Page 20

STACY

W e roll onto Cartwright Street, and my stomach clenches like it’s trying to fold in on itself. I suck in a breath, bitter and dry. It scrapes my throat like sandpaper—useless, doing nothing to silence the chaos inside me.

I dig my fingers into the seat and stare out the window, trying to quiet the storm in my chest. A row of decaying tenements lines the street, each one flanked by overflowing dumpsters. Larry’s building squats between two identical ones—like a bad memory sandwiched between regrets.

Brooklyn always made me feel like I was trespassing on something already broken—like the city itself never wanted me here.

I used to come here for Larry—to see my dad.

But that was before everything shattered.

I felt obligated back then. He was still my dad—even if he and Mom were divorced.

But now, I’ve got more than enough reasons to never set foot here again.

Ray parks across the seat. His hand brushes my cheek, gentle, deliberate. Grounding and centering in a way I need more than I could ever admit out loud.

“I’ll be waiting,” he says, his voice soft but sure. His lips press a warm kiss to my cheek, and even in the dark, I see it—that glow in his eyes. “If I hear anything—anything—I’m coming in. I don’t care if you’re mid-sentence. I’ll bust the door down.”

A jagged laugh slips out—half comfort, half disbelief. He’s serious and I can’t explain how much that means to me. I nod in understanding and push the car door open.

The city hits me in the face—wet pavement, sour garbage, and the metallic tang of old rain clinging to brick.

The kind of New York smell that burrows under your skin.

I cross the street without hesitation, eyes locked on the dented gray door like it’s a target.

I’m not second-guessing this. I’m walking straight into the lair of a man I once trusted.

A man who shared his bed with my mother, swore vows to her—and killed her with his betrayal.

I’m going to treat him the way he treated her. My hand is up before I can think it through. I press the button for his apartment.

“Who is it?” his voice crackles from the rusted, tinny speaker.

I pause, gathering myself enough to speak.

“It’s me. Stacy.”

“Oh! Hey, honey! What a surprise! I wasn’t expecting you!”

My skin crawls at the cheer in his voice. Does he know what he did? Does he know it was his fault?

“Buzz me in.”

The buzzer screeches, and I slam the door open like it owes me something I can’t ever get back. The elevator sits in the corner, ancient and tired, but I don’t bother. Larry’s apartment is on the third floor and I don’t have the patience to wait for anything that slow.

I take the stairs two at a time, adrenaline pounding under my skin like drumbeats in a war march. Cold spreads through me as I climb, wrapping around my bones like frostbite. It’s that kind of cold that numbs and sharpens all at once.

I reach his door in time to hear him undoing the chain. The door opens and I don’t wait. I shove the door open and slap him—hard. My palm cracks across his cheek. His head snaps to the side, his mouth hangs open, stunned, but I’m not done.

I curl my left hand into a fist, twist my arm and punch him hard, right in the stomach. His breath whooshes out in a grunt.

“Jesus!” he wheezes, doubling over. “What the hell’s got into you, girl?”

“Don’t you dare pretend,” I snarl, kicking the door shut behind me. The echo bounces down the hall like gunfire. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know. You knew about my mother. Don’t lie to me.”

He groans, still hunched, a hand clutching his gut. “Knew what?”

“She wasn’t human!” The words tear out of me like claws. “You knew. You had to have known!”

He straightens slowly, pale and shaking. “Oh…”

Swallowing hard, he backs toward the living room, raising his hands like I’m a threat. Maybe I am.

“Sit down, honey,” he says hoarsely. “Please. It’s not that simple. Just let me explain.”

“Which part?” I snap. My voice spikes, shrill and furious. “The part where you kept the biggest secret of my life from me, or the part where you destroyed her?!”

“All of it,” he says, gesturing to the armchair like we’re about to catch up over coffee. “Have a seat.”

“I can’t.” My breath’s coming in short, sharp bursts. “Just… talk. I’m listening.”

He scrubs his face with both hands and sinks into the chair, like the weight of everything just caught up to him.

