We Were Together

CHAPTER 2

NOW

NICKY

Thirty minutes later I’m upstairs, showered, and exiting the office building with Rico at my side. The cleaning crew’s arrived, with two of them transporting Steven’s remains to the crematorium while the rest stay to scrub the basement. I toss my blood-spattered suit in the pile of shit they’ll be torching and pull on my sheepskin-lined brown leather jacket as we push out into the night.

It’s January, which means it’s cold as balls here in New York. It’s a bit of a hike coming out here to Killington—a good thirty-five minutes from my home in Dutchess—but with the heat I have on me these days, I don’t like to shit where I eat.

The lay of the land is pretty straightforward. Queen City is neutral territory surrounded by five towns: Dutchess, Hope Falls, Middleburgh, Hydetown, and Killington. Dutchess and Hope Falls belong to my organization, the Queen City Dukes, as do portions of Jersey and Connecticut. Middleburgh and Hydetown are Rebel turf, along with portions of NYC. Killington territory is split down the middle.

This particular building is owned by me and Mav under a shell corporation to avoid detection. We use it for whenever one of us calls a Parley—a formal meet-up between our organizations the other can’t refuse—or on nights like tonight when there’s a mess to be handled.

Removing my phone, I thumb out a message to JP who’s posted up at the hospital the boys were taken to. As of right now, it looks like both are going to pull through. I instruct him to check in with the contact on our payroll who slips us patient information so I can have continuous updates on their status, and to ensure all medical bills are forwarded to me. The family will never know of our involvement. The whole thing is funded under the guise of a juvenile drug prevention initiative—a cover I ironically don’t have to use frequently.

Thanks to that code Mav and I live by, teen drug use is practically nonexistent in Queen City and our surrounding territories. I can’t tell you the last time one of our guys was stupid enough to pull some shit like this, and the fact that it was a fuck-up in my crew is going to have Mav talking shit for months.

We hop into the SUV, with Rico opting to drive. I seize the opportunity to try and relax, allowing my head to drop against the glass as I eye the darkened structure we’re currently backing away from. The tingle of a shudder begins to build in my spine, but I shake it off.

“You good?” Rico asks, shifting the car into Drive and turning onto the access road.

“Yeah.” I exit out of my text thread with JP, switching to the one I share with my sister. “Just old ghosts, ya know?

He nods in understanding, letting sleeping dogs lie. We tend not to speak about that night.

Four years ago, shit went sideways when it was discovered I had a rat in my crew. He’d grown obsessed with my sister, Joanna, and when he found out she was sneaking around with Bishop—a fact that even I’d somehow missed—he snapped and kidnapped her, bringing her to an old warehouse out here in Killington. After we got her back, Mav and I burned that shit to the ground, bought the property, and built this in its place. I wish I could say our scorched earth approach wiped the slate clean, but the unfortunate truth is we’re all still suffering the repercussions of that night.

The joint torture session Mav and I hosted with the fucker ensured he paid for his sins. There was barely anything left of him when we were done. However, prior to that, he managed to orchestrate several unauthorized deals with the Russian Bratva on my unknowing behalf, all in exchange for taking out Mav. Their assassination attempt was unsuccessful, but their leader, Yuri, expected the terms of the arrangement to still be met. They wanted an exclusivity contract as my distributor. When I tried to back out, it earned me nothing more than a laundry list of headaches and a bullet to the leg.

To meet the conditions, I had to back out of a deal I was in the process of brokering. Mav, who was on the fast track out of this lifestyle, abandoned his dreams of going legit and met the terms of the contract with my original distributor. The business he offered them is the only reason they didn’t put me six feet under. To make matters worse for Mav, Yuri then sank his claws into him as well, forcing him to launder money through some of his clubs.

Why did my rival forfeit his chance at a one-way ticket out of this shitshow and save my ass? Because the love he has for my sister far outweighs the hate he has for me. Joanna—or Baby J, as I call her—and I are as close as they come. He saved my life so she wouldn’t have to bury me, not that she knows anything about that.

To say the two years following my mom’s death were rough would be an understatement. My father’s decline made the version of him at the funeral look like Ward Cleaver. He wasn’t abusive or anything. He was just so caught up in his grief that there wasn’t space for anything else. The housekeepers still kept the house in running order. I kept myself fed and on a schedule that didn’t raise any red flags at school, but we lived separate lives. Gone were the days of Sunday morning pancakes or movie and game nights. He threw himself into work, sometimes going days without coming home. Turns out, I wasn’t as indifferent to human interaction as I’d always believed myself to be. I just didn’t realize it until the amazing support system I’d had my entire life was ripped away. Things I thought were stupid before, I suddenly craved.

