Chapter Thirteen
Gregory Callan might be a busy man running a successful bodyguard firm, but that doesn’t stop him from enjoying the finer things in life, like dropping in on his employees on the job without a single warning. I open the dorm room this morning to find him with two cups of coffee, a fresh-pressed suit, and a jovial smile.
“Good morning, boys!”
I groan, and Charlie dashes to the door to greet him like an eager puppy. It’s almost endearing, how much Charlie’s all but crammed Gregory into the male-parental-figure-hole in his life. Gregory doesn’t seem to mind, smiling and patting him on the shoulder more than anyone else.
Except this time, before either Charlie or I can say a word, Gregory orders us to get dressed and come with him to breakfast. The diner he chooses is small and drowned in vinyl and a fine layer of grease, so run-down and sketchy even college students tend to avoid it—the sort of place I desperately begged for a job at the tender age of fourteen when I found out about Sophia’s illness. The waitress delivering our meal can’t even muster a tired smile, but Gregory thanks her profusely anyway.
“So why the visit, boss?” Charlie inquires with half a plate of eggs already stuffed in his cheeks.
“Did your grandmother teach you how to chew?” I quirk a brow, and Charlie robustly flips me off as he shovels bacon in his mouth. Gregory finds it amusing, however, and chuckles.
“See, Charlie? This is why none of your old partners stuck around for more than a week. Generally speaking, people don’t like it when someone is rude.”
Charlie swallows. “Generally speaking, people can kiss my ass—” He pauses, then finishes quietly, “Sir.”
Gregory just chuckles again and looks to me. “He’s even starting to snark back with more substance than four swear words. I’d say you’re rubbing off on him.”
Charlie looks me over warily and scoots his chair a few inches away from me. “Gross.”
“He has a point.” I look at Gregory. “Why come all the way out here to visit us? We could’ve easily texted or emailed whatever information you needed.”
Gregory clears his throat. “I was just—curious.”
“Curiouth?” Charlie asks through toast.
“How you two were getting along.”
Charlie and I freeze, and we both scoff at the same time. Gregory smiles at that, like it’s particularly amusing.
“But I can see my worries were unfounded,” he says. “What’s the status on your project? The last we spoke, you managed to cut off one of the heads of the serpent, at the very least.”
He’s talking about Terrance, at the club. Cutting off one of Will and his friend Kyle’s drug connections here on campus meant significantly reducing their income, and therefore, their ability to have enough money to do drastic things, like move away quickly or buy new and updated technology to hide their doings better.
Charlie looks confused for a moment, then his eyes widen.
“Ohhh, you mean Will Cavanaugh’s club guy! Yeah, we totally took care of that.”
“Here’s an idea,” I say stonily. “Maybe don’t announce names out loud for everyone to hear.”
“Everyone?” Charlie looks at the tired waitress wiping tables in the corner and the man behind the steel counter in the kitchen. “This place is dead.”
“Jack is right, Charlie,” Gregory says. “This is a small college town. Names have a way of getting around, especially if someone says them very loudly.”
Charlie clutches his fork and hisses, “Well, excuse me, boss. I told you I’m not good at this spy shit. I wanted a nice, easy job—the one I trained for—but you had to listen to new boy over here—”
“I didn’t take this job just because of him, Charlie. No one influences me more than I influence myself. You know me better than that,” Gregory says as he frowns, and Charlie glowers into his empty plate. “I took this job because it was a good opportunity for the both of you to learn a thing or two about what you really want out of this life. It’s not a long-term job; your muscles and training are only going to carry you so far as you age. The rest of the guys know that, but you two are too young to get it.”
“Boss—” Charlie starts, but Gregory holds up a hand, and he falls silent.
“This is where you’re supposed to be, in school, setting up better futures for yourselves. If you wanna stay with me and Vortex after this is over, I understand. But if you wanna leave, I understand that, too.”
He leans back in his chair, wipes his mouth with a napkin.
“So think of this job like a litmus test. Bodyguarding isn’t about just standing around and looking intimidating. You’re still on a payroll; you’re still getting hired to do what someone tells you, no matter how weird or off it might seem. Sometimes clients need different things to feel safe; information-gathering might be one of them. So you gotta do it. That’s the basis of it; you gotta do what someone else tells you to do, even if you don’t like that.”
“I’m fine with it,” Charlie protests.
“You’re only fine with it if it’s simple, straightforward,” Gregory corrects. “One different thing slipped in and you throw a fit.”
“I’ve been doing just fine with this shit,” Charlie fires back. “Ask Batman over here!”
Charlie looks to me defiantly, but beneath the fire I see the barest glimmer of hope in his eyes, pleading and small. He might not know it, but he’s all but begging me to confirm what he’s saying, so he’ll look good in front of Gregory. Who am I to deny that?
I nod. “He’s been passable. He knows how to ingratiate himself with people if he has to.”
Charlie’s face relaxes, almost grateful, and Gregory grins.
“I knew he would. I told you—you got a natural charisma, kiddo.”
Charlie goes red down to his spiky-haired roots and downs a glass of water quickly. He isn’t used to being praised, I can see that much. Gregory looks to me.
