29. Lennie
Lennie
W hat’s it like to be in a shoot-out?
Terrifying.
And nobody can prepare you for the aftermath. For the daze that sets in.
I clung to Elijah when the warehouse flooded with Dad and Lev’s men. I peeked over Elijah’s shoulder, my eyes meeting Dad’s.
He froze, the mafia man, with his suit pristine and gun at the ready. I’ve never seen so much power ripple through him. Anger propelling him.
He came to a stop, flanked by Lev and Dima. First, he took in the sight of me. His eyes scanning me as I clung to Elijah. Then they moved toward Adeline and his face blanched. I saw firsthand how he jolted at the sight of his baby daughter standing over a man with six bullets in him.
Needless to say, Lev took over the scene, or more like cleaning up the mess. I don’t even want to think about the video Leopold had playing.
I don’t know what will happen with Leopold’s body. I don’t know if his family, the powerful Stuarts, will come calling over from England. I have no idea how things may unfold.
If I asked, I’m not sure I’d get an answer.
Elijah carried me to the car and then Fernando drove us home. Simple as that.
Mom and Nat opened the car door. In some ways, it felt like I was a kid sent home from school with an upset stomach.
I hugged my mom, tears running down both our faces.
Nat helped me into the shower and I have a feeling I’ll never see the clothes I wore again.
“I missed my therapy appointment,” I tell Nat as she washes my hair. She stands with the glass door open, her fingers brushing through my long hair. “And work. . .”
I left the office to go to lunch and I’m not sure what time it is now.
“We’ll get it figured out,” she says gently.
“Adeline?” I ask. Tears burn my eyes, mixing with the hot water.
“She’s okay.” But her voice is quieter than before.
Mom says something in Italian, a sign she’s stressed, and I’m wrapped into a towel. They guide my limbs into clothes and then I’m placed under the duvet.
“Where did Elijah go?” I ask.
“No boys allowed,” Nat says, combing my wet hair back. She leaves and I hear other footsteps in the hallway.
Mom lies down on the bed on top of the covers. She looks exactly how she always does. Big brown eyes and beautiful, thick brown hair with fresh caramel highlights. She runs a hand over my hairline, softly playing with the strands.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you too.”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I nod, tears filling up.
They bring tears to her eyes too. “I’m mad at myself for a lot of reasons. But what almost brought me to my own grave was knowing I didn’t pick up the phone the last time you called.”
That could have been it. We wouldn’t have the opportunity to talk things out.
“I’m sorry,” I say automatically.
She snorts, using her free hand to wipe her nose. “You better not be. I’m a horrible mother.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’ve done a lot of stupid shit, love. I’m not going to pretend to be the world’s greatest mamma. But I love you girls with my entire fucking heart. I’ll take the pain and I’ll reap what I sow, but by God, I don’t ever want my girls to get hurt.”
“I know,” I say quietly.
She continues to play with my hair. “I was embarrassed to admit how bad of a mom I am.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Stop trying to give me a pep talk.” Her grin is watery.
She understands my need to make others feel better.
“I’m apologizing to you. And not because I almost lost you.
Because I suffocated you while never taking the time to ask about your needs.
I’ve worried for twenty-eight years about my daughters and it turns out my neurotic need to keep them safe did the opposite.
I made you feel like you couldn’t come and talk to me.
Like you couldn’t tell me you were in trouble. ”
“I didn’t want to scare you.”
“You didn’t want me to overreact,” she clarifies. “Seeing as what happened I think we can agree mistakes were made by both of us.”
My head sinks into the pillow, my head heavy.
She combs my hair. “Tomorrow we talk more, okay?”
I nod, the pillowcase scratching my cheek.
“And then the day after that.” The skin between her brows knits together. “And the next day and the next day.”
“Until all we do is annoy each other with too much information?” I ask.
Her chest swells and her voice is hard to understand as she fights through the sobs. “Yes.”
This is the first of several apologies. Not everything is undone just because of my accident. But it’s a step forward and I understand Mom is quick to say the first words because the truth is we might not always be around to do so.
I doze and the next time I open my eyes, Nat’s beside me, her baby bump an inch from my back. She’s sound asleep and so is Ren who’s curled up next to me.
In her sleep, she appears younger. Brown hair halos her face and there’s a smattering of freckles I’ve never noticed before. She’s in a hoodie and jeans and I can’t help but marvel that Ren Callahan, Aunt Macy’s niece is in my bedroom. She’s my best friend.
Along with Isolde.
She didn’t take up residence in my bed but instead pulled up a chair.
If Ren appears different, then Isolde’s the opposite.
She’s exactly who I expect every time I see her.
Sure of herself and surprisingly easygoing considering her blank face.
Her hands remain in her hoodie pockets and her blonde curls are pulled into a high ponytail.
Her thick British accent is surprisingly soothing in the darkened room. “You all right?”
My throat’s dry and I try to swallow. “Yeah.” This is the oddest sleepover ever, but one person is missing. “Ads?”
Isolde watches me closely and then nods.
“Is she. . .” okay?
“Yeah,” Isolde assures me with another nod.
Bullets ring in my head. One shot after the other. Brutal. Unyielding. Adeline stood over the body, with no emotion, no remorse.
I sit up slightly, careful not to disturb Ren and Nat. “Did I fuck up my sister?”
I should’ve handled Leopold differently. I should’ve talked to Mom and Dad. I shouldn’t be the reason my sister shot and killed some guy, piece of shit as he was.
Isolde’s blue eyes are serious, but unconflicted. “Nah.” Another shake of the head, her hands still bunched in her hoodie pockets.
I don’t see how that can be, though. Adeline killed for me.
My dry, cracked lips part. “But. . .”
“Sisters kill for one another, you know.”
Up until now, I didn’t.
Isolde’s blue eyes pierce mine. “I made my first kill for my sister.”
For all her chattiness, she never talks about herself. I know she’s from the north, but I don’t know where. I know she’s alone here, but I don’t know who she left behind in England. I know she’s good at her job, but I’ve never dared to ask her how she got started in the business.
Isolde rocks slightly in the chair. I have a feeling it’s a rocking chair Mom got for when her first grandbaby comes to spend time here.
“My younger sister was real smart,” she says. “Got into Oxford and everything.”
My brows lift.
She wipes her nose with the edge of her sleeve. “Got raped, got killed.”
Everything plunges inside me.
Isolde continues, though. “So I took a gun and shot him. I was too scared to fire off round after round like your sister, but I wish I had. I got him right in between the eyes, you know.”
Which means she stared straight into the eyes of the man who hurt her sister as she killed him.
“The only thing I regret is not shooting him before,” Isolde says firmly. How often does she wonder if she could’ve saved her sister? “Your sister’s not gonna regret taking down that bastard. None of us woulda regretted it if we pulled the trigger.”
Ren, her eyes still closed, reaches a hand out, placing it limply on my knee. Her breathing’s steady with sleep, but there’s a tug at my heart as I check my surroundings.
All my best friends, barring Ads, are here.
“Thank you,” I say softly, leaning my cheek into the headboard. She nods back.