Falling Harder (23 page)

He kisses me quickly on the forehead and hurries off down
the path. I wander away from him, feeling dazed and giddy. I have no idea where
this is heading, or if it’s even the least bit wise, but I can’t really bring
myself to care. This little bubble of hope that’s rising inside of me with every
second Trace and I spend together may pop at any second. I simply want to enjoy
it for as long as I can.

And now, back home to the task at hand. Here’s hoping I’ll
be able to focus on the case once the taste of Trace’s lips has faded from my
own.

Chapter Nine

Trace

Nothing Ventured

It’s a miracle I don’t get hit by a bus as I make my way
back to my apartment. I’m sure that I’m grinning like a goddamned idiot the
entire way, but I just can’t help it. I don’t know what I was expecting when I
showed up at Nadia’s door this morning, but this afternoon trumped anything
that could have possibly happened. Could we actually be headed down a path that
ends with us together? As much as I want to believe it, I don’t dare. Not yet.
If there’s anything I’ve learned in this tumultuous life of mine, it’s that
hope makes you vulnerable to heartache.

Still though, even I have to admit that things are looking
up with Nadia. And good thing, too. With her gorgeous face running through my
mind, I don’t have time to think about how empty my apartment is. Or the fact
that I still don’t know what I’m going to do for work, now that I’m back in the
states. Or that I haven’t been able to sleep through the night without having
agonizing flashback dreams about the things I did overseas. Thinking of her
keeps the rest of those hard truths at bay.

I get hopelessly turned around on my way home. All of my
foster homes were on the outskirts of the Chicago city limits. I never really
learned how to navigate the city proper. Even once I was out of juvie and
running drugs for Skidmore and his crew, I had specific instructions to go on.
I feel like a little kid again out here. Only there’s no one to take me by the
hand and lead me home again. Not that there ever was, of course.

Briefly, my mind swings toward thoughts of my parents. The
last time I saw them was right before I shipped off for my first tour. I’d
wanted to visit them to say my goodbyes. I was scared shitless at the idea of
heading off to the war, and part of me seriously thought that seeing my mom and
dad would put me at ease. What a crock that turned out to be. I’ll remember
that day for as long as I live, whether I want to or not.

I’d hunted down their address from social services and
cleaned up nice and neat for my visit. They’d probably heard all about my
latest stint in juvie, but part of me still wanted to impress them, or
something. By then, they were living in a studio apartment in one of the worst
parts of town. Even I felt out of place walking up to their front door there.

No one answered at my first knock. Or my second. Or third. I
was just about to turn around and leave when three locks snapped open on the
other side of the door. I turned to see a bloodshot, bleary eye peering out
through the crack in the front door.

“Hey Dad,” I said, drawing myself up.

“Well. If it isn’t the convict,” he cackled, opening the
door all the way.

The sight of him had turned my stomach at once. When I was a
kid, my dad had been thick and brawny. His warehouse job had kept him trim and
fit. But all that healthy muscle had melted away once heroin and coke became
his primary food groups. The man who stood before me that day was nothing but a
sack of bones held together by protruding veins and papery skin. I don’t know
if I would have recognized him if I’d passed him on the street.

“Who the hell is that?” called a voice from within the
darkened apartment.

“It’s the kid,” my dad called back, his eyes struggling to
stay focused on me.

“What kid?” cried my mom.

“Our kid, idiot.”

I stood rooted to the ground as shuffling footsteps advanced
on the front door. The shell of my mother appeared at my father’s side. For a
long moment, I swear she didn’t even know who I was. But comprehension dawned
on her lined, haggard face at last.

“Trace, baby!” she squealed, pushing past my dad to wrap her
arms around me. “You’re home! You’re back home!”

I turned my face away from her, appalled at how rank she
smelled. It was like she hadn’t bothered to shower in two damn weeks. I’d seen
her pretty low before, but they were at a whole new level of piss poor now. How
could I possibly have come from two people as broken as this? Did that mean
that I was destined to break as spectacularly as they had?

Or maybe, I had already.

