Beware 2: The Comeback (4 page)

“And then what?” I squeeze the cool crystal glass in my hand.

“Uh… she sent this one letter about how she wasn’t feeling well and how she’d been vomiting, eating less, and feeling a little nauseated. She assumed it was from traveling to a new place and also missing you. Homesickness or whatever. You were the only thing on her mind. I wasn’t strong enough to tell London. I was going to wait it out and hope that she’d move on with her life, but, of course, she didn’t, and I couldn’t leave it that way because two weeks later, she sent a letter stating she was pregnant.”

My head tilts. “Pregnant?” I breathe. I don’t know why I’m so astonished. I knew, after hearing Bianca say
he
looked like me that she carried my child, but it really settles in now. She wasn’t kidding earlier. I wasn’t hearing shit. London did it on her own. She was alone, by herself, caring for a child that I should’ve been there for. “Aden?” I whisper. “That’s his name?”

“Yes!” Bianca whispers loudly. “Yes, Aden.”

“Does he know about me?”

Bianca’s smile collapses, and her mascaraed eyelashes flutter. I know by that look alone what the answer is. She realizes I’ve seen the answer in her eyes and goes on to say, “It’s not that he won’t know about you one day. London is just waiting for the perfect time. With Greg around, she doesn’t want to confuse his little mind—”

“Greg?” I snap, fists clenching. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that fucking name. Who the fuck is he?”

Her lips seal.

“Who. Is. He. Bianca?” I try keeping my voice even, but it’s impossible. I know the answer to my own question, and I’m not sure why I’m willing to torment myself with her awaited response. Hearing it will destroy me. Knowing another man is taking care of
my
woman… my Red.

I slam my glass down and ball my hands into fists as I rise, turning towards the door. “Creole, that’s what you said?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at her.

Bianca stands as well, marching around to look me in the eye. “Ace, she’s happy with Greg,” she snaps. “You can’t just barge into her life after three years of being absent. What did you expect? That she’d actually stay in denial and wait for you forever? We saw what we thought was proof! She had no choice but to move on.”

I grunt, pissed, turning away.

Bianca snatches me back around, and after three years of growing accustomed to being tossed around my automatic reaction is a snarl. From the corner of my eye, I see Maurice stand and fold his arms. I cock a brow at him. He shakes his head, silently telling me to remain calm. “Ace,” Bianca whispers, gripping my arms. “Trust me, I know you want her back. I know you miss her, and I know you want to see her… but put yourself in her shoes for just a second. Realize that she had a child she had to be happy for. A child that is a spitting image of you, and she has to live with seeing his face—your face—for the rest of her life. She couldn’t raise him on her own. I helped the first two years, until she was ready to be on her own, and now she’s stronger. She’s better,” she breathes, a faint smile on her lips. “She was so depressed at one point that I had to take Aden away for a solid two weeks just so she could pull her shit together.”

I lower my gaze, standing down. I know Bianca means no harm. She’s always looked out for my best interest, but this? Fuck. This is torture. I know where she is. I know she’s still out there. I
have
to see her. “Look, I’m sure London would LOVE to see you, but you and I both know that isn’t wise right now. She’s just now gaining some steadiness in her life. We can’t take that away from her. Let’s not rock the boat.”

I peer at Maurice whose shoulders have softened a touch. I then look down at Bianca. Her eyes are pleading, begging me not to do anything outrageous.

Well, she knows why I’m here. She knows part of my return is to find London, the first girl I ever fell in love with. The first woman to steal my heart right away from me and run with it. The first girl that allowed me to open up like I never had before—like a clam with a pearl trapped inside, waiting to be discovered. The first girl of many things.

Sighing, I say, “You know, I waited two months before finally coming to talk to you. I
watched
you for two months just to see if London would appear one day. I waited for her.” She frowns, lowering her hands and taking a small step back. “I’m done waiting. I need to see her, and you now have two options. One: you can take me to her, with or without a warning, and let me talk to her myself, or two: you don’t take me to her, I find her on my own, and we never speak again. I
will
get to her regardless, Bianca. You know that.” My face remains solid, shoulders hunched. “What’s it gonna be?”

Her forehead creases. Unsure, she switches glances between me and Maurice, but in only a second, she sighs and steps back, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ace, you know I can’t lose you again.” She looks up. “I just got you back.” She folds her arms, giving the choice a final thought. “Alright, I’ll take you to her, but you have to promise to behave.”

I adjust my tie as she pokes a stern, manicured fingernail at my chest. “We both know I gave up keeping promises a long time ago. Take me to her. Tonight.”

Love Without Tragedy - Rihanna

Splashes of yellow, orange, and pink light up the sky. With my glass clutched in hand, the cool California breeze tousling my hair, I stare ahead at the setting sun, gaze forward, mind drowning in confusion.

He’s back? But… how?

I was told… I saw… everything.