I wanted to eat dinner together.

I wanted him to throw his arm around me as we watched the latest action film while I pointed out all the stunts that would be physically impossible in the real world.

I wanted my dad to bug me to let him help work on my bike.

He did still drive me to the track for my competitions, but he no longer stood on the side, obnoxiously cheering me on.

I wanted all of those things, but I didn’t know how to tell him any of that. Hell, I didn’t even understand why I fucking wanted them so bad. But I dedicated my energy to fixing the problem. When he was home, I started making enough food for both of us. I’d bring it to his office, then sit and eat in silence alongside him. I’d send him email invites for movie nights. I’d even started sabotaging things on my bike and pretending I couldn’t diagnose the problem without his help.

None of it worked. My dad started putting in even longer hours at the office, would “forget” the movie nights he RSVP’d to, and hired a dedicated mechanic to have on call for all my racing needs. I’d finally gotten the one thing I’d always wanted—to be left alone. It went on like that for close to two years, and it was my own personal living Hell.

My entire life spiraled beyond my control, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t rein it in.

But then, slowly, things began to change.

Dad was suddenly in the kitchen at mealtimes. We’d sit together as he asked me about my day. He finally noticed the mechanic he’d hired never collected a single paycheck because I’d fired him the very day he’d shown up. He’d make time to stop by the garage out back, asking questions about the upgrades I’d made to my bike. He shared he’d begun therapy and was working through mom’s death. I didn’t know what to make of it at first, but eventually he told me he’d met someone.

I was not receptive to that shit initially. I wanted no fucking part in his quest to rebound from my mother. The day my father introduced me to his new girlfriend and her daughter was the first time I ever actively put effort into being a dick. Considering “dick” is normally baseline for me, you can imagine what a ray of fucking sunshine I was for the occasion.

We met them at the roller-skating rink, and I just remember whatever blunt smartass remark I threw at this woman, I couldn’t rattle her. She was so goddamn patient with me, all while tending to her six-year-old daughter who was meeting my dad for the first time as well. The little girl was shy, though she would giggle when my dad told her jokes.

I wanted so badly to dislike her, this little blonde-haired blue-eyed girl who waltzed in and suddenly had my dad bending over backward to impress her when he’d been ignoring me for the better part of two years. I’d skated off to the side, staring at the wall in a silent show of protest, when two small hands grabbed my wrist in a desperate attempt to steady herself. The little girl had skated ahead of her mother when she’d lost her footing and started to fall. She grasped for the first stable thing she could find—me.

I quickly grabbed hold, righting her as I lowered myself to her level. She shifted, maneuvering her hands to my shoulders so she could get a better grip.

“Don’t let me fall, ‘kay?” her small voice whispered as she clung to me.

“Never,” was all I could manage back, earning a smile from her in return. It was the first moment I’d felt needed in years. I took one look at her, and something cracked open inside me. Before I could seal it back up, Joanna had already wormed her way in.

I typically don’t subscribe to the concept of love. I have people in my life I deeply care about. So much so that I’ll even go the extra mile and tell my stepmom I love her on a semi-consistent basis. Why not? She’s a top-notch human who deserves to hear it even if the sentiment is bullshit. But J? It’s an indescribable feeling that I’m not sure I could name even if you put a gun to my head. She’s the exception to the rule.

I would walk through fucking fire for that one.

She grounds me.

I’m halfway through typing out a message to said baby sis when my phone dings with an incoming text from none other than Mav himself. His message previews at the top of my screen—some smartass remark about the incident tonight and how my house ain’t in order—and for a moment, his name shares a space with my sister’s.

It’s brief, no more than five seconds before the small window disappears leaving only my conversation with J on display once again, but it’s just long enough to spark the memory of sins I committed—of the happily ever after I ripped from them. Overcome with unease, I drop my phone to my lap and pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting the urge to spiral as the demons residing within me begin their taunts.

She’s gonna find out what you did and hate you.

He’s going to find out and pull out of the alliance.

You’ll lose everything you worked for. Everyone will be at risk.

My eyes squeeze shut, the soft lull of tires on pavement fading into the background while white noise roars in my ears. My chest tightens as a chill sweeps across my now sweat-dampened skin. Drawing deep prolonged breaths, I hear my mother’s voice echo in my mind. Count it down for me, Nicky.

Three things I can hear: The faint sound of Rico’s playlist filtering throughout the SUV. The deep measured breaths of my rhythmic inhales. A muffled thud when the wheels hit an unexpected dip in the road.

Two things I can feel: The cool air slipping into the cabin from the crack in my window. The skin of my forearm as I trace the lines of my tattoo—the one that’s identical to the one on my sister’s ribs.

