“I would love for you to come back from your shift tomorrow completely naked, with nothing to hide your lady parts but a rare steak.”
“That would never happen.”
“Neither would me singing you a song in front of snarky teenagers.”
He was normal. And fun. Worst of all, he showed me another part to love. A new layer in his complex personality no one else had access to. A layer tucked so deep under layers and layers of apathy, brutality and abrasiveness, showing it to me was almost like learning how to walk again.
He hated that part of him. The softer, kinder part.
And the fact that he shared it with me made me feel special. Special to have Troy, the guy you watched chick flicks with, and not Troy, the kill-a-priest and fuck-your-brains-out guy. That old, tired version he gave to everyone else. With me, he was still rough around the edges, but he wasn’t all bad either.
“You’re impossible to deal with,” I said, pouting, but hell, I was enjoying this ping-pong.
“And you love it.” He planted another kiss, this time on my forehead, as he scooped me into his arms. “I’m myself. I make no apologies for who I am, and you like it, because you’re so much like me. You’re the girl who teased the son of a dead mobster, The Fixer, on your wedding day. You own your shit, consequences be damned. Have you ever wondered why your parents called you Sparrow?”
“Uhm, let’s see. Maybe because my dad was a drunk and my mom was a hippie, and together, they came up with really stupid name ideas?” I tried disguising my embarrassment with laughter.
Inside, though, my stomach twisted in tight knots. Everyone around me called me Birdie, with Troy calling me Red. No one called me Sparrow for a reason. It was an awkward name and I hated it. I tossed my hair back, faking boredom. “Anyway, I wonder about the bigger stuff, like why the hell my mom left me, not why she saddled me with a name that’s basically an invitation for bullying.”
“You hate your name,” he said.
I twisted out of his embrace, feeling my face heating. Peeling off layers was hard. Not only for Troy, but for me, too.
“Aren’t you clever.” I took a long sip of my drink.
He scooped me into a bear hug again, locking me in his arms. His lips grinned against my skin.
Did he find me adorable?
“You shouldn’t hate it, it’s perfect for you. It symbolizes freedom and independence. You’re both.”
“I’m not free,” I reminded him.
He rolled on top of me, straddling me with his muscular thighs. I lay beneath him, admiring his strong body and knowing, deep down, that I’d gotten comfortable in my cage.
“No, not from me,” he agreed. “But trust me, lovebird. Even if I let you out of this cage, you’d be flying back in no time.”
It was true, but that was exactly what worried me.
We spent more time making out on the carpet like two teenagers, before he got to his feet and disappeared into his office. He came back with a small box. Simple, light green. The kind you can get at the dollar store. He kneeled down to where I sat on the carpet and placed it in my hand.
“I’ve been studying you for a while now,” he said. “Every day is a class day, each conversation is homework, and I think I know by now what I would have picked if we had known each other before we got married.”
My heart fluttered in my chest, my pulse picking up speed. It was a moment of true, raw happiness, and it scared me beyond repair. I knew a long time, maybe even forever, would pass before I’d have this kind of moment again.
I opened the box, a part of me still scared I’d find something offensive. Last time he gave me a gift, on our wedding day, I almost threw up yesterday’s lunch on his lap. In the box sat a ring. It was very different from my engagement ring—monstrous, attention-seeking bling. No. This was a simple red ruby. It looked like a drop of fresh blood. Basic, beautiful, special and original. More than anything, it was very, very red.
It dawned on me that the ring was exactly how he saw me. This was Troy’s version of trying, and he was doing it for me. This was him being thoughtful. I looked up, a mischievous grin on my face.
“My original engagement ring has a diamond the size of the moon. Some would call this a downgrade.”
“Trust me, it’s an upgrade.” He took the ring and slid it on my finger, brushing his thumb over it. “Besides, the diamond in your first one ain’t real.”
My grin collapsed into a startled oh.
He laughed. “I’m kidding, kiddo.”
When the evening rolled into night, we took things to bed, and I writhed beneath him, screamed his name, just like he told me I would on our wedding night. Arcade Fire’s “Rebellion” played from the stereo, and the irony wasn’t lost on me.