There’s no way he’s alive. But this is a subject Bianca would
never
joke about. She would never bring him up as a game knowing how I felt about him. From what I can recall—from what I know—Ace is dead. I was there. I saw the autopsy. I saw it all.

“Miss Stallone,” FBI agent Wales called my name as we waited outside the Commissioner’s office. It’d taken me months to pull myself together before I was finally strong enough to come back from Greece for the truth. I whipped my head up, swiping at my eyes as I stood to my feet.

“Yes?” My eyes locked with his, and his immediately became apologetic.

“You requested to collect the ashes?”

“I did,” I stated.

“Well, due to how much of a threat Donovan Crow was to us, I’m afraid we won’t be able to allow that. There are still tests we have to run, things we must do with his remains like matching them with other suspects, former crimes, so on.”

My eyebrows stitched, and Bianca stood from her chair, stepping past me. “What do you mean you can’t allow it?” she snapped, stabbing a finger at his chest. “That is my cousin! My family! He was not the criminal you all made him out to be! We deserve to take his remains with us and arrange a proper ceremony! He was a little fucked up, yes, but he was still human. Stop treating him like he was a monster!”

“Miss Crow, I understand why you’re upset, and I wish we could—”

“No, you will get me his ashes!” she demanded

I muted out everything else they argued about. We didn’t get the ashes, no matter how hard Bianca argued or how much she protested or threatened them. She could’ve been locked up and tossed in jail, but they let her off easy. They knew who Ace Crow was. His case was confidential.

A few days later, I received a call from a guilt-ridden Agent Wales who informed me that he could share the autopsy with me at a private place but that was all I could see. So I met him at a small diner on 6
th
.

“Miss Stallone,” Wales murmured, extending his arm and sliding the envelope across the table. “It took me a lot of work to get this out of the office. They want this case to remain as confidential as possible, seeing as Crow was a huge threat to the city. You can understand why we had to reject your requests?”

Numb, I asked, “There are no ashes, are there?”

Avoiding the question, Wales lowered his gaze, recoiling. “I have fifteen minutes to get back to the NYPD. Read it quickly. I could get fired if I’m caught with this.”

I opened the envelope quickly, craving to know what really happened. Small words popped out that meant way too much.

Shootout.

Mass homicide.

Gang/mafia related.

Three gun wounds.

Burned.

Donovan Crow, also know as “Ace” Crow and leader of the drug related gang
Crow
, is considered deceased.

With quaking hands, I placed the sheet of paper back down, looking up into Agent Wales’s eyes. I couldn’t see him clearly. My eyes clouded with thick tears, but I refused to unleash them in front of him.

“Thank you, Agent Wales. I think I’ve seen all the proof I needed. I’ll inform Bianca. She won’t be a problem anymore.”

He nodded, taking the paper and tucking it back in the manila envelope. “May I ask you a question?” Wales asked just as I stood and wrapped my satchel around me.

“S-sure.”

“What was he to you? We knew about Bianca Crow being his cousin, his men, and his drivers, but nothing about you.” He glanced at my protruding belly, and, insecurely, I covered it up with my jacket.

I hesitated. I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer. Would they get the idea to watch me if I told them who I was and that I was carrying Ace’s child? They would assume I’d tell my kid to rebuild Crow. They didn’t need to know. That was my business, so I simply said, “He was just a really close friend, Agent Wales.” And then I took off, not once looking back.

“London?” I spin around, matching the familiar voice with Greg who steps onto the balcony, his tall frame towering over mine. His hair is a floppy, beautiful mess. He smells of men’s body wash and aftershave. He’s changed from his suit to a plain white tank and sweat pants. He looks comfortable. “I was looking for you. You alright?”

I nod, turning a fraction in hopes he doesn’t look into my eyes. Greg always spots the truth. He’s an interrogator and a damn good one. It’s in his blood. “Yeah, I’m fine. Aden’s asleep?”

“Yep. Fell asleep watching
Yo Gabba Gabba
,” he chuckles, stepping behind me and wrapping his large arms around my waist. I tense, but clearly not enough for him to notice because he proceeds, placing his chin on top of my shoulder, sighing. “It’s nice out here.”

“Yeah.” My voice is faint, my face stale.

Greg keeps one arm wrapped around me and releases the other, taking the short glass out of my hand. “It’s only six-thirty. Drinking already?” I don’t respond. I don’t know how. Alerted by my silence, Greg pulls away and spins me around, looking me over. I don’t meet his eyes.

Damn it. Why is it so hard for me to pull my shit together? I used to be so good at faking it. But how can I fake this? Knowing that Ace Crow, the first man I ever fell head over heels for, is still alive? Is it even true? Maybe Bianca knew he wasn’t dead and was keeping it a secret from me. Did Bianca betray me? Did she know he was alive? I hope not. She’s been so close and dear to me. My mind is so clustered and so damn foggy that I don’t even know how to act.

