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I stare down at Tracy’s dull eyes and decide that it’s time to move upon my plans.
I sigh and sit down next to her, pulling her into my arms as I lean back against the couch, so that she’s sprawled against me. When she makes a small sound of protest, I hold her tightly. “Just close your eyes. Rest a bit. You will feel better.”
She doesn’t pull away, although if she does, I’ll let her go.
However, she doesn’t sleep either.
I can feel her heartbeat and it’s calming down into a steady rhythm, as I run my fingers through her curls, her weight on me, comfortable.
“Thank you,” she murmurs,
“I haven’t done anything,” I tell her.
She shakes her head. “You’ve done a lot for us, Duke, for both me and Max.”
“I would do more if you would just let me,” I say, without thinking.
When Tracy grows still and falls silent, I feel frustrated. “Why do you freeze up each time I say something remotely affectionate?”
She pulls away from me and I let her. Her movements are quick and agitated.
I feel a hollowness inside of me as I begin to realize that I have underplayed my own feelings for months now. “You know I love you, don’t you?” My words are heavy as I stare at her back, knowing there is only rejection that awaits me. “I love you and I adore your son.”
Her back is stiff and she doesn’t say anything.
I take a shaky breath, knowing I’m just making a fool out of myself. In her eyes, she has a child to raise and I’m just a driver with no future prospects. I can’t give her that white picket fence, house in the suburbs most women dream of.
Of course, I’m just being bitter and assuming what’s going on in her head. It could be that she might just think that while it’s okay to be friends with an ex-con, but dating one isn’t a good idea. I let my own thoughts batter me, ruthlessly but I can’t take her silence anymore, “If it means anything, I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. It just sort of happened along the way.” I grab my jacket. “I’ll head out first. I’ll pick up Max from school, so you should just rest.”
“Duke—”
I don’t wait to listen to her hesitant words.
I have a feeling they will flay me alive.
7
Paul Orbison is a gambler. He’s also known for harassing and assaulting women.
I lean against the wall in the dirty alley behind a bar that I know Paul is at today, hidden behind a dumpster.
I know the exact number of women that Paul has laid his hands on and whose lives he has ruined over the course of his life. Fortunately, for him, he has an uncle who is very well connected and keeps him out of trouble. Unfortunately, for him—I’m better connected than his uncle is, and I have a grudge against this greasy pig.
I glance at my watch and just as if by clockwork, the back door flies open and Paul exits, his breathing heavy and excited as he pulls a pretty blonde behind him who is trying to escape his hold, sobbing and pleading while looking a little disorientated.
I watch, dispassionately, as he slams her against the wall, just a few steps away from me, and starts muttering obscene filth as he fumbles with his belt.
The woman is pinned to the wall and she’s crying out, begging him to let her go. When her cries increase in volume, Paul grows impatient and smacks her in the face with his ringed hand. The woman’s face flies backwards with the force of the blow and she lowers her head, as if stunned into silence.
Then slowly, she raises her head.
Her eyes meet mine and then she gives me a small satisfied smile.
I move.
I stride forward as Paul is busy groping her and then clutching his sweaty collar, I yank him off the woman who makes a show of falling onto the ground, gasping for breath. I push the stunned Paul against the dumpster and help her up, slipping her a hundred dollar bill, ordering, “Go.”
She moves almost instantly away.
