Chapter Thirty-Seven #2
"Here's the thing," he said at the same time as me, head whipping up, looking at me, giving me that guarded expression again.
"What's the thing? You're a big-time mafioso who has fed several people to the fishes,” I teased, swirling the straw in my drink. "Oh, my God... are you?" I asked when his eyes looked almost, I don't know, guilty."
"No," he said, giving me a humorless laugh as he took a sip of his drink. "Okay, look. Since moving to Navesink Bank, a lot has changed in my life. Everything, really. But before we all landed here, my siblings and I, we didn't exactly do something legal for a living," he told me.
"Okay," I said, reminding myself that a lot of people did things that were technically illegal, but didn't hurt anyone per se. "What did you do?"
"We robbed places," he admitted.
"What?" I hissed, feeling like someone had ripped the rug out from underneath me.
"Yeah," he said, nodding at my reaction. "I know. That's a lot to take in."
"I don't think I understand," I told him, sure there was something I was missing, something he wasn’t saying. I mean, sure, robbers existed, but you never saw them in real life, had dinner with them at a fancy restaurant.
"You want it all?" he asked. "The whole story," he clarified.
I did.
And he gave it to me.
About his mom, about her sickness, the company that didn’t stand behind her, the debt she got into for her treatments before she decided to stop treatment, to let her sickness take its course because she couldn’t afford to pay anymore.
She left behind five children. The boys: Kingston, Nixon, Atlas, and Rush. And their little sister Scotti.
And a lot of bitterness about the whole situation. Most of it was directed—understandably—at the company that wouldn’t give her medical coverage, that decided she was better off replaced than alive.
In that situation, especially most of them being as young as they had been at the time, I understood how impulsive ideas came to them.
But it hadn't just been bitter words shared during a period of grief for them. It was a plan. A plot for revenge. That they actively worked toward in and out of different cities and states, stealing back what the company owed their mother.
It was hard to accept as reality.
But nothing about Rush as he spoke suggested he was yanking my chain, that he was trying to get a rise out of me.
When he spoke of his mother, there was pain in his eyes. Even when he talked about their work—for lack of a better term—the years following, there were traces of anger over the situation.
"It was wrong," he concluded. "But it wasn't at the same time," he said, shrugging. "I know that is a lot to take in," he said, leaning back against the tufted booth back, taking a slow, deep breath. "If you want me to take you home, let me know."
"I... I'm processing," I told him. "So, you were in Navesink Bank doing a, you know, job?”
"Yes."
"And that was when Scotti met Fiona's brother-in-law?"
"Yeah. Mark Mallick. That’s when the plan changed."
"Fiona knows about all your... pasts?"
"Yeah."
“And Mark and Scotti..."
At that, he let out a hissing breath. "This might not be my place.
But the Mallicks haven't exactly been on the up-and-up with the law either," he told me, hedging, and I understood why.
That was privileged information, something the Mallicks likely didn't want shared around all willy nilly.
"So, they didn’t judge. They just took us in. "
"And you went to work at Fee's place."
"Yes."
"And Kingston opened a private security agency," I said, feeling my lips curve up.
"The irony, right?" he asked, shaking his head. "Nixon and Atlas work for him occasionally too, but Nixon is off with Reagan and her whiskey business, which suits him a little better. He's such a dick. Clients hated him," Rush admitted, smiling fondly at some private memories.
"You didn’t want to go into anything with, you know, cars?" I asked.
"I never had any interest in selling them or fixing them.
Just driving them. And there's not a lot of jobs for that.
So I just enjoy a good drive now and again.
Helps clear the head. I'm planning a big road trip next summer, though, take off in a car and see the world.
As much traveling as I have done, there was never much time for sightseeing. "
"A road trip sounds like the perfect way to travel," I agreed. "You don’t have to be packed into crowded trains or planes or buses or boats with a ton of other people. It sounds peaceful."
"Katie..."
"Yeah?" I asked, looking up, seeing a raw vulnerability in his gaze that made me want to reach out toward him, but he had his arms off the table.
"It’s okay if you’re not okay with it."
"Our pasts don’t define us, right?" I asked, shrugging. "I mean... I used to be a huge Twilight fan. Like... I went to the midnight release parties at the bookstores," I admitted, cringing at the memory.