“London,” Greg whispers, his head tilting. “Talk to me.” He cups my face, running the pad of his thumb across my cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” My response is rapid. “I’ve just had a really long day.”

His eyebrows glue together. “You’re upset.” I look up at him. “With me?” he questions.

“No.” I shake my head, draping my arms around his neck. I bring him close, inhaling his woodsy scent. He rubs circles on my back, and I can admit that, before the text message I received last night, the gesture used to comfort me, but now, it makes me feel like rubbish. Trash. This is no longer romantic. This is me faking it.

I know what I need to do to stop getting him to ask questions. If he keeps digging, keeps inquiring, then he’ll realize something is wrong, and I’ll be screwed. Bianca never responded to me after that life-altering text. What if it was just a joke? What if she was just testing me, seeing how I would react and if I was truly over
him
?

Tilting my chin, I stare into Greg’s arctic blue eyes. He smiles down at me, the small wrinkles I adore forming around his cheeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait up for you last night,” I whisper.

“Don’t be. We had a long day. I should be the one apologizing.” He strokes my cheek. “I wasn’t supposed to work yesterday. That was
our
day.”

“It’s okay. Really.” I force a light laugh, and fortunately, he laughs with me.

“Come on,” he says, reaching for my hand and turning towards the balcony door. “Let’s go back inside, drink wine, eat popcorn, and watch movies until I’m called in again. Because you and I both know I will be summoned.” He quirks a boyish grin. “It’s only a matter of time. Let’s cherish it.”

I nod. “You’re right.” He turns for the door, leading the way inside, my hand still in his. Along the way, my smile disappears, but when Greg glances back to check on me, I force another.

Come on, London. Get it together.

After grabbing a bottle of red
Stella Rosa Rosso
and dumping a bag of fresh, hot popcorn in a bowl, Greg sits on the couch, tugging me down with him. I land on the center of his lap, and he kisses my cheek, his stubble grazing. I smile, turning only slightly to cuddle into the warmth of his broad chest.

He sighs, flipping the channels until he catches a random movie—one I’m sure neither of us will watch. After placing the remote down, he murmurs, “You know you can tell me anything, London.”

I look up just as he looks down. His fingers run through my hair, the act of affection causing my eyes to glisten. I place my ear to his chest before he can spot my tears. “I know.”

Silence.

Only brief.

“I love you, London. I hope you know that. I know you’ve had a rough past. I know you’ve lost many, but you won’t lose me. That’s a promise.”

I hug him tight. “I know,” I say again, and really, I do know. He’s made this promise to me over a dozen times. He repeats the mantra over and over again, and a part of me likes hearing it because I don’t need to lose anyone else. I don’t want anyone to be taken away from me.

I took all the others for granted.

Jonah.

Mom.

Dad.

Ace.

But not Greg or Aden or even Bianca. I won’t take them for granted. I told Greg about Jonah and my parents. But I never once mentioned Ace, and I figure he knows there was a guy before. I mean, hello? Where the hell did Aden come from?

The memories of Ace seize me. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping I’m not too edgy for Greg to notice. Several minutes later and an exhausted Greg fills the living room with loud snoring. I glance up, pleased. I’ve been waiting for this moment. For a small ounce of freedom.

I sit up and slowly ease off his lap, snatching my cellphone out of my pocket as I walk out the balcony door in the kitchen and lap around the pool. The water reflects onto me, and I glance down. I stare at my reflection, wondering just what the hell I’m doing. Am I really going to do this?

Even if it is true, am I really willing to punish myself?

I have it good here. I have Greg. Greg is good. He does his best to keep me whole. He’s the perfect man to be with after such harsh tragedies. Why destroy that over one phone call?

I look towards the open balcony door. The ivory curtains flap with the wind. My lower belly bubbles with heat. Swallowing the brick in my throat, I trot down the stairs that lead to the beach, press call, and place the phone to my ear.

There’s a quick answer.

“Bianca,” I breathe. “Please tell me you were joking. Please tell me you were kidding!” The howling wind and clashing waves overpower my voice, and I’m glad. I’m at boiling point. I need to calm down. My rage can’t ruin our bond.

“London… I… He is…. There is still time… I didn’t know…” Her voice cracks over the line, and I curse out loud, lifting the phone in the air for a signal.

“Shit,” I hiss when the call fails. I know she’s busy today. I know her show is tomorrow and the last thing I want to do is distract her from getting ready, but she didn’t send that message for no apparent reason. Why would she say that? Why would she do this to me? It was either a warning or a mistake.

Maybe, after all these years, she’s finally grown sick and tired of me and no longer wants to be a part of my life? Maybe she’s using the most powerful weapon she has against me… Ace. Maybe she’s finally decided to forget about the past and move on with her life for good. I mean, every time we see each other, we mention him. Perhaps she’s tired of remembering.