Page 38 of Murder & Mayhem

“Yeah, but not since he’s been seen associating with the Rejects.”

I sigh, knowing she’s going to hate what I say next. “It would make sense that the Bastards would be interested in him. He’s always with the kids, but he doesn't have a tattoo. And after his reputation of turning down every gang in town, I don’t think anyone would buy that he’s one of us anyway. We’ve made ourselves the Bastards’ number one rival. I think this is them putting out feelers.”

Her heavy sigh says everything about how much she agrees with and hates what I’m saying. Her voice is quiet when she says, “I was afraid this would happen.”

I don’t know how to put her at ease. She’d already told me this was her concern when it came to Luc, and it was a genuine one. We can protect Luc, but we also knew we’d be bringing unwanted attention his way. Red knew it too. She’s just panicking now that the Bastards are aware of him. But I trust the kids. They’ll keep him safe.

“What if they talk him into spending time with them or joining them?” It’s practically a laughable question, but I don’t dare show my humor. It’s clear she’s serious.

“Trouble, he’s resisted gangs for all these years. Why would he suddenly fall for the Bastards’ bullshit?”

“I don’t know,” she groans. “I just… I worry.”

“I know you do.” I think about it for a second. “How about I talk to him? See where his head is and give him some life advice—man-to-man.”

“Hmm. You know, that’s not such a bad idea.”

“I have them sometimes—good ideas.”

She chuckles softly. “Thank you, Oliver. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d be so lost without me.”

This time, her laugh is more genuine, and we lapse into easy conversation until her responses become incoherent. Soft hums and agreements as she starts to fall asleep.

“Go to sleep, Trouble. It’s late.”

“I’m not tired,” she says with a yawn, making me chuckle.

“Sure you’re not.”

“I’m not. I’m just being quiet, so I can listen to you.”

“I guess I better make the most of having your attention and tell you a good story then.”

“Mmm,” she agrees.

“Have I told you about the time the four of us stole a car that none of us knew how to drive?”

“What?!” she exclaims sleepily. “No!”

I recount to her tales from my childhood. Happier times before everything went to shit. Before we discovered monsters weren’t fire-breathing dragons in stories but real-life gangsters who lived down the street from us. When I thought Evie was the love of my life and nothing beat spending time with her and my two best friends.

I’m so lost in thoughts of the past that it’s only when I hear Red’s soft snores down the line that I realize she’s fallen asleep. It’s jarring to be pulled out of memories of Evie. Sometimes she feels so real, like she’s right here in the room with me. It simultaneously feels like the day she was kidnapped was yesterday and a million years ago. How can that be? How can time distort itself like that? It messes with my head, making me relive that chaos of emotions all over again. In one moment, the grief is nothing but a dull ache that I’ve long since adjusted to. Like my chest just rearranged itself to allow room for that pain. Then in the next, those closed wounds are ripped open and bleeding freely, the pain sharp and fresh like it happened yesterday.

I’ve long since come to terms with my unrequited feelings for Evie and know the life I’d foreseen for us will never come to fruition. As my feelings for Red have grown roots and germinated in my chest, they’ve clashed with the remnants of my feelings for Evie. Feelings I’ve kept buried, unacknowledged for years. I still remember the day I moved in across the street from her and Cain. Her black hair was tied back in pigtails that bounced when she moved, and her two front teeth were missing, giving her a toothy grin when she smiled. And yet there was an angelic aura about her that captured my attention before she even opened her mouth.

“Hi. I’m Evelyn, but everyone calls me Evie.” She sticks her hand out, even though I’m holding a cardboard box in my hands, having just lifted it out of the trunk of my dad’s car. I stand and blink at her for the longest time, committing her face to memory. Her skin seems to glow, and for a second, I wonder if she’s even real. Maybe she’s a ghost.

Her smile doesn’t waver, and without conscious thought, I drop the box and reach out to take her hand. Fireworks go off the second my palm connects with hers, and my brain goes completely offline. I end up standing there mutely, holding her hand, and the entire time she just smiles serenely at me.

“What’s yours?” she eventually asks.

“Mine?”

She laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. “You’re name, silly.”

“Oh. It’s Oliver.”

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