April

“Get your ass out of bed,” Dean yells over the phone. He’s back in California with his girlfriend, Lori, and he’s been calling me for a few days.

I groan. “Leave me alone.”

“Are you going to make me fly back down to Miami to make sure you’re okay?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m vacationing. I deserve to relax after finally closing this case.”

Dean snorts. “You’re not fine. You’re depressed and crying and not answering your phone.”

“That’s how I vacation,” I grumble. “And how do you know I’m crying?”

“After two years of being up each other’s asses, I think it’s safe to say that I know you pretty well. So Matt wasn’t receptive, I take it?” Dean asks as I slowly move my arm off my face and wince at the daylight seeping in through the blinds. I guess he really does know me well.

“If calling me a whore and kicking me out of his club means he wasn’t receptive, then yeah. Oh, and he said he hates me.”

“What?” Dean roars. “I’m going to kick his ass.”

“He’s right, though. I mean, not the whore part, but the fact that he feels used. I did lie to him. And how can he not hate me? I got his father imprisoned.”

“Really? You forced the old man to help smuggle drugs?” Dean says. “You couldn’t tell him the truth.”

“It’s all a mess,” I say, feeling like complete crap.

“So, what’s the plan, April? You’re just going to sit in your rental and mope? Have you even unpacked?”

I look at the boxes in the corner of the room and throw the pillow over my face. I don’t want to deal with anything right now, not even unpacking.

“Can’t I just mope for a few days?”

“Nope. You need to get your ass outta bed. I got called to another job, and I leave in three weeks. I’m sure you can take a new job too.”

“I’m done with undercover. I took the desk job with MDPD and start in a week.”

“You’re going to be bored.” Dean’s been working undercover for the last decade, going from case to case. Unlike me, he’s a pro, and he loves his job. And even though he talked about Lori all the time we were working together, I get a sense he has commitment issues, since he keeps going away instead of finally settling down.

But I say none of these things. Instead, I groan. I don’t want to get up. My life is in shambles and I’m not done with my pity party just yet.

“I gotta go. Start answering your phone or I’ll have to come down there, you hear?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes. “Go have fun with Lori and stop worrying about me.”

“Later, April.”

“Thanks for being a good friend, Dean,” I say, and hang up.

I don’t get out of bed right away. In fact, I don’t get out of bed at all that day. But the next day, feeling gross and tired of doing nothing, I get up and take a much-needed shower. I decide to explore my new neighborhood a little and go out to get some food. Even though I’ve lived in Miami for a long time now, I feel like a woman without a city, mostly because I don’t have any ties to anyone here. Regardless, I’m familiar enough with this area enough to know there’s a bunch of restaurants around. As I turn a corner, I see a familiar bar. It’s a small dive bar I went to a few times while I was with Matt, mostly because he loved how it was so hidden and the music was the complete opposite of what they play at Panic.

Being a glutton for pain, I head straight there. As I sit at the bar, I recall one Saturday afternoon when Matt and I ended up here for beers and burgers. For some weird reason there was a little boy with a bunch of red balloons. I told Matt how the sight reminded me of my father. I don’t remember much about him but I have these fuzzy memories of a birthday party and my father walking in with a bunch of red balloons. Matt gave the kids’ parents all the cash in his wallet for one of the balloons. Then he handed it to me as if it was a diamond ring. It might as well have been. It was the moment I knew I loved him.

It hit me hard, and I felt like confessing everything right there and then. But I couldn’t. I was too deep in the case already, and all signs pointed to his father, so bailing out wouldn’t have done anyone any good.

I can’t stop thinking about the damn balloons as I drink a Jack and Coke. And those ridiculously disgusting martinis I pretended to like just because I thought that it would help my persona: sexy, confident woman. That’s what would lure Victor, Dean had said. Except instead of Victor, it was Matt whose attention I got. That feels like eons ago, and the ache in my chest as I remember those early days of getting to know Matt returns with a vengeance.

“A smile would look so much better.” I put down my drink and look to my side. A tall blond man with brown eyes and dimples is looking back at me. “Can I get you another one?”

