Page 72 of Shadow Dance

“Right, yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah. Um, you want any more of this soup? I think I’m gonna have some.” He rambles on and on, the way he does when he’s anxious. Being a little king means he rarely ever shows regret, but I guess not even Callum is immune to something like this. Not yet anyway. It’s been easy for him to overlook my gradual retreat, the one that’s been stretching over months, but it’s impossible to ignore my face and the pain he knows he caused. He’s trying, though, as if by talking nonstop he can distract himself and maybe me.

Eventually I drag my gaze up to him. He flits around the kitchen, grabbing spoons and napkins and looking around like he doesn't know what the hell he’s doing. Of course: he’s high.

“I'm fine, Callum.”

He looks at me, nodding quickly. “Okay.”

He’s silent for a minute, and I think he’s going to leave, but then he comes over to me and touches my arm. It takes everything in me not to shrink away.

“Maeve, I love you more than life. Shit’s been ill lately, and I know it’s probably my fault, but I want you to know I’m sorry. I feel rotten about last night. I know how bad I messed up. I know it.”

I can’t speak past the lump in my throat, so I just nod, staring at his shirt.

“Please don’t leave me,” he says, gently taking my hand. He pulls the engagement ring from his pocket, holding it between us. I left it on the dresser earlier, not wanting a physical reminder of last night or what a clusterfuck my life has become. “Please.”

I have nothing to say to that, so I don’t say anything at all as he slides the ring back onto my limp finger.

“Baby, please look at me.” I do. His face is deeply earnest, like he really believes what he’s saying right now. His eyes are watery, but that’s the coke as much as it is his remorse. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“Fine.”

Taking a deep breath, he exhales slowly, rubbing his hand over his head. “You sure?”

“Give me time, Callum. And give me a little space, okay? You really hurt me this time.”

“I know.” A tear runs down his cheek as he stares at me. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Not just here," I interrupt, pointing to my face, “but here.” I touch my chest, my heart. “So just give me time.”

“Okay,” he whispers hoarsely, fingering the smaller ring I’ve worn for most of our relationship. The one he gave me when we were kids. “We said forever, right?”

Slowly, he wraps himself around me, and I allow it, letting myself continue the lie. He sniffles and rubs my back, promising and whispering until it’s just a hushed, distorted warble that I hardly even hear.

In the corner of the kitchen, nestled high above the cabinets, sits a small camera. I stare into its red, glowing eye, watching it as it watches me.

Late Sunday morning,I watch Callum trudge around as he gets ready to drive back to San Anselmo with Griff, who flew in late last night. He seems reluctant to go, despite the fact he’s been looking forward to this meeting for a while. Each year, the heads of several local families get together to discuss what’s going on in their criminal network. Problems are discussed, plans are made.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” he asks.

“No, thanks,” I say, taking a sip of coffee. “I think I’m going to go to Mass. It’s been a while.”

I used to go to Mass pretty regularly when I first moved to Oakland. It brought me a measure of peace, reminding me of home. Callum never went with me, despite being raised Catholic. He finds my faith naïve.

“Sounds good. Mac’s coming back later,” he says, pushing his hair from his face. “Don’t be surprised if he shows up before I do.”

He hasn’t been gone ten minutes when my phone rings with a FaceTime call. I pull my phone toward me to see who it is, alarmed whenLucky’s name comes up. Not wanting him to see me like this, I let it ring until it finally stops. A message comes through a second later.

Where you at?

Panicking, I put my phone face down as if that’ll stop further attempts at contact. If I reply, he might try again. And why is he FaceTiming me, anyway? Why can’t he just call? When Bria tries next, I ignore her and go to the bathroom to look at my face. The swelling has gone down, but the area around my eye is still mottled with a grotesque greenish yellow. Biting my lip, I pull out my makeup. Bria might let me put her off, but there’s only so long I can avoid Lucky.

When I’m satisfied that I look somewhat normal, I pull the shades in the living room, darkening it a little, and text back.

Hey, what’s up?

Everything ok?

Sure enough, another FaceTime rings through right away. Taking a deep breath, I answer it. The call connects, and Lucky, Bria, and Liam all pop up on my screen, their faces squished together. “Hiiii!” they all say, talking over one another.

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