Chapter Four
SOPHIA
Four days back in Vixen Falls, and the apartment walls have become everything I know.
My boss keeps calling, but I don’t answer. Annie has tried visiting, knocking, and begging me to open up, but I can’t. Nothing can get me out of this bed.
It isn’t until my fourth day back that I hear a key turn in the lock. I don’t even ask who’s there. I don’t have the energy.
“Sophia, baby, where are you?”
Mom. I forgot she has a spare key.
Her footsteps move quickly down the hallway, and then my bedroom door swings open. “Sophia, what are you doing? You need to get up.” She doesn’t wait for a response. She storms straight to the curtains and yanks them open, flooding the room with light.
I cover my eyes with a groan. “Mom, just leave me alone. Please.”
She moves to the next window, then begins picking up clothes from the floor, folding them neatly, and laying them on the bed.
“Sophia, this has got to stop.” She sits on the edge of the mattress and looks down at me.
Her silky blonde hair is tied back in a ponytail, her blue eyes are steady and full of quiet concern.
She’s sixty-three but looks forty. She has always looked younger than she is, thanks to her daily walks, good food, and great skincare.
She takes care of herself, and right now, sitting beside me, she looks heartbreakingly put together compared to the mess I am.
“Honey, I know you’re hurting, but your father and I are worried about you.”
Shoving my face into the pillow, I pull the duvet over my head. I know she’s right. I know this isn’t healthy, but I can’t move past it. I’ve lost the love of my life, and no amount of fresh air or good intentions is going to change that.
Her hand moves gently through my hair. “Why don’t you come and stay with us? Let us take care of you.”
Pushing the cover back, I look up at her. “No, Mom. Staying with anyone isn’t going to change anything.”
The tears come fast.
She leans down and pulls me into her arms without hesitation. “Oh, baby, that’s it, let it out. I’m here. I’m right here.”
Crying until I’ve soaked through her top, she doesn’t pull away once. Her hand moves in slow circles at the back of my head, steady and warm.
“Sophia, I’m here for whatever you need. But darling, you have to get up. This isn’t something you can stay in bed for.” She cups my face in her hands and tilts it gently toward her, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Come on. Shower first, and then I’m taking you out for a proper girls’ day.”
“Mom, please… I’m not ready to go out.”
There are tears in her eyes now too. She blinks them back and runs her thumb softly down my cheek. “Do this for me? Please.”
Looking at her, really looking at her, I see just how worried she is, and it hurts more than I expected. Letting my shoulders drop, I give her the smallest nod.
“Okay. But I can’t promise I’ll be good company.”
She smiles and pulls me close again.
“That doesn’t matter. Just please, pretty please, take a shower.”
A smirk finds its way onto my face despite everything. “Are you saying I stink?”
“When was the last time you had one?” She’s already on her feet, pulling open my drawers, grabbing underwear and a bra.
“I’m trying not to be offended, Mom.”
She crosses to the closet, pulls out jeans and a shirt, and holds them out toward me. “Well, darling, yes. You do stink. Here, this’ll work.”
“I don’t need you to choose my clothes for me.”
“I know that, honey. Now be a sweetheart and go shower. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” She gives me one last smile and heads out, pulling the door shut behind her.
It takes every ounce of willpower I have to get out of bed. A wave of dizziness hits the moment I’m on my feet, the room tilting around me, and sitting straight back down, I squeeze my eyes shut until it passes. Then I try again, slower this time.
Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, the screen is a wall of missed calls from Mom, Dad, Annie, and my boss.
I know they’re all worried, but I can’t talk about Ryan yet.
My boss has been understanding, giving me the time I asked for without question, but with rent due and bills piling up, I know I need to get back to work soon.
As much as it pains me, I need the money.
Freshly showered, I step out of the bedroom and find Mom in the kitchen with toast and coffee waiting. My stomach gives a hollow churn—I genuinely can’t remember the last time I ate.
“Sweetheart, have some coffee and toast, and then we’ll get some fresh air.”
Sliding onto the stool, I take a bite. As soon as it’s down, I take another and another, washing it all back with coffee.
While I eat, Mom moves around the kitchen, throwing out old rubbish, wiping surfaces, and tidying without being asked.
I tell her she doesn’t need to, but she waves me off and keeps going.
