Chapter 5 Chris
CHRIS
My phone wakes me at four in the morning.
Not my regular phone. My burner. The one I keep in the kitchen in a drawer with a false bottom. Only two people have the number.
Avery stirs against me as I slide my arm out from under her. She makes a tiny sound of protest and rolls into the warm spot I’ve left on the bed. Her hand finds my pillow, and she pulls it against her body as a substitute for me.
Adorable. Everything she does is adorable.
Three days. It’s been three days since I brought her home, and she hasn’t left.
She still takes her shifts at the bookstore but comes back every evening and enters my home like its hers too, canvas bag over her shoulder, hair smelling like whatever shampoo she uses that makes me want to bury my face in her neck and never leave.
I bought her a toothbrush, a mug, and a selection of teas.
My house now has signs of life in it. I’m not used to that. But I’m starting to like it.
My burner buzzes again. I cross the dark house and ease the drawer open. It’s Danny’s number.
“You gotta come get me,” he says. His voice is wired with adrenaline and regret. I hear ambient noise behind him. Distant voices, a metallic echo.
Shit. A holding cell. He’s been arrested.
“Where?”
“Central booking. Downtown.” A pause. “I…got into a thing.”
No time for questions. He’s part of the crew. I gotta get him out. “They run your prints?”
“No. Bail hearing’s at eight.”
“Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t sign shit. I’ll be there in ten.”
Hanging up, I slide into my pants, slip on a shirt, and am in the car and heading downtown.
This is bad. Danny’s name in the system means a flag. Maybe not today, maybe not even this week. But it’ll happen. And if someone connects Danny to me, or to Marco, and any of us to the warehouse…
The chain is there, and it will lead the heat back to the bank. It’s unlikely, but it’s possible. And possible is a word I don’t like when planning a job.
I call Marco. He picks up on the first ring. “I already heard,” he says, his voice flat.
“How bad’s our exposure?”
Marco is a man who doesn’t waste words, so when he remains quiet, I know he’s thinking carefully. “I went by the warehouse an hour ago. Saw a sedan parked on the block that wasn’t there yesterday. Could be nothing. Could be…”
Shit. My stomach drops. “Make and model?”
“Dark blue Charger. Government plates.”
Fuck.
“Could be unrelated. But I doubt it.”
“I doubt it too.” My hand tightens on the wheel. “Stay away for now. I’ll get Danny out, and we’ll reassess. But, Marco…”
“Yea?”
“This job might be done.”
He doesn’t answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, but he knows I’m right. We both do. I hang up.
Shit.
I post Danny’s bail at eight-fifteen. Ten thousand in cash. Someone else’s name on the bondsman’s form. Danny walks out of the courthouse with swollen fists and a cut over his eyebrow.
He spots my car and walks over with an embarrassed look on his face like a kid who knows he screwed up.
“The hell happened?” I ask as he gets in.
“Poker game in Chula Vista. Some punk accused me of cheating, and I just—look, he came at me first.”
“You broke his jaw,” I say, my voice tight. “This could blow up big on us.”
He sighs and stares at his feet. “Chris, look—”
“Two days, Danny. Two fucking days away from the biggest score of our lives, and you’re in a goddamn holding cell because you can’t keep your ass away from the tables.”
He scrubs his face with his palms. “I know, Chris. It was stupid.”
“It was reckless. Now we’ve got a Charger with government plates parked a block from the warehouse.”
Danny goes still, looking at me with serious concern. “Since when?”
“Showed up today. Could be a coincidence. Could be the start of something. Either way, this job is looking compromised.”
He stays quiet for a long time, working his jaw, tapping his fingers on his knee. “We can push it,” he says, grabbing for a way out of the shit he’s gotten us into. “Two weeks. Let the heat die down, change the staging area.”
“Or we abort completely.”
His eyes narrow. He looks at me like I’m fucking crazy.
“Abort? Chris, it’s three million. I’m talking Lisa’s new house.
Marco’s bakery. Whatever the hell you spend your money on!
” He studies me closely. Danny reads people the way I read alarm systems, and right now, he’s reading something I don’t want him to see. “What’s going on with you, anyway?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Fine? Bullshit,” he scoffs. “You’ve been different since the last meet. Distracted. I called your regular phone twice and you didn’t pick up.”
Did he really? Shit. I didn’t even realize.
“I was busy.”
“Busy? In that empty house of yours with no furniture, no TV—” he stops, and I watch a flicker of understanding wash over his face. “No fucking way. There’s a woman.”
I want to protest, but how can I? He’s got me dead to rights.
“You? Mister No Attachments? We’re two days away from a job that could set us up for life and you’re busy playing house with some chick?
” He shakes his head. My muscles tighten.
My fingers ball into fists. “This is how people get caught, Chris. Get killed. You fall for someone and you lose your edge—”
“You wanna lecture me?” I snap. If he was anyone else, I would have hit him. “I just bailed your ass out of jail for a fistfight that jeopardized the entire score!”
Danny opens his mouth. Closes it again. Stares out the window at the courthouse where a woman is leading two small children up the steps. His expression softens.
“Lisa wants kids,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Been asking for a year. I keep on saying after the next job. I need this, Chris.”
He stares silently out the window. I can see his brain working, churning over the reality of our situation. Of his.
