Heather

 

The closest motel was less than three miles away and was called Southwest Villas. The motel was not in the southwest corner of the city, let alone in the actual southwest, and the small room containing one full-size bed and a toilet could hardly be called a villa, but it wasn’t bad.

 

The room smelled of cigarette smoke and air freshener, and the bedding felt rough with constant bleaching, but it looked clean. I rinsed my face in the sink, splashing water under my tired eyes and trying to wash the gray tinge out of my cheeks, but it didn’t seem to help. Sleep was what I needed. Sleep was what the baby needed. I crawled between the covers and ran my hand across my stomach.

 

I wished I could know what the future held. For the baby and me. Would they continue to grow and be healthy? Would I be a good mom? Would I be a mom at all? The next thirty weeks had the power to change my life in any number of directions. At the end of them, would I still want a baby or would I choose adoption? I couldn’t imagine choosing adoption right now, handing my baby over to the state or another woman, but I’d never imagined being a single mother, either. I’d come to understand over the last month that my imagination played no part in reality.

 

When I opened my eyes, I couldn’t even remember closing them. But I knew I had, and I knew it had been a long time ago because sunshine was peeking through the thick plastic curtains, cutting a trail of light across the bed. My stomach growled, and I suddenly realized how long it had been since I’d eaten.

 

With a sense of guilt for potentially starving the baby, I grabbed a fiver from my purse and walked down the covered sidewalk in the direction of what I hoped would be a vending machine. Shoved in an alcove between the two buildings, which in the daylight were painted dusty shades of yellow and orange, were two vending machines.

 

One held sandwiches, wrapped in paper and plastic, and small cups of soup. I didn’t want to think about how long they’d been sitting there in the machine, waiting for someone to buy them, or how many different ways they could make me ill, so I shifted to the other.

 

The second machine had less healthy, but more trustworthy snacks; packages of processed junk that could sit in the machine for years and never go bad. Chips, cookies, granola bars, mixed nuts, candy, toaster pastries. I opted for strawberry Pop-Tarts and a bag of mixed nuts, hoping the healthy fats and protein from the mixed nuts would counteract the abundance of sugar I was about to consume and shuffled back to my room.

 

I placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and crawled back in bed. In many ways, it felt like the ultimate lazy day—lounging in bed, eating junk, the TV tuned to some late morning talk show I only ever watched in waiting rooms. However, the day felt tinged with too much sadness and anxiety to be fully enjoyable.

 

I ate the snacks in bed, stuck my mouth under the bathroom faucet to wash it all down, and fell back asleep, crumbs and litter spread out on the comforter around me.

 

The next time I woke up, it was still light outside, but I could tell it was early morning. The light felt sharp and unfiltered, cutting through the haze of the city and the morning fog. The alarm on the bedside table said it was just before 8:00 am. I’d slept for over twenty-four hours, waking up only to eat processed food and use the restroom, and I couldn’t believe how much better I felt.

 

The ache I’d felt in the center of my forehead for the last week had subsided, and the tension I’d been carrying on my shoulders had disappeared. I didn’t know whether to thank the uninterrupted day of rest or the firm mattress or both, but I stretched and luxuriated in what felt like an entirely new body.

 

The burner phone Killian had given me was on the nightstand next to the bed, but it was dead. I dug around in my purse until I found the charger and plugged it in. Immediately, the screen came to life and missed calls and messages began popping up. Only one person knew the number to this phone, so I knew who they were from. Killian.

 

K: Where are you? I went to the hospital and you weren’t there.

 

K: Please call or text. Just let me know you’re okay.

 

K: I’m sorry about what I said at the hospital.

 

K: Please don’t be angry. Let me know you’re okay.

 

The texts kept going, but I couldn’t read them all at once. I decided to take a shower and clean the hospital smell off me. Then, when I felt more like a human, I’d decide what to do about Killian.

 

The water was hot, and steam filled the small bathroom immediately. I breathed it in, allowing it to clean me from the inside, as well. The complimentary soaps left a tacky residue on my skin, but it smelled like cucumber melon, so I kept slathering it on. My hair was stiff and oil-slicked at the roots. I massaged the soap into my scalp for a long time and then did the same with the tiny bottle of conditioner.

