Page 53 of Best Laid Plans

The women at the other table get up when they sense something is off, each of them moving to surround Citi and Lil as if they can soften the blow somehow. But something tells me whatever Havoc is about to say is going to undo all the hard work Citi just put in.

“James just made his next move.”

“What did he do?” she spits out, her hands fisted at her side.

“He set fire to the shelter. The fire department is on the scene now. My contact says they have it mostly under control, but they have confirmed fatalities.”

Her eyes slip closed, a tear running down her cheek. I get to my feet and walk over to her. Sensing me close, she holds her hands up to ward me off. I know that face. It’s the one that says if you touch me now, I’ll break. I hesitate, waiting for a sign of what to do.

Havoc’s answer is the bomb that detonates, taking the choice from either of us. “One of the dead is the owner, April. I’m sorry, Lil. I know you were friends.”

And he is sorry—I can tell by his voice. Everyone’s sorry, but nobody is as sorry as Lil is. As she crumbles, the girls reach for her. But with years of avoiding bomb blasts under my belt, I’m faster. I dive and catch her before she hits the ground. I curve my body over hers, shield her from everyone else as she finally gives herself permission to fall apart.

Chapter Eighteen

LIL

The funeral was a somber affair as you’d expect, but the turnout was phenomenal. People from all walks of life—those who had been down on their luck and received help from April before turning their lives around, and those who were newly trying to navigate the world of homelessness—gathered together to pay their respects to a woman who opened her arms to everyone and never showed a sliver of contempt.

She’d told me a little about her background and that of her then-husband, Jordan. When he was a young boy—maybe ten or eleven—Jordan, his mother, and his brother Sam found themselves homeless. Their story was a hard one, which involved the mom selling her body to feed her kids and a system that failed them every step of the way.

People have an odd perception of homelessness, not realizing how close most people are to it. Jordan’s mom had been let go after the company she’d been with for years downsized. Dad had an affair and ultimately left to start a family, leaving the woman behind to look after the children and chase him for child support, which he somehow always managed to evade. A poor economy meant that finding a job, juggling childcare, and paying the bills were nearly impossible. An eviction notice came after two months of missed rent, and a sick child who had an eight-day hospital stay added astronomical medical debt to her already weighted shoulders.

When Sam and Jordan were fifteen and eleven, mom was arrested for solicitation. Kids were put into foster care. Nobody wanted an angry fifteen-year-old, so Sam was bounced around until he aged out, and the state could wash their hands of him. He wound up back on the streets dealing until an addict pulled a gun on him and shot him twice in the head.

Jordan grew up with memories of his mother and brother that nobody else had. All the world saw was a whore and a dealer. They didn’t know about the nights the mom sobbed herself to sleep, so hungry she could barely lift her head. But she’d made sure her boys had eaten that day, even if a john had to fuck her while she was unconscious. Sam was the one who nursed his mother’s wounds, cleaned her up after the rough clients tore her to pieces, and protected his little brother, using his body the same way his mother did if it meant they didn’t touch Jordan.

Jordan grew up and turned his experience into a platform. He met and married April, had a son of his own, and opened dozens of shelters across the state to help those in situations his family had once found themselves. When Jordan died of colon cancer, April carried on his legacy. She helped me more than she’ll ever know. I wish I’d told her that she was the reason in those early days that I didn’t just give up and lie down to die. She made me feel a little less invisible, and a whole lot more like I could make a difference, however that might look.

Without James lurking in the shadows, she’d have been the driving force in my life that pushed me to do more. But I had to hold back and hide, knowing the outcome. I hoped she didn’t look at me and feel like she failed. It was that thought that haunted me every night since we got the news of her death.

I push the dark glasses up my nose when I feel them slip before burrowing further into Powers’s side. He pulls me in tighter, the warmth of his arm seeping into my skin, keeping me grounded when I want nothing more than to float away. I think back to my last conversation with April.

“You can’t run forever.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. You think I haven’t seen that look in your eyes, in the eyes of a hundred other women and children? I know what fear looks like, Lil.”

I take a deep breath. I can’t lie to her. I did once. I skated over my association with the club, at first, because of the situation with Lil and not knowing if I would stay. After that, I was embarrassed. She looked at me like I could climb mountains if I wanted to. It made it impossible to tell her that the only thing my legs were good for was spreading. I should have known better, though, because she never judged me. Just asked if I was happy there, wanted help getting out, and was being careful. That’s the kind of person she was. The world would be a better place with more people like April in it. But thanks to James, she was gone far too soon.

“Whatever happens, Lil. I’ll be here when you stop running. I’m proud of how far you’ve come, but don’t spend so long looking for a better place that you forget to take in all the beauty along the way.”

I’d thought about her words a lot while I was running. I didn’t feel like I was taking the cowardly way out. I never wanted to leave to begin with, but perhaps she was right all along. Running wasn’t just about escaping this place. It was about escaping the demons in my head. The ones that followed me no matter where I went.

I look up when I feel Powers urging me to move and realize the service is over and people are leaving. I let him lead me toward the parking lot, keeping my head down so I don’t make eye contact with anyone. Cowardly? Yes, but I’m not sure I can look anyone in the eye and not read the guilt I’ve felt every damn day since the fire.

I see a pretty dark-haired woman watching us with a sad smile on her face. “Who’s that?”

Powers looks over at where I am staring and nods to the woman. She gives him a quick wave and hurries away. “That’s the woman Capone had a crush on. Her name is Lucy. He asked her out on a date the day he died.”

“Shit. No wonder she looks haunted.”

“Yeah. It hit her hard.”

We keep walking, lost in thought. We’re not far from the car when Powers stops us. “Can I help you?”

I lift my head at the sound of Powers’s voice, and my eyes land on the handsome man in front of me with familiar gray eyes—the gray eyes of a dead woman. My breath hitches as a sob claws its way up my throat.