I glance around, unsure. I’ve definitely been out of the game for a long time. “Uh…yeah, sure.”

He waves to the bartender. “Another round, please.” The bartender nods, and the man turns back to me. “Dillon Robins.”

I’m so used to giving an alias that I stumble for a moment. “April White.”

“Pretty name.”

“Thank you,” I reply just as another Jack and Coke is placed in front of me. Suddenly I wish I’d dressed a little nicer. It’s just a little dive bar, and I’m in tight jeans and a nice fitted shirt I found inside one of my boxes. It’s been so long since I’ve worn my normal clothes, I barely remember what my usual style is. It’s not the tight-fitting dresses that June wore and it’s not the loose-fitting hippie style of Zara.

Dillon is in jeans and a pink button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his impressive forearms. If anyone can pull off pink, it’s this guy. Well, and Matt. Matt can pull off any color with his tanned skin and beautiful…Ugh! I need to stop thinking of him.

I remind myself that he called me a whore. He’s an asshole.

“So, April, what has you so sad?”

“I’m not sad.”

“Mad?”

I chuckle. “Not mad either.”

“Then what’s with the face?”

I shrug. “It’s just my face. Guess I have RBF. It’s not the first time I’ve been told that.”

“RBF?”

“Resting bitch face.”

Dillon looks at me for a moment, his beer hovering at his lips, before he starts to laugh loudly. “Well, you’re too pretty for that,” he compliments me when he stops laughing. Our legs brush, and I move a little away.

For the next half hour we talk about his recent divorce and his adorable (his words) three-year-old daughter. He flirts relentlessly, and I smile at the appropriate times, but I’m just not feeling it. When music starts to play out of an old jukebox, it reminds me of Panic and Matt, and I just want to turn the damn song off. Dillon is in midsentence when I abruptly stand up and interrupt him. “I have to go.”

Confused, he stammers, “Oh, uh, okay.” He starts to open his wallet, but I throw a twenty on the bar to cover my drinks.

“Let me at least pay for your drinks,” he protests, handing me back my money.

“It’s good. Don’t worry,” I say, putting the money back on the bar.

“Okay, well, then, can I at least have your number?”

I see a couple dancing alone in the middle of the room. He’s looking at her like she hung the moon. I don’t ever think I’ve seen love personified like that. When he twirls her around, I see a horrible scar spanning a large portion of her face, but the smile and love as he looks at her—I see nothing but beauty between them. A surge of jealousy hits me hard. I want that.

I had that.

I lost it.

Well, I didn’t lose it…I threw it away.

My throat tightens and I’m barely able to speak. “Sorry, Dillon. You’re a very nice guy, but I’m just…I can’t…it was nice meeting you,” I babble, not giving him the opportunity to talk. I’ve just turned to leave when I crash right into a woman. Immediately she holds her hands up defensively. “Sorry! Sorry!” I say quickly.

“It’s okay,” she responds, but she’s still holding her hands up, as if I’ve truly offended her by touching her.

“You okay, babe?” the man behind her asks, and when I look up, my heart stops. I take a step back, like I’ve been physically assaulted. Those eyes…those green eyes I know so well. Except it’s not Matt. It’s his twin brother, Nick.

“Wait. I know you,” he says when he notices me. “June?” As we’re staring at each other, Matt walks into the bar, looking down at his phone. “You got a table?” he asks, barely looking up at Nick.

“Uh…brother.” Nick elbows Matt, who looks up and around before his eyes find me.

“What are you doing here? Let me guess—you followed me or something equally conniving.” Then he looks over my shoulder and sees Dillon watching the interaction. “Of course—you have a boyfriend or husband or whatever the fuck. You are a fucking piece of work,” he practically growls.

I can’t even get a little satisfaction at the obvious possessiveness that he’s trying to fight because I’m so shocked at the entire scene unfolding in front of me.

Seeing how upset Matt is, Dillon wisely steps away, his palms raised. “I just met her, man. I’m outta here.”

