CHAPTER EIGHT
“That’s all I can tell you. Meet us at Fitz’s trailer and we’ll fill you in on the rest. But we gotta do this now. This thing has a fast turn-around, and you disappearing and ducking our calls hasn’t helped.”
Conor paced in front of his kitchen counter. “I wasn’t ducking anything. I thought you guys got drunk and were talking shit.”
“If I was talking shit, would I have left you three messages yesterday?” said Sully. In the background, Conor could hear Fitz yell, “And I texted you twice.”
They were right. He should’ve got in touch earlier.
He exhaled to calm himself. It was just his luck.
And the day had started out so nice. Waking up next to Julia.
Knowing that he’d finally ended it with Mona.
Everything had been looking great—right up to the moment he walked in his door, turned on his cell, and his phone started buzzing with a call from Sully.
When he answered, he got an earful. Somehow, someway, Sully and Fitz stumbled onto something.
They’d been cagey about details, but swore up and down that it was real, the payout was huge, and that it was in their skillset.
Beyond that, he’d have to wait to see them before they’d get into specifics.
That was the good news. The bad news? They had to pull it off tonight, which gave them zero time to plan.
“So, when do you want to talk?” said Conor, walking across his apartment. He opened the sliding glass door at the far end of his living room and walked out on his balcony.
“Earth to Monroe,” said Sully, rapping his knuckles on his cell before adding, “Now. We’re at Fitz’s trailer. Get over here.”
“Give me thirty minutes—I gotta take a shower,” said Conor. He could feel Sully’s eyes roll as he said, “Sure. Take a shower. Eat breakfast. Paint your nails. Do what you have to do, but you’re coming, right?”
“Soon as I can,” said Conor. “See you in a bit.”
After a quick shower, Conor grabbed a banana, ate it in three bites, and then headed out.
Two steps down the hall, he stopped. Julia had a rough night.
It ended well, but she probably needed to see a friendly face.
He knocked on her door and waited. Nothing.
Odds were that she was still sleeping. He knocked again, quietly, but insistently.
When that didn’t work, he pressed his face against the edge of the doorframe.
“Julia, you in there?”
Still nothing.
“Julia. Open up. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
He paced in front of the door for a bit, and then tried the knob.
Locked tight. For a brief moment he had a flash of dread.
Was James dumb enough to come back? No way.
That guy was either at a hospital or sitting at home with an ice bag on his balls.
Taking a step back, Conor looked at Julia’s door, and then his watch.
Maybe she was still sleeping. After last night, she deserved it.
He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the concrete hallway.
Julia said she worked at Sacred Heart Cathedral, which was on the way back from Fitz’s trailer park. If he had time, he’d stop in and see if she was there. If not, he’d come back and check her apartment again.
He picked up his pace, ran down the stairwell, and jogged over to his motorcycle. It roared to life and he pulled out. The wind blew his hair back as he opened the throttle.
It was time to hear what Sully and Fitz were all excited about.
* * *
Julia shuffled out of her bedroom and looked at her front door, wondering who could be knocking this early. Then she remembered.
Conor slept with her last night—after he got rid of James.
She ran a finger across her scar, remembering his touch.
How he smelled.
The way he breathed.
She touched the small cut on the back of her neck from James’ belt buckle. Her whole body was sore. She rolled her head from one shoulder to the other.
The knocking started again—soft and insistent. She looked at the clock hanging over her kitchen sink. Almost eight in the morning. It had to be Conor. She took a step toward the door. The knocking stopped. Conor’s low, breathy voice was unmistakable.
“Julia, you in there?”
She kneaded the back of her neck, imagining him leaning against her door in his jeans and black T-shirt, his long hair on his shoulders, his arms muscled and tan. She reached for the doorknob and stopped, seeing a drop of blood on the linoleum. Her back stiffened. She closed her eyes.
Just relax. James is gone, and Conor is one of the good guys.
She ran her tongue over a scab on her bottom lip. Her brow furrowed.
But James wasn’t a bad guy at first. It took some time before he slapped me.
She turned away from the door.
Before he punched me.
She lowered her chin to her chest. Her hands turned clammy, and she started to shake.
Before he raped me.
Her breathing came quick and shallow. She walked to the kitchen to brace her shaking hands on the counter. It felt like her mind was breaking.
She looked at the door. She couldn’t let him see her like this. He’d think she was mental.
Conor called softly, “Julia? Open up. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
She could hear Conor pace in front of the door. He turned the doorknob. Then she heard him walk away.
She walked back to her bedroom, crawled into bed, and buried her face in the comforter, feeling a sharp thorn of fear deep in her chest. She took a sip of water from a glass on her nightstand and looked at her watch lying there.
Eight o’clock. She blinked, trying to make sense of what happened last night between her and James.
A feeling of pride welled up at the memory of how she punched him in the nuts and tied him up.
Then she thought of Conor, coming to help.
How he’d taken James’ driver’s license. How he’d pummeled James.
How he’d cleaned up her apartment and then came to her bed.
She looked at her watch again. Almost twenty minutes had passed.
Her chest tightened, and she pressed a hand over her heart. It thumped hard and fast.
Something’s wrong with me, she thought.
She sat up, opened her nightstand, and pulled out a rosary. The black beads rattled as she untangled it.
She held it against her chest and prayed.
In an instant, a vision of her and Conor sitting on the riverbank came to her.
She stopped praying, remembering how Conor asked if she had any dreams about her life.
She placed the rosary on her nightstand, curled into a fetal position, and let her mind settle.
Just thinking about Conor soothed her anxiety.
Remembering his energy. His calming presence.
He was someone she felt normal around, which was special.
Her life had been a shitshow, giving her nothing in common with just about everyone she ever met.
But around him she felt normal. And, oddly enough, electric.
Life felt exciting when she was with him.
And yet, he gave her a sense of peace and security.
How those two ends of the spectrum could share the same space within her, she couldn’t say.
The only word that seemed to fit was ‘magic.’
“Well,” she whispered. “I think I’m starting to figure out my dream, Conor.
” She rolled to her back and closed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest where she felt the blend of excitement, peace, and security that Conor gave her.
It was big and warm and alive in a part of her that had never been touched before.
She smiled and said, “I don’t have it all figured out yet, but I know one thing. It starts with this magic.”