Tony was no mobster. He was a small-time criminal who’d been arrested for shoplifting and credit card fraud. Only had an thirteen-month sentence followed by some community service. We’d crossed paths a couple of times during lunch at Maxfield. I thought that fabricating a story about Tony’s past would send Cally running into my arms, but I was wrong. However, I did have something going for me: she seemed to trust me a little bit more now. After the strange night that we shared, we bonded somehow. But I didn’t want to overstay my welcome and face more awkward conversations when she woke up. So around 5 a.m., I slipped out of Cally’s apartment and began walking—well, limping, to work. My shift didn’t start until 5 p.m., but I had nowhere else to go, so I figured Kieran would let me in when he came in around seven to do inventory and paperwork.

“What the hell are you doing out here, mate?”

I rubbed my bleary eyes and realized I’d fallen asleep slouched in front of the bar’s entrance. I looked like a man who’d passed out drunk on the side of the street. And my fucking ass…hurt like someone had brought an axe down on it. “Sorry,” I said, standing up. “I hadn’t meant to fall asleep.”

Kieran helped me up. “Are you all right, Ry? You look like shit.”

“I’ve been better.” I brushed off my clothes and lugged my backpack containing my worldly possessions over my shoulder. I’d grabbed it before coming to work, because after last night, I never wanted to sleep on a park bench again. It was time I found a real home. I owed it to myself.

Kieran dug in his pockets for keys. “What the hell happened to you? You’ve got cuts all over your face.”

“I’m fucked, Ki,” I confessed. “I violated parole last night.”

Kieran rested a hand on my shoulder and steered me inside the bar. “Not out here. Come on in.”

Once we were inside, he gripped both my shoulders. His dark eyes drilled into mine. “What did you do?”

So I told him. At first, I just wanted to tell him about Paul. But an hour later, I found myself talking about my dad, Nica, Orielle, and all that old shit. It felt good to open up for the first time in forever, and Kieran didn’t seem judgmental like my shrink, Janine. In fact, Kieran was probably the only person who truly understood even a fraction of what I’d been through.

When I finished, Kieran exhaled slowly. “Shit, mate. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would’ve offered you a place to crash.”

“I couldn’t—”

“You’ll have to check if it falls in the right zone and all, but if my place works, we have a spare bedroom.” One of the downsides of being a registered sex offender was that I could only live in certain government-mandated zones. “Don’t you want to ask your wife first?” I asked.

Kieran shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll be fine with it.”

“You better ask her first.” I crossed my arms and buried my head against the bar. Drowsiness slammed into me like a bullet train, and I suddenly felt exhausted.

Kieran pulled out his phone and punched a few numbers. “Hey, Rach? Can a friend of mine crash in the spare bedroom for a while? I don’t know, maybe a few weeks? No, he’s clean. Yes, I know. Yeah. Okay, thanks, love.” Kieran turned to me. “She says as long as you’re not a druggie, you can stay with us.”

“Does she know about my record?”

“When she realizes it’s you I’m bringing home, yeah. But she won’t go back on her word.”

“Rachelle is friends with Cally. Cally will tell her everything.”

“Don’t worry about that shit right now. Why don’t you go take a nap in the back? I’ve got to get to work.”

“Thanks buddy, I owe you one.”

“Us ex-cons gotta stick together, right?” Kieran winked at me and began pulling out a clipboard overstuffed with papers.

I drifted into the backroom, saw the sofa bed pulled out, and sank into it face-first. Whatever problems I had waiting for me, I’d deal with them later. All I wanted now was pure, dreamless sleep.

* * *

After sleeping until 2 p.m., I began my shift earlier than usual and helped Ki stock the shelves. At the end of our shift, Ki handed me a fistful of tips, but I refused to accept it. “You’re doing me a huge favor, one which I already can’t afford to repay. There’s no way I’ll take tips. I can’t afford much by way of rent, but I’ll make up for that by doing housework.”

