Sparrow

I found her laying in the darkness, curled on the sofa, the dim light spilling from the TV, highlighting the curves of her face. She had a pillow under her head and a duvet covering her body, all the way up to the chin. We weren’t going to share a bed tonight.

“I’m only going to ask one last time. Tell me what crawled up your ass, Sparrow.”

“And what good would it do me? You’ll never give me any answers. You never have.”

She was right, and there was no point in denying it. I was keeping her in the dark.

“Pack your stuff. We’re leaving first thing in the morning.” I didn’t even bother to watch her reaction as I strode straight to the bedroom.

The Paddy business was going to be over in a few hours. His lawyer probably had him signing the papers to make the transfer as we spoke. And I had to get back to Boston to take care of the Van Horn issue. Clearly, my wife was in no mood to play, and let’s admit it, Miami was a nightmare to someone like me.

“I never unpacked,” she replied with boredom.

“The fuck not?”

“I knew we’d be back in Boston in twenty-four hours. This isn’t a honeymoon.” I heard the bitterness. “Like everything else in your life, Troy, this was nothing but business.”

SPARROW

WE SLICED THROUGH the gray Boston streets, the brownstone buildings, jaywalkers and dead-end streets flying by. I pressed my forehead to the glass, trying to ignore my husband as best as I could. His hard eyes were fixated on the road ahead and I knew he wouldn’t talk to me. Knew he’d given up.

I moved my stuff out of the bedroom and into the guest room downstairs, and he let me. A part of me struggled to remember why I didn’t try this approach in the first place, and another part reminded me that for some unexplained reason, I liked sharing a bed with Troy.

Pathetic, I know.

I decided to start at Rouge Bis the next day. No reason to wait until next week. Surprisingly he agreed to let Brock know my first shift would be tomorrow. I tried to fuel my excitement by talking about it with my Lucy and Daisy that night. They still thought I was in danger and demanded I call the police, but both of them knew better than to take matters into their own hands. Rumor was that Troy had a tight relationship with some of the cops around, and besides, they wouldn’t go against my wishes. And my wishes, apparently, was not to do anything about it.

Not because I didn’t want to, but because I wanted to make it to my next birthday.

The next afternoon, Troy double-parked in front of the alley that led to the side door to Rouge Bis, again blocking traffic, this time a delivery truck. I twisted my body, grabbing my backpack from the backseat, when I heard a thump on my side of the window. Brennan rolled it down, and Brock’s face appeared. He shoved his head straight into my side of the car, his lips bare inches from mine. Knocking twice on the car’s roof and the air out of my lungs, he attempted an easy smile.

“I see a tan wasn’t on the menu for the Brennan couple.”

That was an understatement. I was still as pasty as a freshly painted wall.

Troy’s face broke into a devious grin. “We were busy doing things far more interesting.”

Yeah, like getting drunk in separate wings of the hotel and hating on each other. I had no idea why he made it sound like we were a couple in front of Brock, but with all the shit he kept from me, I didn’t even stand a chance to figure out the reason for this behavior.

“Thanks for the ride,” I ground out, pushing my door open and not giving a damn that Brock was still on the other side. He took a step back, but his gaze fell to my thighs when he saw Troy resting a hand over one of them. First time he touched me since I’d refused to have dinner with him.

“Have a good day at work, Red,” he said.

Why was he acting weird all of a sudden? More specifically, like we were civil with one another.

I looked from his hand to his face. “Yeah, whatever.” And before he’d decided to accompany this little gesture with a goodbye kiss, I dashed out.

“Brock,” Troy barked, making him stick his head back into the car. A traffic jam formed behind Troy’s Maserati, and embarrassment heated my neck again. “You’re needed at the cabin.”

Brock groaned. “I have work here. I’ll be there in the evening.”

Troy glanced at me as he clutched the steering wheel angrily, and then he seemed to relax. “One hour and you’re on your way. I need you. Bring the kit.”