24. Tell Tale Heart
Tell Tale Heart
When I was fifteen, I broke my ankle at a gym meet.
It was a bad break. The pain was unbearable.
The doctors prescribed me painkillers for the first few months.
Those months were a blur. I couldn't walk.
I couldn't think. I could barely see straight.
I felt like the whole world was moving forward, and I was stuck.
Frozen in time. I knew that life was happening around me; I could hear muffled laughter and vaguely see day turn to night.
But I wasn't there. Not really. I wasn't mentally present. I was numb. So numb.
It's not an ankle that's broken this time around.
It's my heart.
And remember, Miss Kingsley, if you reveal my true identity to The Sons, the Bureau will take legal measures against you.
"Hello?" Andy waves her hand in front of my face. "You listening to me?" She groans, pushing past me and pouring two pints of beer as I will myself back into reality. " Seriously, what's up with you these past couple of days?"
Two days have passed. Two. That means I have five left. Five days to save my brother. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to help him?
She cranes her neck over her shoulder, grinning. "Stumble upon some of JP's Xanax, maybe?"
"Sorry," I mutter, looking at the drink tickets stacked on the counter. "I got these."
Andy places the beer on a tray, casting me a frown. "Do you, though? You look like you're going to pass out." She nods in the direction of where Pippa and Marlow are sitting. "Maybe you should ask Marlow to cover you tonight."
"No, it's fine," I say, mixing a rum and Coke. Or is whiskey and ginger? My temples pulse. "Shoot. Do we have ibuprofen or something? My head's killing me right now."
Andy sighs, pulling a travel-sized pill bottle from her apron. She hands it to me. "Here."
"Thanks," I say, popping open the lid and swallowing two blue pills. "You get headaches too?"
She shrugs. "Sometimes."
"Well, thanks," I say again, releasing a labored breath. "I appreciate it."
Andy scans my face with a strained gaze, jaw clenching before she asks, "You okay? Did something happen?"
"No, nothing." I swallow, Miguel's business card burning a hole in my jeans pocket. "Just umm...some family stuff. "
Andy lifts a brow. "Family stuff? You worried about your brother? He's fine, Savannah. They'll be back in no time."
"I know that," I mumble, chest heavy and pained. "It's something else."
"Okay, what?" Andy crosses her arms, frustrated at my lack of disclosure.
She clicks her tongue. "Listen, Blondie, we've got five hours left before closing, and it's going to get busy soon, so whatever little family drama you're going through is going to have to wait.
So either you suck it up, or you talk to me about it.
I'd personally prefer to work with Prozac Blondie than Zombie Blondie tonight, okay? "
"I—" How do I explain the situation without explaining the situation? "Well, the thing is..."
"Yeah?" Andy blinks at me. "Go on..."
Grunting, I divulge half-truths and analogies like I'm a dang English major. "I have this friend?—"
"A friend?"
"Yes, a friend," I double down, chewing my lip. "She's from back home. She's uh—she's a bit in trouble."
"Your friend is in trouble?"
"Stop repeating everything I'm saying," I grunt, rolling my eyes. "You see, she uh—she recently made some new friends, and she really likes these friends. And I do too. They're good people, and she—" My gut churns. "But she's getting into a bit of trouble these days with them."
"Trouble?"
"Yes, trouble," I lie, not knowing where I'm going with this at all. "She's changed a lot, and I feel like she's going down a dark path. "
"Okay..." Andy swallows, suddenly paying closer attention as her face falls. "And?"
"Well, I know that I can help her," I say, twiddling with my apron.
"I should help her because she's a dear friend, almost like a sister, and I love her very much, but.
.." I bite my lip. "But if I help her, I could end up hurting her friends, who she loves very much, and I—" My head spins.
"And I've started to love them too. I—" I look at Andy, gaze weak and fading. "I don't know what to do."
"It's easy," Andy says, tone wavering and vulnerable.
"If this girl is a sister to you, then you pick her.
" Andy shrugs. "Family over everything, Savannah.