“Well, what the hell do you want?” my dad asks, scratching
at his concave stomach.

“I wanted to say goodbye,” I told them. “I’m shipping off
tomorrow. For Afghanistan.”

“Afghanistan?” my mother asked, her face screwed up, “Is
that the one with that Saddam Hussein guy?”

“Not quite,” I told her.

“Well shit,” my dad said, “What are you going over there
for?”

“To serve my country,” I told him, standing tall.

“Bullshit,” my mom cackled, falling back against the hallway
wall.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“You ain’t doing it for the country,” she laughed, “You’re
doing it ‘cause you got nowhere else to go. After what you did to that poor
foster daddy of yours—”

“He deserved exactly what he got,” I growled.

“Sure he did,” my dad said, “Whatever helps you sleep at
night.”

“You have no right to judge me,” I said, my voice guttural,
“Look at the two of you! How can you possibly live like this? You’re filthy.
You’re pathetic.”

“But at least we’re not killers,” my dad said.

“That’s a whole other kind of low,” my mom put in.

“And now you’re off to fight some war,” my dad pressed on as
my heart began to tighten. “You’re off to kill some more people, and why? Just
because you can? Maybe some people are just born to be killers. I don’t know.”

“I’m not a killer,” I said, fighting to keep the hurt from
my voice. “Don’t...you can’t call me that. You’re my parents. You’re supposed
to be on my side.”

“We’re not your parents, boy,” my dad said, “We’re just the
people who couldn’t pay to abort you in time.”

In one swift motion, I cocked my fist back and grabbed the
front of my dad’s grimy shirt. My mother let out an agonizing scream, but my
dad just grinned at me with stained blackened-yellow teeth. He was daring me,
begging me to strike him. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. As horrible as those people
had been to me, I still thought of them as my parents. I’d still do what they
needed of me, to prove that I was a good son. And I hated myself for it.

I let go of my dad roughly, sending him knocking against my
mother’s scrawny form. Looking over them with distaste and pity, I said, “I just
wanted to say goodbye. I probably won’t be seeing you again. I might get killed
over there. You never know. If I do, though, I don’t know if they’ll bring my
body back to you. If they do...I’d prefer to be cremated. There’s a little park
with a pond, over by the Daniels’ old place. I’ve never been happier anywhere
else in the world. That’s where...never mind. Just, if you can be bothered, if
the time comes, that’s what I’d like. I think it’d be the least you could do.”

And with that, I turned on my heel and walked away from
them. They made no move to stop me. I wasn’t even surprised by then, or even
hurt. Just numb.

By the time I’d returned from my second tour, word had
finally come to me that my mom and dad had died. They’d overdosed together on a
batch of coke that was cut with rat poison. They’d probably been so high when
it happened that they didn’t even notice.

If I’m honest, I wasn’t even broken up when I heard the
news. If anything, I was relieved to be free of them. Even though their deaths
meant that I was totally alone in the world, it was still better than belonging
to them. Because now, I’m my own man. At last.

The sun is already starting to sink in the sky by the time I
get my bearings in the city. Having not slept last night, my body is aching for
a little rest. I turn onto my street and feel the hairs on the back of my neck
stand at attention. I know this feeling all too well. It’s the feeling that
comes over me whenever something bad is about to go down. The question is, what
terrible thing does tonight have in store for me?

I spot a looming figure lingering in front of my apartment
building. Instantly, my body goes into self-defense mode. Like an idiot, I
neglected to bring my mace or switchblade with me with me when I left the house
this morning. But I’ve learned ways to bring a man down with my bare hands, if
I have to. Who ever said that the Marines doesn’t provide practical life
skills?

“Hey,” I say sternly, approaching my building, “You live
here buddy? These are people’s homes, you know. You can’t just—”

“Calm down, Trace,” says a smooth, familiar voice, “Can’t a
guy welcome an old friend home from battle?”

