He smiles and nods his head, and it takes everything in me to sit on his bed and pretend like I’m not falling to pieces. I read him the fairytale with the same peppy voice, although my throat feels hoarse and raw. The only thing keeping me together is hearing his little voice tell me he loves me as he hugs me before I get off the bed. He may not think he’s my baby boy, but he is. I hold him longer than I have in a long time, and he lets me. My heart clenches, and I have to give him a kiss and turn out the lights quickly before he sees what a mess I am.
As soon as I shut the door, I let it all out.
I cry harder than I have for years and I stumble into my room, exhausted and wishing I could change everything.
Three loud knocks at the door stir me from my sleep. Shit. I’m still fully clothed and lying on my stomach over the made bed. I wipe under my eyes and slowly climb off the bed, feeling exceptionally unsteady.
Bang! Bang! The knocks pound on the door. I practically jog to the door so the banging doesn’t wake up Jax. Who the fuck is banging at this hour? Anger gets the best of me, and I almost swing the door open without looking. It isn’t even locked. I grind my teeth and nearly snap when whoever it is bangs on the other side again. I need to get a grip and be smart. I stand on my tiptoes to see clearly out of the peephole.
It’s a cop. Fuck!
My heart sputters, and my fingertips go numb. I shake them out and open the door before that fucker decides to knock again.
“Rebecca?” he asks with concern apparent in his voice.
“Yes, that’s me.” I want to correct him, but I don’t; technically that’s my name. I just fucking hate not being called Becca.
“I’d like to speak with you if you have a moment.” His eyes search my face and then behind me. I almost look over my shoulder, but stop myself. I know there’s no one there.
I nod my head and say, “Sure.” But I don’t move an inch. We can have this conversation right here, and real fucking quick.
“We had a call this evening that you and your son were kidnapped and held against your will,” he says far more calmly than I would imagine possible.
I huff a humorless laugh. “Well obviously that’s not true. I’m standing right here.” My fingers itch to touch my chin. To make sure the makeup is still covering the bruises.
The officer shifts uncomfortably in front of me. “Where were you yesterday?” My mouth stays shut as I look him in the eyes.
“I was with a friend.”
“Could I have that friend’s name?” He takes out a pad and a pen from his back pocket and I want to smack it away.
“Am I being charged with anything?” I make sure that my voice echoes annoyance. I’m not annoyed. I’m scared shitless. I don’t want him here asking questions.
“Not unless you’re lying. Are you withholding any information?” The officer’s strong jaw juts out, and he looks past my shoulder again.
“No, I’m not. I’d like to go to bed, officer.” My grip on the door tightens as I add, “I’m fine. There’s no reason to waste either of our time. I’m exhausted and just want to go to bed.” That last part is the truth at least.
“May I come in to take-” I don’t let him finish.
“I’d rather you didn’t. My son’s asleep.” There’s no fucking way I want him in here.
“I completely understand, Mrs. Harrison.” Hearing that name makes anger course through me.
“Bartley now.”
“I’m sorry?” he asks.
“Rebecca Bartley. Harrison was my married name.”
“Oh. My apologies. Have a good night now.” He seems sincere, but that doesn’t damper my anger. Or my sadness.
I give him a tight smile. “You, too.” I’m surprised the overwhelming emotion I’m feeling is anger. It's followed closely by a deep aching hurt in my gut.
I close the door, turning both locks and lean my back against it. My eyes fall shut, and I try to breathe.
I can’t do this shit on my own.
I wish Dom were here. I wish he could hold me. I wrap my arms around my shoulders and walk slowly to bed, feeling lost and unsure and very much alone.
Dom
I clench and unclench my hands to get rid of the numbness. It makes the cuts open, and it fucking hurts like hell. But I don’t give a shit. I’m glad it hurts.
“You alright, boss?” Johnny keeps fucking asking me the same damn question every hour. No. I’m not alright.
“I’m fine.” When I register what I’ve answered, I snort a laugh. That’s what she’d say.
I take a seat at the desk in the corner of the office. It’s on the opposite side of the room, across from the pool table. It’s a sleek-looking glass desk with steel trimmings. I don’t think I’ve ever sat here. My fingers tap along the glass top, waiting for our next drop.
It’s so fucking tedious. So damn boring. I don’t need to do this shit. I’ve got more money than I’d ever wanted, and nothing to spend it on. What the fuck did I even use to do sitting here?
“Boss?” I look up with a scowl, and then feel like a prick. It’s not his fault. But then again, I am a prick.
I take in a deep breath and manage to sound somewhat normal. “What?”
“Just wanted you to know you still have those requests.”
“What requests?” I ask.
“To sell out if you wanted to.” My forehead pinches in confusion. What the fuck is he talking about? He answers before I have to ask. “I know you said to stop bringing it up, but I just thought you might like to know.”
That’s when it clicks. Give my business over to those thugs? I’m always getting shit offers. They don’t want to pay the right amount to take my clients, and they’d ruin this shit anyway. They don’t know what they’re doing like I do. “Pass.” That’s an easy decision.
Johnny gives me a tight smile and nods. “Just thought maybe you’d rather do something else now.” He takes a seat on the sofa, staring at the field. A few players are out running gauntlets; fucking sucks to be them.
Do something else. Like what? Just run the books for my Pops? That’d be boring as hell. I never really wanted to do anything other than make a name for myself. Get laid, and get paid. That was my motto for the longest time. But now I don’t fucking want it anymore. I don’t want this. Maybe I will sell the business. Maybe she’d want me then.
I shake my head and rap my knuckles across the glass tabletop; no she won’t. It doesn’t change a damn thing about who I am. I know it, and she knows it.
But I’m the boss’ son. He tried to keep me out of the life, but I demanded my way in. You can’t leave the family. Sure as fuck not when you’re the boss’ son. My chest hurts just thinking that. I’ll never be the kind of man Becca deserves. I was born into the mob. There’s only one way out, and I’m not ready to die.
A knock at the door distracts me from my morbid thoughts. I sigh and click my phone on. Ten a.m. Too fucking early. This day needs to get going so I can get home. I’ll figure out a reason to be there when the time comes. I just don’t want to be here.