“Rach will be delighted. She’s so overwhelmed with work, she hates coming home to a pig sty.”

“I can do most of the housework, no problem,” I said. “I’m just grateful you’re willing to take me in.”

“I trust you, Ry. You’re a good man.” Kieran gave me a resounding pat on the back. “Come on, let me show you my place.”

I didn’t know what inspired Kieran to have such confidence in me. I was definitely not a good man. Far from it. But I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe one day, when all of this was over and done with, I could be the type of man Kieran thought I was. For now, I was just an asshole biding my time. I slipped into the passenger seat of Kieran’s SUV and winced as pain bloomed along my lower body. I struggled with the seatbelt.

“You all right, mate?”

“Yeah. Just…hurt myself last night.”

“Not too bad, I hope.”

I thought back to all the blood that covered Cally’s Porsche seat. “Yeah, not too bad.”

“Here we are,” Kieran said fifteen minutes later, pulling up to a two-story bungalow in Westbridge.

I took in the gabled roof, cheerful yellow siding, and spotless windows. The lawn was green and manicured, even dotted with a few ornaments.

“Nice,” I said. “Great place.”

Kieran’s house was modest, considering that he ran a bar and his wife was a lawyer. But it was also the type of home I could only ever dream about. Even then, I didn’t dare let my imagination get too carried away. After all, I wasn’t capable of being a family man. A husband. I was too damaged to lead a normal life. Kieran was lucky he found someone like Rachelle. I wasn’t sure if I’d be capable of loving another woman, even if she accepted me for who I was and loved me unconditionally. I just wasn’t wired for affection anymore. I was hardened steel, and no amount of feminine nurturing could change me into something I wasn’t.

“Just repainted the exterior. It’s almost paid off, too, thanks to the bar business.”

I beamed. “Congrats, man.” Kieran was proof that ex-cons could still live a normal life. He was my role model, even though he was several years younger than me. If I could have half of what he had by the time I hit fifty, I’d be a happy man.

“Don’t congratulate me yet. Congratulate me after the mortgage is paid off.” I wish my problems were as simple as paying off a mortgage or cutting the lawn.

“You’re set, Ki. Great job. Gorgeous wife. Nice house. Livin’ the life.”

“You can have that too, Ryder. Don’t let your past hold you prisoner.”

“It’s not that simple for me. My situation is more fucked up than yours.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Kieran said. “Way I see it, if you just let go of the past, you can move on and live a normal life. Forget about Rayner and Orielle and your dad and stepmom. Forget revenge. Just live for the now. Find yourself a nice girl, settle down…”

“Looks like marriage really tamed your wild side,” I teased.

“I still ride my Harley. I’m still an adrenaline junkie. Only difference is, I come home to my wife every night, and I love being with her. I love taking care of her. Having adult responsibilities doesn’t mean I stop having fun. Just the opposite. More stability, more money, can lead to a more enriching life. You can have it all, Ryder.”

“Wish I could think like that, Ki.”

“You don’t have to be a slave to your demons, Ryder,” Kieran emphasized.

“I need to avenge Orielle. I need to clear my name, Ki. No fucking way I’ll just walk away.”

“You already did the time. And Orielle is already gone. What’s the point?”

“The point? The point is I don’t want to always look over my shoulder and wonder what if. I don’t want my reputation to precede me everywhere. I don’t want to face the dirty looks anymore. It’s humiliating.”

“Move somewhere else then. Start new.”

“I will. Once I bring Paul fucking Rayner to his knees.”

“Revenge isn’t the way to go. Trust me.”

I clenched my jaw. “You’ve been incredibly generous to me, Kieran, but nothing you say will change my mind. I came here on a mission. And I won’t rest until Paul pays for what he did.”

Kieran locked his car and walked up the steps to his place. “We’ll talk about this some other time. I don’t want to upset Rach.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed.

“Rach? You home?” Kieran called out.

