Chapter Seven
Vince
Carly and I do not revisit the kidnapping conversation. She didn’t head for Chicago. She went to the grocery store, came back to my apartment and made me dinner. Despite my caution, it shoots down several of my guards. She’s too goddamn nice. I haven’t known someone this irrationally tolerant since… well, Mia.
Since Mia.
But Carly’s different. I feel like she actually likes me. I guess I felt like Mia liked me once, but not recently. The feeling I was trying so hard to relocate and cage was this. The way Carly looks at me, even though I’m being a huge pain in her ass and I don’t deserve any kind of fondness. Already this girl knows more about the darker side of me than any girl I’ve slept with in years, and I haven’t so much as kissed her.
Tonight we’re at Carly’s apartment watching more of this dumb Superman show she likes. She’s cuddled up against me, stealing popcorn out of the bowl in my lap.
“Remember when you said you didn’t want any?” I ask, grabbing a fistful of buttery goodness.
Carly nods, her eyes still trained on the television. “I should probably tell you, in case we ever go to the movies together, I always say I don’t want any, but it is never true.”
“So I should upsize the popcorn?”
She nods, her messy bun bobbing. “And order yourself an extra Diet Coke.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to order what you want?”
She shrugs, grabbing another handful of popcorn. “What fun is easy? Much more fun to silently desire something and wallow in disappointment when the guy who brought you doesn’t read your mind.”
I chuckle. “You must be a blast to date.”
Poking me in the arm, she says, “I just gave you a cheat sheet. Now you know when I say no, sometimes it means yes.” As if she knows things she shouldn’t, she gives me a little wink before grabbing more popcorn.
“You might be the death of me,” I inform her.
“Nah,” she says, dismissively. “I’m your saving grace.”
“So, what happens if I order you popcorn and you really don’t want popcorn? Then are you pissed off all night?”
“Then I eat the popcorn. It’s popcorn; what am I, an asshole? Who doesn’t like popcorn? If I have to run a couple extra miles the next day, it’s worth it. Movie theater popcorn is delicious. I never get mad at my man for taking care of me. Not that you’re my man—don’t freak out, it’s just a general statement.”
I roll my eyes, grabbing a few pieces of popcorn. “I understand. You don’t have to tiptoe around my commitment issues.”
She gives me a side-eye, clearly not trusting that statement, but she turns her attention back to the movie and lets the topic drop.
“What was the last guy you dated like?” I ask, since I’m still curious about her. She still doesn’t make a whole lot of sense in a lot of ways. I like her responses, but they’re fucking weird. She seems smarter than Mia, but the same misfires seem to happen in her brain. It doesn’t feel the same, but it still feels nice. Mia fell into her feelings. Carly’s seem more focused, more intentional. I can’t decide if that’s more comforting, since she’s actually choosing it and not just following her heart around, or more suspicious, since why the hell would anyone choose to be like that?
She doesn’t seem excessively comfortable with my question. Funny, since she’s asked me about Mia so you’d think she’d be open to the same question back.
“I’m not entirely sure how to… The last guy I was entangled with, I wouldn’t say I was dating, but if you’re using the term loosely...” She pauses, as if debating. “He was older, mid-to-late thirties. Not a great guy in the general sense, but I liked him. He was kind of exciting, I guess. He got hung up on me; I got hung up on him. It was fun until it spun out of control. Then it was a disaster.”
“How’d it spin out of control?”
Carly grimaces. “I don’t want to say. You’ll judge me.”
I give her sort of a “come on” look before reminding her, “I told you I kidnapped someone.”
“Trust me, you’ll judge me. I’d rather not talk about it. He doesn’t matter. He was a mistake. I was young and stupid. He turned my head with things I couldn’t touch without him. I should’ve never involved myself with him. He’s not indicative of my type, if that’s what you’re after. I don’t even really have a type.”
“Everyone has a type.”
“I don’t,” she insists. “I’ve been with a variety of types. There’s something positive and something negative about every last one. It’s just a matter of what you focus on. Me, I focus on the good stuff and deal with the bad.” Probably because I’m so insistent about the type thing, she adds, “Why, what’s your type?”
“Irrationally accepting and hopelessly optimistic.”
Flashing me a grin, she holds out a hand. I don’t move to shake it, so she reaches for my hand and shakes it anyway. “Hi, I’m Irrationally Accepting and Hopelessly Optimistic, glad to make your acquaintance.”
I shake my head at her. “You’re a nerd.”
“Whatever, you like it,” she states, reaching for another handful of popcorn.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” I return, leaning in to nudge her a little.
She flashes me a smile, then bites down on her bottom lip and lowers her lashes demurely. Damn, that draws my attention to her mouth. Her lips are the stuff wet dreams are made of. There’s no chance any man with a pulse has ever looked at this girl and not promptly thought of blow jobs.