 

When I stepped out of the shower and cleared the steam from the mirror, I noticed the purple outline of a bruise growing on my cheek where my dad had hit me. I pressed my finger to it and winced. It was going to get much worse before it got better.

 

I put on the same large T-shirt and boxer shorts, wishing more than anything I had another change of clothes, and scraped my fingers through my tangled hair. The clock next to the bed read 8:45. I’d been in the shower for nearly an hour.

 

A new message flashed across my screen, and I knew it would be Killian. I almost read it but decided I’d rather have the conversation with him in person. I called the same cab company from the night before and went to the front desk to check out of the motel.

 

When the cab pulled up, I was relieved to see it wasn’t the same driver as two nights before. He’d ignored my appearance the first time, but I didn’t want to see his face when he saw me in the same state of disarray almost thirty hours later.

 

I gave the new driver—a young kid with thick-rimmed glasses and a pimply chin—the address, and we took off. My phone buzzed in my bag, but I ignored it, knowing I’d be seeing Killian soon enough.

 

###

 

Killian

 

I texted Heather several times throughout the night and morning, though I knew she wouldn’t respond. I wanted her to know I still cared, that I hadn’t given up on her. If… When she turned her phone on again, she’d see that I was still there for her. The last text I sent her was just before 8:45 am.

 

K: I’m meeting my dad at the compound. I’m going to explain everything to him.

 

K: I’m going to fix this.

 

I hoped more than anything that those words were true; that I could fix everything that had been broken by Niall’s death. That I could fix things between Heather and me—if there were something between us left to be fixed.

 

Heather hadn’t responded to any of my messages or calls, and I kept repeating to myself that she was fine. She just needed some time to cool down. She’d call back eventually. Though, worse thoughts threatened to drown out my positive mantra. Again, I tried to fight them back, convince myself that Niall’s death had simply made me paranoid. This was true, I was definitely more paranoid, but it was a justified paranoia. Niall had been murdered. And he’d been murdered by Heather’s brother. What else was Caleb capable of?

 

Grabbing my keys and heading out the door, I tried to clear my head. I needed to stay focused on the task at hand. If I could convince my father of my innocence, I would once again have free reign of the compound. I’d be able to find Heather and ensure she was okay.

 

Then we could be together. Like, actually be together. More than sneaking around in hopes her dad and murderous brother didn’t find out we were hooking up in my apartment. I wanted to take her on a real date. To dinner or dancing or some other romantic thing I’d only ever seen in movies. I wanted to give her the kind of love she deserved.

 

I was on the road to the compound before I realized I’d made the conscious decision, my body slipping into autopilot, directing me home. Home. The compound was home. For as long as I’d wished I could move away, get out from under my family, from the constant hustle and bustle of our line of work, I’d missed it the last few weeks.

 

Losing Niall had been unbearable, but losing my entire family, all of my friends, and my home in the same moment… it was almost too much. My entire life had been altered, flipped upside down because of Caleb Rourke and his hatred.

 

I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white until I thought the skin covering them would break open, reveal the bone beneath. I hated him—for what he did to Niall, for what he was doing to Heather, and for what he’d done to me. He’d changed the direction of so many lives without so much as a second thought, and so far, he had faced zero consequences. Well, that was all about to change.

 

Or was it? What if I couldn’t convince my dad of my innocence? The thought felt like poison, but I knew I had to entertain it. What if I couldn’t fix things? What if the rift between my dad and me couldn’t be fixed? What if Caleb got away with killing Niall?

 

Heather would have to leave her family, the compound, everything she’d ever known to be with me. Maybe she wouldn’t mind, but maybe she would. Family is family, after all. Being Irish and mafia, I learned that lesson from a young age. Nothing comes before family. Not even your heart.

 

Then there was the question of whether or not I was walking into a trap. I didn’t want to think my father capable of setting me up, but it was a real possibility. He’d almost barred me from Niall’s funeral, and it had been radio silence since. Then, all of a sudden, he is accepting my phone calls?

