CHAPTER FOUR
Neither Sully nor Fitz answered when Conor called the next morning, which was fine.
They clearly got wrecked last night. Sully wouldn’t have called, yammering away about “going big,” unless they went on a bender and conjured up something stupid like robbing a bank.
Whatever their plan was, it could wait. Conor had more important matters to attend to.
Like riding a hot girl around town on the back of his motorcycle in a few hours.
* * *
He could tell Julia hadn’t ridden on a motorcycle before.
She had her arms locked around his chest in a death grip.
He swerved every now and then to get a scream out of her.
It took a while, but she finally relaxed after he’d shown her most of the town.
Her hands circled his waist while her chin rested on his shoulder.
He could feel her body pressed against him from behind, and her breath in his ear as she said, “I’m hungry. ”
Conor nodded. He pulled into what looked to be a greasy-spoon diner.
Julia raised an eyebrow and gave a ‘What the hell is this?’ expression as she got off the bike.
He held out his hand. The parking lot was empty.
And even though it was hard to see through the scum that coated the windows, it was clear that no diners were inside.
Conor ignored her expression, took her hand, and led her to the front door.
He nodded at the old man sitting in a booth near the door, smoking a cigar and reading a newspaper.
A small television was set up in the middle of the dining area, tuned to a soccer match.
The old man folded his paper and shuffled behind the counter.
Conor ordered two hot dogs. When Julia started whispering, asking the normal question of where in God’s name he’d taken her, he shushed her.
He didn’t want to embarrass Rollo, the old man who owned the place.
Rollo was infamous for staying in business with no visible customers.
The rumor was his diner was run by criminals.
Conor knew better. Yes, Rollo had the unfortunate luck of opening a restaurant in a crappy location, but he’d figured out really quick that survival required a flexible business plan.
Selling Lotto tickets did the trick. His customer base lived in the surrounding neighborhood of crumbling homes, holding onto the belief that they could change the course of their miserable lives with one lucky ticket.
As a result, Rollo had a daily influx of customers who were in and out in under a minute—giving his restaurant the appearance of a dead zone to most people.
But the law-abiding citizens that shunned Rollo’s were missing out on a basic truth.
The man cooked a mean dog.
Conor finished his all-beef hot dog slathered in coleslaw, onions, and cheese, drank his soda, and watched Julia finish her meal.
He dumped their trash and stacked their food trays on top of the garbage can on the way out, and then gave Rollo a wave.
Julia put a hand on her stomach as she walked next to him.
“That was great,” she said. “How come no one eats here?”
Conor got on his motorcycle and waited for her to slide in behind him.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I do know you’re gonna like the next place even more.”
Conor rode out of town on Route 13. Businesses dotted the roadside for the first couple of miles. Conor reached back, held Julia’s thigh, and raced down the open road. Then they passed the interstate and the countryside opened up.
He parked next to the bridge by the Gorman-Rupp valve plant, hopped off the bike, and led Julia to the river.
Julia stuck tight to him as he led the way down a steep bank and stepped into the river.
The rocks were slippery with algae in the midsummer heat.
She held his hand and walked alongside him, splashing through the water toward a bridge that crossed the river.
They entered the darkness under the bridge.
The air stunk of mildew. Julia waved away the buzz of mosquitoes as she followed Conor.
“Where are you taking me?” she said, splashing through the ankle-high water.
“Trust me. It’ll be worth it,” he said, pulling her along.
The water got deeper as they walked out from under the bridge—nearly knee-high. Conor looked back at Julia, squeezed her hand, and nodded at a calm pool of water in front of them, dappled with bright sunlight and bordered by willow trees on the right side of the riverbank.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
He pulled her toward a sandy beach on the left side of the pool. Once there, he took his boots off and sat with his feet in the cool water. Julia joined him.
“Now do you forgive me?” said Conor.
“For what?”
“Ignoring my new neighbor for a month.”
Julia laughed. “Maybe. Let me think about it.”
He picked up a rock and threw it into the water. Ripples bloomed over the surface.
Julia glanced at him. “So, what’s your story?”
He threw another rock. “My story? Uh, I grew up here. Live here. Work here. It’s a pretty boring story.”
“Parents?”
