Chapter 5
Still not used to the cold, I’m bundled up in a long-sleeved shirt, thick sweater, and my jacket. Yet still somehow that with my fat isn’t enough to keep the chill from snaking up my back.
Walking up, Callahan, on the other hand, has on a jean jacket and a hat, clearly not cold. Still, his thick beard does little to conceal the red in his cheeks.
“You look beautiful,” he calls once he gets closer.
“You’re going to have to try harder than that.”
I guess hugging him once gave him some sort of permission, because he pulls me into his arms. I wrap mine around his waist, secretly relishing in the feeling. When he lets me go, I do so reluctantly.
“You’re right. What I should have said is you radiate life. Everything around you thrives.”
Without thought, I push him, causing him to laugh.
Having heard his laugh a few times now, I think this is the first time I’m able to pinpoint what I love about it.
It’s like he is just discovering this ability, and every time it happens, it takes him by surprise.
The low rumble is like a heavy bass; it shakes my decision to not give him a chance, making me second-guess my rule.
“Let’s go,” I say, turning and walking down the street.
“You don’t know where you’re going.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
He runs to catch up to me. Linking his arm with mine, he slowly turns me back in the other direction.
“I knew that. I was just testing you.”
He shakes his head, but says nothing else.
The first place he takes me to is a deli.
It’s supposed to be the best one in the city, and he swears by their pastrami sandwich.
We get one to split while we take in the surrounding neighborhood.
I inhale mine, and some of his, when he realizes my hand is empty.
Being promised more food is the only thing that keeps me from going back to get another one.
The next place we go is the Black Heritage Trail.
It’s a couple of miles that help depict Boston’s Black history.
With pre-civil war structures and historical sites, it showcases the past of the majority of Black people who lived in this neighborhood.
Pointing things out like this isn’t his first time, I have to give credit where credit is due for him realizing I might want to see this.
We work up an appetite, going from Boston’s landmarks to the typical things people come to see.
Before today, all I knew about Boston was the tea party stuff they teach in school. Now, a native to the city has given me a real, in-depth tour. By the time the sun starts to set, he ends the tour by bringing me to one of the best-known diners in the city.
“I appreciate you showing me your Boston. I think it makes me appreciate this place more than I would’ve before.”
“I’m going to miss it here, but I’m excited to move.”
“Why are you moving?”
Trusting his knowledge, I let him order for me when the waitress walks up.
“I’m closest to Rowan, and I miss her. Plus, I need a fresh start.” He shrugs it off, making me feel like there is more to it.
“Does this have to do with why you were so upset last night?”
Leaning back, his thumbs play with each other while he thinks about what to say next.
“Sort of.”
“If you changed your mind about talking about it, that’s fine.”
He lifts his head, his chin jutting out.
“I haven’t changed my mind. I’m just worried it will change the way you view me.”
Our shepherd’s pie is delivered to the table, and I take a bite before speaking. So far, I’m not disappointed by what I’ve eaten while here, making me reluctant to put my fork down.
“Honestly, I’ve yet to form a solid opinion about you. I can’t say this won’t affect it, but I promise to hear you out.”
“Maybe I should flirt with you a little more first.” He sits forward and wipes his mouth with his napkin and then winks.
I shake my head and purse my lips.
“Well, if that won’t work, then I guess I’ll just try honesty.” He takes a big gulp of his beer and sits back again.
With a sigh, he says, “It’s hard to grow up in a family with six kids. Being the second oldest, it became my job to help with the others pretty early on. You can’t really feel important when there isn’t even a moment for anyone to see you.”
I can’t relate, but I sympathize all the same.
“Because of that, I always craved love and attention. Still do, if I’m being honest.” Shrugging off that confession, he continues.
“I was honestly desperate, and it made it easy for me to be influenced by people I thought cared about me. With that said, I don’t want you to think I see myself as some sort of victim.
I made my choices, but I just want you to see the logic behind them. ”
“You don’t have to do that. This is your story, and I’m not going to tell you who you are in it.”
He rubs his beard, a slow breath exhaling from deep inside him. “Thank you.”
I stop myself from grabbing his hand, instead gesturing for him to continue.
