Page 15 of Shadow Dance

Jaime

Dropping down from the pull-up bar hanging on the bathroom door, I hit the floor and knock out my last sets of push-ups and crunches. Unless I’m too sick to move, I do three sets of twenty reps of each exercise every morning.

By eight a.m. I’m lounging on the couch, sipping coffee as I watch sunlight glint off the swimming pool outside. Decades of early mornings have conditioned my body and now I can’t sleep in even if I want to. I could’ve used the extra sleep today, though. Bouncing back from parties and late nights is a little harder than it was in my early twenties.

We just came off a month-long, multi-city bender, starting in LA and ending in the Cayman Islands. Fucking Callum, man, with his big ambitions and endless energy thanks to the shit he shoves up his nose. He’s expanding, connecting with new clientele through established dealers in far-flung locations. He wants to be the supplier for the suppliers.

Like I said, big ambitions. Wolf wasn’t lying when he said Cal wanted to be Scarface.

“When people want to feel good, I want them to think of me,” he said once. “It’s marketing 101. What’s the point of having the best shit if no one knows I have it?”

I get it, go big or go home. But the drug game depends on discretionand laying low. Once you get to a certain level, having too many people in your orbit becomes a liability. Looks like Cedro was right to be concerned. I can’t prove that profits have been withheld from him and Dario De Leon just yet, but Callum is definitely making decisions on his own and not always in ways that benefit the family business.

But what do I know? I’m just his girlfriend’s bodyguard, a grunt in his little army.

Yawning, I set my empty coffee cup on the table. Current exhaustion aside, it’s good that Maeve and I got dragged along on Cal’s multi-city tour. I got a lot of insight into his plans and how he does business. Usually, he leaves us home when he goes out of town, but I suspect he’s afraid Maeve will leave if he’s gone for too long. She’s obviously not happy here, and while I do my part to keep her in check, if she really wanted to go, she probably could.

I don’t know why she stays. Callum’s dismissive and a little rough, but beyond the coke, I don’t think he’s hurting her. I looked into her background before starting this job, so I know about her family back in Boston. The Kellys are a wealthy, established crime family not unlike the Oliveras. I don’t know what kind of relationship Maeve has with them, though, why she’s here and not there. She might be estranged from them, or maybe they’re assholes and they don’t care what she’s up to. Fathers and brothers should take care of their daughters and sisters, but I’ve seen plenty of men who treat the women in their life like they’re dispensable.

But I don’t get why Callum insists on her staying, either. He cheats on her left and right. I get that they’ve been together for a ridiculously long time, but the point comes where you need to cut your losses. They’re like a way more melodramatic version of Wolf and Analisse. Fucking or fighting, nothing in between.

I close my eyes, thinking about Maeve’s late-night visit. She caught me off guard when she showed up like that, all nervous and sad, looking ashamed of herself as she tried to come down. Maybe she trusts me more than I realized. What she said about Callum and their relationship wasn’t surprising, but the fact that she shared it with me was.

It was thereliefI felt when she said she was done with coke that really took me for a loop. I shouldn’t care what she does with her body, but for some reason, I do. Something about that girl tugs at the protectivepart of me which is ridiculous because I’m notactuallyher bodyguard. This is a job within a job. I’m here only for as long as Cedro needs me to surveil Cal’s crew.

We’ve maintained a polite distance over the past few months, but it’s been hard watching someone like Maeve treat herself like shit. She’s a beautiful girl, with her bright green eyes and long, curly, black hair. I can’t deny that I’m attracted to her.

She’s so graceful, too. Even with an ankle that took forever to heal, she was graceful.

That’s the other thing: she’s an actualballerina, but she’s not dancing and that makes her lowkey depressed. I get that her injury derailed her, but eventually she has to move past stuff like that. And not by getting high all the time—drugs are shit coping mechanisms.

Watching her try not to fall apart last night when we smoked was hard. She reminded me a little of my mother, who was an addict for most of my childhood. She got sober when I started high school, and it was like getting to know her all over again. If Maeve stays away from the hard stuff, I might get to know who she is beneath the sullen exterior she’s been sporting like armor.

But it goes both ways. Maeve being clean means she’ll probably see me more clearly, too. If what I saw last night is a hint of who she really is, then she’s a lot sharper and more observant than I realized. I’ll have to be careful around her. Things can get tricky when you spend the majority of your time in close physical proximity to someone.

My phone vibrates from beside me on the couch. It’s a text from Maeve.

I need to be somewhere by 11.

I’ll be ready

Standing up,I stretch my arms over my head and bring my coffee cup to the sink. I’m kind of hoping I don’t like the real Maeve. Because if I do, this is going to get even more complicated than it already is.

“Mind if I sit up front?”Maeve asks as we approach my car. Her hair is pulled back into a sleek, low bun and she’s wearing leggings with a cropped, pale pink sweater. She looks like a real ballerina today.

And she seems to be getting better. She still keeps her ankle wrapped in a special brace with a Velcro strap, but she doesn’t limp like she did when we first met.

“Sure,” I say, wondering what changed. Maeve’s always ridden in the back. I just assumed that’s how she did it with past drivers and bodyguards.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, flashing me a shy smile when I open the door for her.

“No problem.” Once she’s tucked her feet in, I shut the door and cross to my side. “Where we heading?”

“Um, Downtown Berkeley. I’ll give you the address.” Chewing her lip, she consults her phone before reading it off.

I program it into my phone as we pull out of the driveway. We pause at the gate just long enough for it to let us through, and then we’re off.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, still thinking about last night. She’d seemed calmer by the time I walked her back to the house, but I doubt she slept well.

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