" She motions around the bar. "Family's not always blood either.
Sometimes we pick our family. If you think you can help your friend, your sister, then do it. "
"But what about?—"
"Forget about everything else," Andy says, straightening her posture and sighing.
"I've learned that it's okay to be selfish sometimes.
That might be a foreign concept to someone like you, but when you've got shit thrown at you your whole life, you learn that selfishness is just as valuable as gold.
" She turns around and picks up the tray. "But it's up to you. What do I know?"
"Thanks," I whisper as Andy circles the bar toward her section.
Lethargically, I pour drinks as I process Andy's unhelpful advice. She said family first. Beau is my family. I should do anything in my power to ensure that he lives a good life. A life that doesn't happen behind bars. It should be simple. Easy. But it's not. Why? Why is this so difficult ?
Suddenly, a hand appears on my shoulder, and I gasp, jumping back and dropping a shot glass on the floor. "Lord Almighty."
"Woah," Jo says, bending down and picking up the shards of glass. She tosses them in the trash, frowning at me. "You're awfully jumpy today."
"You scared me," I say, heart racing as my gaze snaps to the apron around her waist. "Why are you..."
"Gina's out with a cold," Jo explains, turning to the cash register and stuffing bills under each slot.
"JP asked me to fill in for her." She bites her lip, clicking her tongue while flipping through the ones.
"Shit, I don't think I brought enough out.
" A table in section one hollers out Jo's name.
She glares at them. "I'm coming!" She looks at me flat-faced. "I don't miss this one bit."
"Jo! Hello! We're ready to order!"
"You yell my name one more time, and I'll personally cut out your tongue!
" Jo hisses across the bar. The older woman sitting with her husband hangs her head, mumbling under her breath.
"What a cunt..." Jo rolls her eyes, turning her attention to me.
"Listen, can you quickly run to JP's office and grab some more ones?
There should be a couple of stacks in his closet thing. Middle shelf, I think."
"Yeah, I know," I say, wiping my hands off on the rag. "Just ones?"
"Mmm..." Jo fishes through the change slots. "Maybe a couple of rolls of quarters too. We're low."
"Okay. I'll be right back."
The clubhouse is eerily quiet without the core group.
As I pass the lounge, Rocco and a couple of young recruits nod at me, and I smile back, holding my breath as cigarette smoke wafts up my nose.
Jesse's office door is never locked, something I've learned every time I've had to come in and grab change on busy nights. His trust in his brothers is admirable.
"How does he live like this?" I hum to myself, scanning the messy and disorganized closet.
I move a few guns, boxes, and random articles of clothing to the side and feel around for a thick stack of one-dollar bills.
Biting my tongue, I perch up on my tiptoes and reach for the rolls of quarters.
With the rolls in my hand, I pull my arm down and accidentally drag half the shelve down with it. "Oh, for Pete's sake!"
With a huff, I drop to my knees, rifling through all the crap on the floor.
" Jesse, you should sort through this stuff. Nah, I like it just the way it is, princess.”
He never listen to me!
Talking to myself, I shove back all of Jesse's hoarding material back on the shelf.
"And who keeps cash out in the open like this?
Why not put it in this perfectly functional safe ?
" I tap the mini black safe stored on the right side of the shelf with every syllable, and on the third tap, the door creaks open.
I scoff. "And he doesn't even lock it, seriously? I can't with this man."
An idea pops into my head. Progress has got to start somewhere. I collect all the stacks of bills and coins, and go to open the safe, immediately freezing as a loose-leaf piece of paper with random handwritten numbers stares back at me. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach.
No.. .
It's probably a page long, most likely handwritten.
Miguel's threatening tone infiltrates every corner of my mind, and my breathing grows shallow.
Just close the safe. Shut the door. Close it. Close it and pretend you never saw it. Close it, Savannah. Close it! She's screaming at me. Begging me. Just walk away. Walk the hell away. You can't do this. You can't do this to them!