 

At the time, I’d wanted to believe it was because he missed me, because somewhere deep down he knew I was innocent, but that pesky paranoia was rearing its ugly head. It also could have been that he saw his opportunity. He saw his chance to avenge Niall’s death. If there is anything we Irishmen value more than family, it’s good old-fashioned revenge.

 

The gates to the compound came into view, and the first hint of nerves rattled through my chest. How had I found myself here? I asked the question, but the answer was obvious. Heather. I’d been away from the compound for weeks, and though I didn’t know who had killed Niall for most of that time, I could have attempted to reach out to my dad. I could have tried to convince him that I didn’t kill Niall.

 

Instead, I’d sat in my dingy apartment, eating frozen food, and staring at the empty hole in the entertainment center where a television should have been. It wasn’t until Heather that I found a purpose in my exile. Even more than that, it wasn’t until I thought Heather could be in danger that I found the motivation to call my dad and set up a meeting. Without her, I would still be aimless.

 

The gates parted automatically as my car pulled up, so I knew Dad must have told the guards to be expecting me. I waved my hand out the window in thanks, even though I couldn’t see anyone.

 

The “compound” was more of a gated community. Houses, all similar to one another, dotted the curvy, narrow streets, and wives walked their teacup-sized dogs along the manicured sidewalks.

 

As I drove slowly towards my dad’s house, my childhood home, I thought about what it would be like to one day be in charge of the compound. To live in the large stone house that sat on the raised hill, slightly above the other houses to denote its importance. To have the power and the money to give Heather and the baby whatever they wanted. To provide a lifestyle for them where they would never want for anything and would always be taken care of.

 

The thought made the conversation with my father that much more important. If I failed, it would all disappear in front of me like a puff of smoke, as if it had never existed. The dream my father had spoken to me about since I was a child, his hope that I would take over after him and run the family business, would be dead.

 

As I pulled up to the house, the tires rumbling over the uneven brick driveway, I saw Niall’s car still in the driveway. It was parked in his spot underneath the red oak tree. He complained endlessly about the birds that would sit in its branches and poop on his windshield, but even when the rest of the driveway was clear and available, he would always park under that damn tree.

 

Even from a distance, I could see the white stains of bird poop dotting his windshield. Looking at the familiar site, it was almost easy to imagine Niall was inside the house. Maybe lounging on the couch or at the dining room table helping Dad set up schedules. It was easy to imagine him walking out the front door, his jeans tucked into his boots, one thumb lazily hanging from his front pocket.

 

I shook the image away, trying to clear my head before stepping out of the car. I needed to be focused. For Niall. For the baby. For Heather.

 

I walked up the driveway and across the grass to reach the front porch. Though I’d lived in this house my entire life, grown up playing on the lawn and smoking late-night cigarettes on the porch, I felt like an intruder. My heart racing with possibilities, doubts, and fears, I reached out a hand and hit the doorbell. Before the chime could even finish, the large wooden door opened.

 

###

 

Heather

 

I knocked on the door, but no one answered. Luckily, Killian had given me his spare key a few days before, so I dug it out of the bottom of my purse and used it. The room was dark and chilly, curtains drawn against the morning light. I assumed Killian was sleeping and went to the bedroom.

 

It was clear he’d been there, his side of the bed was mussed, the fitted sheet so disarrayed the mattress was showing. But still, no sign of him. I walked through the small space, checking for any sign of where he could be or a note, though I knew that was a long shot. I hadn’t returned any of his calls or texts for over a day. He had no reason to suspect I’d show up at his apartment looking for him.

 

To ensure the cab fare wasn’t a total waste, I brushed my hair in his bathroom and found my clothes, from two days before, folded on the chair in the corner of his bedroom. I put them on, grateful to finally take off Killian’s boxers and oversized T-shirt. Then I padded into the kitchen and dug through his cupboards.

 

Normally, I’d feel intrusive, but I didn’t feel that way with Killian. Since the moment we’d met, he’d made me feel comfortable. I found a bag of blueberry bagels on the top shelf of the pantry, but I could see through the plastic that fuzzy mold had begun to grow along the sides of the bag. I grimaced and threw it in the trash.