“I work on cars. Always have. Before, though, I did illegal modifications. Stuff that shouldn’t allow the car to be on the street. It led me to street racing.”
I clench my legs trying to ease the reaction to how hot I think that is.
“The last race I ever did got broken up by the cops. I thought I could outmaneuver them, but ended up hitting a barrier and flipping my car.”
My gasp is instant. He waves his hands like it’s not a big deal.
“I was fine, just some cuts and bruised ribs. It was when they brought me into the station that things went to hell. Someone recognized me as Cormac’s kid and called him to come down.
My Pa told me it was the worst moment in his life, walking through that precinct.
When he got there, he could barely look at me.
” Unable to keep his eyes from the ground, the clench of his jaw says everything.
“He told them to throw the book at me, and that’s what they did. The DA wanted to use me to prove that no one is above the law. Without any pushback from the cops, it was an easy case. I got a few years in prison and two years’ probation. Only ended up serving six months though.”
I try to stay silent while we both process these words. Still, my breath sounds audible as I try to take in what he’s saying. I never thought I’d feel conflicted about a white man getting due justice, but I wish this didn’t happen to him.
“My cop father has a convict for a son, and he will never not hate me for that.” Lines form on his forehead. He rubs at them, like that will erase that truth.
“I had no idea this is where this conversation was going to go.”
“Yeah, well, I hope having a criminal record makes me hotter,” he smirks, but his heart doesn’t seem in it.
“It shouldn’t, but it does.”
That finally gets a smile out of him. “I never raced again, but the only thing I’m good at is cars. It’s above board now, but my dad doesn’t trust me.”
“Hence the look that night.”
He nods.
“How does your mom feel about it all?”
“She didn’t talk to him the whole time I was in there, which I take on just as much as everything else. I don’t think they ever fully recovered from that.”
This time, I let myself grab his hand. The pain of your parents’ marriage being on your back is something I can relate to. He gives mine a squeeze before linking our fingers.
“I’m surprised. It’s rare a cop’s kid does time.”
“I’m happy I did. I was a prick who thought I was untouchable. If I hadn’t gotten charged, I don’t think I would have ever been able to look at myself in the mirror.”
While well-intentioned, that statement reminds me of the privilege I don’t want to invite into my life. I pull my hand back.
“Thank you for telling me all of this.”
His next smile looks like a crack in his demeanor. It’s not quite right on his normally confident face. It solidifies how deep we’ve gone in this conversation, and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk away after this.
“Like I said, I’d tell you anything you asked of me.” Clearing his throat, he tries to shake it all off. “But can I get to know you now?”
Finding that my food is cold, I only take a few half-hearted bites before pushing the plate away. I wash it down with my warm beer.
“What do you want to know?”
“What’s the worst thing you’ve done?”
“I’ve done nothing bad. I’m a good girl.”
His eyes close a little. This almost ravenous look takes over his face. He leans in close enough that I can see his individual eyelashes. With a lick of his lips, he lets his teeth show.
“Does that apply to the bedroom?”
I mask my own desire with an edged grin that makes my previous statement sound like a lie. Pushing my braids back, I almost expect to feel horns.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“You know I would.”
“What if I granted your wish?”
His pupils dilate, growing big enough that his eyes darken. The want is laid bare in them, and it’s calling to me.
“Then I would ask for two more,” he says.
“Greedy.”
“Indulgent.”
“Well, your milk will never mix with my cocoa puff,” I say, sitting back.
Not deterred at all, he grips the table in a way that makes my thighs shake.
“If you give me the chance, I will soak your cocoa puff. It will be mush from how wet I make you.” With poutier lips than he should have, he blows a kiss at me.
“Stop making cereal erotic,” I say, crossing my arms.
“You started it, sweetheart.”
The bill comes, and like with everything else today, he pays. We don’t leave right away. He sits in his cocky glory very aware of the shifting I’m doing to try and get comfortable in my wetness.
I know damn well that doing this with him, the flirting, and the conversation is a bad idea. But it all seems better than what comes to mind now.
“I know a place you haven’t shown me,” I say.
“Where?”
I try to stop myself, I really do, but in the end I say, “Your house.”