Twenty-Six
Five Years Ago
It seemed fitting that the pain would bleed through at the pinnacle of her insanity. That her peace was undercut by a secret fragility that grew exponentially, just beneath the surface.
She went back to school at the end of the week, and she heard the whispers, felt the stares, read the avoidance for what it was: she was a leper now, officially. And she didn’t care.
Mason was still not back, but the rumor was that his parents were enrolling him in private school. Beau and Ainsley, she quickly learned, weren’t going to turn stool pigeon. They were too terrified by what had happened to meet her gaze, or open their mouths to spread gossip. Ainsley’s last defiant act had been tampering with Ava’s phone, and now, she was done.
By the time the dismissal bell sounded, Ava had her plan all locked down. Everyone knew about her and Mercy: no need to hide anymore. No sense pretending it was less serious than it was. She only had a few months of high school left, and then she’d be free to start making plans for the future. She was underage, but she wouldn’t have to move in with Mercy until she was eighteen. She could wait that long. She wouldn’t go away to school. She could take day classes at UT, work at the nursery. And once she and Mercy bought a house together, they could have children, sanctioned ones, ones that she didn’t lose thanks to a kick in the stomach. She could see it all now, picket fence-enclosed and glorious. She was giddy and spinning with the idea of it, her whole future, laid out in glossy Technicolor before her, smelling of Mercy’s leather jacket and feeling like his heart beating against hers.
She left school and drove to his apartment. She couldn’t park in the alley, though, because there was a U-Haul truck blocking her way. Leaving her truck at the curb, she skipped up the iron staircase.
Something was wrong.
The apartment door stood open, and just inside, she saw the short stacks of cardboard liquor boxes. Air from inside came through the door, stirring against her face: a sense of human energy abandoning the place. The ghost of Home leaving to haunt somewhere else.
Ava braced a hand against the jamb and felt her pulse pick up a notch.
“Mercy?”
He stepped out of the kitchen, in jeans and white long-sleeve t-shirt, sans cut. His expression was guarded, an unfamiliar spark of regret in his eyes.
Her pulse went up another notch.
“What’s going on?” she asked, stepping into the living room.
He didn’t answer her. His hands went in his back pockets and he sighed, eyes skittering toward the window.
Ava stepped closer and heard herself laughing. “Are you moving?” She meant it as a joke. Mercy loved this apartment.
But he said, “Yeah.”
She laughed again, a hollow brittle sound she didn’t recognize. Her body sending up the warning alarm to her brain. Wake up, stupid! Something’s wrong!
“If you get a bigger place,” she said, “make sure there’s enough room for a king sized bed.” Smile, little nose scrunch. Blatant, girlish flirting.
“Sit down, fillette.” He gestured to the couch, which was still in place. The bookshelves under the window behind it, though, were stripped bare. It was an unsettling sight.
“Okay…” She perched on the edge, hands folded together in her lap. “What’s up?”
Mercy came to sit beside her, his movements deliberate and slow, like he was in physical pain. He sat close, so their arms touched, and he looked at her face for a long moment, naked longing etched in his features. Ava didn’t speak, transfixed by the rapture in him, the way he watched her, the way he traced every detail of her face; she felt his eyes on her eyes, on her nose, her brows, the curves of her lips. She shivered. And then he reached up and placed one large hand on the top of her head. He touched her like that, his demeanor reverent, and then he withdrew and stood.
“Mercy.” Her voice was breathless now. “What’s the matter?”
His cut was hanging off the doorknob, on the inside of the front door, and he plucked it up, shrugged into it. When he faced her, he did so decorated with all his patches, the stains and scars in the old leather. And his face hardened. The worship, the sweetness, the tenderness – all replaced by a professional steel. This was Mercy the extractor. Mercy the club man, the Lean Dog. Not her companion and protector, her lover and friend.
Ava felt her heart become a drum inside her chest, beating out a dire rhythm. Danger. Danger.
“I’m going back to New Orleans,” he said. “I’m moving back there.”
Her brain refused to compute that. “You hate New Orleans.”
“I’m heading out first thing in the morning.”
“But…you hate New Orleans.”
“Bob down there says he has work for me.”
“You love Knoxville,” she insisted. “You have work here.”
Mercy gave her one long, flat look. “I’m leaving, Ava.”
It hit her then. She surged to her feet. Her voice trembled. “You’re leaving me, you mean, right?”
“Ghost brought me in to keep you safe. You don’t need me anymore.”
“Yes I do! You know I do.” She stepped toward him, reaching out with both hands, and Mercy turned his shoulder to her and staved her off with a raised hand. “Mercy, I love you.” She grabbed his hand, but didn’t have the strength to curl his fingers down around hers. When he didn’t move, the shock began to turn to anger. “Are you – are you going to stand there and pretend that everything between you and me is just about protection?”
“Everything between you and me is disgusting,” he said, his voice awful. “And it’s a mistake.”
Hot tears burned her eyes. “No it’s not!” she screamed, surprising him, and herself. “Don’t say that!”
She launched herself at him, in a fury, not sure if she wanted to claw him or throw her arms around him.
Mercy caught her by the shoulders and held her back, gave her a little shake. “Stop it.”
“No.” She grabbed at his hands, sinking her nails into his skin. “Why are you doing this?” Her voice cycled from irate to anguished, pleading. “Is it because I got pregnant? You didn’t want a baby with me?” The tears flooded her eyes. “We’ll be more careful, from now on. I’ll get on the pill. We can use condoms…Mercy…” Deep, shuddering breath. “You’re leaving? You’re leaving…you’re leaving…”
Through the blur of tears, she saw his mask crumble, saw her own torture reflected back to her, in his face.
“Don’t, don’t, don’t,” he murmured, caving and pulling her into him, wrapping his arms around her. His voice, soft and broken: “Fillette, don’t.”
Ava pressed her face into his shirt, fisted the halves of his cut, trying to burrow as deeply into him as possible. Her shock came loose, all that frigid disinterest, the false acceptance; she ripped to bits, her seams coming undone all at once, and sobbed, utterly heartbroken.
“Our baby,” she whispered. “Felix, he killed our baby.”
“I know.” He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. “I know.”
She was dimly aware of moving her feet, and realized he’d steered her to the couch when her knees bent and it rushed up to catch her. She leaned into Mercy, letting the sobs shake her because there was no stopping them.
“Don’t leave me,” she begged. “Please. I’ll do whatever you want. Please, please don’t leave.”
He cleared his throat, a low, guttural sound. “I have to, sweetheart. You’ll thank me for it one day.”
“No.” She closed her eyes against fresh tears. “No, no, no. Please.”
She felt his lips against her hair. “It’ll get better. It won’t hurt forever.”
She fell asleep, exhaustion tackling her in the wake of her emotional release. She opened her eyes on faint evening light. She felt utterly, completely empty on the inside, dry and brittle and ready to blow away in a gentle wind.
Mercy was gone. His absence was a cold weight against her. The apartment didn’t feel like him, smell like him, sound like him anymore. She lay on her side, on the couch – the same couch where he’d shown her the pleasure that his body could inspire in hers – but the boxes were missing.
Maggie stood leaning back against the wall, one booted foot propped behind her, her golden silhouette like something off a playbill.
Ava swallowed, saliva burning her raw throat. “He left,” she said.
Maggie nodded, and when she spoke, her voice was clouded with tears. “He did.”