Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Joey
I insulted him by saying you guys. I suppose the red hair and freckles could’ve told me he’s Irish mob, even if his name didn’t make me realize it. If that’s the case, then he shouldn’t be anywhere near this neighborhood unless it’s to stir up trouble. I don’t like that.
This kind of trouble usually winds up with innocent people getting hurt. I want nothing to do with that. I’m protective of this neighborhood. It’s not like I have every family on my caseload, but I get to know the kids here. Some of them call me se?orita , but a few even call me tía . I consider being called “aunt” among the highest praise, so I look out for everyone here.
I have nothing to say now that I’ve figured out the truth. Cormac turns his head as though he’s looking down the street, but our gazes meet for an instant before he looks away.
“You’ve put it all together, haven’t you?”
I’m pretty sure I have.
“And you’ve decided I’m just as bad as Pablo, right?”
He hesitates for a moment, and I wonder how he intends to deny that statement.
“We’re similar, but not the same.”
“Isn’t that just semantics?”
“Not in my world.”
There’s an edge to his voice that tells me I risk genuinely insulting him if I keep pushing, and that actually bothers me. I don’t feel like he deserves me being rude to him when he was so concerned about me earlier. But it doesn’t mean I have to agree with him or approve of what he does.
If I know the man he is, then I should be just as petrified of him as I am Pablo. But even though I just watched them together, he comes across very different. I actually feel safe with him. It’s why I didn’t run when he told me to stay behind him. I could’ve taken my chances and ducked down these steps again, but I didn’t. I don’t know if it was how insistent he remained about me getting my elbow checked out or that he told me to hide behind him. But he is more reassuring than he should be.
I’m a fool to believe he’s anything other than the monster I know Pablo is. He remains silent while I consider what’s happened over the past forty-five minutes. When he pushes away from the fence, he issues another command.
“Get your arm checked, cailín . I’ll know if you don’t.”
Before I can respond, he’s stepping away. I watch him cross the street, his long strides at least twice as wide as mine. I watch him yank open the door to the bodega and stand just within it. His shoulders aren’t quite broad enough to span the width, but they’re pretty damn close. I always thought Pablo was intimidatingly large, but I can see Cormac is even bigger than him, which just reconfirms it’s a false sense of security to trust I’m safe with Cormac.
I can’t hear the conversation, but I remain hidden, even though I should seize this opportunity to get to my car. However, I rationalize to myself that somebody could spy me through the window and recognize me, then tell Pablo I’m here. Then again, I don’t believe he would do anything while Cormac’s here.
However, he’d know Cormac shielded me, and I don’t want to be the reason those two Titans clash. It takes another ten minutes—I know because I keep glancing at my watch—before Cormac steps out of the doorway. I’ve kept my head down, so I don’t know everything that happened. I only peeked a few times, and I didn’t see him shift from where he was. I know it was so he could make a hasty getaway if need be.
He steps back and lets Pablo walk past. I can’t see all of Pablo’s expression because he has sunglasses on, but it looks pretty grim from here. Then again, if a guy can have a resting bitch face, it would be Pablo Diaz.
I keep my head just high enough to watch what’s happening across the street as Pablo stalks to his SUV. I see Cormac wave to him as Pablo climbs in. It’s patronizing as fuck. Once the Colombians drive away, Cormac’s attention rivets back to me.
I’m certain he doesn’t see me because I ducked my head down the moment Pablo got in the vehicle. But Cormac is definitely staring at me. I can feel it even if I can’t see him now. I wonder what’s going through his mind because I’m positive I’m about to hear it. It only takes a moment longer before he appears at the top of the steps. I see he’s fighting the urge to put his hands on his hips, instead of fisting and unfisting his fingers.
“I made sure you had a chance to leave. Why are you still here?”
“Because somebody might have seen me through the window and recognized me.”
He stares at me for a moment before he nods. “They’re gone now. Ronaldo and Jesus slipped out the back the moment they saw Pablo arrive. They were no more interested in talking to him than you are. Things smoothed over pretty quickly.”
Smoothed over? Is that what they call not shooting each other?
I have a lot to learn about how New York syndicates work.
I shouldn’t think that.
It’s not like I’m curious about Cormac O’Rourke at all. That would be foolish and ridiculous. But he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen with the sun on his strawberry blond hair. It appears to glow like a halo. But he is the furthest thing from an angel you can get. Then again, he became my self-appointed guardian after I did the same thing for him. I’d hardly call myself angelic either.
I take the steps up to the sidewalk where he once more lifts my elbow with such care I barely feel his fingers on my arm. But I still can’t help but wince. His expression hardens in an instant.
“I see the bruising, and you’re still in pain. You’re seeing a doctor.”
“I’m telling you I just need some ice and to rest it. I’ll be fine, Cormac. I promise you. It’s all right.”
“Are you a doctor and a social worker?”
His arrogance could annoy me if I didn’t believe it was out of genuine concern.
“I’ve had this before. I know this feeling.”
His expression turns into a thundercloud, and I want to swallow my words, but I don’t know why he’s reacting this way.
“You called it nursemaid’s elbow. That’s usually something that only happens to kids when they refuse to follow whoever’s holding their arm, and they drop their weight. Yanking the kid’s arm usually isn’t intentional, but it can be. It’s also something most kids don’t remember. Are you telling me you know what it is from seeing your—” his hand gestures into the air— “clients, patients, whatever they are? Because that’s not how it sounds. It sounds like this has happened to you since you’ve been an adult.”
He’s digging a little too close to the truth, and I don’t like it. I need to get out of here before he pushes too hard, and I end up saying something I shouldn’t. Because as much as I want to resist, something about him compels me to tell the truth.