One thing I can see…

Retrieving my cell, I hesitate for just a second before exiting out of my messages and clicking into my photos. Navigating to a locked folder, I pull up the image that I spend more time than I’d like to admit staring at.

Flawless tan skin highlighted by white linens pooled at her waist. Long auburn hair sprawled out across the pillows, hiding her face.

I stare at the picture of the woman lost to me, my eyes mapping the curves that I’ve long since committed to memory. A few more steady breaths and the demons quiet, beginning their retreat into the dark recesses of my mind. The darkness clears, giving way to a vivid stream of memories that flash through my mind like a highlight reel, and I squeeze my eyes shut to dedicate my full attention. The images slow, coming to stop on a pair of wide emerald eyes. The same ones that haunt my dreams every night, taunting me with the reminder that when it comes to indescribable feelings, J is not my only exception to the rule.

“That Jonsie you’re texting?” My eyes snap open at the sound of Rico’s voice. It takes a split second for his question about my sister to register, referencing her by one of her many nicknames. But then the haze lifts, and just like that, I’m back.

I hum in acknowledgement, swiping back to my messages and finishing my text to J even though it’s close to midnight out on the West Coast and she probably won’t answer tonight.

“How’s our girl?”

“She claims she’s fine.” I shrug, rolling my window up while continuing to stare aimlessly out it.

“You don’t think she is?”

Blowing out a breath, I run my hand through my shaggy blond hair. “No, I think she is for the most part, but you know J. She’s not one to make a big deal about things even if she wasn’t. I wish she woulda stayed for New Years. Or I shoulda flown back with her for a few extra days.”

Rico’s large, tatted hand grips my shoulder, giving me a reassuring squeeze before returning to the steering wheel. “Don’t worry, Nick. A few more months and she’ll be back here, safe and sound.”

“Yup. Just in time for me to watch Mav lose his shit over her again.”

“Bishop will be fine. It’s been four years.”

“That dude she’s been seeing applied to NYU Medical School. He’ll be moving here too if he gets in.”

“So, we bury Bishop in the backyard and call it a day.” Rico cackles at his own joke, managing to pull a deep rumbling laugh from me in the process.

Rico Romero and I have been boys forever. We met as kids right before my mom got sick when his father, a former professional soccer player, retired here in the States after a career-ending injury. Rico’s mother had dreams of raising her precious baby boy in America, and since the word “no” doesn’t exist when addressing his beauty queen wife, Mr. Romero had ‘em on the next flight out. They moved into our neighborhood, and my mother was thrilled to finally have someone my age living so close. My schedule was suddenly chock-full of playdates. In hindsight, I can say this is one situation I am genuinely thankful my mother forced me to socialize.

He’s an arrogant fucker, but in all fairness, how can you not be when you’re the child of a professional athlete and former pageant queen? No, seriously, his mom was Miss Brazil and she’s a fucking smokeshow. His parents hit the gene pool lottery, and Rico inherited every last charismatic trait.

We had next to no similar interests, and at the time, our personalities couldn’t have been more different. But he exhibited a patience with me other kids didn’t possess. He never seemed put off by my underwhelming lack of enthusiasm over random bullshit that everyone else hyped up or when I’d say shit others considered rude or insensitive. Like the summer in third grade when Brensen Decker’s parents got divorced and I was branded an asshole because I simply stated it was probably for the best, considering all they did was fucking fight.

Rather than call me a dick, Rico took the time to explain things to me like one would a math problem. For example, in the case of crybaby Brensen Decker, divorce causes a disruption to the child’s life. Disruption to their life is a distress-inducing inconvenience, and societal norms dictate we offer sympathy when others are distressed. One plus one equals two. He even practiced with me by giving me various hypothetical scenarios and quizzing me on appropriate reactions.

Fake it til you make it, he’d tell me.

I’m not gonna lie, it was challenging in the beginning, and I almost said fuck it on more than a few occasions, but after my mom died, I made more of an effort. It’s all she ever wanted—for me to fit in. Rico also taught me to lean into my strengths, seizing opportunities to highlight where I was superior to others rather than shy away to avoid attention.

People were naturally drawn to Rico, but as he ascended the popularity rankings, he dragged me right along with him. Before I knew it, it was as though his personality had bled into the very foundations of my own. I morphed from Daniel Nicholas Conners—rude loner with a knack for dirt bikes—to Nicky C.—smartass, showboating motocross daredevil who never backed down from a challenge.

Somewhere along the line, I passed him in the social hierarchy. He never once showed an ounce of bitterness over it. If anything, it made him proud. Rico Romero is the definition of a ride or die.