I was in love with a murderer who didn’t love me back, who never explained why he took me for his wife. It wasn’t fine, wasn’t okay, but it was the ugly, embarrassing, uncomfortable truth.
Considering how fucked up my truth was, I began to understand why Troy gave me something far more convenient and beautiful.
He gave me lies, and I ate them from the palm of his hand.
He gave me lies, and for him, I closed my eyes.
SPARROW
I TOOK A LITTLE break to watch the birds overhead as they migrated out of my rainy city.
That was my first mistake.
I only paused for a second, and it was a second too long, because as I plucked out my earbuds, “Monster” by The Automatic playing, to watch the birds flee from the rain, my fate was sealed.
I smiled to myself when I thought about how, for the first time since I was probably born, I wanted to stay put and not take flight.
My happiness cracked, collapsing into a frown, when I spotted him. Brock stood in front of me, blocking my way on the narrow pavement between the tall red-brick buildings.
This time I was scared. It started to look less and less like a coincidence and more like the stuff Fatal Attraction was made of. Boston was not that small, and he’d shown up where I was four times.
It was almost like Brock knew where I’d be. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was all too eager to follow Troy’s suggestion—okay, order—and keep my distance from the guy. He leaned against a lamppost, one foot bent, as he puffed on a cigarette. When he saw me, he pushed off the lamppost, his face cracking into a smile.
“Oh, hey,” he said through an exhale. I twisted back to where I came from, trying to resume my run, but he grabbed my arm, his voice still easy. “I need to talk to you.”
“No, you don’t,” I said, “unless it’s work-related.”
Things at Rouge Bis weren’t going as planned. Pierre still hated my guts, no matter how hard I tried, and Brock still tried to get close to me. Still, I knew they wouldn’t fire me, though a small part of me wanted out of the place just so I could look for something better.
Brock tucked his free hand into his heavy wool jacket. “It’s about your husband.”
“No,” I stated, scowling. Why was it that every time Brock talked about Troy, I felt like my heartbeat slow and my breathing got more shallow?
Because I knew that he knew. Knew whatever it was that I didn’t about why he’d married me.
I reached for my phone inside my hoodie pocket with every intention of calling Troy, but he yanked it from my hand and tossed it into an open dumpster. My eyes almost popped out of their sockets, and I felt the blood draining from my face.
“What the hell?” I roared.
He didn’t answer, but his face changed. He looked seriously and royally pissed. He pulled me into his body, my chest bumping into his. No more easy and cutesy for Brock, I gathered. He was done playing nice with me.
“Come with me,” he growled.
“I’m not going anywhere with you, asshole.” And then I felt it. He shoved the barrel of a gun deep into my stomach, so hard I was sure it’d leave a mark. But my fear numbed my pain.
“My car’s down the street. Be quiet, and don’t make me hurt you more than necessary.”
Shit. Even his accent changed. Suddenly, he sounded local. He sounded…Boston?
I looked around me, frantically trying to spot someone on the street, but there wasn’t a soul within earshot. My fault for running every morning right before dawn. I hadn’t seen anyone else for at least ten minutes, and then it was a woman walking her dog in the opposite direction.
I was alone. No, worse—I was with Brock.
“Brock, please.” I wasn’t sure what I was asking. Was I asking for him to let me go? Fat chance, considering the fact he’d just thrust a gun in my side.
He spun me in the opposite direction and led me to his car, prodding me along with the gun. I felt his breath on the nape of my back, and it sent a shudder down my spine. My mouth was dry, and I fought not to panic.
“Get in the passenger seat,” he said from behind me. He swung the door to his Audi open.
I did as I was told.
He walked briskly to his side of the car and buckled up, his fingers still wrapped around his gun. “See? Now we’re on the same page. It’s a shame you needed that little push in the first place, Sparrow. Men don’t normally dig difficult women.”
I didn’t answer, staring at the gun like Brock’s voice came from its barrel.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He smirked, admiring his weapon as he held it up and turned it right and left for me to see. “I love how it feels in my hand. Like the world is in my palm. Powerful shit, huh?”