 

In the end, I settled for two fried eggs and a glass of milk. I washed my dishes and returned them to the cabinets, and checked my phone. It was just after nine o’clock. I sat on his squeaky sofa, deciding I should wait for him to return. As I sat there, unwanted thoughts began to creep in. Perhaps he’d gone out the night before and met a woman? Perhaps he wasn’t home because he’d stayed the night with her?

 

I shook my head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts from my mind, but they kept coming. What if he went to the compound looking for me and met Caleb instead? What if he was lying dead somewhere and I didn’t even know it? I squeezed my eyes tight, still trying to clear my head, but the longer I sat on the couch, the more terrible possibilities presented themselves.

 

Finally, after fifteen minutes of waiting, I pulled out my phone and suddenly remembered Killian had texted me. I opened the messages and apologies flooded the screen. I scrolled through them, feeling guilty that I’d left him hanging for so long, when suddenly my finger froze on the screen. The two most recent messages he’d sent, the ones I’d received on my way to his apartment, were in the center of the screen.

 

He was going to the compound. He was going to turn Caleb in. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears, but I tried to keep my breathing level and calm. Having another seizure right now was in no one’s best interest, least of all mine.

 

I closed out of the texts and called the most recent number. The same woman at the cab company who had answered my previous two calls answered again, though she didn’t seem to recognize my voice, and told me a cab was in the area. I shoved my phone and keys into my purse and darted out the door, heading to the curb to wait for my ride.

 

It was the same young kid who had just dropped me off. Despite having seen me less than twenty minutes ago, he didn’t try to make conversation, and I was grateful. He dropped me off just outside the gates, and I used my key to unlock the side entrance.

 

The compound was abuzz with the usual morning activity, with women walking the streets in groups for exercise, their laughter bouncing off the nearly identical houses. I walked quickly, being sure to not draw attention to myself, towards the big house. If Killian was here, that was where he’d be.

 

As soon as I rounded the last turn in the back of the complex, the big house came into view, and Killian’s car was parked prominently in the driveway. I released a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding in. If his car was still there, that meant he was fine.

 

I said a silent prayer that Liam would believe him; that he would trust Killian’s story and everything would be fixed. Caleb would be dealt with, the specifics of which I didn’t want to think about, and Killian and I would be free to be together and live on the compound. Killian would be in line to take over his father, and our lives would be set.

 

Our lives. The thought set butterflies aflutter in my stomach. We could be together. Actually together. And I wouldn’t have to be afraid of Caleb or my dad. I could have this baby, and we could be a family.

 

The thought filled me nearly to bursting, and I turned around, headed in the same direction I’d just come, but towards my house. I’d parked the car in the driveway, so I’d have to grab it quickly if I didn’t want a run-in with my dad or Caleb. After what happened the last time I saw them, I honestly didn’t know what they were capable of. I’d take the car back to Killian’s apartment and wait for him there.

 

My house was only a block from the big house, so I was rounding the corner in less than two minutes, and the car was exactly where I’d left it two days ago. Digging in my purse for the key, I walked towards it, keeping my head down, as though Caleb and my dad wouldn’t recognize it was me if they couldn’t see my face.

 

With the key firmly in my hand, nerves sending shockwaves of anxiety up and down my spine, I walked to the car and unlocked it. I slid into the familiar seat and closed the door, relief flooding my system. However, just as I shoved the key in the ignition, the passenger door opened and another body slid into the car.

 

Caleb.

 

The pistol in his hand was pointed directly at my stomach, and a cruel smile was painted across his face.

 

“You weren’t thinking of leaving without saying goodbye, were you?” he said, his voice bitter.

 

I placed a protective hand over my stomach. “What are you going to do?”

 

“Relax,” he said, leaning back in the seat, but never lowering the gun. “I won’t hurt a pregnant woman unless I have to.”

 

“Caleb,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm despite my fear. “What are you going to do?”

 

He groaned, his eyes rolling. “You were always such a spoilsport. I don’t want to spoil the surprise. Now, drive. And please, don’t do anything foolish.”

 

He wagged the gun to remind me he had it, as if I ever could have forgotten, and I backed out of the driveway, awaiting his next instructions.