A month later
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
I was on the phone with Ashton, and I was looking down at the ring in my hand. “Yes.”
“Okay. Things have been quiet, but it’s time to hit back. They won’t be expecting it now.”
I put the ring back in the box and back into my pocket.
Ashton was talking about the payback we still had due. We’d found out that my father had organized the hits against us, whereas the Worthing family had organized the hits against Ashton’s family. We’d been waiting with payback against the Worthing family, but we couldn’t wait with my father.
Dominic West officially went missing twelve hours after Jess killed Bear. He went missing in the “very dead” sense of the word.
We had to move fast, but now we were finalizing our plans against the Worthing family.
“There’ll be fallout.”
I went to my window and looked out over the city. “There’s always fallout. They’re starting to make moves into our territory, thinking we’re not going to hit back. It’s time. They’ve come out of hiding.”
“We should meet for the final details.”
“I agree.”
There was silence after that. I knew neither of us wanted to hang up.
I missed my best friend, but our relationship was strained after I’d learned what he’d done to Jess. I knew the reasoning, knew he did it to protect me, but I hadn’t been able to forgive him for it. We were cordial, still working together, but we weren’t the same.
“How are things with—” His voice was tentative, and I knew who he was going to bring up.
I cut him off. “Let’s meet tomorrow. Before everything happens.”
His tone changed, growing more distant. “Of course. I’ll let you—”
“Ashton.”
“What?”
“You have to make it right with her first.”
“I know.”
JESS
I chose painting.
Or, I don’t know. A part of me might’ve just been choosing not that old life anymore. No more law. No more being a parole officer, but that meant no more being Val’s partner. In the end, it was a better choice for her too. I’d lessened the target on her back, and there was one because she’d stood by me. She would remain doing that.
Though, and there was a big “though,” the other side of me choosing painting was that it gave me different freedoms. Different options. I chose my time. I chose my paintings. No more orders. There was nothing dangerous about what type of paint color I picked. I suppose I’d miss the adrenaline, the camaraderie, and the action. I’d miss helping the parolees that wanted help. But my art, this was me. All me. A new me.
I’d just started. I had a whole future ahead of me, and this time, it actually looked bright.
I could see the hope, the light.
Painting had been an escape for my mind, from my job, but now, I was choosing a different path.
I resigned my position, and it was a full month later with no more drama. That, possibly, was the best part of my choice. More and more of my paintings were selling. I’d like to see that as a sign from the universe, but I didn’t. The jaded part of me would always be in me. I’d seen too much shit in my life, but it still felt nice.
The other nice things happening in my life? My mom.
Chelsea Montell was doing good, and sober, and she leaned into her therapy versus going back the other way. Currently, she was all aflutter because Trace was coming over tonight. I didn’t know the reason for the nerves. He’d been over for dinner on multiple occasions by now, but I was in the basement working. She’d insisted on cooking dinner tonight.
It smelled delicious, whatever she was making.
I heard the doorbell ring.
My mom’s footsteps crossed the house, and I had to laugh a little because Trace had a key for the house. He used it often when he slipped inside and came to my room. I brought up the idea of selling because of Bear, but my mom wouldn’t have it. Instead, she was sleeping in my room while we were renovating the master bedroom. New carpet. New everything. A new closet was being put in.
We’d turned the back office into our new bedroom as well. Mine and Trace’s. We used it when we stayed here. The relationship with my mother was still in a delicate balance, so we stayed here a couple nights a week, for times when I wanted to spend the evenings with my mom or if I wanted to paint late into the night. All the other time was at Trace’s downtown place.
A whole host of other renovations was also happening on the house. My first paintings were paying for some of it. The other part was a gift from Trace, but it felt nice. The house was being taken care of, and this way my mom had a choice. She could sell, because in my mind, she was still the owner. Or I’d sell, if that’s what she insisted. It was a nice conversation to have. We had options. Both of us and she wasn’t hating me. I mean, I knew there were people out there who believed in working through family trauma, et cetera, whether it was done to us or done between us, but that wasn’t who we were.
We kept trucking forward, and if apologies were made and felt along the way, then even better. We were those kind of people, but something was going on.
I could hear my mom’s voice, and it went up a whole octave. She’d been like this all day today.
I don’t know what was happening, but I assumed it had something to do with Trace since she was also so insistent on cooking a whole feast for tonight. And she’d told me to dress nice too.
What was that about?
But she was happy. I was happy. Trace was happy with me, and he would get there with the rest, with whatever he decided, because I didn’t think he’d fully decided. He said after tonight, he’d have closure, and he could decide if he’d take Ashton up on his offer.
My mom was pacing, her footsteps going all around the kitchen.
I could hear Trace’s voice; he was more calm.
He wasn’t coming down, so I went back to my painting.
Chelsea made pasta, rolls, every dish of vegetables there was. Mashed potatoes. Yams. She was trying the vegetarian route, so we had a lot of meat that wasn’t meat, but it still tasted like meat, so I didn’t care.
My mom carried the conversation that night. She was talking a mile a minute, her eyes darting to Trace every thirty seconds.
After twenty minutes, I’d had enough. “Okay.” I scooted my chair back. “What’s going on?”
Trace went still.
My mom gasped and started chewing on her bottom lip.
I narrowed my eyes, looking between the two. “Something is obviously going on. You asked me to dress nice. You’re wearing a dress. Trace, well, you look the same since you always look good.” And he did. A Henley and jeans, and his hair was messed up in a seriously hot way that was speaking to my vagina.
“Well.” Trace stood up, his hand going into his pocket.
My mom gasped.
I frowned, but then my phone started ringing.
“Leave it.” Chelsea waved a hand at it.
But, no. It was Val.
I showed Trace the screen, and he nodded. If she was calling, it was important. We weren’t friends that phoned.
I answered. “What’s up?”
She let out a nervous breath.
That was my first clue.
I straightened, all focus on this phone call now. “What’s wrong? The baby?”
“No, no. This little kicker is still in me, but uh . . . I gotta tell you something.”
That was my second clue.
“What? In person?” I was racking my mind, but I couldn’t guess what it was about.
“Uh. We could do that, but this news is going to spread fast, and I want to make sure you hear it from me first.”
“Now you’re worrying me.”
“I know.”
That was my third clue. There was no reassurance. Nothing.
My stomach officially dropped, and I closed my eyes, preparing myself. Or I was trying.
I felt Trace next to me.
“Just tell me, Val.”
“Two bodies were found up north in New York. No one was notified down here because it’s not our jurisdiction. But they asked me to be the one to tell you.”
I was going through the list.
Who was here. Who wasn’t.
No, no, no.
I knew, I knew as she said it.
“DNA matches. It’s Kelly and Justin.”
