Page 8 of Under Pressure
A huge smile spread across Dad’s face. “You’re going to a concert?”
She nodded. Well, maybe. Fear gripped her stomach. What if Sean’d already asked someone else? Or what if he changed his mind? “Yeah, maybe. I haven’t said yes, yet.”
Dad wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You should go.”
He gave her a tight squeeze before grabbing his wallet and keys off the counter. He shoved his wallet in his jeans pocket. “I’ll be home in a couple hours. Juan wants me to come back in and look at a Harley that’s making a gurgling sound when the engine turns on.”
She’d been surprised by how much her dad knew about being a mechanic when they’d left. He’d never shown it. And no one would ever assume he’d “lower himself to such a job.” It was perfect. But his real expertise was motorcycles. He loved them.
“Okay.”
“And just so you know, Dominic’s okay.”
Every muscle in Blue’s body went stiff at the mention of her brother. They almost never talked about him.
Dad’s happy-go-lucky countenance dropped in an instant. “Don’t act surprised. I know you’ve been looking out for him. I talked to Marshall Stroup. He looked into it. There was no evidence to convict him.”
Marshall Stroup had been with them from the beginning. He was their go-to guy for everything. A middle-aged man with a gruff attitude and go-get-’em zest for his job. Not that you would know it to look at him—the man never smiled—that knowledge came from watching him work.
“But he did it, right?” she whispered. “Dom killed that guy.”
Dad glanced at his feet, then shook his head. “Honestly, I’d be more surprised if this was his first.” That was the mafia for you. Getting boys killing at young ages is what they did, and coincidentally why they’d had to run. Because Blue had stopped her brother from taking his first kill. Or rather, she’d taken the choice from him. No fourteen-year-old kid should have to make that kind of decision.
Dad looked her in the eyes. “Say yes. Go out with that boy.” He winked and headed down the hall.
She waited until she heard the tell-tale click of the door shutting and locking behind him before she pulled out her phone, and opened up to his number which he’d saved under Sean “Mr. Snookums Super Stud” Clayton. She rolled her eyes and chuckled, then nerves swirled in her stomach as she thought this through.
Was this a good idea?
It’d make her dad happy but . . .
She thought of Sean’s light hazel eyes, the color of warm honey. Of his wide smile and those dimples. And the way hemade her feel . . .safe. Could she afford to let her walls down with him? She felt something for him, she knew she did, and every instinct in her told her to shut it down. To close-off. To stop talking to him, and run in the other direction. Sure, she and her dad hadn’t moved in two years and weren’t likely to have to again anytime soon, but what if a potential threat presented itself?
What if her confusing feelings turned into something more? And with Sean, they very easily could. Did she want to put herself in that position again? Where she had to leave behind someone she lov—cared about?
She thought of her brother, bloody scar on his jaw, blank expression, being led into the police station earlier that week and she squared her shoulders.
At one time in her life she’d been brave. She didn’t love Sean. She barely knew him. And it was just a concert. Pulling up his number, she jabbed the call button and waited as it rang once, twice, three times, then . . .
“Hello?” Sean’s deep timbre came through the line, sounding perplexed.
“Sean,” she nearly squeaked. “It’s—”
“Blue!” he sing-songed. “Please tell me you’re calling to accept my invitation.”
A smile crept over her face. “I’m calling to accept your invitation.”
Muffled sounds filled the line, then a loud “Yahooooo!” as he celebrated with a shout. He came back on. “You just made my day.”
Sean
Of course when Sean had asked Blue to go to the concert, it was because he’d wanted to go with her, but he hadn’t realized just how happy it’d make him when she said yes.
Saturday came, and he whipped through all the things he’d promised he’d do for his grandparents and their neighbors with time to spare. He’d had more than enough time to shower in his grandparent’s guest bedroom upstairs where he often stayed overnight, and to get ready.
He came downstairs to find Nonna sitting at her piano in the music room playing Rachmaninoff’s Concerto No. 2, her fingers flying over the keys like hummingbird wings over flowers. She looked cute as a button in black slacks and a button-up black and white polka dot shirt—collar up.
She finished, tossing her head as she came to the dramatic conclusion, and as soon as she lifted her fingers, Sean let out a loud whistle and clapped.
