All of the Lights (4 page)

I don't like that option, but I guess it's better than the alternative.

"It's not like anyone here is
actually
going to hurt you. Everyone's smarter than that. They might spit at you, sure. Chuck a beer bottle at your head, maybe, but they wouldn't hurt you intentionally. At least...not if there are other people around."

For all their outcries and their organized protests, they still know what my dad can do if he really wants to. The power he has at his disposal to make their lives miserable. Sean Callahan is the poster boy for my dad's wrath and while they may seethe and snarl, they know better than to bite.

"Gee, thanks. I feel so much better now."

"Great," Bennett clasps his hands together in front of him. "Let's go!"

Just like that, he slips out of the driver's seat and shuts the door behind him. He waves toward the street expectantly and I push out a deep breath.

When I step onto the street, that precipice is right there again. I tip-toe up to it, glancing over the edge in between my fingers, and a moment later, I free-fall toward Na Soilse. I just hope that precipice doesn't swallow me whole.

"Come on, Rae," Bennett stage-whispers like someone might actually overhear us. "What's wrong with you? Do you actually
want
to get killed tonight?"

No, I don't. So I fall into step next to him as we briskly close the distance between us and the club, which already seems to be busting at the seams full of people chomping at the bit to see Jack Flynn in all his glory.

"Would you slow down for just a second?" I grit my teeth and tug on his sleeve to get his attention, but he's already too focused on the entrance to notice that my knee has once again decided to be an asshole and lock up on me.

Bennett glances down at me for just a second, but it's long enough for him to notice my slight limp.

"Sorry," he mutters. "Maybe you need to rethink wearing three-inch heels to work though."

He's right, of course, but wearing heels makes me feel a little closer to normal, like I don't have enough scar tissue in my knee to cover an entire block of Boston or the jagged, ugly red scar to prove it. Wearing heels with the type of injury I have is asinine, but I don't want to give these black leather booties up, even if it means limping. Sometimes I feel like wearing these black leather booties is the only thing I haven't given up.

By now, we're nearly ten feet away from the club's main entrance and my heart backflips into my stomach. How many times am I going to regret this before the night is finally over?

A high-pitched screech from my left crashes through everything else and a head of curly dark hair darts toward us.

"Benn!" my sister practically screams as she wraps her arms around his waist. "You're finally here!"

Bennett raises his hands up in horror at the contact and immediately pries her hands off him finger by finger until he finally frees himself of her. He runs a hand up the side of his hair to check to make sure everything's still in place and sends an exasperated glance my way.

Unfortunately, my sister sets her sights on me now and continues her drunken lovefest as she wraps me up in her arms.

"Rae Rae!" she sings in my ear. "I'm so glad you're here! Now my birthday is complete!"

Ugh. The last thing I need from her is this fake flattery. She owes me now, even if I'll probably never collect on that debt.

"Right," I roll my eyes at Bennett, who just watches in amusement. "Dad knows where you are, so you need to call him to tell him you're downtown now."

Lucy gapes at me, her pretty face falling in dejection. "Why can't he just let me enjoy my life for once? I'm 25 now. He needs to leave me alone."

I've got two years on her and I know damn well that age has nothing to do with it.

"Yep," is all I can muster in the face of this gross injustice.

The wallowing continues even as she whips out her phone and texts our dad to give him the message. Luckily for me, the slight commotion by the front door shifts the attention away from Lucy's complaining and we both stop to watch Bennett motioning towards Lucy and her friends.

"Come on, Brody," he pleads with the bouncer. "It's not a big deal. You know my cousin works behind the bar and you know I've been in here before. They won't cause any trouble—they're just a bunch of girls, you know? What are they gonna do?"

The bouncer, a tall wall of muscle and a shaved head, isn't buying what Bennett's selling and he shakes his head as he crosses his arms around his massive chest.

"Sorry," he just lifts a shoulder, despite the fact that my sister's crestfallen face is now just a few feet away from his. "I don't see why I'd ever let a Moretti in this club."

I swallow hard, but that's the same moment I realize he's glaring daggers at my sister, not me. He has no idea who I am and I suppose that makes sense because I haven't really been in this city in almost a decade. My sister, on the other hand, seems to get her picture taken more than my dad and my step-mom combined.

After a little more back and forth, Bennett finally shoots me a desperate glance over his shoulder as he throws his hands up in the air. I should've known what was coming next. I should've known I'd find myself stranded out here outside this God-forsaken club with only my sister, her moronic friends, and an indifferent bouncer as company. At this point, I don't see how my night could get any worse.

Bennett already has a foot in the door and he winces at me apologetically. "Two minutes, Rae, okay? I'm gonna go find Patrick and then I'll be right back. Just stay right next to Brody and you'll be fine!"

A second later, he disappears inside the dark club that already seems so packed it's coming apart at the hinges. I glance up at Brody and attempt a weak smile. All I get in return is an irritated scowl. Okay. So, I'm sure staying next to the bouncer will guarantee that nobody messes with me, but that also means every single person who walks into the club now will see me too. Because even though Brody's obliviousness is encouraging, taking the risk that someone else could see right through me isn't really something I want to do here.

It's that exact moment that Lucy and her friends decide to use this downtime to practice their group selfies. I wish I had the fearlessness to tell them how completely ridiculous they look right now: all huddled together, posing like they're auditioning for the cover of
Vogue
instead of perched on the corner between careless and reckless.

They demand attention because that's just what they do and I find myself inching further and further away from this display. Proximity to them means more eyes on me and that's the last thing I need right now.