She opens the windows, and I notice for the first time how beautiful it is outside. I haven’t taken in my surroundings since I got back. Everything has just been a blur. I still can’t fully comprehend that he’s gone.
Tate and the Blood Brothers have been amazing, but my heart doesn’t want to be here in Vixen Falls.
It wants to be in New York, where Ryan was last, where he took his final breath.
I know how little sense that makes, but grief doesn’t follow logic.
And honestly, I miss the girls. Jasmine, Luisa, and Tess all made me feel like family from day one.
Annie is here, but she travels constantly for the military.
My parents are retired, but they’re busy, always off somewhere.
Aside from work, what’s really keeping me here?
The thought arrives quietly and stays there. Could I go back? Should I?
“What are you thinking about, darling girl?”
Mom’s voice pulls me out of my head, and I blink back to the kitchen.
“Oh, nothing,” I say, finishing the last of my coffee. “So where are we off to?”
“The salon. I’m due to get my grays done, and you could use a little freshening up. I called Ginger’s while you were in the shower… they have time for both of us.”
She gives me that wide, infectious smile, and she’s right. My blonde needs refreshing, and it definitely needs a trim.
“Okay, Mom. Let’s do it.”
With fresh highlights and a trim, I have to admit I will feel a little more like myself.
Mario, my hairstylist for ten years, hugs me the moment I walk through the door. He’s always been a magician with blonde, and he’s hardly ever available on short notice, so the fact that Mom got us both in is pure luck.
The hardest part is when he asks how Ryan and I are doing.
Mario knows everything about my life, but that’s just the nature of a decade in his chair.
But when tears pool in my eyes, he stops and sits beside me.
I tell him I don’t want to talk about it, and when I see the worry in his expression, I give him the short version—Ryan is gone, it had been a shock, and I’m still finding my footing.
He starts asking questions I can’t answer, because honestly, I don’t have all the details myself.
Tate explained what he could, but he held back, not wanting to cause me more pain.
What I know is that Ryan died trying to save his brother.
And even if I’d tried to stop him, he wouldn’t have listened.
You don’t talk a man out of saving his own flesh and blood.
Was I angry that Tate survived and Ryan didn’t? If I’m being honest, yes. A part of me was. I’m not proud of it, but grief isn’t pretty.
When Mario sees the pain the questions are causing, he’s immediately on his feet. “Honey, this is clearly not the time. I’m so sorry for bringing it up. Just know I’m here whenever you need me.”
That’s the thing about Mario. He knows me well enough to know when to stop. He isn’t just my hairdresser, he’s my friend.
He trims my hair and blow-dries it exactly the way I like it. Mom has her grays colored and her hair blown out, and she looks stunning walking out of there, not a day over forty.
Mom has organized manicures followed by lunch, and we settle into a quiet corner table with the afternoon stretching out around us.
“Mom, thank you for today.”
She reaches across and places my hand in hers, her eyes finding mine. “Sophia, what you’ve gone through is something no one should ever have to face. You’ve lost someone you truly love, and I can’t take that pain away, but I’ll try as much as I can. Your father and I are both worried about you.”
“I know, Mom. It’s just…”
She taps my hand gently.
“I know, honey. You don’t have to explain.” She sits back, and when she speaks again, her voice is careful and full of love. “You have your whole life ahead of you. I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but you will be happy again one day. Life goes on, darling, and so will you.”
A tear tracks down my cheek, and I reach for the napkin.
“I don’t say that to upset you. I say it because you are an amazing woman with so much to give. Grieve as long as you need to and go through every single emotion, but please don’t go through it alone. Come to me whenever you need to talk or someone to cry with. Promise me you’ll try.”
I nod, sniffling. “Okay, Mom. I’ll try.”
She gets up and wraps her arms around me, and I breathe her in, that familiar warmth and the scent she always wears. Chanel No. 5. It smells like safety.
The rest of the afternoon is filled with shopping. I pick up a new pair of sneakers and some T-shirts on sale, but when I try to pay, Mom won’t hear of it. Today is a good day, better than I expected, and being with her is exactly what I needed.
She drops me at home and waits while I pull the grocery bags from the back seat.
She’d steered me through the local market on the way, noting that my refrigerator hadn’t been touched in a while.
She was right. I’d left for New York not expecting to be gone so long, and everything perishable had turned.
