“You did all that for her. Isn’t that right, Parker?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you’re here now, delivering papers to buy Gemma a gift?”

  I nodded again, “I want to do something special.”

  “And you can.” She kneaded her chest, nervously twisting her robe. “You can do something for her that she’ll never forget.” My ears perked at the idea as I looked back up.

  “Really?”

  “Of course… but it’s really serious, and I don’t know how serious you can be.”

  “I can be serious. I’m almost thirteen.” I said, flaunting some desperate credential.

  Mrs. Harrison looked disgusted. “Almost thirteen? You say that as if you’ll be someone different than who you are now, and that’s not what Gemma needs.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “Everything you already are, and nothing more,” she said breathlessly, exhausted from an idea that caused her hand to rest on my knee. “You’re a sweet boy, Parker Jones,” she stammered, her eyes more feverish and red.

  “I try my best.”

  “No. You are, and that’s why I adore you, that’s why I trust you… for now anyway.” The ash grew longer on the tip of her cigarette, hoisted like a dirty stick of incense that filled the room. “Do you like Gemma?”

  “Of course. She’s my best friend.”

  “And do you care for her?”

  “Yes…” I lowered my voice.

  The heat of her mouth felt so close, and her questions were met with a gluey, wet gloss over her eyes. I felt like I could see myself looking back, unsettled by the noise of gunshots from the T.V.

  “I know you do. I knew it the moment I saw you. It was the same look my husband gave me.”

  “My look? What look?” I asked desperately, needing to know. Mrs. Harrison was an oracle of sorts, reading my eyes like she could tell the future. I wasn’t sure if she was happy or sad, but her nails suddenly pinched into my leg.

  “It’s the look of love…” she choked, releasing a single, unthreatening tear. The way her lip quivered caught me off guard.

  “Love?” I repeated cautiously, the word round like a big balloon in my mouth. I almost suffocated.

  “Yes, and not just any kind, but the most incredible type. Love that can change a life in the most spectacular and powerful of ways. I can tell it scares you, and it should… there’s so much potential there.”

  “Potential for Gemma?”

  “Just for her,” she guaranteed. “Something so precious that it could only come from answered prayers. But you care so much, and I know you’ll do what’s right, because this type of love is nuclear.” She snatched my forearm, letting her cigarette fall onto the sofa.

  “Nuclear, as in a bomb?” I worried as the ashy tip of her Marlboro rolled towards my thigh.

  “As in the biggest bomb. And this kind of love takes everything. It explodes, and it’s magnificent, and blinds you so much that you can’t see anything, not even the damage it caused. It transforms the very being of your existence till all you are is the explosion itself.” Her neck grew stiff, corded and strained, “Do you want to hurt, Gemma?”

  Her thumb pulled at the corner of my eye, stretching it open, forcing me to absorb the entirety of my senses: every word, every scent, and every taste made me feel less like a person, and more like the wet ink to a manifesto.

  She. Absolutely. Terrified. Me.

  “No… never…” I finally stuttered, blinking slowly, incapable of missing a moment.

  “If you love her, you’ll save her from that. You’ll spare her from what happened to me. And don’t say no, don't say it won’t happen because I see it in you, Parker. There is a love that has killed me, that has led me to who I am and the things I’ve done. When that bomb blows, it takes you far from home, and leaves you somewhere different than where you came from. And here, where I am, is dead.” She curled her hand behind my neck, holding it still.

  “I want to leave…” I whimpered, struggling to pull my arm away.

  “Promise me that if you love her, you’ll listen to me, because the older you get the worse it’ll be.”

  “But you’re older… don’t you love Gemma, too? Can’t I be like you?”

  “You could never be like me. Someday you’ll be a man. You’ll become a problem. Now look at me, and tell me you’ll be the friend she needs, never the bomb. That’s how you’ll hurt her.”

  “But… I could never hurt her.”