“Dodged a fuckin’ bullet, man,” Matt says to Dillon, who’s already walking away.

“Matt!” The woman I crashed into reprimands him. Then she introduces herself. “Hi. I’m Katie. And, well, I guess you know Nick and Matt already. But maybe it’s time we all get properly introduced.”

“No,” Matt grinds out, and walks around me to the nearest high-top.

“Ignore him,” Katie says.

Nick is still looking at me, and I can’t gauge whether he hates me too. I suppose he does, since he got arrested as well. “I’m April. April White.”

It’s so awkward—we’re all just standing there. “Um…well, I was just leaving. Have a good night.”

I turn to leave, but Katie stops me. “Wait, April. Stay.”

“Stay?” Nick asks. She looks at him with wide eyes, and he shuts his mouth.

“Yeah, stay. I’d like to get to know you. Come on—we don’t bite.”

I should go. I’m not only intruding, I’m clearly not wanted. But being around Matt, even if he hates me, is still better than staying away from him.

I follow hesitantly behind them, hoping this can possibly lead to some sort of reconciliation. He’ll never love me again, but at least maybe he can forgive me.

I sit right across from Matt because it’s the only chair not taken, and I notice that the couple who’d been dancing are sitting there too. “Hi, I’m David, and this is my wife, Geo,” he says, shaking my hand. Geo, who is stunning even though she has that fresh scar on her face, also takes my hand and shakes it. She seems a little embarrassed about her face and is sort of trying to cover one side by turning at an angle. My heart hurts for her, wondering what happened.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m April.” When I dated Matt I remember him talking about David and Geo. At that time they were just dating, not yet married. But I’d never had the chance to meet them.

Again, things get awkward. They obviously know me as June, and they know what I did to Matt. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. For them to be assholes somehow. To call me out on what I did to Matt. I look up, and Matt’s glaring at me, his mouth in a straight line. My eyes roam to the Maori-inspired tattoo that is peeking out from the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. A tattoo I’m intimately familiar with and which I know goes up to his shoulder. A tattoo I once licked. His eyes narrow, and I know he’s thinking the same thing.

The bartender, a handsome man with completely white hair, tattooed arms, and chunky silver rings on his fingers, comes by. “Hey, boss numero uno.” He fist-bumps Nick, then turns and says, “And numero dos” to Matt, who is not at all in a playful mood. “What can I get you guys?”

They order a few pitchers of beer, and I ask for water, not in the mood to drink any longer. “Fox, this is David, Geo, and April. Guys, this is our newest bouncer.”

We all shake hands, and David says, “Pay the guy more so he doesn’t have to work two jobs, assholes.”

“I like you,” Fox says to David. “Be right back with your drinks.”

When he leaves Nick says to Matt, “We need to have a chat with him this week. He’s been hitting on the new bartender.”

“Which one?” Matt asks.

“Does it matter? He shouldn’t be hitting on anyone.”

“I know. I’m just asking which one.”

“Lola.”

“Lola?” he asks. “She’s so quiet and shy. Okay, I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

I’m watching their interaction, the way Matt’s lips move when he talks. I wish he’d smile so I can see those two beautiful dimples I’ve missed so much, or the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. I see none of those things, since his jaw is set tight and his emerald-green eyes are muted with the anger he’s obviously feeling.

“So, April, tell us a little about yourself,” Katie says.

I don’t even know what to say, so Geo, bless her heart, gives me a starting point. “Are you from Miami?”

“I was born in Chicago and lived in L.A. for a while, and then moved to Miami. I’ve missed it.”

Fox—with that silver hair, I can’t tell whether he’s thirty or fifty—places the drinks at the table. “They’ve got beaches in L.A., too,” he says.

I nod. “You’d think it’d be similar because of the beaches, but it’s really not.”

Matt is about to take a drink of his beer but instead slams the glass down, some of the liquid spilling out onto the table. “I can’t do this,” he says as he throws some money on the table and walks away.