“Yeah. A dad. My mom left when I was nine.” He eyed her. “But my dad’s no prize either. He’s a drunk. Lives on the street.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Conor waved. “Ah, it’s nothing. I used to think it made me look bad. But I’m over it. He can live on the street all he wants—it’s better than having him live with me.”
“I guess that’s true,” she said. “What about your work?”
“I work at an auto repair shop, when I can.” He sighed and turned to face her. “And I do other stuff. But what about you? Why’d you move here?”
She met his gaze and smiled. The scar across her cheek puckered, pink and jagged. “Okay. Here’s me,” she said. “My mom had me when she was seventeen. I don’t know who my dad is. Never had many friends, and I barely ever saw my mom. She was always working some shitty job.”
“How ‘bout that? I work shitty jobs too,” Conor said with a big smile. “What kind does she do?”
“You mean, ‘did she do,’ said Julia. “Her hand got messed up working at a factory. It was bad for a while. Then she got hooked on Oxy and OD’d before I graduated.”
Conor lifted a rock on the edge of the water with his foot and pushed it over with a splash. “Man, that sucks. What did you do?”
“A teacher talked me into finishing high school. Said I was too smart to stop. So, I lived with a foster family for a couple years, graduated, then I started working my own shitty jobs. And voilà, here I am.”
“Yeah,” said Conor. “Here you are.”
An awkward silence held for a bit. Conor dug his feet under the sand. He looked out over the stream, watching flashes of sunlight sparkle. “So, what about dreams?”
“What about ‘em?”
“Do you have any?”
“Every night,” she said.
“No. I mean like dreams for your life,” he said, feeling her turn to stare at him.
“I don’t know. Why?”
He shrugged. “You just seem like you would.” He turned to meet her gaze.
“Is that a pick-up line?”
“No.”
She looked away. “No one’s ever asked me that before.” She leaned back, bracing her hands in the sand. “I’ll think about it and let you know.”
He leaned back, moving his hand next to hers, just close enough to touch.
“Promise?” he said, staring at her profile.
He watched her glance down at his hand. She hooked her pinkie finger over his, lifted her gaze, smiled, and said, “I pinkie swear.” A drop of sweat trailed over her scar.
Her eyes were so big he felt like he could dive into them.
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he said, reaching up to wipe the sweat away from her scar.
Her smile fell. She pulled away, covering the scar on her cheek.
“Sorry,” he said, straightening.
She blushed. “No, I’m sorry. Sorry that I’m so ugly.”
“It doesn’t make you ugly,” he said. “Just different.”
“Yeah. Ugly different.”
He reached over, pulled her hand off her scar, and touched it. “It makes you look dangerous—in a good way.”
She grinned. “That’s me. Dangerous. The dangerous janitor.”
“Janitor?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I work at Sacred Heart Cathedral. I clean the school. And—”
He watched her struggle to talk for a moment before she continued.
“And—I can’t believe I’m telling you this—the reason I have this ugly scar is my ex-boyfriend. He did it.”
Conor wanted to say something. How he’d go find the guy and show him what happened to men who put hands on a woman.
How she didn’t deserve to be with someone who would do such a thing.
But he barely knew her. They’d just met.
The problem was, he had a feeling about her.
A connection he couldn’t make sense of. Even so, it didn’t give him the right to act like he was her knight in shining armor.
All they really shared, so far, were broken families.
That wasn’t enough to jump in with a lot of big talk.
So, he decided to do the next best thing. Listen.
“My ex is a piece of work,” she continued. “He’s why I felt like someone was in my apartment yesterday. He has no idea where I am—there’s no way he could—but I keep thinking he’s looking for me. That he’s going to hurt me again.”
Conor couldn’t stop himself. He put his hand on her bare knee. “That won’t happen.”
“How do you know?” she said.
“I just do,” he replied.
“You’ll have to do better than that.”
He smiled. “Well, you know those really thin walls between our apartments? If you even whisper my name, I’ll be over in two seconds.”
She looked at his hand on her knee, and then shifted her gaze to his face. “I appreciate that.”
Conor stood. He held out his hand. “Enough of this depressing shit. Let’s go swimming.”
She grabbed his hand and stood. Brushing sand off her legs, she said, “I don’t want to get my clothes all wet.”
“C’mon,” he said, pulling off his T-shirt.
“I can’t,” she said, smiling. “I don’t know how to swim.”
Conor tossed his shirt in the sand. “I can teach you.”