“Your mom was… an extraordinary woman. I met her at this?—”

“The ball,” I cut in. “The one in that weird little town where everything changed. I remember.”

“No, it’s not like that,” he says quickly. “We met at the ball, sure—but the real story starts with where it was held. Have you ever heard of a little coastal town called Mercer? It’s upstate, near the New York-Connecticut line.”

“What does Mercer have to do with anything?”

“Everything,” he says, nodding slowly. “I got there by accident. Some college buddies and I were being dumb and reckless—road trip kind of thing. We ended up in Mercer without a plan. That’s where I met your mom.”

The name slams into me like a bruise I didn’t know I had. Mercer. Of course it starts there.

“We clicked right away,” he goes on, eyes distant. “A week later, we were in Vermont together.”

I wrap my arms around myself, like I can hold my insides together before they spill out.

“You still haven’t told me why Mercer matters. What happened there?”

His gaze sharpens. “You were born there.”

My breath catches.

“When your mom was about thirty-four weeks pregnant, she told me she wanted to go back to Mercer to have you. I thought it was strange—leaving the city to give birth in some little no-name town? But she said she’d explain. And she did. Later.”

“And?” My voice is barely audible.

“She didn’t want to give birth in New York because the hospitals here would’ve run blood tests. They’d have run blood tests. And those tests would’ve shown things—things no human chart could explain.”

I already know what he’s talking about, but hearing it aloud, from him, stabs something deep.

“She was running. Hiding. She did it all for me,” I whisper, voice cracking. “And you let her die for it.”

“No!” His hands fly up, desperate. “I didn’t know. Stacy, I didn’t know! I didn’t understand what she was. I was young, stupid—I cheated. I won’t deny it, I did—but I didn’t know what it would do to her. I only found out after she left me.”

“You didn’t just screw around,” I hiss. “You shattered her. You broke her heart. She trusted you, and you killed her with that betrayal.”

His face crumples like wet paper. Tears fill his eyes as he drops his head and hunches his shoulders. He shakes his head, staring at the floor. Defeated.

“Look at me.” His voice trembles. “Look at my face, Stacy. Do you think I don’t carry that with me every day? I wake up with it. Sleep with it. It never leaves me.”

I glare at him through the burn in my eyes. “Cry all you want. It won’t bring her back.”

Tears leak from the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t wipe them away, letting them fall, silent and useless. I turn on my heel, heart hammering in my chest. I don’t want to breathe the same air as him. Every second in that apartment feels like being poisoned.

I burst out the door like it’s on fire and tear down the stairs, fleeing the ghosts clawing at my back. My pulse thrums in my ears, the sounds of my boots pounding against the steps like gunshots. I hit the street hard and look up—and he’s there.

Ray.

Still here. Waiting. He said he would be, but seeing him—with his arms crossed, eyes soft but watchful, alert like he’s been listening through the walls. He doesn’t say a word.

I stumble into his arms and collapse, all the tension snapping loose like someone just severed my spine. My whole body gives out, my muscles turning to water. He catches me, one arm around my shoulders, the other at my waist, holding me steady like I’m something worth protecting.

And I break.

A sound bursts out of me—ugly and raw. A sob that rips from the deepest pit of my stomach. I cry hard. Loud. The kind that turns heads. The kind that makes strangers pause, pity in their eyes before they keep walking faster.

But not Ray. He doesn’t move. He squeezes me tighter, his cheek against my hair, silent and strong.

I cling to him, shaking, trying to hold myself together while everything inside me splinters.

The image of my mother floods my mind—her soft voice, her warm smile, the way she always looked at me like I was her world.

And then, the last look she gave me, the sorrow behind her eyes as if she knew what was coming.

She died because she loved the wrong man. Because she loved him .

I sob harder. For her. For me. For the part of me that’s still that little girl waiting for a mother who never came home. Ray doesn’t let go.

And in the middle of that filthy Brooklyn street, under the flickering glow of a busted streetlamp, I let myself mourn. Let myself feel it all.

And for the first time in years, someone stays. Just holds me, while I fall apart.