“How have you been doing, Jack?”
“I’m also fine,” I say.
“Yeah? This job isn’t too similar to your old one, is it?”
I suppress my flinch. “No, sir.”
“And yet you’ve been sleeping with that girl to get the dirt on our friends,” Gregory says quietly. “Why you? Why not Charlie?”
“Because she took a liking to him, boss,” Charlie says. Of course Gregory knows every detail of what we’ve been doing. Charlie and I have been telling him.
“Is that it?” Gregory asks.
Charlie shrugs. “And because he’s handsome, or whatever, I guess.”
“It’s true,” Gregory says, looking back to me. “You are. And I told you to use every tool at your disposal for your jobs. So you do. Almost too well.”
I narrow my eyes. “What does that mean?”
Gregory is quiet, staring back at me without blinking. Charlie looks between us, confused. Finally, Gregory calls for the check from the waitress, and Charlie boxes my leftovers into his container. Gregory and I watch him from outside the diner as he does it, methodically.
“His grandma is a lady of little means,” Gregory says. “He learned to save food real quick in his life.”
“He looks up to you,” I say. I begin to pull out a cigarette and light it when a girl with purple hair passes by, laughing with her friend. My memory goes straight to Isis, to the scars on her wrists, and I slowly put the cigarette away.
Gregory is oblivious, chuckling instead. “I know he does. That’s why I want him to think long and hard about being in this company. He’s a good kid. Gruff, but good. Reminds me of myself when I was young. He deserves better than the long hours and the lonely life, that’s all I know.”
“And me?” I ask softly. “What do you know about me?”
Gregory squints at me, rubbing his jaw. “I know you remind me of myself when I was young, too, just in a different way. In the beast way.”
I’m quiet. He scratches the back of his head absently.
“I know you’ve seen some shit growing up. I know you were sad, and I know you trained hard at the Ranch to get rid of that sadness. You tried to leave what you did behind there. They say the past repeats itself, and I believe it now.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Blanche. I told you, right? I knew her. I heard about you from her. I know what you did when she was your boss. The women, the money.” Gregory shakes his head. “And then you joined up with my company, and you go right back to doing the same thing—sex in exchange for something.”
“It’s a tool,” I say coldly. “Nothing more. You said that yourself.”
“No, I know. I said it back then, because I didn’t want to go easy on you. I wanted you to use your full potential to get what you wanted out of this. But is this—is this what you really want? It’s not good money, Jack. It’s not even decent money. And it’s hard work, injuries, and long hours—”
“Will Cavanaugh will pay for what he’s done,” I interrupt. “At any cost.”
“And then what?” Gregory grunts. “He pays for what he did, and then what? What happens to you, huh?”
I’m silent. I hadn’t thought beyond that. I didn’t want to. Making Will pay was my last wish, the only thing that kept me moving forward. If I lost that, if I accomplished that, there’d be nothing left for me.
“You’re a good kid, Jack, and you’re smart,” he presses. “But that isn’t why I recruited you. I saw you in that bar, saw that bloodlust I knew so well in my own eyes, and I felt damn guilty. I felt guilty someone else in this world had to feel as shitty and angry as I do. So I chased after you, after your secrets. And when that didn’t work, I drove down to Las Vegas and bribed a dozen people and found you because I was you. Twenty-five years ago, I was you, and it tore me up inside. I had to teach you. I had to show you what I’d learned from tearing myself apart before you did the same.”
I swallow hard. Gregory puts a hand on my shoulder.
“You’re not Charlie. He’s got a normal anger inside him, like everyone else. It doesn’t command him like it commands us.”
“You taught me,” I say. “You taught me how to control it.”
“I did my best,” Gregory says. “But it’s always gonna be hard. It’s not as simple as turning a light switch on and off—you have to work at it for your whole life. But you only work at it if you want to keep living, keep going. If Will Cavanaugh is the only thing keeping you going, then you aren’t gonna last long, Jack. No matter how strong you are or how well you took to my training. You need more than that. You need reasons. You need people.”
I look down at my hands. The world seems to spin a little when I think about all the things I’ve done with them; I hurt people, I loved them. I chased a man until he died. I couldn’t save Sophia. I abandoned my friends—what few I have left of them.
I abandoned Isis.
“I’ve made a lot of shitty choices.” My voice cracks.
Gregory squeezes my shoulder. “We all do. Life isn’t determined by the shitty choices you make—it’s what you do after them that matters.”
I’m quiet, Charlie’s voice cutting between us.
“Boss! Are you heading out?”
I watch Gregory put on a smile and turn to Charlie, answering all his exuberant questions. We part ways, Gregory heading north to Columbus to meet with some new clients. During the car ride home, Charlie seems mildly happier, his usual scowl gone, replaced by a faint smile.
“He’s a good man, isn’t he?” I ask. Charlie snaps out of it, frowning.
“Y-Yeah. I guess.”
“You like him a lot.”
Charlie’s frown deepens. “Whatever.”
His reluctance to talk about his feelings clearly reminds me of a certain someone, though he uses fewer jokes than said someone. I watch the trees speed by outside the window. He and I have lived together and worked together for nearly two months now.