Letting myself into the quiet apartment, I stock the refrigerator with juice, milk, yogurt, and fruit, then unpack the rest into the pantry.
Dropping onto the couch, I grab the remote and switch on the television.
Something plays that I don’t take in, and after a while, I turn it off and go to bed.
***
Two months later, nothing has changed.
I get up. I work. I sleep.
I answer Mom’s calls when I have the energy. I ignore Annie’s invitations because I know she’ll see straight through me, and I’m not ready for that yet.
The apartment feels smaller than it used to.
The photograph is on the bedside table, the one of Ryan, Tate, and me, taken at the Blood Brothers’ yard. Ryan is laughing at something off camera, his face completely unguarded and entirely himself. I say goodnight to it every evening, and it doesn’t feel strange. It feels necessary.
I’m existing.
Not living.
But existing.
It’s on a Tuesday evening when everything shifts.
I’m on the couch with a bowl of pasta I’m not really eating, the television is on in the background, when the reporter’s words stop me cold.
Breaking news. Something about the cartel.
My hand trembles as I reach up and turn the volume higher.
“Shocking news tonight as the president of the El Paso biker gang and several of his members were shot dead in broad daylight this afternoon.
Angel and his associates were dining at the well-known Café De Pasa when a black SUV with dark-tinted windows drove past and opened fire.
It is believed the cartel may be connected to the murders.
“This follows an incident approximately three months ago in which the cartel was linked to killings and an explosion at a New York mansion. Twenty-three men were found dead, one identified as Ryan Lismore, a member of the Blood Brothers Motorcycle Club, also known by his road name Tracker. An unnamed source alleges that Mr. Lismore was at the mansion that night attempting to save his brother, Tate Lismore, from Mr. Fabien Lawrence, an associate of Clemente, a known drug lord. The attempt ended tragically. An investigation is now underway for both the mansion deaths and today’s murders of the El Paso biker gang.
We go now to our reporter live on the scene. ”
A photo of Ryan fills the screen.
“No,” I breathe. “No.”
I sit completely still, my heart hammering, and stare at his face.
“What the hell is going on?” I whisper to the empty room.
I know about the El Pasos. Ryan mentioned them, though never in detail. But something in my gut tells me they had everything to do with his death. If that’s true, then a part of me feels nothing but relief that they’re gone.
The reporter’s face disappears, replaced by someone I immediately recognize.
Sam Reeves.
Lead Investigator, Sam Reeves.
Ryan’s former FBI partner.
The man who had lent us his vacation home on what turned out to be one of the last truly happy days Ryan and I had together. Seeing his face on that screen does something complicated to my chest.
Sam stands at the podium with calm, measured authority, and when he speaks, the room around him goes quiet.
“We want the people of New York to know that we are doing everything within our power to bring down those responsible for today’s shooting.
What we can confirm is that a black SUV carried out a drive-by outside Café De Pasa, where five members of the El Paso biker gang were dining, including their president, Angel. All five were killed.”
The screen cuts to shaky phone footage with a black SUV moving slowly past the restaurant, a figure leaning from the back window, balaclava down, shotgun raised.
“If anyone recognizes this vehicle or this individual, please contact the police immediately.”
A journalist raises her hand. “Is it true the cartel was behind the shooting?”
Sam straightens slightly. “At this point, it could be anyone. We are not ruling out any person or organization.”
Another voice cuts through from the crowd. “But isn’t it true that Clemente has been seen here in New York?”
The air leaves my lungs.
Clemente? He’s here?
Sam clears his throat. “Yes, that is correct. Clemente is in New York and is being questioned. However, we are not ruling out any other individuals at this stage.”
The press conference continues, but I can barely take it in.
My mind is turning everything over. Could it have been Tate?
The Blood Brothers? It’s all so tangled, and I know I’m only seeing the edges of something much bigger.
What I do know is that Tate was furious at the El Pasos.
They’d played him and made him believe they were on his side when they were working against him the whole time.
And they were connected to Ryan’s death. I feel that in my bones.
Reaching over, I mute the television and sit in the sudden silence with the screen still flickering in front of me.
Three months of grief.
Two months in this apartment.
Pasta bowls, early bedtimes, and the photograph of the three of us on my nightstand.
Vixen Falls feels like somewhere I used to live.
I can’t do this anymore.
Tate is going to be furious with me.
But I don’t care.
I’m going back to New York.