  “What you think and what you know are different. You didn’t mean to burn your finger on a match, but the fire got too close, didn’t it?” she asked, as my thumb continued to ache. “That’s you, Parker; you’re the flame, and the closer you get, the more likely it is that you’ll burn Gemma. So I’ll ask you again, do you want to hurt her?”

  I wanted to shake myself free, but her cold insistence dug into me, haunting like a shackled ghost from the future. Could she really see that in me? She was right about everything else; about what I felt for Gemma, about what I struggled to say and describe. Every word, every sense she produced coiled itself to my core, pulling me closer to her lips and words. If she knew this already, then could she know my future too?

  “I don’t want to hurt my Butterfly,” my lip shook, horrified by what she saw in me.

  “Then, promise me, swear on your life that you’ll never get close enough to love her, to be the man who ruins her life.”

  “I—” I barely trembled out.

  “Promise you won’t be like my husband, the man who left, who Gemma’s out there looking for. Now, promise!” she shouted, causing me to flinch. She was broken in the most horrific of ways, burrowing into my mind like a dirty seed, and what she said made no sense, especially about where Gemma was. Her father left years ago, but Mrs. Harrison’s panicked look made me feel as though it had just happened.

  “I promise…” I inhaled, blinking as she finally let me loose, my arm stinging worse than my thumb. My own tears threatened to fall as she turned away.

  Mrs. Harrison sniffed, her palm a rag to her tears as she reached back into her purse, pulling out a quarter, dropping it into my hand. “No one needs to know about this. No one needs to get hurt. If you keep her safe, you’ll always be a sweet boy…” she squeezed my palm shut and leaned in to kiss my cheek, her lips wet with tears. “Thank you for holding the match.”

  I looked down at the quarter, terrorized by everything she said—about love, about Gemma’s dad, and my role in her life. But I refused to believe it. I went to open my mouth—

  “PARKER!” Gemma slammed the front door, shrilling. I turned around as she stood in a pink turtleneck, her hands clenching a tiny bag of cookies. She was home but not excited to see me; in fact, she seemed mad, if not frantic. “You need to go!” She shook her head, lifting me up without another word.

  When I stood up the stuffed giraffe fell off my lap and onto the floor. “But I brought you, Andy!” I clutched the quarter in my hand as she stared at him, then scowled at her mother. “I figured you’d want him.”

  “Thank you. But leave!” She looked like she was about to cry as she twisted my arm, forcing me out.

  Mrs. Harrison didn’t blink once, instead mouthed the word promise as she stared into my eyes.

  “Gemma, are you ok?” I asked, shoved out the door. “What’s happening? Talk to me!”

  For the first time ever, Gemma didn’t look back at me, instead, focused on her mother as she slowly inched the door closer to her body. I knew it then and there, the things Mrs. Harrison said were true. Whatever happened, whatever Gemma’s father or mother did, led her here. It was a bomb, and the tears that burst from her eyes made me want to die.

  “Parker…” she whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

  Gemma slammed the door, locking me out with a quick click of the latch. I stood there, out from the dark and into the light of the hall.

  Everything suddenly became so silent that I nearly forgot to breathe, lost in the realization of what I knew was true all along, of something I felt from the moment I first met her.

  Before, I didn’t know how Gemma made me feel, because all I felt was her. That wasn’t the case anymore, and in place of that was the worst kind of truth…

  I was completely in love with my best friend.

  And I could never tell her.

  Not on her birthday, not ever.

  And as much as I wanted her to know, I knew I never wanted to see her face like that again; worried, filled with tears, and pain. Could I really do that to her? Could I be the person who ruins her life, a match to burn her finger? I wasn’t sure, but knew I never wanted to find out.

  Slowly, I looked to my side, seeing that my bike was now missing, along with Mateo’s newspapers. Someone stole them.

  For a moment I paused, unsure of what to do. I wanted to knock again, I wanted to get her out, but instead I walked away.

  Gemma Rose Harrison was the love of my life, and I’d protect her from that, even at the cost of my own desires.

  I knew now…

  This was my promise.

  This was my punishment.

