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Letting out a long sigh, my father finally breaks the awkward silence. “Has the contractor been taken care of?”
“He has.”
“Good.”
More silence. Too much silence.
“Have some men keep an eye on Liam. I underestimated him, and I won’t make that mistake again.” There’s something robotic in the way he is speaking, like he switched to auto-pilot mode. His movements are tense, and his tone is void of emotion.
“I’ll get on it.”
“I need some time to decide what this means for us. I need to make some hard decisions and trust that you will not take this any further.”
“You have my word.” That’s all I can answer; the reality of what just went down still sinking its teeth into me. My knuckles throb as I open and close my hands into fists. The blood that had started to dry, now cracking open the raw wounds. I close my eyes, breathing in the pain, relishing in the fact I have a visual wound that masks the pain inside me that no one can see. Tonight, I lost my brother. Tonight, my family has changed forever. I may not have been close to Liam, but he was my brother, all the same, and the loss feels so much heavier than I’d ever imagined it to be.
I stand and begin to leave.
“Roman,” my father calls, stopping me. I turn around to face him, to face the hollow, broken eyes that stare back at me. “Now, more than ever, I am relying on you.”
“I know.”
“I expect a ring on Georgina by the end of next week. We need this. The distraction will be good for all of us, and with all the attention the engagement will bring, it’ll help mask Liam's abrupt absence.”
All I can do is nod. There have been enough quarrels for one night, and as much as it sours in the pit of my stomach, I know he’s right.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Indie
BEING THE STUBBORN WOMAN I am, I refuse Pharrell’s usual lift home from the office, too damn angry still with Roman. I’m sure he’ll start adding the lifts home to my debt too. I called Austin earlier to arrange for him to meet me at Kendell Square for dinner. I thought it might be nice for the two of us to go out for dinner together now that I can afford more than instant noodles, but he said he and a group of school friends had arranged a scavenger hunt night to celebrate the end of school. A little pre-graduation fun, he called it. Even though I was disappointed that I had to dine alone, a part of me was also happy that Austin was doing something he hadn’t done in a long time; be a kid and have fun.
I’ve walked these streets home at night so many times I could do it blind. Some nights there were sketchy people on the streets, some nights I was spooked by random noises, but mostly, I think I was just way too exhausted to take notice or care. Tonight though, as I walk briskly through the dimly lit streets, I sense an unsettling presence behind me. The rhythmic echo of footsteps mirrors mine, quickening my pulse with each synchronized beat. Glancing over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure, shrouded in darkness. Anxiety twists in my stomach as I fasten my pace, uncertainty amplifying the urgency of my steps. Every turn seems to heighten the unease, and a chilling awareness settles in—the feeling of being pursued, an unseen watcher lingering just beyond the edge of visibility. I look left, right, and then behind me again, but the shadowy figure has now gotten closer, despite me practically running. Although, now I see him more clearly. It’s just a man with his briefcase briskly walking home, and another young man is behind him, bopping away to whatever he is listening to on his Air Pods. I keep walking, telling myself I just got so accustomed to Pharrell driving me around, and I’m being paranoid.
A few minutes later, and I still feel uneasy. As I slowly turn to look behind me, a teenage girl bumps my shoulder, sending me stumbling back. Her friends laugh as she giggles a half-apology to me, before catching up to her friends.
My heart is beating so fast I’m breathless from it. Jesus, Indie, get a grip on yourself! No one is there, I tell myself as I pick up my pace, swallowing down the saliva growing too rapidly in my mouth.
The closer and closer I get to my apartment, the more anxious I feel. It should be the opposite. I should feel relieved that my building is in sight, and I’ll be safe and off the street. My mind, however, is on overdrive and overthinking ridiculous notions like, if I’m off the street, I’m out of sight of any potential witnesses. The perfect place to commit a crime. For fuck’s sake, Indie! Stop this nonsense. Except it’s not. I’m not alone. I feel it. I feel it all the way down to my bones. Someone is following me.
I grew up on these streets. I’ve walked these streets my whole life, and not once have I ever felt this sure I was in danger. Nausea creeps in, and the thudding of my heart echoes loudly in my ears as I walk a little faster. I’m practically jogging now. Looking behind me, then back in front again, I pull out my phone and unlock it, searching for Roman’s number just to be ready. Every car that passes has me holding my breath, every single sound causes my heart to thunder.
I make it to my apartment, my hands shaking so badly I can’t line the key up with a hole to unlock it. I don’t know why I do, but I reach for the handle and attempt to open the door anyway, knowing it's locked and it’s pointless. Yet in my panic, I just do it. It opens. It fucking opens!
I step back, sucking in a breath. Maybe Austin accidentally left it unlocked before he left? I shake that thought away because he has never not locked the door. Then as I step cautiously into the apartment my stomach drops to the floor.
I close the door quickly and dial Roman’s number. I hate that I’m doing it, especially after today, but at the same time, have no other option as I look around the living room which has been upended and ransacked.
“What is it? What's wrong?” Roman answers concerned and panicked. It’s weird how that made me automatically feel safe and calm. The sound of his voice soothes all the anxiousness from my bones all at once. I exhale a long breath of relief; it feels like he teleported through the phone and hugged me. Like he wrapped me in his warmth and made all the darkness fade.
“Indie? Are you there? Are you alright?”
“I’m here,” I reply, feeling a little embarrassed. God, I was so enveloped by just the sound of his voice, I forgot to reply back. “I’m sorry for calling you so late.”
He cuts me off, “You can call me any day and at any time. You know that. What’s going on, sweetheart? Talk to me.” Another hug reaches me through the phone. Normally, I would scold him for calling me sweetheart. Yet right now, I need his help, and I don’t want to pick an unnecessary fight with him. I can actually hear the genuine concern in his voice and understand fully that he would be aware that for me to call him, something is wrong. I never call him unless it’s from my desk at work, during work hours.
“Someone has been through my apartment. There’s shit everywhere, and the door was unlocked when I got here.”
I hear his heavy breaths. “Christ, Indie, they are not still there, are they?”
