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“She seemed like she can handle herself.”
“Doesn’t matter. What was he thinking, strolling in there? What did he hope to accomplish? It’s not like my family could rebuke him, not considering the business relationship we have with their organization. If he expected absolution, he should’ve gone to a church.”
I chew on my lip for a moment but shake my head. “I don’t think that’s what he was looking for.”
Jamila pulls her arm away from mine. “What was it then?”
“He’s not ashamed of what he did.” Jamila’s face tenses into anger, and I talk faster. “I don’t think he would’ve gone there to apologize. But maybe he wanted to make your grandmother understand that he wasn’t the same man he is today back then. He was young, taking orders—”
“Are you defending him now?” Jamila puts space between us.
“I’m not sure what I’m doing,” I say, almost pleading with her. “Just trying to make sense of him. That’s all.”
“There’s no sense to make. Nolan Crowley’s a bloodthirsty asshole. All he cares about is money and power, and he’ll take everything you have if you let him.”
“Jamila—”
“No, don’t. It’s fine, you don’t have to explain.” She doesn’t look at me as she picks up her pace.
I let her walk ahead. It hurts, but I can tell this is still painful. She grew up thinking Nolan was this vicious killer, and maybe that’s what he used to be, but that’s not the Nolan I’ve gotten to know.
My Nolan is loving, tender. Bossy and aggressive, yes, but also caring. He wants to please me, not just in the bedroom, but everywhere. Maybe the man I’ve been afraid of is a man he’s been trying to leave behind.
Seeing him walk out of that old woman’s house has me reeling and rethinking everything. Maybe I’ve been too hard on him. Maybe I’ve been too rash, too quick to run way.
If I want a future, all I need to do is talk to him.
Chapter41
Nolan
My hands ache from hours of manual work. Roger wasn’t sure what to do with me when I first showed up at Keely’s shop, but soon I was hammering, sawing, screwing, drilling, basically doing whatever needed doing. For a few hours, I was just another guy, sweating and cursing with the rest of them, listening to the radio, doing good work.
It feels right. Simple, honest effort, and in the end I can see the fruit of my labors right there, etched into Keely’s walls, into her floor. “Go home,” I tell Roger a few minutes past five. “I’m going to finish painting then I’ll head out.”
“Can’t leave you alone in here, boss.” Roger looks around, frowning. “Too exposed.”
“We’re not at war.” I wave him off, brandishing the paint roller. “It’s more likely I’ll kill myself with paint fumes than get shot.”
“You’re right, but still. I’ll send the guys packing, but I’ll be waiting out front, all right?”
“Whatever you say.”
He’s a good man. Loyal to the core, which I respect. Once he’s gone, I get back to slathering paint on the walls, doing a careful and thorough job. Even if Keely’s afraid of me right now, and even if I’m still angry with her for hiding the pregnancy, this is still her place. And I still care about her.
That’s why I went to the old woman’s house, because I know Jamila’s important to Keely, and I need to repair some of that relationship the best I can.
The sun starts to set. I put on some lights, nearly finished. As I start on the last wall, the edges set first, there’s a knock at the door.
“Roger, just go home,” I call out. “I’m fine here alone. You can call it—”
The door opens, and Keely steps inside.
I stare at her. My heart thumps quickly, erratically, and I slowly lower the roller. Paint drips onto the drop cloth. She’s wearing jeans, a white top tight against her skin. Her hair’s down, her cheeks are pink.
She looks incredible. But she always does.
Only it shocks me how badly I want her, how my body reacts to her.
