Dirty Law

“That’s my home.” There was a steely reserve in Law’s words, like he was hiding something. I was used to him hiding from me, though. It was like we were constantly playing a game of truth or dare, and Law always picked dare.

“Why don’t we go inside?” I edged, seeing if he would let on as to why we were standing outside his home and not inside. Plus, I’d have bet it was much warmer in there.

“No one’s there,” Law explained, gaze still transfixed on the snow-covered home. “Well, no one you’d want to meet. Mom and Dad aren’t really present and my sister is gone.” His words stuck in the air, as if frozen by the chill. Neither of us said anything for a while. Though the bitter wind sliced away my warmth and numbed my skin, I didn’t complain. I didn’t even shiver, instead focusing on Law.

His mind was elsewhere again. That tumultuous look only memories could give was evident on his features. A car drove by and the driver leaned out the window, flipped us off, and yelled for us to get out of the middle of the street. Law still didn’t tear his gaze from the house.

“Where’s your sister?” I asked, voice low.

“Not sure.” A light flicked on in the house and Law glared. “She was last seen about thirteen years ago. One minute she was at school and the next she vanished. She’d be twenty-six this month.”

The wind howled. The sky was a bright white just like the snow on the ground. I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I should say something. Instead, I took a step toward Law and latched my arm around his. Together we stared at his old home. I realized it probably wasn’t much warmer inside.

We were quite a pair. I was broken, sometimes feeling irreparably damaged. Our relationship was nearly shattered. Yet there, among the ruins of his childhood, Law did something amazing. He gave me a piece of himself to help me rebuild.

“This doesn’t fix everything, Nami,” Law said. “I’m going to have to work for that, I know. But I wanted you to see where it started. You’re the only one I’ve told this.”

Even though the truth he’d shared with me meant more than anything, there was a thought I couldn’t shake. It stuck in my side larger than a thorn, like broken glass. “Would you have even talked to me if Morris hadn’t raped me?”

Law took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Does it matter? I love you. I love your courage, your tenacity, your grit. We’re all products of the world around us, and what happened outside this home thirteen years ago shaped me. I see the world through stolen childhoods and broken homes now. But, Nami, I love how you reacted. You could have caved. You could have twisted. But you bloomed.” Unlatching my arm from his, I twisted to face him. Wind had burned his cheeks and his face was red, but he was still beautiful. Hard, unyielding, a force to be reckoned with. Even the elements couldn’t whip him into submission. Love him or occasionally hate him, he was the only Law that I would obey. As Law opened his mouth to speak, I dove at him, cutting his words at the quick with my kiss.

Twenty-One

Kissing Law was an adventure. His taste sucked me in, his lips kept me tied, and he—the very essence of Law—made me surrender. In the middle of the snowy street, we kissed. I didn’t know how long we stayed like that, lips fused, wind whirring around us, the occasional car driving by and alerting us with a honk. Time seemed to cease for us and our kiss. It was magical. The winter chill started to feel like a fairytale and not a horrid force of nature.

I lost myself in him. The way he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. The way he slanted his mouth to get more of me. The way he cupped his hand on the back of my neck and drew me in. I lost myself in the sensation and the safety of him.

When Law pulled back, I felt delirious and drugged. I reached for him again but he caught my wrist, keeping me at a distance.

“I would love to keep kissing you, Nami.” Law paused, eyelids hooded as if remembering our kiss. I stepped forward, ready to make a new memory, bu

t Law tightened his grip on my wrist and continued. “I would die here, kissing you, but if we don’t leave soon we’ll miss our flight home.”

Reluctantly I agreed and clasped my other hand in Law’s outstretched one. We walked back to the car and Law didn’t let go of my hand the entire way back to the airport. A warm fog settled and neither of us spoke; I think we both didn’t want to risk ruining what had just happened.

When we sat down in the first class lounge, Law dozed off, our hands still bound. I never thought I’d be happy to go back to Utah, but sitting in the airport, I couldn’t wait to board the plane. Boston had been cold and unfamiliar. Better the devil you know, I suppose. I watched people walk around the airport, wondering what they were returning to…or running from. A man with a Patriots shirt walked by and a thought popped into my head.

“But you don’t have a Boston accent,” I said, turning to Law.

He gazed at me sleepily. “You think we all talk like we’re wicked smaht?”

“Holy shit!” I gasped. “What was that?”

“My accent.” Law smiled crookedly. “I trained to eradicate it. An accent is one of the easiest ways to blow your cover. Doesn’t mean I can’t pull it out as a pahty trick.”

“My stepdad is from Boston,” I mused. I turned back to people-watch but the man in the Patriots shirt was gone. Tony loved the Patriots. He had everything from a blanket to pajamas to cups. I didn’t like sports, much less love a team enough to deck myself out in their gear, but I loved that he loved them. “He has a thick accent. We used to make fun of him for it.”

“Used to?” Law asked.

I didn’t really feel like digging up the graves of my parents in the busy Boston airport, so I changed the subject. “Did you pick all those dandelions?”

Law sat up and turned to me. “Yes.”

“How? Where?” I paused, stewing over his answer, before asking again, “How?”

“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours,” Law replied, a wicked half-smile on his lips. When he smiled like that he reminded me of the gods I’d studied briefly in college, the ones lauded for such extreme beauty that mortals couldn’t comprehend it. Just like the gods, he was consistently tricky, never giving without expecting some kind of sacrifice in return. I folded my arms, preparing my lamb.

“I no longer make fun of him because my mom is dead so the tradition kind of died with her.”