  Chapter 1

  Alejandro

  Present day

  In my lifetime, I had already broken seven different bones. Four ribs, one toe, and two in my hand from a punch to the face of a man I hardly cared to talk about. The others were earned while shooting scenes in a movie, those where I’d jump off roofs or crash through windows.

  It was quite possible that I was on the brink of breaking another. Removing handcuffs wasn’t hard at Midtown Precinct South, a police station that was clearly under budgeted. They still had an old faulty brand that could be removed easily with the precise slam of its key post. Done incorrectly though, it could fracture my wrist.

  The pain would probably be worth it, considering the promise of freedom was such a delectable idea. If anyone saw me do this, they’d know instantly that chaining me to the fixed steel table was just an illusion of control, a psychological tool I could use if needed. The next person to walk through that door would be prepared to ask me questions, ones I didn’t want to answer. Honestly, it wasn’t just their questions, it was their intent. They wanted to exploit my weaknesses, and it wouldn’t be difficult if they started with Gemma…

  I couldn’t risk them bringing up her name, revealing the noticeable reaction my face would cause. I still wasn’t sure where they put her or if she was even here. She was my weakness, because at this moment all I could think of was her; even the handcuffs were a reminder of Gemma. I thought of when she picked up the pair she found on my coffee table the first time she came to my penthouse. If only she knew I’d been watching her the whole time from upstairs, not lurking, but admiring. She had no idea how dangerous it was to hold those, how I wanted to click them around her wrists, to condemn her to the post of my bed. I’d pull her arms right over her head, just to hear her gasp, just for the assurance that air was filling her beautiful lungs with fuel to speak my name.

  If only she could say it now, over and over again, convincing me that I was someone better than I felt, just as she did eight hours ago when we kissed on the roof.

  Enough… Alejandro…

  I couldn’t think of her, not like that, not now. I had to fight back my eagerness, just as I did around her time and time again. With her I’d scowl so hard, suppressing how desperate I was for her affection, not wanting to look so utterly helpless.

  “Hola.” The lambent expression of a bald and broad-shouldered man made his way through a clanking steel door. That wasn’t a greeting, that was a sardonic hello from Sergeant Dennis Fields, who undoubtedly didn’t speak Spanish. “Not surprised to see you again, O-migo.”

  “Mr. Fields, I’m glad you could join me,” I grinned, making him feel at home.

  “It was only a matter of time; I just didn’t expect it to be so soon.” He carried a blue and white cup of coffee, its Greek letters begging to be read out loud.

  “We are happy to serve you?” I recited its written sentiment, mocking Fields’s enthusiasm. “Is that what the New York Police have been doing recently?”

  “Not well enough,” he took a seat, passing me the coffee. “Especially with people like you out there.”

  “It’s not your fault. I just have better lawyers than you have officers.” I provoked, remembering from previous interactions how easy he was to antagonize. I had already talked to him in this room before. The night after the party at The Pierre, he locked me up to this very table, but unfortunately, unlike that night, today I was absent of legal assistance.

  “And where is that pretty lawyer of yours?”

  “She landed an hour ago…” I took a moment to look up at the pale white clock on the concrete wall, “which gives you maybe thirty more minutes until I’m gone.” When I called for Lina, my lead attorney, her secretary told me she had already left LAX late last night. She’d been out in California, handling another troubling task.

  “Does she fly a broom?” Sergeant Fields laughed at his own joke.

  I didn’t reply, opting to study him with the same calculated stare I gave anyone who entered my sight. I knew immediately that poor humor was a way to deflect his fragile, little ego.

  A bead of sweat dripped along his forehead as he patted the sides of his unorganized papers. I tried not to gloat. Fields wasn’t a man, just an intimidated boy. I knew so much just by the details he’d thought I’d miss.

  At first, his lateness was something I took as a spiteful tactic to waste my time, but now I knew it wasn’t. Sergeant Fields had missed a button along his salmon-colored shirt, leaving a gaping hole that revealed his pink, sweaty belly. He must have been rushed and skipped it by accident, his eagerness to appear in this room further evident by the dark splotch of coffee that fell beside his tie. He had probably sipped it before it was cool, burnt his tongue, and spit it back into the cup, the very cup he pushed my way now.

