Guilty Stars

8

I watched my mother raise me on her own and witnessed the way systemic prejudices worked against her in the workplace and even in social settings. Men who wouldn’t date her because she had a child, and PTA moms who made slighted comments, insinuating my mom was less of a mother because she worked. She never let the comments get to her. She never stopped fighting for the things she wanted. Donald’s shortcomings as a man were evident in his inability to value women and cherish their place in our lives. Putting it simply, he was a piece of s**t, and I wasn’t going to waste any more of my time on him. I wrapped up our conversation, crumpling his business card the moment I left the building. OceanofPDF.com 5 EVIE My feelings for Michael were evolving faster than I ever could have imagined. He was just as perfect as I remembered him being in high school except that the rebel bad boy had grown into a full-blown criminal. How could I surrender my heart to someone who could end up in prison? Could I love a man who hurt others? Images of Donald floated into my mind, but they only emphasized the vast differences between the two men. One hurt the people he claimed to love. The other fiercely protected his loved ones against outside threats. Both men were dangerous, but one was infinitely more admirable. I knew in my heart that Michael was a good person, no matter his choice of career. It was an important factor but somehow, not decisive. I needed to talk to him about it, but would talking change anything? I wanted to be with Michael more than I had ever wanted another man. I never imagined myself with a criminal, but I hadn’t thought of a criminal as being as multifaceted as Michael. They weren’t all cartoon bandits or psychopaths. I’d learned how complex people could be in school, but experiencing it for myself with a man I had feelings for was different. It made everything more complicated. My phone chimed as I lay in bed, lost in my thoughts. Mom was making one last effort to guilt me into attending her fiftieth birthday party. I’d tried to explain to her that I had to sever ties for my own mental health, but she refused to accept my wishes. Boundaries were hard but incredibly necessary when dealing with disfunction. If she didn’t stop soon, I’d have to block her number. The problem was, I felt bad for her. She was just as much a victim as I was, but I could only do so much. She had to be the one to take steps to free herself. I’d led the way. I’d told her my thoughts on Donald and expressed that I would help her if she wanted to leave. It was her choice to sacrifice her dignity for financial security. The thought was depressing, so I forced myself from the bed and into the shower. Michael would be coming over for dinner, and I still had to buy food and tidy up my apartment before he arrived. When three o’clock rolled around, an unexpected knock sounded at my door. Michael showed up hours before I’d expected him. Much to my relief, I’d been productive and accomplished all my chores before he arrived. “You weren’t supposed to be here for three more hours,” I teased him when I opened the door. He grinned mischievously. “I wanted to see you. Hope you don’t mind.” Had my heart been a balloon, it would have burst from swelling so large. “Not at all. Come on in.” I closed the door behind him. “I was just going to have some ice cream. Want some?” “How can I say no to ice cream?” I pulled out my tub of vanilla and a bottle of chocolate syrup. “I don’t have a lot of options. This is my go-to combo.” Michael picked up the scoop and motioned for the ice cream tub. “You don’t need options when you have a classic. I take it you have a sweet tooth?” “More than I care to admit.” “Two scoops it is.” Then he did something that made my knees quiver. Michael Savin— gangster and tattooed badass—winked at me. It was the most endearing, adorable thing I’d ever seen. My ovaries actually fluttered. Too flustered for words, I took the chocolate syrup and proceeded to flood my bowl with the liquid goodness. “How was your day yesterday?” “Informative. You?” He poured his own syrup, and we moved to the round kitchen table. I was pleasantly surprised at how natural it felt to have him in my home. I liked the way he made the place feel. “The day was good. Got some errands done midday, and met with clients all evening. My schedule is very different than most people’s.” I’d found it hard to juggle my work schedule with past relationships. In school, I worked evening clinics and had more than one boyfriend fuss about my absence. “Fortunately, my work is flexible. We can be together midday instead of evenings if that works better for you.” Michael reversed a large spoonful of ice cream from his mouth, his lips smoothing over the melting remnants on the spoon. I crossed my legs and had to pinch myself to stay focused. This was a perfect opportunity to broach the subject of his criminal activities if I could keep from getting lost in a lust-filled haze. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about your job quite a bit. I’m not sure how to bring it up, and I know we only just started going out, but I feel like it’s a big deal. You and the Bratva. It worries me.” “I’d be surprised if it didn’t. What part bothers you the most?” “I guess that depends on what it is you do. It concerns me that you’d end up in jail, but I also worry about you being hurt. And I worry about having to worry, if that makes sense. I don’t want to live always wondering if you’re coming home at night.” Oh, God. We’d only been on one official date, and I was already talking as if he’d proposed. What the hell was I thinking? I wanted to talk about his job but hadn’t exactly meant to blab like a nagging wife. Suddenly, my ice cream lost its appeal. I focused my gaze intently on my spoon swirling chocolate lines into the melting white cream. “Evie, look at me.” My eyes snapped to his.