Deep down, I know this knee-jerk reaction is the wrong one, but I limp a little further away until I've reached the corner of the building. That's probably enough space to separate me and the attention whores by the door. Still, I just want quiet. Peace. And I find my reprieve as I round the corner.

There's nothing but darkness in this alley and that's all I need.

Am I stupid? Absolutely.

But something tells me it would be even stupider to stay out in the open and anywhere near the lighted street. At least here, I can hide in the shadows. All I have to do is wait.

What exactly it is I'm waiting for remains to be seen.

I shift anxiously from side to side, keeping as much pressure off my sore knee as possible and my eyes tilt up to the night sky. Right in between the buildings, above the skyline, there they are. All of the lights in the city can't hold a candle to the stars—they're my savior from the darkness, the guides that lead me to something bigger, something better, something peaceful.

A door creaks open to my right and my head snaps toward the sound.

Out here by myself in this dark alley, I'm pretty sure I'm a disgrace to my gender. I know better than this. I know better than to drift away from the herd. Nothing good ever comes from it.

And then I get better look at this new, potential threat standing just ten feet away.

Heat flushes my cheeks and I have to swallow my heart back down into my stomach. It flip-flops one more time as my eyes flit back to my intruder, whose presence seems to take up the entire alley.

He's tall with a mess of dark hair, the sides buzzed tight against his head, with just a plain white T-shirt and black gym shorts on. My eyes zero in on his broad shoulders and the myriad of tattoos reaching all the way down to his wrists. Finally, my gaze trails back up to his face. Even though half of it is covered by dark scruff, I can't look away. His eyes glint in the moonlight as he catches me staring and I can't tell if that's good or bad for me.

Is it completely wrong that I'd gladly hand over my purse if he asked?

He has one of those faces that's almost painful to look at, but it's the contradiction written all over him that I can't move past. From the tattoos, the thick silver cross dangling around his neck, the dark intensity radiating off him, the thick muscles peeking out from his shirt sleeves, everything about him screams danger. Even his stance reads as defensive—wide legged, chest puffed out, both hands in his pockets, shoulders square with the building in front of us.

It's the curve of those full lips that has me rooted to the cement. The way his grey eyes soften with curiosity as they roam my face. His left eyebrow lifts when I find myself fighting a smile and finally, he tilts his head back to gaze up at the stars I'd just been admiring before his interruption.

"Nice night," he murmurs and it takes me a moment to realize he's not talking to himself
.

His accent is unmistakable. The clipped syllables, hard consonants, and quick 'i's are a dead giveaway. It's been awhile since I've heard a true, genuine Boston accent—Philly doesn't even come close to the distinct pronunciation you'll hear in Boston, and specifically, in Southie. Bennett's inflection has waned through the years, mostly from when we lived in Philly during college. From this guy, though, it might as well be music to my ears.

I swallow hard as my stomach flutters a little too much. "Yeah, it is."

That's the best I can come up with? Really?

He tilts his chin up in my direction as he ventures a step closer to me. "Hey. You got a light?"

"No," I laugh. "Sorry."

He just shrugs and pulls a vape pen out of his pocket so he can take a nice long puff from it.

"Why did you ask me for a light if you didn't need one?" I frown at him.

His lips curl around his vape pen and some vapor flows out of his nostrils before both his shoulders shrug again. "Just wanted to getcha talkin'. Figured it was worth a shot."

"That was your move, huh?" I laugh as my eyebrows shoot up into my forehead. "Does that usually work for you?"

Now his lips pull apart in a wince as his free hand scratches the back of his head. When his head turns to find me, there it is again. The hard with the soft. The masculinity right along with a sheepishness, a shyness even, that just doesn't make sense.

"Ah," he exhales. "You're right. That beat wicked hard. It was the best I could come up with under the pressure."

His accent has me biting down on my bottom lip to keep from smiling. Wicked
haahd.
If only he could hear himself from my end...

"What?" he frowns.

"Nothing."

Those grey eyes narrow ever so slightly, but there's no danger to be found. They're all a playful softness that I haven't seen in...God, I don't know how long.

"Can I have another shot?"

And here I was fully prepared to hand over my purse.

My smile must've been the go-ahead he needed because he takes that opportunity to inch a little closer to me, but he's still got his shoulders square with the street as he slips his vape pen back into his pocket.

"Okay," he rubs his hands together in thought and then shoots me a sly glance. "How 'bout this one? I just heard someone inside the club say the word of the day is
legs.
What do yah say we head back to my place and spread the word?"

My eyes widen, momentarily stunned into silence, and my mouth practically hangs on its hinges. It takes me a second, but as soon as I see the mischief in those grey eyes, I bark out a loud laugh and shake my head.

His hands spread out at his sides. "What? No good?"

"Terrible," I laugh. "And offensive, too. If I didn't know you were joking, I'd have to punch you. Or scream for help. There's gotta be something a
little
better," I squint up at the sky in thought, "What about this one? It's a good thing I brought my library card with me because I'm checking you out tonight."

After a moment of careful consideration, he nods. "It's not bad. It's not great either. There's always this one—you look cold. Wanna use me as a blanket?"

I blow out a breath, my head rocking back and forth a little on my neck as I mull it over. "Eh. I'm not into it. How about this? I lost my keys. Can I check your pants?"

His shoulders shake with laughter and he rubs a hand over his mouth. "Okay, okay. I can get behind that one. I'm a big fan of this one though: are you free tonight? Or do I have to pay you?"

"Ugh," I groan and tilt my head back to squeeze my eyes shut. "Never say that again. Ever. What about...got any Irish in you? Want some more?"