“Let him go,” Nick says when Katie looks concerned. To me he says, “Give him some time.”

“I don’t really know what to say. I’m sorry, truly, for all the hurt and damage I’ve caused him and you. It wasn’t the plan.” I see Katie putting her hand over Nick’s.

After a moment Nick replies, “I don’t know the entire story and I can’t say I like to see my brother hurt, but I also remember how happy he was when you two were together.”

I have a huge lump in my throat. “I was at Panic because of my job. I didn’t expect…I didn’t expect what happened between Matt and me.”

They’re all looking at me. I can tell they’re somewhere between feeling sorry for me and still not really trusting me. “Thank you for letting me join you guys, but I think I’m going to leave. I’m sorry if I ruined your evening.”

“You didn’t,” Katie says sweetly.

“I hope things work out, April,” Geo says in her heavy French accent. I wave goodbye and walk back home.

Leaving my bed today was definitely a bad idea.

“Damn,” I groan, pulling on the collar of my shirt and blowing down my cleavage, as if that’ll do absolutely anything to diminish the stifling heat rising from the asphalt. It’s August. In Miami. And I’m an idiot for wearing jeans. These are all the things running through my mind as I load a cartful of groceries into the trunk of my car. It’s been three days since I saw Matt and his friends at the bar and a week since Matt called me a whore and told me he hated me. And even though I know it was the anger talking, I can’t seem to get his words out of my head. Like a constant loop, they just don’t go away.

But now that I’ve taken the job with MDPD, I need to move on. I need to get on with my life…somehow.

As I’m contemplating all this, I notice that the ice cream I just bought is melting in the sweltering heat. I’m looking down into the paper bag when the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my thirty-two years, it’s to listen to my gut. Already reaching for the gun I always have holstered, I start to turn around, but it’s too late. I feel a sharp blow on my back.

The breath leaves my body and pain radiates up my spine as I stumble forward and fall, the carton of ice cream splattering to the ground. Instinctively trying to reach for the gun again, I see through my peripheral vision a wooden bat slam into my arm so hard, I hear the bone cracking like a twig as I cry out in pain.

“Bitch, you said six months, max!”

Through the sound of the blood rushing in my ears and the pain flowing throughout my entire body, I recognize the deep voice with the thick Boston accent. Donovan—my confidential informant from the case I just closed. The one I’d all but promised a mere six months of jail in exchange for testimony in the trial that sent a bunch of criminals involved in a human trafficking ring to prison for a very, very long time. The problem was that during the testimony of other CIs, it came to light that Donovan had been sticking his greedy little fingers in another cookie jar. So now he’s facing a trial of his own and is out on bond for a case I had nothing to do with.

“Don, we talked about this,” I try to tell him through gritted teeth. Grabbing the bumper of my car with my good arm, I start to pull myself up, but he kicks me in the back of my knee with the toe of his boot, causing me to fall back onto the melted ice cream on the hot asphalt.

I’ve been trained extensively to take an assailant down; I know hand-to-hand combat and I always have a gun at the ready. But right now the pain is so severe all I can do is open my mouth and scream, hoping someone will come to my aid. “Shut the fuck up!” he yells angrily as I flip over to get a good look at the sonofabitch who’s trying to kill me. If I’m going to die, he’s going to have to look me straight in the face as he does it, not hit me when I’m down like the pussy that he obviously is.

“No!” I shout, and he slaps me straight across the face, essentially shutting me up. Bear-crawling backward, I try to somehow escape the sociopath. His eyes look crazed and the tattooed spiderweb on his neck pulses as he lifts the bat over his head. I quickly roll over, almost completely underneath my SUV, before he can make contact. He grabs my foot and pulls me out from under my car, and I feel the road rash on my chin and arms as he drags me out, my shoe coming off as I try to kick myself free. “You fucked me, bitch, and now I’m going to fuck you!” he roars, and slams the bat down on the back of my head before I’ve had a chance to brace for impact.

The last thing I see is the strawberry ice cream pooled on the ground a few inches from my face. Then there’s total darkness.