I guess I shouldn’t have looked at her lips for so long because she seems to get the wrong idea. Leaning away from me, she peels off the striped shirt she’s wearing.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching her. Now she’s wearing a pair of thin leggings and an equally thin purple top. It’s little more than a bra, though it covers a little more of her torso. Still, she’s got a lot showing.
“It’s hot in here,” she explains, fluffing her hair. “Did I fuck up my bun?”
“Isn’t it supposed to be fucked up?”
“Well, sure, but adorably fucked up.”
I point at her. “That’s my type. Adorably fucked up.”
She rolls her eyes, smiling indulgently. “Boy, are you in luck.” She gives up on the bun and leans back into my side. Now I’m more thoroughly distracted though, with so much of her bare. Her toned abdomen is just right there, fully visible. The shirt is so thin, I can see her nipples. Why does she do shit like this and make it so hard not to fuck her?
“Do you have a lot of male friends?” I ask her.
“Nope.” She grabs more popcorn, eyes trained on the television.
“You don’t have a bunch of assholes back in Chicago, waiting around for you to come home?”
“You asked if I had male friends. I don’t. I didn’t say there were no men in Chicago who grew attached. I had this one admirer who sent me Victoria’s Secret gift cards once a month. On our anniversary, he said. Only we never dated. He was a customer I had a few times that I dropped because he was creepy. Still sent gift cards to my work every month until I left. Maybe he still sends them now,” she says, smiling. “Who knows?”
“He just sent you gift cards? Made no attempt to see the purchases?”
“Nope. Consequently, I have a lot of panties. Like, an embarrassing surplus of panties. I don’t even wear panties half the time, but at least I have them.”
“Are you wearing panties now?”
She smirks at me and grabs more popcorn, slowly shaking her head.
“That’s mean,” I inform her.
“It’s not mean,” she disagrees. “You’re the one who refuses to let things get physical.”
“I told you, I don’t want a relationship.”
“And I told you, I don’t either,” she shoots back.
“Yeah, but I don’t believe you,” I state, honestly.
Grinning, Carly states, “Well, I don’t believe you either.”
“I don’t fuck my neighbors,” I inform her. “It’s a rule. Too messy. When you have to live near people, it’s not a good idea to fuck them.”
Pointedly running a hand down her chest, then her abdomen, and down her hip, she asks, “What about copping a feel? That’s not against the rules, right?”
“Tease,” I toss back, turning my attention to the television and ignoring her bare belly, full tits, and blow job lips. If I avoid looking at her, I’ll be fine.
Since she’s so close, I feel her shrug even though I’m not looking at her. “I’ve been called worse.”
“What does Laurel think about all this?”
Laughing a little, apparently caught off guard, she asks, “What? About you?”
Even though it’s a disaster waiting to happen, I glance at her. “Yeah. I figure you’ve mentioned me.”
“Many times. She thinks you sound hot. I sent her a picture of you with the turkey basket, but she was not impressed with your attitude.” Gasping, as if just thinking of a brilliant idea, she leans over and plants her boobs directly in my face as she reaches for her phone on the end table. “Let’s take a picture to send her. You’re full of popcorn and cuddles—surely I can get a more pleasant facial expression today.”
“I don’t like having my picture taken.”
“That’s weird,” she states, touching her screen a few times. Then she leans even closer, drapes my arm around her shoulder, and holds her phone out in front of her, “Say, Smallville!”
I do not say anything, but I do give her more of a smile this time.
Leaning into the half-assed embrace she posed us in, she touches the screen and pulls up the picture. “Aw, that’s a cute one. We look adorable.” She holds it up to show me, in case I need proof. “Look how freaking adorable you are. I can’t handle it. Laurel’s gonna flip out.”
I watch her open up a message chain and send it, then she opens up an app and starts to post it there.
“Nope, don’t do that,” I tell her, grabbing her phone. Just in case she thinks she’s being cute, I discard the post myself and hand the phone back to her.
“Are you my dirty little secret?” she jokes, setting the phone beside her on the couch.
“I’m serious; don’t put pictures of me online. Remember the cousin who wants to kill me? I’d prefer he doesn’t kill you, too.”
“Are you sure he wants to kill you?” she asks. “Like, did he specifically say that, or are you just assuming?”
“I am positive he wants to kill me.”
“Maybe he just wants you to stay out of Chicago. Isn’t that the point of an exile? Had he wanted you dead, I have to imagine he could have simply killed you.”
“It’s complicated. Mia didn’t want me dead, so he didn’t kill me. He pretended to. But she couldn’t handle it, so he had to tell her. But that was a long time ago, before the whole kidnapping incident. I wasn’t very nice to her during that ordeal and now he definitely wants me dead. That’s actually one of the reasons I don’t like hanging out at my apartment in the evenings. I assume one of these nights I’m not gonna wake up. At least if I’m alone, no one else goes down with me.”