“Cormac, you’re making a bigger deal out of this than it should be. I can remember it from when I was a kid, and yeah, I have seen it in clients. It’ll heal. There’s not much to be done for it. How do you know what it is?”
I turn the tables on him, but the moment the words are out of my mouth, I wish I hadn’t. I don’t want to know what he does to people who cross him or his family.
“When I was six, I got into an argument with my cousin when I refused to give back a toy he wanted. We were yelling over each other, thinking the loudest would win. My mom tugged at my arm just like my aunt tugged at his. We both did the same thing, which was drop all our body weight to sit because neither of us wanted to give in about the Lego set we were playing with. He and I both wound up with the same injury. I was old enough to remember.”
I watch him, and I have no reason to think he’s lying, but he could be. I bet he’s avoiding telling me the whole truth, which is he’s probably caused this in other people. I don’t want to imagine the things he’s probably done, but I can’t help it after seeing him pointing a gun at two guys who are barely more than kids.
As I watch him, I’m certain that’s what kept him from shooting them. If they’d been much older than they are now, he probably would have, and I doubt he would’ve aimed to miss. He was giving them a chance. I suppose that’s pretty honorable all things considering.
“Joey, just have it looked at on the off chance it’s worse than you think. If it’s not that bad, then no big deal. But if it is, then you’ll just end up making it worse if it needs something more than ice and rest.”
The last thing I want is an emergency room co-pay. All I hear in my head is cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-ching. That’s not worth it to me, but I can’t tell him that. He nods. I think he’s giving up. More fool am I.
“If you think the emergency room will be a waste of time—” He cocks an eyebrow, and I know he knew what I was thinking. He just doesn’t want to embarrass me by saying money— “then let me refer you to a woman I know who won’t bill you if you say I sent you.”
My brow furrows, and I wonder what kind of arrangement he has with a woman who’d examine me at no charge. My gaze darts to his left hand, but I don’t see a ring.
“She’s not my wife or my girlfriend. I don’t have either of those.”
My cheeks radiate heat, completely embarrassed he knew what I was thinking—I don’t want to think he’s taken. Then again, maybe he could believe I’m worried she’d get the wrong idea if he sent a woman to her. But if she were his wife or girlfriend, and he did, then she would probably understand I mean nothing to him beyond a sense of guilt. I’m certain that’s why he’s insisting. He already admitted he feels guilty. That’s why he wants this off his conscience.
“I do feel responsible, and I do feel guilty.”
I take the last step up and stand before him as he admits his reasons. I moved slowly because I was still scanning the area to ensure the wrong person wouldn’t see me coming up the stairs and even worse, speaking to a mobster in a cartel-owned neighborhood.
“But it’s not just those things that make me insist you get it looked at. You work in a rough neighborhood and likely help kids whose families either don’t have the means to do all the things they wish they could for their kids, or families where you’re a lifeline for the children. You being out of commission means more than just you being hurt. It means those kids won’t get the support they need. I don’t want that either.”
“Does your conscience usually speak this loudly?”
“No.”
I didn’t think about the question before I spat it out, but he doesn’t think about his answer either. It’s immediate, and it confirms what I already knew: I should have nothing to do with a man like Cormac O’Rourke. Yet here I am, in no hurry to leave. I could have bolted. Instead, I’m dragging out this conversation.
One part of my mind screams I’m an idiot, and the other can barely keep my tongue from hanging out and drooling over him.
“I won’t insist you get into a car with me. I can tell you don’t trust me that much, and that’s fine. But let me give you this woman’s number, and you can call her when I’m not around. I won’t ask her if you do, so you won’t have to admit to giving in.”
He flashes me a smile as he sticks out his hand. I take a second to realize he’s waiting for me to give him my phone. I hesitate. I’m not sure I should hand it over.
“You can watch everything I type on the screen. I’m just going to put a phone number in your contacts.”
“All right.”
I peer down at the screen as he types in the name Meredith and then a phone number. I shift my gaze up to his face, but he’s still looking down. He doesn’t put a last name in, and it makes me suspicious, or rather, it confirms my suspicions. This is a mob doctor who would see me off the books. That would only suck me deeper into a world I’ve been hiding from ever since my first encounter with Pablo Diaz.
Guys like Ronaldo and Jesus are all over this neighborhood, but men like Pablo—and clearly like Cormac—aren’t some low-level hustlers. If he has the last name O’Rourke, and he wears custom-tailored suits like he has on now, then he has to be a pretty senior member of that family.
He hands back my phone, and I lock it before dropping it in my pocket.
“Are you headed to your car?”
I nod. I’m certain he’s not taking a bus or a subway.
“Is it close, or should I walk you there?”
My eyes widen, and I shake my head no. Understanding registers on his face. He knows I don’t want to be seen with him, and it makes me feel horrible because it’s not that I’m embarrassed or that I’m judging him for who he is—what he is. It’s purely about my safety.
“All right. You go, and I’ll follow behind. I’m not letting you walk alone to your car after what just happened.”
I point three cars down the road. “I’m right there.”
When I head toward it, he walks two steps behind me. I want to turn around and tell him I’m fine since it’s so nearby, but people have already witnessed us talking on the street for a long time. It’s inevitable it’ll get back to Pablo, and that means all of that time spent hiding was worthless. I unlock my car with a fob and open the door as Cormac reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. I see the screen flash. I get no chance to say anything before he answers the call. He glances at me as he walks by.
“Have a good day, Joey.”
“Wait! Why do you call me that?”