Chapter 10 Raven
TEN
RAVEN
Our marriage is for life.
Those words rang in my ears for the remainder of the day—while I played dress-up with all the new clothes, through my failed cooking experiment, our movie night where Aiden let me pick the snacks—but it was in my dreams that those words haunted me.
Lifelong marriage was what most women strived for, but I wasn’t one of them. It could be worse, I guess. Aiden could be a horrible person like my father.
Over the years, I’d uncovered little clues about him, in the rare moments when my mom slipped.
It usually happened when she was drunk. My father was an incredibly handsome but cruel and ruthless “he who shall not be named” criminal.
But he beat my mom when he didn’t get his way.
She endured it all for the sake of love until he hit her while pregnant with me.
That’d been her final straw.
She left, ensuring he couldn’t find her.
She was a better person than me, because I would have killed the bastard before leaving.
She was unable to put down roots anywhere because she always feared he’d find us.
Hence the constant moving and keeping a P.O.
box in case we had to flee in the night—which happened once when I was six and we had stayed in one place longer than two years.
After that, she was almost paranoid, always looking over her shoulder.
It worried me while I was in boarding school, to the point that I developed an anxiety disorder, pulling on my hair.
I was safe in school, but she was still out there, fending for herself.
But Mom came through for me even then. We’d added an app to track each other’s locations in real time and she’d send me a text every morning and every night.
It eased my fears to some extent, but as I got older, I learned it wasn’t the way others lived.
And as I thought about it all, a memory from years ago—when I was ten and in a city I couldn’t even remember—pushed forward.
The boxes towered all around me, making it feel small. They smelled funny, reminding me of all the other times we’d packed or unpacked.
We’d been packing all day, and the apartment was shrinking around us, threatening to allow cardboard to swallow us whole.
Mom sat on the floor, working on taping yet another box.
“Why do we always have to move?” I asked in a small voice, just as the tape screeched, sealing the box shut, along with our life here.
Mom’s shoulders stiffened. She didn’t look at me as the tape gun squeaked again, too loud.
I hugged my rabbit to my chest, its fur smelling like these boxes.
“We’ve talked about this, baby. New town. New start.”
The lamp threw yellow light across everything, making Mom’s hair look coppery and tired. Her glass sat beside her, half-full of the brown stuff that made her voice slower, softer.
“But we just moved here,” I said, whining. “It’s closer to my school and I get to see you on the weekends. And I made a friend. Her name’s Athena.”
Mom pressed the tape down hard, the box giving a little grunt of pain. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s just safer this way, and I want to keep you safe.”
I picked at a rip in my rabbit’s ear. “Is it because my daddy will find us?”
She froze mid talking and the air suddenly felt thicker.
“We don’t talk about your daddy.” Her voice lowered and her expression filled with fear, scaring me. “Ever. Remember, baby?”
“Because he’s dead,” I whispered.
Mom sat very still for a long moment before she grabbed her glass and took a long drink. I could hear the ice click against her teeth.
“Yes,” she said finally. “It’s my job to keep you safe. That’s all you need to know.”
“Safe from what?”
She rubbed her forehead and the smell of something sweet and bitter from her glass drifted toward me.
“From mistakes,” she said. “From dangers. From bad men who don’t let go.”
I stared at her, not understanding her words. “Let go of what, Mom?”
Her eyes found mine, and for a second, she looked like she wanted to cry.
“You and me,” she said quietly.
The wind outside knocked something against the window and we both startled.
“Promise this is the last time we move?” I asked.
Her shoulders slumped and she watched me with such sadness that it made my little chest hurt. “I’m sorry, baby.”
Her eyes slid away and I knew we’d have to move again. Many, many times.
I crawled over to her and she pulled me into her lap, her arms wrapping around me too tightly. Her skin smelled like soap and her drink. Her heartbeat thumped fast against my cheek, and I found strange comfort in it.
“I don’t like it when you drink,” I whispered into her sweater.
Her voice was small, almost lost in my hair. “Me neither, baby. Me neither.”
The lamp flickered. The taped boxes waited in their quiet stacks, ready to be carried into another night, another town where nobody knew us.
And I wondered if one day we’d stop running. Or if Mom had simply forgotten how to stand still.
Mom never looked back, except when she was drunk. Eventually, I learned never to look back either. There was no point, even though the past seemed to be plaguing me since I’d crossed paths with Aiden.
I glanced over at my husband, the midday sun filtering through the windows making his features somehow less intimidating. He was watching a Yankees game on the big screen. His large, bare feet rested on the coffee table while he seemed to ignore my presence.
But it was a disguise.
Every time I sighed too loudly, his body would react.
It was subtle at first—a twitch of his eyebrows, the faint narrowing of his eyes—but it was enough for me to notice.