There’s no humor on her face when I deliver that little nugget. She looks casually pensive, like she doesn’t agree with me, but doesn’t know how to argue it. “That’s no way to live, Vince,” she finally says.
I shrug. “I made my own bed.”
The lightness of the moment dies the kind of death I hope to get—quick and relatively painless. For all her optimism, Carly seems to be mulling over what I’ve said. I don’t want to think about it, so I just try to focus on the damn show. At least the soberness of reminding us both I’ll be dead soon cools my interest in all the goodies Carly’s serving up on a silver platter over here.
I haven’t gone home with anyone else since Carly started coming around. Some bastard part of me thinks maybe I should, just to push her away. I get much more out of hanging out with Carly at her apartment than I do any of those hook-ups though, so ultimately I can’t bring myself to pull the trigger. It would be the best thing I could do for her. She clearly likes me or she wouldn’t be tolerating my shit, and regardless of her claims that she’s not looking for a relationship either, I know she’s only saying that because I am. If I changed my mind all of a sudden and told her we should try it, she would be game.
I’ve even considered telling her that just to test out the truth of her statement, but frankly the idea of testing someone who likes me reminds me way too much of Mateo, so I can’t bring myself to do that either.
Basically, I’m stuck.
The fact remains, though, if Mateo does find me, being close to Carly puts her in danger. When they do find me, since I’m not on the run, they probably won’t act immediately. They’ll stay a couple of days to get a feel for my routine first, make sure there are no loose ends they don’t know about. Carly constantly being around is going to make her look like my girlfriend. I haven’t made friends here—didn’t see the point this time—so Carly is the only loose end, the only person who might have something to say if I went missing. If they think she is my girlfriend, they won’t know what I’ve told her. I assumed Mateo put cameras at the first apartment he moved me into, but he doesn’t have any way of monitoring me here. If they think there’s even a remote chance I’ve told Carly about my family, and Carly might talk if I turn up dead or missing, they’ll kill her too, just to keep things simple.
While I’m over here convincing myself to push her away for her own good, Carly’s brain apparently took a different path. “Do you ever think about going back to Chicago?” she asks me.
I glance her way. “I’m exiled, remember?”
“I know.” Her tone is calm, her gaze steady. “But you went back before, right? Do you ever think about going back again?”
The nice thing to say would be no. So I say, “Yes.”
She swallows. The light in her eyes dims. I feel immensely guilty, but I remain silent. “For Mia?”
“Not just for Mia. For him. I’d love nothing more than to kill him for all he’s done. He hurts everybody who loves him. He gives no love back—he’s not capable of it. He’s a fucking monster. But he’s a hell of an actor so he’s able to hide it, to make people forget. Mia’s a nice fucking person, she’s loving and forgiving and… she just got taken in by him. She believed his lies and it completely warped her mind. He’s literally brainwashed her,” I state, looking at Carly to see if she thinks I’m crazy.
Surprisingly understanding, she nods. “That must have been hard to watch.”
“It was. It was fucking terrible. She’s just easily led and she got swept up by this evil fucking person. It’s like she needs to be saved, you know?”
Carly nods, processing my words. “Here’s my question. And please don’t take this as me not being on your side here, because I am. I don’t even know these people or care to, I’m just trying to look at this my way. I believe everything happens for a reason. I believe in fate. I believe that every experience we have, good or bad, can serve a purpose in our life. So, my question is, regardless of how evil he is, regardless of whatever lingering feelings you have for this girl, or the circumstances of their union… does she want to be saved?”
“Well, no. But that’s because he controls her mind.”
She nods, not agreeing, just accepting my claim. Which, I realize, without knowing Mateo, sounds fucking crazy. “So, what I am hearing is that you feel responsible for Mia. You feel like you need to save her from this man—I’m assuming you’re how she met him?”
I feel heavier just thinking about it. I nod. “I led him right to her doorstep. Literally.”
“Okay. Stay with me here, because you may not like what I’m about to suggest. And I may not be right,” she offers, shrugging and absently adjusting the strap of her bra-shirt-thing. “But what if you just considered things through a different mental framework? Maybe instead of feeling responsible for bringing her into some tragic situation, you should consider a different possibility. Personally, I think people come into our lives for a reason. Sometimes people are only meant to be in our lives for a brief time, they’re only there to either transport us from one place to the next, or for us to do that for them. Some relationships, no matter how real they felt at one time, are only meant to be vehicles.”
“Vehicles,” I repeat, raising my eyebrows.