I don’t answer.
He wants me to come through for him. Salvage the bank job.
But is that even possible?
I need to see her. After what just went down at the courthouse, my body, my soul, all of me is yearning for her.
She mentioned earlier wanting to go by her apartment to pick up a few things, so I take a detour on my way home and go by.
Maybe it’s the Charger, or maybe it’s just my habits, but I scan every inch of her block before getting out of the car. Once I’m satisfied it’s clear, I take the steps to her door.
She opens a few seconds after my knock and immediately throws herself into my arms and kisses me—which I love, but it feels foreign. Public display of affection? Never in my life.
But I could learn to love it.
Her apartment is the opposite of my house. Photographs—ones she’s taken, I assume—hang on every wall. Her and Jules at the beach, with her folks at a barbeque, a dog she must have grown up with.
There are art books stacked on the floor, filling every shelf. The kitchen is a cute mess, and the sink is overflowing with dirty dishes. There’s a couch with vintage throw pillows and a blanket draped over one arm.
A real, lived-in home. Everything I’ve spent eleven years avoiding.
Avery is barefoot with her hair in a loose knot, wearing an oversized T-shirt that hangs mid-thigh. She can make absolutely anything adorable.
I catch the back of her neck and pull her in, kissing her again. Deeper, longer. She tastes of something sweet.
God, this is just what I need after the day I’ve had. For a few seconds, the Charger with government plates and Danny’s arrest cease to exist. All that matters is her.
When she pulls back, she sees something in my eyes and frowns. “What’s wrong?”
Christ, she’s already able to read me.
“Just a long day,” I say.
It’s a half-truth, and she’s right not to believe me. Her hand lingers on my chest, and her eyes stay fixed on mine, but she doesn’t push it. She leads me to the couch and pulls me down beside her, draping her exposed legs over mine.
We sit there quietly as the sound of the streets drift up through the windows. Traffic, music, someone’s dog barking. Normal sounds. No gunfire, engines revving, or tires screeching. Just a world where people come home, cook dinner, and fall asleep on the couch watching TV together.
A world where people don’t keep a duffel bag packed with cash in the closet.
A want hits me so suddenly that it takes my breath away.
“What if we left?” I ask her.
She looks at me. “Left?”
“Yeah, San Diego. California. All of it.” I don’t know where this is coming from.
Some vault in my chest that’s been locked for a decade and is now being cracked open by her.
A safecracker breaking into my soul. “I could take you somewhere, Avery. Somewhere quiet. Oregon. Colorado. A nice small town where you could do your photography.”
She stares back at me, trying to figure out if I’m serious. “Chris, I like you, but we’ve known each other for less than a week.”
“I know how long it’s been,” I say, taking her hand.
“And leave? People don’t just leave.” I almost laugh. She has no idea how many times I’ve done just that. New name, new city, new empty house. “I have a job—"
“We could start over, Avery.” For the first time in my life, I can see it. A real future. “A house close to the water. Big windows, lots of light. Just a nice, normal life.”
“Chris…” She’s being careful with her tone. Gentle. Like she’s afraid to hurt me. “Where is this coming from?”
“It’s what I want,” I say simply.
“You want a house in Oregon?”
I shake my head, cup her face with my palm. “No. I want you.”
She pauses. “You don’t even know my middle name.”
“So tell me.”
She can’t fight the smile. The corners of her lips betray her. She can’t hide how she feels. She’s honest, and it’s one of the things I love about her.
“That’s not the point. The point is you’re talking about running away with me like this is a movie. This is real life, Chris. Things don’t work that way.”
I shrug. “Maybe they do. Maybe the only reason they don’t is because people are too afraid to try.”
“And you’re not afraid?” she counters.
I am. I’m terrified. But she can’t know that. “No. My whole life has been about keeping myself clear of commitment. Anything that could tie me down to one place. But now that I’ve met you…I know that has to change.”
She looks at me quietly, eyes searching my face, searching for a lie. I look back at her unguarded, coming to terms with the realization that my mantra that built the strong walls that have protected me all these years has really just built me a prison.
Her hands tighten on mine. “So what would our days look like?” she asks softly.
Something goes tight in my chest. She’s not saying yes, but she’s also not saying no. I have to paint a picture for her. One that will show her the life I am desperate to provide.
“I’d wake you up nicely…” she blushes but keeps eye contact. “We’d make breakfast together. You’d teach me how to not to make my scrambled eggs taste like rubber.”
A half-laugh escapes her lips. “Crucial skill.”
“You’d take pictures all day and show them to me. And at night, we’d fall asleep together. You curled up in my arms while I listen to you breathe and ask myself how I got so lucky.”
Her eyes are bright now. She’s clutching my hand tightly. “You really want that?”
I nod. “Only if it’s with you.”
She stays silent a long time. I let her. I’ve put it all on the line for her. There’s nothing left to do now but wait. The city hums outside as I watch her. I’m standing on the edge—on a tightrope wire—and what she says next will determine if I live or die.
“Rose,” she finally says.
“What?”
“My middle name is Rose.”
My arm tightens around her. I kiss her gently on the forehead and close my eyes. It’s not a yes, but it’s a step in the right direction. And right now, it feels like enough.
It feels like a beginning.