  His boorish chuckle puttered out as he realized how closely I paid attention to him. I couldn’t even bring myself to smile at his little fucking joke, searing my eyes so deep into his, daring him to blink. The look we exchanged, though brief, was rewarding as his lip began to twitch.

  “You smoke still?” He had the audacity to pull out my own pack of cigarettes, placing them out of reach.

  “Only when I’m stressed,” I feigned interest.

  The truth was, I did want a smoke, but I’d been trying to stop despite my urges. I considered it a practice of self-control, something I lacked around Gemma. Though she didn’t mind the smell of my smoke, I knew it bothered her, and I especially knew that the flick of a lighter sent her into a troubled stare. It was enough to make me quit the habit all together, though, without their aid, I wasn’t sure how else to quench my needy hands.

  Shit.

  I was thinking of her again, wishing my thumb could brush her plump, bottom lip, and for a moment my face dropped.

  “You’re scared of what I got for you, aren’t ya?” Sergeant Fields noticed, sifting the papers like a deck of cards. He licked his finger and removed a sheet out from the pile. “One violation of trespassing, one count of concealment of a deadly weapon…”

  “Deadly weapon?” I raised a brow.

  “A switchblade…”

  “Hardly…”

  “It’s illegal.”

  “By that standard, are toothpicks illegal as well?”

  “Don’t be a smart ass.” He continued to flip the pages, searching for what he could. So far he only caught me on the roof of an abandoned building with a switchblade in my pocket. He grinned before letting out a long whistle. “This one’s my favorite,” he muttered, clicking a pen in his hand. “One count of reckless endangerment… oh that’s a big one, buddy, but I’m sure it’s familiar.”

  “No one was in danger.”

  He chuckled, “Sure. I’ve heard that before.”

  Having Gemma on the roof was far from dangerous. True danger? I’d never allow it. Keeping her close to the edge was not the same as risking her falling. I was there, I could stop it; and for once I felt like I had control, like I could prevent the bad things from happening, things like in the past. That moment with her gave me purpose… that gave me life.

  Could she tell that my kiss was more? Not just an affirmation of all the things I ever felt, but a desperate thank you?

  I knew now I was capable of being more, of being someone just like her—patient, kind, worthy of love. If she could see that in herself, then maybe she could see it in me too, making me less scared to open up, to show her who I was and who she was meant to be; my redemption for those who I should’ve been there for, but couldn’t, people like my brother… people like Natalie.

  “Gemma’s safe,” I replied, less for Sergeant Fields and more for myself.

  “Just like that poor girl at The Pierre?” He brought up the topic to crawl under my skin. “You can’t be trusted with anyone, Rivers… First, the girl at the hotel, now this bitch on the roof of an abandoned building? You have a knack for getting girls killed, don't you?”

  I slammed my wrist along the table, freeing myself from the cheap cuffs with a loud bang. Sergeant Fields scooted back, screeching his chair as he placed his hand on the holster of his gun. His eyes popped, as if air filled them from the other end of their beady existence.

  Carefully I leaned forward, testing the limits of how courageous—or rather—foolish he’d be. I lifted the pack of cigarettes, pulling one out, unable to deny at least the butt of its cherry taste to touch my lips.

  “Don’t ever threaten me with a gun…” I bit through the muffled guard of my cigarette. “You ever pull that shit on me, and I’ll shove it down your fucking throat. And as for Gemma… you say her name again, and I’ll kill you.”

  Whatever cat and mouse game we played seemed far too real for even Sergeant Fields, who was smart enough to decipher a good actor from an actual pissed off man. What did he see to make him believe the words I just said? Confidence? Desperation? Everything that Gemma bore in me was like the thirst evoked by a Jalisco sun. I’d do anything to capture that feeling, to savor it, because now with Gemma, I had a purpose, rather than a distraction. I wouldn’t sink or fall… I’d float.

 

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