The man on my stoop turns to face me, stepping out of the
shadow of the building. As tall as I am, he’s still got a couple inches on me.
His olive skin and nearly-black eyes are sharp against his newly-graying hair.
His body is broad, muscular and well-padded. This is not a man who has to fight
his own battles very often. He’s got others to do his dirty work for him. Other
people who are forced to take the fall when something in his business goes
wrong. I should know—I’ve been one of those other people before.

“What are you doing here, Skidmore?” I ask. “You shouldn’t
be here. I thought I told you, I was done with—”

“Man. The Marines has really got you wound up tight,” my old
boss laughs. Though the air is still fairly warm, he’s sporting the same old
leather jacket he always has. That jacket has always made me uneasy. It’d be
damn easy to conceal just about anything inside it.

“I just like my decisions to be respected,” I tell him. “I
thought we had an understanding, is all.”

“Well, I thought I might come around and try to change your
mind. Make you see reason,” Skidmore smiles. “Can I come in?”

Like I have a choice
, I think, stepping around him to
open the door. We head up to my apartment and I let him inside, begrudgingly.
Skidmore whistles as he takes a look around my modest abode.

“I just got back,” I inform him defensively.

“I see. And what are your plans, going forward?” he asks,
crossing his arms.

“Not sure yet,” I shrug, heading for the kitchen, “Thought
I’d see if any garages are hiring. I’m good with my hands.”

“What you’re good at is selling drugs,” Skidmore replies. “I
don’t know why you’re so dead set on denying your skill set, my friend.”

“Maybe because it’s illegal?” I offer.

“Oh please,” Skidmore laughs, “That never used to give you
pause.”

“I never used to have a choice,” I tell him, snatching a
beer from the fridge.

“And I suppose you think that’s changed?” he says, sounding
amused.

“It has,” I say, popping the bottle cap off against my
tabletop, “I’ve turned things around. I’m a veteran now. People respect a
veteran.”

“Even if he’s a murderer and a drug pusher?”

“I’m not a murderer,” I say, my teeth gritted, “And I don’t
appreciate being insulted in my own home.”

“I’m not trying to insult you,” Skidmore tells me, “I’m
simply trying to help. Perhaps Garrick told you about my good fortune, lately.
I’ve moved up in life, you see. I’m one of the big players now. Back in the
day, you were nothing but a mule. But now...I could really get you a slice of
the pie. Do you know how much money is out there, just waiting for people like
you and me to capitalize on it?”

“I’m not like you,” I tell him, “Never will be.”

“We’ll see about that,” he smiles, “I can be very
persuasive, Trace. You know that. Your buddy Garrick knows it even better.”

“Stay away from him,” I say, before I can stop myself. I
don’t want this guy knowing my weak spots, and Garrick is certainly one of
them.

“Maybe you should be telling him to stay away from me,”
Skidmore suggests, zipping up his coat. “Anyway. I must be going. I’m glad to
see you back in town, Trace. Why don’t you think a little about this
conversation and we’ll chat again soon?”

I don’t reply as Skidmore trudges out of my apartment.
Shaking, I slam the door behind him and do up every lock. I take a long swig of
beer, trying to calm myself down. I thought that I’d left that chapter of my
life good and finished when I left for the war. Why do I always trick myself
into thinking that the past will ever stay put?

Heart racing, I pull out my phone and punch in Garrick’s
number. He answers on the fourth ring, sounding carefree as ever.

“Did you tell Skidmore where I live?” I demand.

“Whoa, of course not!” Garrick replies, startled. “He showed
up at your—?”

“I don’t want any part of this,” I tell him, “Garrick,
seriously—”

“Just stay strong, man,” he says.

“Funny. I was gonna say the same thing to you.”

“We don’t have to get wrapped up in this again, OK?” he says
quickly, “You’re right. We’re better than that now. We’ve got other options.”

“Yeah,” I say, gazing around my threadbare apartment,
“Options.”

“Hey,” Garrick says, “Dude, how the fuck did it go with
Nadia?”

“Shit...” I breathe, “I think...we might have a date
tomorrow.”

“You crazy son of a bitch,” Garrick cackles, “Leave it to
you.”

“Yeah,” I sigh, “Leave it to me.”