Them? But what about him ? He's my brother. He's my baby brother. He's still so young. He's still got so much to experience. With me. With Marlow.
With trembling hands, I ignore my internal pleading screams and place the cash and coins on the shelves, my pulse quickening as I reach for the document, praying to God that I don't have to make this decision.
Please don't be a list. Please don't be a list. Please?—
Wincing, I scan the one-page sheet, tears budding in my eyes as eight sets of seemingly random numbers leap off the page and sucker-punch me in the face.
Oh gosh...no. No, this can't be it. It can't. Miguel said addresses.
These aren't addresses; this is gibberish. Yeah. It's nonsense. It has to be.
Despite my unwillingness to believe that the document in my hand has the potential to destroy The Sons, the longer I stare at the numbers, the more they make sense. There are no symbols for degrees and no indications of direction, but I know. Somewhere deep in my mind, I know these are coordinates.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I jolt up with fear. Swallowing, I take out my cell, fingers tingling as I read a text from Beau.
Beau
Hey! Forgot to mention that Marlow might ask you to be a bridesmaid. Just a head's up. See you tmrw. PS, we're fine.
Bridesmaid. Because he's getting married. Because he's in love. Because he has a future. He's a future husband. A future father.
A future. A future. A future.
His future is in your hands, Miss Kingsley. What will you do with it?
As the camera on my phone flashes, I tacitly answer Miguel's question and quickly place the paper back in the safe, hustling out of Jesse's office with the stack of ones and coins.
Breathe. Just breathe. Act normal, and freaking breathe.
Guilt seeps through my pores as I pass Rocco again and the two young lives I will inevitably destroy.
Pain rushes through my veins as I smile at all the patrons at Jesse's bar.
And as I get behind the counter and crack open the coins into the register, my heart clenches with absolute agony when I look up at the photo of Jesse and his momma above the till.
"Yeah, she's right here—" Jo stops in front of the bar, landline in hand. "It's JP." She holds out the phone. "He wants to talk to you."
"Me?" I whisper, my throat dry and full of betrayal. "Wh—" I clear my throat, closing the register with my hip. "Why? "
Jo blinks at me. "The hell would I know? Do I look like a fortune teller to you, hun? Take it."
I lick my lips and take the phone, pressing it against my ear. "Hel—" Breathe. "Hello?"
"What's wrong?" Jesse asks.
"What?" I squeak. "Nothing, nothing's wrong. Why do you ask?"
Jesse snorts. "Cause I know you, princess." His voice softens. "You worried about me?"
"Always," I reply honestly, closing my eyes as my cell phone pulses in my pocket like the tell-tale heart.
He chuckles. "Well, stop. We're fine. We're riding back early morning. I'll be home before you even wake up." He pauses, swallowing. "How did uh—how did your lesson with Miguel go?"
"It was fine," I lie.
"Yeah?"
"Mhmm," I hum, missing the sound of his voice even though it's right there. "I umm..." My phone pulses louder in my pocket, the evidence inside deafening. "Jesse?"
"Yes, princess?"
"Do you..." I turn my back to the bar, lowering my voice as conflicted longing fills my chest. "Do you uh?—"
"Yes, Sav," Jesse whispers. "I miss you." He releases a tiny laugh. "Apparently, I like crazy."
A melancholy smile curls on my lips. "Maybe my crazy matches your crazy."
"Maybe," he says, and I can almost see his smile. "Listen, I got to go now, but I'll see you in the morning, okay?"
"Okay," I reply. "Have a good night, Jesse, and ride safe tomorrow. No speeding, you hear? "
"For you? Fine," he chuckles. "Sweet dreams, princess."
"Goodbye."
I hang up the phone and place it back on the dock. Goodbye . That's what's in my pocket right now. A permanent goodbye. It's a conclusion. An end. Like a book. Like a tragedy. There's no happily ever after. There's no sequel. There's just me. Alone. The end.
His future is in your hands, Miss Kingsley.
But so is mine.
And Jesse's.
And ours.