reach from prison. But I still think the new leadership will squash a lot of his influence. Anyway, Dmitry, the man I’ve spent the last seven years getting to know and who knows Dad, has agreed to testify against the guy in charge of smuggling. It should be considered an act of terror since the people
Bratva
sells to are enemies of the United States. Dmitry also knows the number four guy, the one who should step up to take charge. Thinks he can get his cooperation in all this for a chance at being top dog. I tend to agree. Dmitry can be very persuasive.”

“How the hell—”

“You don’t need to know the details. Leave the unsavory parts to me.”

“Nash, I—”

“I know. I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. I never wanted your life. I never wanted this. And to know what you’ve had to do, how you’ve had to live . . .”

I can see the pain and regret on his face. And I believe him. We both got thrust into this against our will. We did the best we could with only the minimal guidance of our father to go on. Makes me see the wisdom in what Dad just told me. Letting all this go would be a good thing all the way around. And we will. After.

“The past is the past. Let’s leave it where it belongs and move on.”

I can tell he has more to say, wants to make sure I understand. I reach out and clap my hand on his shoulder. I nod as I look into his eyes.

So much of our family’s communication over the last years has had to be unspoken. We’ve had to believe in each other, to trust each other, even when it didn’t seem like the smart thing to do. We had to believe in the unseen, hope in the unlikely.

Now, standing right here in front of him, I know Cash can see that I understand, and that it’s all in the past.

Finally, he nods, too. Yes, he knows.

“The only thing you have to do is get the case together and keep Dad safe for his part of the testimony. Money laundering and cooked books ought to be the nail in the coffin for Slava and his boys. They’re all three involved in different aspects, but all three were knowledgeable about the entire show. Each person’s testimony will show that.”

After a few seconds of digesting what I’ve said, Cash laughs. It’s a lighthearted laugh, a pleased, nearly gleeful one. “Holy shit! You did it!”

I get the feeling he wants to let out a whoop. And that makes me smile again, too.

“I just did my part. The rest is up to you and whoever else needs to be a part of this to make sure it goes off without a hitch. You’re the legal eagle. I’ll leave that stuff to you.”