"Baby, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to judge the fuck out of you for that," he teased, beaming at me, the light in his eyes chasing away the uncertainty I didn't like seeing there.
"No fair," I said, shooting him small eyes as our server came back, placing our plates in front of us, cutting off the line of conversation for a moment.
"Really, though, Katie. It's okay," he said, tone earnest as he watched me with understanding eyes.
"Do you plan on falling back into your old, erhm, career?" I asked, grabbing my fork.
"No."
"Then it's all in the past. This is, you know, the present," I told him, twirling my Alfredo noodles onto the tines of my fork.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," I agreed, nodding. "I get why you did it too.
I mean, I don't know what I would do if that happened to my mom.
That's unfathomable to me. I don't think I'd ever have the nerve to get revenge, but I would want it.
So I get it. And that's not who you are now. You work in private security. That’s a respectable profession," I said, giving him a smile.
"Maybe even more respectable than mine," I added, laughing.
"I tell people that I am a receptionist at a call center.
No one ever asks a follow-up question to that. "
"What would you say to your mom?"
"My mom already knows where I work," I told him.
"No, baby, about me," he clarified. "About my past," he added. "I am seeing this going somewhere right now. And I know you and your mom are tight."
"We are," I agreed. "But there's a time and a place, I guess. I didn't tell her about tonight," I added.
"Why not?"
"Because I didn’t want to overthink it. And I know if I started telling people, I would do that. I'm going to tell her tomorrow. She likes you. She's a little mad that I said you couldn't come to brunch."
"Well, now you can ease her mind and tell her I will be there bright and early with an empty stomach the next time. I've been craving those crêpes," he admitted.
"She'll be thrilled," I told him, silently adding that I would be too.
I won't lie and say that his past wasn’t a shock, that I didn't have mixed feelings about it. But I believed what I said. What was in the past, was in the past. Someone's history didn’t define them if they actively worked to build a new life. He'd been young and hurt and angry.
He was older and more level-headed now. He was all about his family. And I knew that because as we ate, he talked about his siblings, their women, the Mallicks and their women, about the crazy things that could happen at get togethers.
He did it with warmth and humor, telling stories so vivid that I felt like I was there, but without the social anxiety I would feel if I was.
"They have bets on us now," he added, making my fork pause on its way to my mouth.
"What?"
"Mark makes pools. For everything. Genders of babies. Whose kid is going to rebel the hardest. Which of the women will object first to a no-shave November. And, most of all, which couples would get together and when. They're betting on us right now."
"How do they even know about me?"
"Fee. King. Don't worry, they don't gossip, just mention shit. Apparently, the whole Mallick clan knew she'd trapped us together in the woods—and why—before we ever figured it out."
"God, that feels like forever ago," I admitted, feeling like so much had happened since. But, I guess, when your life is as uneventful as mine had been since, well, forever, these little dramas that had been a part of my life the past few weeks felt like a lot.
"I regret answering that phone sometimes," he admitted, shaking his head. "I think if we had one more night, things would have happened organically.”
"Maybe," I agreed. "But I think you would have been even more angry when you found out about the calls if that had happened."
"Possibly," he admitted. "For the record, I don't regret those calls or anything like that. I just wish I'd have understood why there had been a reaction with you when there hadn't been with someone else."
"I was so lonely," I admitted, gaze slipping to the table. "And I was too insecure to tell you I had a little thing for you."
"Just a little one?" Rush asked, reaching across the table to tap his fingers over my knuckles.
"Well, like, you were unattainable," I said. "So it couldn't be a big crush. Just the sort of far-away admiration people feel toward celebrities kind of thing."
"Think it's much better now that I can do this," he said, sliding his fingers between mine.
"Yes," I agreed, lips curving up. "Much better."
"You want dessert?"
"Do you?" I asked, watching as his eyes went from warm to molten.
"Oh, I can go for a little dessert," he told me.
"But they're not serving what I'm hungry for here.
Or, he went on, not wanting to pressure me.
"We can go get some coffee and donuts, then each go home to our separate places," he said, though I swear it sounded like genuine pain in his voice at the idea.
Pain.
Over the idea of not sleeping with me.
"Take me home with you,” I suggested, letting my fingers squeeze his a bit.