Renewing Their Vows by Jessa Kane

Three

North

I’m not okay.

In our entire five years together, I’ve never lied to Grace. Not once.

Technically, I haven’t told her a lie. I fucked her so well she forgot to worry, forgot to extract a promise out of me not to approach Curtis Tennison. But I have no choice. It will be a cold day in hell when I leave the safety of my wife to chance. The fact that her well-being is even remotely in question makes me extremely not okay.

The fact that we had some tension between us this morning when we should be on cloud nine over the baby has my chest in a vise. The sooner I handle this problem, the better. I won’t sleep until I know Curtis isn’t going to retaliate by hurting Grace.

Her intervention with the police sent the career criminal to prison.

Does he know that?

Grace thinks I’m at the gym training for my first professional fight and I need to get there soon. In case she stops by. In case she calls me. Hell, she knows the background noise of the training gym by heart and I’m not sure I’d be able to lie about my location anyway. Lying to her makes me feel sick to my stomach. Omitting the truth—that I’m going to meet with Tennison this morning—is bad enough.

I’m walking down the street, not too far from where we live, but slightly off the beaten track. Before his stint in prison, Tennison spent a lot of his time in the back room of O’Keefe’s Irish Pub where he’s a partial owner and that’s where I’m heading. If he’s not there, someone might know where I can find him.

Most of the letters on the O’Keefe’s sign have worn away, the door handle slightly askew. Neon beer signs sit dusty in the window, unlit. When I walk inside, darkness greets me, followed by several heads turning at the bar. It’s not even nine o’clock in the morning and there are pints sitting in front of each man, the sound of fiddles playing quietly from an unseen speaker. Cigarettes are lit, even though it’s illegal, their smoke curling upward toward the dim pendant lights over the bar.

“You’re that fighter kid,” says the bartender, slapping a towel over his shoulder. “Aren’t you? North Whitlock, right?”

“That’s right,” I respond, my voice even.

In Southie, everyone knows everyone’s business and we have long memories. I will always be “that fighter kid” even if my life changes directions. I could become president of the Unites States in the next election and it wouldn’t mean shit in Southie. A person doesn’t overcome their first impression in this neighborhood. When I’m ninety years old, people around here will still refer to me as a boxer. A fighter. That’s who I am in this place. And in this case, I don’t mind my reputation preceding me. I’m glad they know I’m lethal.

The customers look down at my hands, which are loosely fisted at my side. As if trying to determine how well I can use them. They don’t want to find out.

No one wants to see what I’ll do if Grace is in danger of being hurt.

“My brother took me to one of your fights,” continues the man behind the bar. “Knocked the block off some fucker from Jersey. Two rounds.”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “Oddly enough, he wasn’t interested in a rematch.”

That gets a laugh out of the bar.

Smiling now, the bartender pulls a fresh beer for one of the customers. “What can I do for you, Whitlock? You drinking this fine morning?”

I don’t hesitate. “Nah, I’m here to see Curtis.”

It’s very subtle, the tremor that runs through the bartender’s hands, but I notice it. I notice the beer spill down the side of the pint glass he’s holding under the tap. His expression doesn’t change, though. “Curtis?” he says, acting perplexed. “Not sure who you mean—”

“It’s all right, Sean,” a voice says from the back room of the bar. A second later, Curtis Tennison steps out into the open, taking a long pull from a cigarette and blowing it in a slow stream in my direction. “I was expecting Mr. Whitlock.”

I show no outward reaction, but my stomach drops to the floor. And it stays there.

With that single statement, Tennison has confirmed my worse fear.

He knows who I am.

And if he was expecting me…if he was so positive I would show up to meet with him…he must know about my wife’s role in his incarceration. He knows that’s what I’m here to discuss.

In that moment, with nausea rising in my throat, I regret not telling Grace where I went this morning. Because if this man, this notorious felon, decides to pull out a gun and end me, she’ll never know what happened. Tennison couldn’t beat me like a man, with his fists, but he’s dangerous and he almost certainly carries a weapon, whether it violates his parole or not.

Going into that back room with him isn’t the safest option, but it’s my only one.

I console myself with the fact that even if Tennison plugs me full of bullet holes, I’ll crawl bleeding back to my wife to tell her I love her one final time. I’ll watch over her from the other side. Somehow, some way I’ll find my way to her. That certainty is knitted into my fabric.

Curtis turns on a heel and disappears into the back room, giving me no choice but to follow. Every eye in the bar watches my progress, but I don’t show a hint of the concern I’m feeling. Concern for Grace. The baby. I can’t let anything happen to them.

I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my family safe.

There’s nothing I wouldn’t do.

Curtis sits in a back booth and I drop into a chair facing him, crossing my arms and waiting. Looking him square in the eye without blinking. He inspects my purposefully disrespectful posture and laughs, ashing his cigarette in a dented tin tray. “Simmons Foster loved his daughter getting on her back for someone like you,” he drawls sarcastically. “Didn’t he?”

And that gets me where it hurts.

I’m never going to stop wishing Grace didn’t have to give up her family for me. I’m never going to quit wanting approval from her father, even if he’s an asshole, because that’s what a man does. He wins the support of the person who raised the girl he wants to marry. I failed her in that way, and failing my Gracie in any manner doesn’t sit right. “How would you know if he approved of me or not?” I ask, outwardly bored. “Did you happen to run into him in prison?”

Some of Curtis’s smirk vanishes and he grinds out his cigarette with more force than necessary. “You’re in my house now, Whitlock. You better act like it.”