Our relationship wasn’t entirely one-sided. He may have taught me how to fight, flirt, and command a room, but I taught him how to ride and work on bikes, as well as tutored him when he struggled in school. Rico had a significant reading disability when we were younger that was a bitch to crack, but once I figured out his learning profile, he made a shit-ton of growth. The day he read a grade-level text for the first time, he cried as he thanked me and told me I had changed his life. My selfish ass let him think that what I did could even be remotely comparable to what he had done for me.

Rico Romero was my first friend. He’s the reason I’m not a twenty-five-year-old recluse hiding away in a room somewhere trolling the dark web. If him thinking me teaching him how to read was an even trade and would ensure I got to keep his friendship, then I’d let him thank my ass all day long.

“So,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts once more, “tell me about him.”

“J’s guy?” I glance over. “I haven’t met him yet.”

“Yeah, but what did his background check turn up?”

“I didn’t background check him.”

Rico side-eyes me, his stare making it abundantly clear that he doesn’t buy that shit for one minute.

I sigh in defeat, silently cursing how well he knows me. “What I did could barely be considered a background check.”

A deep chuckle rumbles through him as he shakes his head. “Uh-huh. Fucking spill.”

“No, seriously. I mean, I checked out the basics. Never been arrested. Got a parking ticket last year. Straight A’s at Berkeley. Other than that, I left it alone.”

“So, boring as fuck is what you’re telling me.” Rico hits the blinker, switching lanes to exit the highway into Dutchess. “Doesn’t seem like J’s style.”

“Baby J deserves a little boring, Rico. My sister’s had enough excitement to last a lifetime, and not in a good way.”

“I get that. So, she’s settling down and what? You turn over a new leaf where you don’t require a background check spanning three generations and a full body cavity search in order to date your sister?”

“I think you and I both remember what happened the last time I meddled in J’s life.”

Rico’s face drops, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel as he suddenly refuses to meet my gaze. “You’re not responsible for that, Nick.”

“Everything I do impacts her life simply because of who she is to me. She’ll never be able to outrun or escape it. The least I can do is give her a little privacy when I’m able.”

“You’re too hard on yourself. You did what you had to do to keep her safe. Jesus, Nick, you make millions, and you still wouldn’t move out of your parents’ house as long as she was still living there.”

“The only reason I have to keep her safe is because I decided that I’d rather run a fucking drug ring than pursue literally any of the other endless opportunities I had available to my privileged ass.”

“Okay.” Rico turns into our mile-long driveway, throwing up the peace sign to the on-duty guards as we pass. “It’s too fucking late to dissect our baggage on that level. So, Imma need you to repack that misplaced self-loathing bullshit for the night, and we can revisit it when I am way more rested.” The driveway branches off into a giant circle in front of the house. Rico follows the turn, coming to a stop in front of the large stone steps.

At 8,000 square feet, the house he, JP, and I share is fucking huge. I technically own it, but I would go crazy if it was just me here by myself. It’s big enough that Rico and I each have our own wing, while JP lives in the 3,000 square foot guesthouse out back. I’d welcome him in the main house, but he called dibs on that shit the second he saw it. I bought the property after Baby J left for college. Our parents were gone a lot for business, and I didn’t like J being alone any more than she had to. Especially not after what happened her sophomore year of high school.

“Okay, look.” Rico shifts the truck into Park and cuts the engine. “Before we go in there, I need to give you a heads-up.”

“Dammit, Rico. There’s girls in there, aren’t there?” I groan, dropping my head back against the seat.

“Yes, and I don’t want to hear an ounce of shit outta you. You were way too torture happy tonight. You need a different way to blow off steam, and I just so happen to have one in the form of an Arianna Grande doppelganger.”

“You know I don’t like when you let people into our space when we’re not here.”

He waves me off. “Tyler’s on duty tonight. They’ve only been here twenty minutes, and he’s keeping an eye on them. Fair warning, there’s three of them because I thought JP would be back by now, but it looks like he’s gonna be a while so, congratulations, you have two.”

“I’m really not in the mood, Rico.”

“Well, you better get in the mood. If not for yourself, then for her. She’s already here. You deny her now, and you’ll give the poor girl a complex.”

“You called her for sex, and she showed up ready to fuck somebody she’s never met before. I’m pretty sure that indicates a complex is already present.”

“Even more of a reason not to turn her down.” He gestures toward the house dramatically. “She’s already in such a fragile state!”

I laugh, scrubbing a hand over my face as I shake my head. “What the fuck am I gonna do with you?”

Rico claps me on the shoulder. “With me? Nothing. You’re gonna go inside and let two beautiful women fight over your dick, Nick. I promise you—bigger sacrifices were asked of better men today. Now, let’s go.”