Page 64 of Working for the Mob

“And if we’re going to be here overnight, can you take Genny home to pick us up a couple extra sets of clothes?” Lucy asked. I didn’t miss the glare Genevieve shot her sister.

“I don’t want to leave you here alone,” Genevieve said.

“I’ll be fine. I want to be here in case he wakes up,” Lucy said.

Genevieve’s eyes flicked to me but I couldn’t tell if it was in fear or apprehension.

“Alright,” she said, through gritted teeth.

Chapter 18 – Genevieve

The drive to Art’s was cold. Without a windshield, we were at the mercy to the elements. Luckily, it was too cold for any bugs to fly into my mouth.

“I’m going to need a new car,” Art said, dryly.

We stopped at his place first. I had never seen Art’s house before. He lived in a simple log cabin in the woods. Not the house I would’ve expected him to be in. He brought out a duffle bag two minutes later.

“Nice house,” I said, before I could stop myself. “Rustic.”

“I have a roof over my head,” he said, simply.

He drove back into town, down my lane, and parked in front of my house.

“I’ll only be a minute,” I said. “You don’t have to come.”

“You might need me to carry things,” he said, simply. He got out of his car and followed me inside.

“How’d you two get to the hospital this morning?” he called after me, as I rushed to Lucy’s room.

“We took the first train this morning,” I called. “Your brother drove us to the station.”

I browsed through her drawers and pulled out a few underthings she needed.

“That was nice of him,” he said from the doorway. He studied the picture on the wall that he must’ve picked out himself. I appreciated the ‘privacy.’ “And you two got home safely last night?”

“Yes, we did,” I said, and browsed her closet. I hoped she would prefer comfort over style.

“And he drove you to the hospital first thing this morning?”

“Yes,” I said, without thinking. I studied a conservative skirt and wondered whether Lucy would wear it. I brushed past Art and placed her clothes on an empty chair to pack later. I went into my room with Art a step behind me.

“He didn’t … uh … spend the night, did he?”

I whirled around with blood pounding in my ears. How dare he!

I had not thought of Lance that way since my first week in Lannington. Every interaction with him just confirmed that he was nothing more than a snake-oil salesman. My only reason to pay him any attention at all was because it got under Art’s skin.

I stepped right up to Art at the bedroom’s door.

“Jamie is on his deathbed, and all you want to know is whether or not I slept with your brother last night?”

“I thought you were positive he would pull through.”

I froze. My room’s atmosphere went from overcast to raining. It wasn’t accusation, but pleading, that reflected in his eyes. Lucy wasn’t the only one impacted by my speech earlier.

This wasn’t the prickly Art that didn’t know how to smile. This was Art with his guard down.

“It was my fault, Genevieve,” he breathed. Even though he was this distressed, I loved the way he caressed my name. “It was my fault he was shot.”

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