“Maybe later,” she said, raising her hands and taking a step back.
Conor pulled her in by her waist. She shrieked as he lifted her. He carried her into the clear, deep pool, her feet kicking and splashing water. A red-winged blackbird flew out of a willow across the river, escaping the commotion.
“Not too far out,” she screamed.
Chest deep in the pool, he relaxed his grip on her. She hooked her arms around his neck and leaned her head back, dunking her hair. Then she shook her head, spraying water over Conor’s face. “How do you like that?” she whispered.
He grabbed her thighs, pulling her against him. Her legs circled his waist.
“You’re not very nice,” he said, sliding his hands up her thighs. He leaned in to kiss her. She tilted her head back, out of reach, then leaned forward, pressing her lips against his.
He held the kiss as he carried her across the pool into the shallows under the willows. She sighed, unwrapped her legs from around his waist, and stood in the ankle-deep water.
“Water feels good, right?” he said, brushing her hair out of her face.
She stripped off her shirt and hung it on a willow branch hanging over the water. A strap on her black sports bra hung loose over a shoulder.
He reached for her.
She put a hand on his chest, pulled the strap back over her shoulder, and then ran a finger down Conor’s stomach to his shorts. She tugged the waistband.
Conor walked to the bank, hopping on one leg to pull off his shorts. By the time he turned around in his underwear, she was twenty feet away, swimming toward the other side of the river.
“I thought you couldn’t swim,” he yelled.
She rolled to her back and waved. “I’ll wait for you at your motorcycle,” she said. “And don’t forget my shirt.”
He splashed water in her direction, shook his head, and laughed. He liked this girl. He really did.
* * *
It was still light when he pulled into his apartment’s parking lot.
He parked his bike and followed Julia toward the stairwell. Walking behind her was like having a front row seat at the best show in town.
He followed her up the stairs and down their hallway.
“You want to come in?” she said, stopping at her apartment. “I think I have a couple beers.”
Conor looked down at his wet clothes. “I gotta take a shower.”
“Me too,” she said. “How long will it take you?”
“How long you need?”
“Come back over in fifteen,” she said, closing her door.
* * *
It took Conor five minutes to jump in the shower, wash up, brush his teeth, and then pull on a pair of jeans. He pumped out a set of fifty push-ups before putting on a black T-shirt and a pair of old wrestling shoes. His hand was on his doorknob when his cell vibrated. He pulled it out.
Shit.
It was a text from Mona. And there were three calls from Sully.
Even Fitz left a message, which wasn’t like him.
He’d call them later. Mona was first in line.
She’d been waiting for over a week to talk to him.
He’d told her they were done last time he saw her, but he knew it wouldn’t take.
It was time to put their relationship to bed for good.
After he finished with her, he’d call Sully and Fitz.
He pocketed his cell and took a long inhale, mentally preparing himself for battle with Mona.
She was at Ricky’s Pub, a restaurant that catered to people who drank ten-dollar beers and fifteen-dollar cocktails—the best place in town to break up with her.
Being in a place like Ricky’s would keep her from throwing a bottle at his head.
He knocked on Julia’s door. If she was up for it, he’d come back after talking to Mona. He knocked again and put his mouth against the door jamb. “Julia, you in there?”
It was faint, but he heard a floorboard creak in her apartment. Her voice was soft. “I’m not feeling well.”
“You need anything? An aspirin or something?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine. I...I gotta get some sleep.”
Conor put his hand on the doorknob, then looked at his watch.
This was actually working out perfect. Now he could meet with Mona and Julia wouldn’t even know he was bailing on her.
He backed away from the door. “I’ll check in later to see how you’re doing,” he said.
“Get some sleep. We’ll get together when you feel better. ”
Hearing a soft, “Thanks,” he stared at her door.
The possibility that he’d done something to piss Julia off crossed his mind.
She seemed okay with their kiss at the river, but women were weird.
He looked at his watch, calculating if he had time to go in and talk to her.
No, Mona wouldn’t wait. He walked down the hall and headed downstairs, running over his list of to-dos in his mind.
In less than fifteen minutes, he’d be talking to Mona.
Then he’d call Sully and Fitz to see why they were blowing up his phone.
And then he’d come back and check in with Julia to make sure she was okay.
It was all gonna work out just fine.