Chapter Ten

Nadia

Happy Birthday to Me

The alarm on my cell phone starts to blare after just two
hours of sleep. At four this morning, I forced myself to finally catch a few
hours of shuteye. And though the sun has barely begun to lighten the sky, I
roll back out of bed. I’m so close to getting a handle on this case that I just
can’t stop digging now. I laugh to myself as I rub the sleep from my eyes.

“Happy birthday to me,” I sigh, glancing over at my desk.
The entire surface is covered with reports and files, my walls are bedecked
with sticky notes and scribbled observations. Even though the whole thing looks
like a total mess, I’ve got a very clear method to my madness. I’m creeping
closer and closer to a lead with every passing glance at the evidence. Soon, I
might be able to identify some of the key players in this drug ring. And from
there, I can start to think about how I’m going to take them down.

A thrill courses down my spine as I imagine pinning one of
the people responsible for so much loss and pain to the wall and watching him
writhe. What can I say? I live for that.

I pull on my favorite Northwestern hoodie and trek out to the
kitchen for a cup of joe. Some days, I worry that there’s espresso roast
coursing through my veins, rather than blood. The air in the apartment is just
a tiny bit chilly this morning, but I can already tell by the look of the
brightening sky that it’s going to be a beautiful day. My mother used to tell
me that good weather on your birthday meant that you’d been good all year long.

Birthdays were the only normal holidays that my parents and
I ever celebrated. They didn’t raise me with a set religion or ascribe to any
heritage, so I grew up with a hodgepodge of improvised holidays. Some we’d
revisit annually, and some we’d make up on the spot. I think my favorite was
always the Red Leaf Festival.

Every fall, the three of us would keep a keen eye out for the
first changed leaf of the fall. Whoever found the first red leaf of the season
would be crowned the bearer of autumn that year. In celebration, there would be
spiced cakes and cider, roasted root vegetables, and a song in her honor.
Looking back, I’m pretty sure that my parents let me win most years, but that
only makes those memories more precious.

I hear a door swing open behind me as I load up the coffee
maker with beans. Curious, I look to see what’s roused Carly so early in the
morning. She’s definitely not the early-to-rise type. I glance over my shoulder
and a little gasp escapes my lips.

Gerard is slipping out of Carly’s bedroom, wearing nothing
but a pair of tight black boxer briefs. He smiles up at me, unembarrassed to be
seen in his underthings. I wouldn’t be embarrassed either, with a body like
that. His pecs and abs look like they’ve been airbrushed on. I wonder how many
hours in the gym he has to clock to keep that washboard up. Only as he begins
to approach the kitchen do I realize how shamelessly I’ve been staring at him.
I turn back to my task of brewing up some coffee as Gerard makes his way into
the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he says softly, resting a hand on the
counter top.

“Morning,” I reply shortly, hunting around the cupboard for
a clean mug.

“I don’t mean to be a nuisance,” Gerard tells me, “I’m just
something of a lark. Always up early in the morning.”

“Uh-huh,” I return. Gerard’s brow furrows handsomely at my
dismissal.

“Did I do something to offend you?” he asks, crossing his sculpted
arms over his chest.

“Nope,” I tell him, though of course that’s a lie. I’m still
smarting from the brush off he’s given me. “You and Carly, huh? How’s that
going?”

“Is that why you’re upset?” he asks.

“She has a boyfriend, you know,” I tell him.

“I know she does,” Gerard replies, “What does that have to
do with anything?”

“What does...? You know, for a shrink, you seem to be
rocking a pretty impressive set of problems all your own.”

“Why, because I’m not interested in monogamy?” Gerard
counters, “Nadia, human beings are not meant to be with one person. The whole
mating for life thing is just
one
way to approach relations.”

“Relations?” I scoff, “How romantic.”

“Ah, so it’s romance you’re after,” Gerard says smugly, “You
go in for all that flowers-and-chocolate nonsense, do you?”

“Don’t make assumptions about my life, Gerard,” I say,
clutching my coffee mug tightly in my hands. “You don’t know anything about me
or where I come from.”