“In here, babe.”

We entered the kitchen, and Rachelle, Kieran’s stunning wife, was cooking dinner. She had changed from her formal work clothes into a long sleeve knit and jeans. The shirt hugged her pregnant belly, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of when Nica was pregnant with Ori. “Dinner in fifteen. Oh, this is the friend you were bringing home?”

“Nice to see you again, Rachelle.” I waved.

Rachelle blinked a few times, her ponytail bobbing up and down. “Ryder. Cally’s been talking about you non-stop,” she said vaguely. “Do you want a beer?”

“No thanks.” I couldn’t drink, thanks to my parole terms.

Rachelle smiled politely. “Well, dinner will be chicken casserole. Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving.”

“Let me show you your room,” Kieran said. “Well, it’s technically my daughter’s room, but she only stays here four times a year.”

“You have a daughter?”

“Yes, she’s sixteen now. She lives with…her mother, in Seattle.” If she decided to visit, I’d be fucked. One of the terms of my parole was that I couldn’t get within ten feet of a minor or a place with children around.

I didn’t want to pry, so I continued, “It’s very girly.”

“I’ll bring you an extra set of bedsheets and stuff. Ones that are less…pink.”

“Thanks.”

While Kieran was rifling through the linen closet, I took a quick look around my home for the next few weeks. The soft pink curtains were more for decorative purposes than anything and did nothing to offer privacy or even a shield against the sun. I lowered the Venetian blinds. The bed was so perfectly made that I didn’t want to wrinkle it. I lowered my head and ran my hands through my filthy hair. It’d been a long night, and if Rayner decided to press charges at some point, I’d need to run. There was no way I’d sit around and let the justice system take care of me again. I’d rather be a fugitive than subject myself to the horrors that was Maxfield Prison.

Over delicious chicken casserole, I asked the couple about safe topics, such as their baby’s due date and who did their landscaping. Trivial icebreakers that I imagined normal guests would ask dinner hosts. Kieran and Rachelle didn’t seem to mind the light conversation, so we carried on as if I was just regular Ryder Williams, Mahoney West’s newest bartender and Kieran’s childhood friend. And not Ryder Williams, convicted sex offender, parole violator, wanted man, and injured gunshot victim. After dinner, I offered to wash the dishes, and Rachelle accepted. By the time the dishes were on the drying rack, Rachelle had made my new bed. Before saying good night, she gave me a box of bandages and gauze and asked if I needed help changing my dressing.

It was bad enough that Cally had to suture my ass. Last thing I needed was Kieran’s wife to help me change the bandages. “I’m okay, thanks,” I said. Then, in a lower voice, I added, “How much did Cally tell you?”

“We’re best friends, Ryder. We tell each other everything. She was pissed you left without saying goodbye.”

“I didn’t want to disturb her.”

“She’s not happy you’re staying at our place now.”

“Why? I won’t cause any trouble.”

“Problem is, Ryder, trouble follows you. I’m eight months pregnant. I might give birth any day now. And I’m a lawyer. Please understand that I can’t afford to worry about you right now.”

“If you want me to leave, I would understand.”

“No, I’m not kicking you out. Especially since you’re hurt. I’m just saying, please don’t do something stupid and invite trouble into my home.”

“I won’t, I promise,” I swore. “The last thing I want is to drag you and Ki into my mess.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear, Ryder. Good night.”

“Night, Rachelle.”

As I watched Rachelle slip into the master bedroom, I felt a pang of guilt. She was absolutely right. Even if I didn’t cause any trouble, trouble would find me, one way or another. I’d need to get serious about finding my own place and executing my plan. The sooner I dealt with Paul, the sooner I could rest easy at night. As for Cally…she was still the only real leverage I had against Paul. I couldn’t afford to keep her out of this. Much as I hated the thought of using her, I still had to. My entire plan hinged on her involvement. But why did my conscience double in size after spending the previous night with her?