Page 105 of Daring You

I slump against my seat. Just because it’s the best decision, doesn’t mean me and mine are safe.

Aiden stands and throws a few bills on the table.

“Think on it for a while,” he says, laying a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve been keeping my ear on this case, and it seems like these guys might take a plea. Then, it’ll be over.”

“It’s never over,” I mumble, but I don’t think he hears, because he walks away.

Aiden is not my friend. He’s been a strong advocate of mine, a fierce protector over the years, but in the end, he’s a professional U.S. Marshal who has to keep the little boy he saved at an emotionless arm’s length. I understand all that, but more than anything, I wish there was someone else I could talk to, be so completely open and honest with, and get their warmth as well as opinion.

Astor’s form takes ghostly shape across the table, her naturally wide, blue eyes pinned against mine as I talk it out in my head, unleash all my worries, my fears, and ask her if I’m making the right moves.

Astor’d give it to me straight. Just like she did last night when she listened. If I had her here now, I’d stand up, lift her with me, and kiss her ghost breathless.

The betrayal from this morning, however, makes her imaginary lips taste like snake venom.

I curl my upper lip and signal for a beer.

Part of me doesn’t believe Astor would email her discovery to her peers, but most of me does. Astor’s hard to read, but when it comes to the source of the wounds behind her scar tissue, she’ll avenge them at any cost.

As far as she’s concerned, I openly betrayed her years ago and never paid penance for it. Then she lost her mother, a tragedy so out of her control she raged at the world in general. Her father ignores her, despite her financial independence. Her brother’s found happiness, despite living like a pauper.

In Astor’s universe, nothing seems fair. Anybody else would look at her and think she’s a bitter, lonely woman out for scorn and revenge, preferably both at the same time.

“Until this morning, I saw through all that,” I say to no one. I tap the fingers of my throwing hand on the wood varnish, an anxious twitch I’m trying to get rid of.

The server sets down my draught beer, and as the golden liquid swishes against the frosted glass, foam settling along the edges, the pint blurs into two, my tapping finger becomes four, and the wood varnish morphs into the pale, cheap bamboo table of my childhood—

Apple juice.

“Finish your sippy cup, love,” Mom says as she rounds my chair. “Your last snack before bedtime.”

“But I don’t wanna.”

“Well, ya hafta.” She lays a wet kiss on my cheek, squeezing my shoulders until it tickles and she gets a giggle out of me.

“Then I get a story,” I say through my laughter.

“Of course. One story.”

“Two.”

“No bargaining tonight, son,” my dad cuts in. He shuts off the TV In the den and comes over. “Daddy’s got an important meeting tonight. No kids allowed.”

“But I’m a great kid,” I say.

“That you are.” He tousles my hair as he passes, goes to the fridge, and bends into it to find a beer. His muffled voice continues, “But it’s boring big boy talk. Actually…”

Dad straightens and shuts the fridge, brown bottle in hand.

“Rose, that might be just the thing to get him to sleep. Have him stay up and listen to all the crap these guys have to say. Ry’ll be asleep in seconds.”

“Don’t say crap,” Mom admonishes him.

“CRAP!” I scream.

I get a gentle thwack across the side of the head for that one.

“He’s having enough nightmares already,” Mom says above my head, as if I can’t hear. “Having strange men come around and sit in this living room, talking about things he can’t understand…Lord knows what kind of night terrors that’ll bring him.”

---