You need people; Gregory’s words resound in my head.
“Gregory found me in a motel,” I say finally. “Bleeding and beaten. My shoulder was dislocated. I’d broken three knuckles and my nose.”
“Doing what?” Charlie grunts.
“Fighting,” I say. “Drinking and fighting and waiting for someone to kill me.”
Charlie shoots me a look, narrows his eyes. He watches the road for a moment, and then: “Gregory was the police officer who busted me.”
I quirk a brow. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He nods, then scoffs softly. “I had ten grams of coke on me from my old boss, and I was selling it to rich high school kids. There’s a ton of them in San Francisco; it’s easy money. My gang knew that and hustled it hard.”
“So Gregory was a cop in San Francisco?”
“For a while.” He nods. “Then he quit the force and started Vortex, and I went with him.”
“You’ve been with him for a long time.”
“Long enough. He’s an old coot. But he isn’t all that bad.”
His half insult is transparent—he says it with a little smile. I lean back in my seat.
“So what’s our next move?”
Charlie shrugs. “Brittany told you about Kyle and Will’s drug buyer, right? We got him. She told you about what sort of computer setup Will runs, too, right? And you tried to hack that.”
“Didn’t get very far,” I agree.
“Doesn’t matter—at least you tried. So what else did she tell you?”
“Will Cavanaugh is afraid of the dark,” I say.
“Brittany told you that?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Isis did.”
“She knows him?”
“Once upon a time.” My stomach dances uneasily.
“That’s great. Get Loudmouth to talk to Will, then. Maybe we can learn more.”
“No.”
“Why not? She’s—”
“He hurt her.” My voice sounds stony even to my own ears. “She doesn’t talk to him if she can help it.”
“Bastard,” Charlie mutters under his breath. “Guys who hit girls are the fuckin’ bottom of the scum barrel.”
I don’t correct him, but I feel a tendril of affection for him. He takes a right turn, then flashes me a look.
“We gotta get some hard evidence. On either one of them.”
“We went to the pool party at Kyle’s apartment complex,” I say. “And I asked Brittany which one he lived in, but she didn’t know. Apparently he’s moved since they were together. But Will lives on campus, so he could be easier.”
“And now we know he’s afraid of the dark. Just stick his computer in a dark room, and we got ’im.”
“It’s not that easy.” I frown. Charlie gives a rare laugh.
“It’s never easy. But that ain’t never stopped me before.” When I don’t say anything, he sighs. “You shoulda told me earlier Isis knows Will.”
“Why?”
“Because then I wouldn’ta scared her off so quick. Any info we can get is useful. Shit, she seems like she’s got a better brain in her head than Brittany, anyway. She could be way more useful.”
“This is her abuser we’re talking about,” I snap. “I’m not going to put her in that position.”
“You ever ask her if she wants to get back at him?” he asks lightly. I’m quiet again, and he scoffs. “Can’t just jump right to protecting people, dumbass. You gotta let them make their own decisions, too.”
“But if she does, she’ll—”
“Get hurt?” he asks. “More hurt than what he’s already done? I don’t think so. She’s got you this time around. You tell me you like this girl, and then you don’t ask her if she wants to get even with him? Talk about being a hypocrite.”
“You don’t know anything,” I snarl.
“Yeah, I don’t,” he agrees. “And neither does she. Because of you.”
I glower at the distant trees. Charlie Moriyama is a lot of things—crude, brash, hot-tempered—but he’s not an idiot.
And for once, he may be right. My heart whispers with hope; I could invite Isis to help us. She could agree. We could work together, and for a brief moment, I could be beside her. It’s a tiny seed, but it blossoms over the night into a full tree, a copse, and finally a sprawling forest. We could be together again, and even if it were nothing more than being in each other’s presence, silently, it would be enough. It would be enough to see her face, the lines around her eyes, the furrow of her brow, the smile I still see in my dreams sometimes. It would be enough to hear her voice, her jokes, her laughter. It would be enough.
I stare up at the ceiling from my bed and swear to myself that it will be enough.
But it isn’t enough.
I throw on a jacket and grab my keys. The drive is short, and the autumn cold threatens to chill my fervor. But I won’t let it. Isis deserves better. She has always deserved better.
I ring the doorbell and wait. Brittany opens it, wearing pajamas and a bewildered expression.
“Jack? What are you—”
“It’s over,” I say. Her face dims.
“What?”
“You and me,” I insist. “We’re over.”
I turn before she can argue, but she grabs my arm and pulls me back with a vise grip. I expect her to be tearing up or angry, but her face is only sad.
“At least tell me why.”
A piece of my heart tears again, the one that promised never to hurt other people wittingly again.
“I made a mistake,” I say. “And I’m sorry.”
She thinks on it, then releases my arm and nods.
“Yeah. Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” She half laughs. “At least you came in person. No one else has come in person to tell me that before. It’s been texts or emails. So thanks.”
She shuts the door in my face, and she has every right to. Something on my shoulders lifts, and my head feels lighter, clearer.
There’s pain, in me and because of me, but I can do better.
I have more to give than just pain.