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Despite all my years of being a thief, stealing items in all sizes, shapes, and colors, I feel a whiff of anxiety. Thieves are the sort of people who like to work unrecognized. But this is different. This time, I need to make sure that the right people know my name and what I can do. There’s a lot riding on this meeting, and I need to be able to show that I’ve got the skills needed to work my way up the ladder in the organization. I’ve worked for a lot of people over the years, but this gig is The One that’ll open doors.
And if it doesn’t go well? a little voice inside my head asks me, but I quickly shove it back down. There isn’t time or space to let that sort of doubt creep inside. Not with the consequences of failure. Clean snatches with invisible getaways . . . that’s always the mission objective.
This one has to be no different.
I’m at a stop light when I get a series of texts and phone calls. I ignore them, knowing exactly who it is, but they keep coming and coming.
Fuck. I can’t have this distraction tickling my mind when I walk into a hot zone, I think to myself. I need to be focused and clear-headed.
I should just turn the phone off, or silence it at least. But some remaining loyal speck of decency in my dried-up dirt stain of a heart feels like I need to answer because I’ve been ignoring her for weeks.
She’s my mother, after all.
Irritated and annoyed at my conflicting emotions and knowing that I don’t have time for this, I let out a growl and pull over into the nearest parking lot.
The next time it rings, I answer. Before even a single sound can emerge from my mouth, I’m immediately run over by a verbal barrage from my mother, Debra Bradley. “Oh, so now you want to talk to me, huh? After weeks of ignoring me? I’ll have you know, I was in labor for forty-two hours to bring you into this world, but I can still take you out of it!”
I’ve been hearing this for years. When she finally takes a breath, I ask her nonchalantly, “Are you done? Because I’m sitting in a pretty shady parking lot with a guy giving me the eyeball like I’m pissing on his turf by breathing his oxygen.”
There’s no guy, of course. I’m not in that bad a part of town. But still, I appreciate the little sharp intake of breath, and I know I’ve taken some of the wind out of her sails.
A bit softer, Mom launches into her real message. “Connor, you should be ashamed of yourself. You have checked out on your family. Your sister is getting married, and I would really like it if you would meet her fiancé, Evan, before the wedding. She wants your approval, Connor.”
I grunt noncommittally, but my mom’s disappointment is harder than the anger. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. The fact is, my family relationship is a toxic dumpster fire. It’s been that way for far too long, and it’s not totally my fault, either.
My younger sister, Caylee, wanting my approval and not my dad’s, is evidence of this and lighter fluid on the long smoldering issue. It sends fresh heat and fury rising in swirls in my gut. Obviously, my father has, yet again, fallen down on the fucking job. But if no one is vetting this Evan guy, it’ll fall to me.
It always does.
Damn the little bit of heart I’ve got left. Because while I’m a no-good bastard, time and time again, when the shit hits the fan, I’m the guy who’ll step up and do what my family needs. Especially when Dad can’t . . . or won’t.
“I need details.”
Mom sounds happy I’m going to step in, but I know she’s a bit bitter that Dad isn’t doing this. “Also, to let you know, Audrey will be at all the wedding get-togethers with Ian.” Her eye roll of annoyance is audible even through the phone. “Just a warning.”
If my relationship with my family is a dumpster fire, my mother’s relationship with her sister, Audrey, is a nuclear fucking wasteland. I don’t know what started their war, but me, Caylee, and my cousin, Ian, have been pawns in it since we were born.
We’re not so much children as achievements to be bragged about and failures to be embarrassingly and scathingly pointed out. Honor roll? Worth a tagged Facebook post. Caylee gets elected homecoming queen? Of course, that’s worth more than a few comments.
And as expected, Audrey nearly hired a skywriter when I was arrested for shoplifting as a teen. In her mind, I was a threat to the public and should’ve been locked up and castrated so I couldn’t potentially pollute the gene pool.