“I know more than you think,” he says, “Carly was quite torn
up by your omissions, Nadia. Why didn’t you ever tell her about your time in
the system?”

I gape at him, furious with Carly for spilling the beans and
more angry with myself for letting her in on my past. If this is the kind of
confidence she keeps, she’s certainly not the type of person I’d like to
confide in.

“My past is my business,” I tell Gerard firmly.

“You know that I specialize in children who have been
through foster care,” he says, “If you ever wanted to talk—”

“I’m not a child,” I tell him, “And I’m not some case study
for you to—”

“How is your foster brother doing?” he cuts me off, “Trace.
The one who showed up here yesterday morning?”

“What? How—? I’m going to kill Carly, I swear.”

“It’s not as though he was very subtle,” Gerard chuckles,
“He was standing outside the building all night. Or didn’t you notice?”

My mouth falls open in surprise. Could that be true? Was
Trace lurking around like a stalker outside my home? And why is it that I’m not
bothered by the possibility that he was?

“I don’t think it’s a very good idea for you to be spending
time with this person,” Gerard tells me.

“Oh, really?” I say, “Well, I don’t think I’ll be trusting
the opinion of someone I’ve hardly met. Where do you get off telling me how to
live my life?”

“It’s simply my professional opinion,” Gerard presses, “It’s
best to leave the past behind you, Nadia. You have no idea who this Trace
person has grown up to be. You might be blinded for your past affection for
him. Unable to see what he’s really become.”

“And what, exactly, do you think he’s become?”

“Dangerous,” Gerard says resolutely. “Waiting outside your
building—”

“He was probably working up his nerve,” I say quickly, “It’s
not exactly an easy thing to do, meeting someone again after ten years—”

“It’s not a healthy or normal thing to do,” Gerard says.
“And yet, he had no qualms about wandering back into your life. Do you think he
even stopped to consider that you might not want to see him?”

“No,” I say, “Because he knew that I’d want to.”

“This is what you want, then?” Gerard asks, “After all this
time you’ve spent distancing yourself from your past, you really want to let it
wandering right back into your life?”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I left something back in the past that
I’ve been missing ever since. Something that I can’t keep living without.”

“Like what?” Gerard asks, “Love?”

I nod silently, eliciting a dismissive laugh from my
handsome neighbor. “Is love such a laughable idea to you?” I demand.

“Only when it’s delusional,” Gerard sighs. “You don’t love
this person, Nadia. You don’t even know him. You two knew each other as
teenagers. Really now—do you feel like the same person that you were then? It’s
natural, of course, that you feel some kind of heightened nostalgia. He was
probably the first person to make you feel cared for after your parents died,
right?”

And
last,
I think to myself.

“And I’m sure that feeling translated itself into...physical
affection, when you were young? Between you and Trace, I mean.”

“Sure,” I allow, “We were dating. We were attracted to each other.”

“And he took advantage of you, didn’t he?”

“What?” I cry, backing away from Gerard, “Of course not! Why
would you ask me that?”

“Only because I get the sense that you’ve been a victim of
abuse, Nadia,” Gerard goes on, “I know how to spot people like you a mile
away.”

“People like me?”

“Survivors. I know you probably don’t want to think about
what Trace did to you—”

“Shut your mouth,” I warn him, “I suffered plenty of abuse
as a kid, but none of it was at Trace’s hands. He saved me.”

“I’m sure that’s how it seems,” Gerard tells me, “But the
fact that he tried to kindle up something between you at such a vulnerable time
in your life...it doesn’t exactly put him in my good graces.”

“And that should matter to me why?” I ask, “Why should I
care what some heartless, clinical shrink has to say about me or the person I
love?”

“Because I’m an expert,” Gerard says lightly, “And deep
down, I think you know that what I’m saying is true.”

“There’s no use trying to convince you,” I say, pouring
myself a scalding cup of coffee.

“I’m just speaking for the rest of the world, Nadia,” Gerard
says as I stalk away. “Everyone can see what’s happening here but you.”

