Page 36 of Grind
But right now it’s time to lounge in bed for a while. It’s not like I have a job to go to anyway. I need to start looking, but I’m waiting until the ugly purple bruises on my neck fade. There’s only so much a girl can do with scarves.
My mind goes back to Connor. Not to the fight, but to the night in the park when he held me and we danced beneath the stars. In all the mafia discussions, have I’ve lost sight of the man I started to get to know?
Picking up my phone, I open a blank text message.
“I want to be with you too,” I write in the body.
I tap the “to” bar, and pull up Connor’s name, and stare at the message for a few minutes before deleting it.
I miss how safe I felt with his strong arms wrapped around me. I miss his smile and those dimples. I miss how he felt thrusting in and out of me, the sweaty heat of his body pressing against mine. Pressing my legs together, I moan.
Slowly I slide my hand down my body and close my eyes, imagining it’s him caressing me. I imagine him kissing my breasts as I slip my fingers under the band of my panties and groan out his name, remembering how good his mouth felt on my pussy.
And then I remember the look on his face when I told him to go, and it’s like someone throws a cold bucket of water on me. Pulling my hand away, I curl into a ball. My brain runs through the same arguments over and over again.
He’s involved with organized crime. Stories about the dealings of the Doyle family have been Boston legend for decades. Rumor has it that they started their illicit dealings back during Prohibition, bootlegging liquor like dozens of other families, but they had staying power. Only Murphy Doyle has ever been arrested, and based on the case filings I’d read, it seems like he’d been sold out by a rival family, the Carneys.
After that it seems like all of the family’s dealings had been above board, but who knows what was happening beneath the surface. They’re at least handling some things the way Connor handled that Stacy goon.
It’s all confusing. But for the first time, I’m ready to acknowledge that my desire for this man might be stronger than my attachment to the idea that everything is black and white. Maybe I’m finally ready to admit that I’ve seen that justice isn’t linear; just as my experience in trying to get any justice for what Brooks did to me surely proved that to me.
And maybe, just maybe, I can accept the shades of gray and still pursue my dreams.
My throat constricts. Can I live with the ambiguity of what he does for a living? Or can I at least try living with the possibility that the good Connor brings into my life matters more?
It’s time to move beyond the fear and panic I’ve lived in with Brooks. Time to trust not just in Connor but in myself again. To open up and get to know myself again—and maybe really get to know Connor more deeply than I’ve had the chance to.
The men in my life before Connor had projected a squeaky clean veneer that covered real, terrible darkness. Connor never pretended to be anything he wasn’t, and asked for my consent every step of the way.
A sense of peace washes over me, and I drift back to sleep for a while, waking up just in time to get ready for the guest lecture happening at my afternoon class. Business case law. Not very exciting. But the purpose of going to class gets me out of bed and on my way. Focus on what I can control.
In an hour, I’ve made it to campus and I sit at the back of the lecture hall. Normally I’m a down-in-front kind of overachiever, but until my neck heals I’ll fly under the radar.
“May I sit here?”
My heart stutters at the sound of a familiar voice, and then I realize that something’s slightly different. The tone, the cadence, the timbre. For a minute I think it’s Connor, but it’s his brother. The one I’d seen in the hallway when I’d rushed out of Connor’s apartment. That feels like a million years ago now.
Does he remember me?
“Of course,” I say, nodding at the empty seat beside me.
“I’m giving a lecture here today,” he says, as he sits and smooths out his Italian suit pants, which cost more than I’d make in a year, “so I’m trying to get the lay of the land.”
His eyes circle the lecture hall, taking in the concrete walls and going back to my face. It’s bullshit, but I don’t mind.
“Nice suit,” I say. “Too nice for this group.”
“My brothers always say I’m overdressed,” he shoots back with an easy shrug and grin that reminds me so much of Connor that it makes my heart ache. Blinking rapidly, I try to keep the tears at bay.
“Ava.” His voice is soft.
My head jerks up at my name.
“Yes, I remember you.” He meets my eyes, all business now. “I’m Seamus. I saw you’d be in this class.”
Starting to shake, I take a shuddering breath. But I’m steeling myself, unsure what he’s going to say.
“I also wondered if Brooks would be here?” He looks sideways at me, his voice rising on the question. “Has he bothered you at all?”