And when I shifted in my seat, as if I was about to leave, his head would snap toward me and he would study me with his worried eyes, the heat of his gaze settling on me like a hand pressing into my shoulder.
It gave me time to observe him and somehow made me wonder about my father. My mother had clearly indicated he was a criminal but never elaborated on what kind of criminal. Was he a mobster like Aiden or something else entirely?
I gave an inadvertent shake of my head. My father had to be something worse.
So far, Aiden didn’t seem to be violent, but then the image of the beaten mayor flickered to mind.
Okay, scratch that, he was violent and ruthless, but not toward me.
Maybe his reputation for cruelty only extended to men.
And let’s not forget the fact that Aiden was incredibly handsome.
Dammit, he checked all three boxes, just like my father. Yeah, this wouldn’t bode well for me.
“Are you writing a book?” Aiden asked, his gaze never leaving the television.
My brows knitted. “A book?”
“Yeah, you’re studying me like you’re doing research for a book.”
Jesus, he was too observant. I’d have to keep that in mind. Besides, if he’d done homework on me, he’d know I could barely put a paragraph together.
“Is that a yes?” he asked, reminding me I hadn’t answered his question.
“No, I’m not writing a book about you,” I muttered. “I avoid writing and reading if I can help it.”
His eyes flicked to me.
“Really?” I nodded. “Why?”
“You first,” I retorted sarcastically. “What is it that you do?” I gave my head a shake, realizing my mistake right away. “Never mind, don’t answer that.”
Witnessing what he did had landed me in this mess to begin with.
“If I was smart, I’d be terrified of you,” I added.
“I’d never hurt you.”
“Would you let anyone else hurt me?”
“As long as there’s breath left in me, I’ll never let that happen. As I said last night, I’m happy to deliver karma in your name.” I didn’t know if it made me stupid, but I believed him. “Back to you, Raven. Tell me what you like to do.”
“I like to paint.” I sighed, wishing I had my materials with me.
He tilted his head. “By that wistful breath, I think you love to paint.”
I smiled. “Adore it. I’m happiest with a paintbrush in my hand.”
He picked up his phone and started typing, and I shot him an annoyed look that he clearly missed.
“Am I boring you?” I asked sarcastically.
“No, not at all.” He didn’t lift his head, his fingers flying across the phone. Freaking rude, if you asked me. But then he met my eyes. “My apologies, I just wanted to get something. You have my undivided attention now.”
I shrugged. “Well, the moment’s passed.”
He didn’t seem bothered. “Tell me what else you’re good at.”
I could pout, but I didn’t think it’d get me anywhere with this man. “I’m also pretty good at playing music.”
“Impressive. Which instrument?”
“Guitar.”
He tilted his head, then, almost pensively, said, “We could probably set aside one room for your hobbies. It wouldn't be hard to soundproof it either.”
I shot him a surprised look. “Really?”
“Yes. Since you’re no longer employed at my establishment”—he quirked a brow and tilted his head—“you’ll need shit to keep you busy, aside from sending memes to your friends.”
I rolled my eyes. “Stalk much?”
“I notice things,” he corrected calmly. “In my profession, attention to detail means the difference between life and death.”
“Duly noted,” I acknowledged, realizing that might be a problem. “What have you noticed about me?”
He turned his body and gazed at me, contemplative, his Yankees game all but forgotten.
“Hmmm, where do I start?” He tapped a long finger against his lips.
“You worry about your mom. At times you wish you didn’t have to deal with her addiction and how dependent that makes her.
You’d never leave her to suffer alone, but part of you just wants to disappear with your friends. Am I on the right track?”
My eyes widened as I nodded.
“You want to go to college. Maybe you see it as your way out?” he continued, but there was no smugness to his tone. “I’m okay with that, you know. Whatever you need, just say the word and it’s yours.”
No way, it couldn’t be that simple. I didn’t even ask for the thing I most wanted and he was just… handing it to me? There had to be a catch. Right?
I stared at him, silence stretching between us, while I tried to come up with the right words.
“I don’t know what to say,” I murmured, the hope in my chest expanding like a balloon. “You’re really okay with me going away to college?”
“I didn’t say you’d be going away,” he corrected. “There’re colleges right here in the city with excellent music and arts programs.” My hope was deflating slowly but surely. “Why don’t you look into them and register for the ones you want?”
He pulled out his wallet and opened it, then handed me a thick black Amex.
I reached for it hesitantly.
“To pay for my applications?” I questioned.
“Among other things. This card is yours to do with as you like. You can withdraw cash too. The PIN is 6533. It doesn’t have a spending limit, so whatever you want or need, just get it.”
Well, well, well… things were looking up.