I slam my bedroom door behind me, not giving a shit whether
Carly is woken or not. What right did she have, spilling my life story to the
likes of Gerard? I can’t believe that I actually used to find that man
charming. He’s exactly like all the other guys that have wandered into my life
since leaving the system. He doesn’t care about anything real or lasting. He
doesn’t believe in emotions, just chemical reactions.

Tucking my legs beneath me, I sink down onto my un-slept-in
bed. I cradle my steaming mug between my trembling hands, watching as the steam
dances across the dark brew. The sight reminds me of the pond that Trace and I
used to sit beside as kids. Some nights, steam would rise off the water,
glimmering in the glow of the street lamps. It was there, in that ramshackle
park, that we’d hatched so many plans. So many routes of escape. If only we’d
been able to act on any of them before tragedy struck. But maybe it’s not too
late.

Gerard’s words tug at my nerves as I take a sip of my
coffee. Of course, his notions about Trace being my abuser as idiotic. I won’t
let some rich asshole with a superiority complex dictate my own experience to
me. But the things he said about the rest of the world...how people would see
Trace and me should we enter back into each other’s lives...that stung.
Wouldn’t people be able to see that we were always meant to run into each other
again? Or would they only ever see Trace, the misguided criminal, as a
corrupting force in the life of perfect little me?

I look around my tidy bedroom and try to imagine Trace here
with me. What would it be like to come home to him at the end of a long day? Or
bring him along to company parties? Or maybe start a family with him? Do I
really want all that, or do I just want my own fantasies?

“It’s him that I want,” I whisper to myself, twisting my
charm necklace between my fingers. “It’s always been him.” Strong in my
resolve, I return to my files and dig in for one last push before I begin the
day.

***

The drug ring I’m investigating is not young. It’s been in
existence for a couple of decades, at least. But recently, it’s been undergoing
some changes in its infrastructure. Whoever used to be running the show is out
of the picture, so it would seem. Most people in the ring have moved up a rung,
and shifting dynamics have led to some tension. There’s been more violence
springing up between known members of this outfit, and sloppy jobs all over the
place. The partners were right about one thing—recruiting kids is definitely the
business model.

I look over a handful of mugshots from the juvenile cases
tied up in this ring. Young boys and girls, barely fifteen, are the preferred
drug mules for these particular dealers. My eyes linger on their faces. There’s
such terror in their eyes, though they try to conceal it. I can’t help but
acknowledge that my foster siblings and I could easily have become these kids,
once upon a time. If things had gone differently for me, maybe I’d have a mug
shot of my own.

These asshole dealers need to go.

There’s one new higher-up who seems to be more active than
the others in bringing in kids and young adults. I haven’t figured out his
identity yet, but I have a pretty good guess about how I might find out. I’ve
been told that a young man who recently fled the drug ring has come forward
with information. With another day or two of persuasion, maybe he’ll even offer
up a name.

Here’s hoping.

“Shit,” I mutter as I glance at the clock. It’s already ten
by the time I resurface from my work. I promised Trace that I would see him
today, and I haven’t even gotten around to showering yet.

I push myself out of my desk and make a beeline for the
bathroom. As I bolt through the hallway, my forehead smacks painfully against
Carly’s. We stagger away from each other, surprised by the collision. Rubbing
the sore spot on my forehead, I move past her toward the shower.

“Good morning to you too,” she grumbles, “And happy
birthday, by the way. Are you getting ready or what? I scheduled us mani-pedis
at—”

“What the hell is the matter with you?” I demand, glaring at
her.

“Excuse me?”

“Why the hell did you think it was OK for you to tell Gerard
all those things about my personal life?”

“I was upset,” Carly sighs, “I felt betrayed.”

“You felt betrayed?” I scoff, “Because I didn’t come clean
to you about every single facet of my life?”

“Because you never told me anything!” Carly cries, “I feel
like I’m living with a stranger or something. Why didn’t you ever let me in,
Nadia? We’ve been friends for years. I could have been there for you. Why all
the secrets, and the omissions? Is it because you’re too ashamed to talk about
what happened to you as a kid?”