She gives me a cute smile. “Like I said, stay with me while I try to explain. What if the whole reason you met Mia was to bring her to Mateo?” She pauses, watching me like I might explode. Then, when I don’t, she continues. “And what if you were never supposed to keep Mia? Maybe you held on past the point of your relationship’s natural expiration and it turned toxic. Not that it’s your fault,” she adds, quickly. “Your feelings were totally valid and real. But what if Mia was just a vehicle for you? Maybe it was her job to get you away from an environment that sounds like it was toxic for you. What if the only reason you and Mia were ever in each other’s lives was so everything that has happened could happen?”
My instinct is to reject every word she’s saying. I’m not of the belief that every fucked up thing that happens in life is for a reason—sometimes shit just happens.
Carly continues, “And while I think your hatred for this man is probably completely justified, if the fixation on him hurts you… maybe it’s healthier to let it go and move on. Make a happy life for yourself and don’t worry about the people who only hurt you. Make a life with people who let you be happy.”
I can’t help smiling a little wryly at that last part. “You wouldn’t happen to have anyone in mind, would you?”
Carly rolls her eyes at me, shoving me in the arm. “I’m not talking about me. This has nothing to do with me. I’ve noticed you don’t seem to have friends or any kind of roots here. Does that make you happy? Is that how you want to spend the rest of your life?”
“You keep saying that like I’ve got much of it left. You don’t get it, Carly. I understand why you don’t get it, you’re not from my world, but trust me—I am living on borrowed time here. I don’t get to start over now. He already gave me a chance to do that and I blew it.”
“Okay, then why hasn’t he found you?” she shoots back. “This guy runs Chicago, right? He’s an evil genius who can practice mind control and exile people from a city like he actually fucking owns it, right? So how is it a man this powerful can’t find you? You live out in the open, you’re using your real name, you have a lease and a job. You aren’t hiding. So, if this man wants you dead, why are you sitting on my couch, eating my popcorn?”
That’s the part I can’t figure out. That’s the exact question I keep coming back to, over and over again. We’re creeping up on Christmas here. We’re creeping up on nine goddamn months since I took Mia and he still hasn’t found me? It doesn’t make sense.
Her tone shifts, becomes lighter again, and she leans back into my side, grabbing a handful of popcorn like she hasn’t just been playing counselor. “Tell me something. If you didn’t have a death sentence hanging over your head and you did have a second chance to start a new life away from your crazy family, what would you want to do with it? What do you want your life to look like?”
My lips curve up faintly. “Are we baring our souls now? Have we reached that point in our non-relationship?”
“Yep,” she says confidently. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”
I slide her a look at that comment, but she only smiles and winks in response. “I don’t know,” I tell her, honestly. “I haven’t really thought too much about it. Wasn’t a realistic possibility.”
“Let’s say it is. I’m a secret fairy godmother, I can grant you a pardon from your cousin’s retribution and you can build a new life. Paint me a picture. Do you live in this apartment? Do you buy a house? Do you get a dog?”
“Mia hated dogs,” I remark.
Her nose wrinkles up. “Who hates dogs? Is she a serial killer?”
I can’t help smiling. “They shed all over the place. Plus, she has a thing for expensive shoes and dogs tend to chew things.”
Her bun bobs as she nods her head, “Okay, so first order of business is we’re getting you a dog. Big dog? Mid-size? I can see you with a lab or a German Sheppard. You should name him Bandit or Rebel.”
“I like Bandit,” I admit.
“Okay, we’re getting you a puppy named Bandit. He probably needs a backyard, huh? Are you a condo guy or a house guy?”
“Probably a house guy. More room to have people over for cook-outs. I’m sure Bandit likes cook-outs. Steals hamburgers off the table.”
Carly grins. “That sounds like Bandit. He’s such a rascal. What about your job, do you like your job?”
“I do, but I hate working for other people. I’d rather own it myself.”
She nods her approval. “Open your own bar. What’s it called?”
“Wild Aces.”
“I love that,” she tells me. “See, this is shaping up to be a nice life. Assuming you get over your allergy to relationships, maybe you’ll even meet yourself a nice lady, one who likes dogs and handsome bar owners. Do you want any kids?”
“Maybe. You?”
“One or two,” she verifies, nodding. “If I have to stay in Connecticut, I’d also like to move Laurel here. Don’t know if she’d want to move before she graduated though, she would have to transfer. My grandparents are dead so Laurel’s the only family I have left. I think it would be nice to build my own little family here.”
I’ve literally never even considered the picture Carly is painting for me. I mean, I have—but only if it included Mia. This is exactly what I thought I could have with Mia, a normal life, away from Mateo. I’ve never even entertained the possibility of having it with anyone else, though. No one else made me feel the way Mia did.
Carly kinda does.
Carly’s kinda awesome.