Or what?

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask the question. I don’t back down from anyone. Never have, never will. But I’m not stupid enough to push my luck too far with this man. Not when Grace’s safety could hang in the balance.

“Why don’t we cut to the chase?” Curtis crosses his arms and leans back in the booth, mimicking my posture. His smile is sickening. Sinister. “You’re here to make sure I don’t…pay a visit…to that tasty little wife of yours.”

Cold sweat breaks out all over my body.

My ears distort the bar sounds, the music. I almost throw up my breakfast.

By “pay a visit” we both know what he means.

Retaliation.

“I’m only out of the clink twenty-four hours and here you are. You must love the girl.” He winks at me. “Either that, or the pussy is as hot as it looks.”

Rage blinds me, every muscle in my body going into fight mode.

My fist smashes down on the table, involuntarily, bringing two sets of footsteps rushing into the room. Whoever enters, Curtis holds up a hand to stave then off.

“We’re fine, boys,” Curtis says, chuckling. “My fault for poking the bear.”

“Don’t you dare talk about her like that,” I rasp, an invisible fist choking off my airway. “That’s my wife.”

“Careful…” Curtis warns, waving his cronies back out of the room. “Check that temper.”

My eyes bore into his. “You don’t think it’s checked? Anyone else who talked about her like that would already be dead.” Some of the color leaves the other man’s face, but it does nothing to appease me. “What do you want to stay away from her? To forget—”

“That her little wire stunt implicated me in several crimes?” Curtis snaps. “Oh, I think I deserve something good, don’t you?”

It costs me an effort to calm down when my heart is pounding.

All I can see is my wife scared, running, her blood spilled on the pavement, and it makes me want to roar like a wounded animal.

“You’d give your life for her, wouldn’t you?” Curtis says, almost to himself. Then louder, “Lucky for you, I’m only asking for one fight.”

“What do you mean?” I push past numb lips.

Curtis’s eyes twinkle with something ugly. Something unmistakably greedy. “I’ve had five years to plan my return to Boston. A lot of time to collect information, on you, especially. You’re on your way to the top, aren’t you, Whitlock? They’re calling you the second coming of Jack Dempsey. So far, you’ve flown under the radar, but your poised for success now.” His mouth ticks up at one end. “You’ve got that first big professional bout next week—and you’re the favorite in Vegas. By a damn mile. Must be nice.”

“I don’t pay attention to the odds. I just fight.”

“Well some of us don’t have that luxury. We have to make a living. And in my case, I need my authority back. My influence.” He stabs a finger into the table. “I used to rule this fucking neighborhood until your wife screwed her father—and me in the process. Now I have to get my clout back. Only way to do that around here is to line the pockets of people who matter with money. You getting me? I need a cash cow. A payday to make me valuable again to the men who’ve stepped up in my absence to run Southie. Otherwise they decide they don’t need me anymore. You can take a guess how that ends.”

I know a lot more than he thinks.

Curtis was always going to get out of prison. We didn’t know it would happen early. But I’ve been preparing, nonetheless. Getting my ducks in a row so I could protect Grace when the day arrived. Now it’s here—and yeah, I know about the men he’s talking about. The criminals who have been running the gambling and extortion scene ever since Curtis got locked up. Those men come to my fights. We greet each other by name.

But Curtis doesn’t know that.

“Just tell me what you want,” I say.

After a small hesitation, Curtis leans forward into the light. “You’re going to throw the fight next week. End of round three, you hit the mat.” He runs his tongue around the inside of his bottom lip. “I’m going to bet heavy on your opponent. My associates will do the same. I’ll prove my worth once again and pick up where I left off. As king of these streets.” A pause lingers. “And your wife doesn’t get a bullet in the head. Everyone wins.”

My stomach roils violently.

A bullet in the head.

Jesus Christ.

Never in my life have I considered taking a dive. There’s no honor in throwing a fight for money. But I would sacrifice my own life, my career, everything to keep Grace alive. End of story. So there is no hesitation at all when I answer, “Done. I’ll do it.” I swallow a rusted nail. “Please, just don’t hurt her. Once I do this, it’s over. You forget she even exists.”

“You have my word.”

The thing is, though…his word isn’t worth a damn.

And as I sit there across from the devil, who lights up another cigarette to celebrate what he perceives as a victory, I’m already formulating a backup plan. Once again, I knew this day would come and I prepared as much as possible. I didn’t anticipate Curtis wanting me to lay down during a fight, but I can adapt. I can bob and weave.

Curtis stands. “Let me walk you out.”

“That’s not necessary,” I say through my teeth, but he’s already striding past me, leaving a cloud of smoke behind him in the stale bar air. Grinding my molars, I follow him, past the gaping row of customers and out onto the sidewalk where the sun has dipped behind a gathering of dark clouds. Signaling a storm.

“Remember,” he says, putting his hand out for a shake. “End of round three. No earlier and no later.”

Grudgingly, I shake his hand, my skin crawling the entire time. This is the hand of the man that might have killed the love of my life. But if I refuse to shake, a man like this would take the slight and let it fester until it turned destructive. I’m trying to defuse this time bomb, not set it off. I pull my hand away as quickly as possible, though, swallowing another wave of nausea. “I’ve got it,” I grit out. “End of round three.”

“Good man.” He shakes his head on the way back into O’Keefe’s. “It’s a shame you have to lose your first fight. You could have been one of the greats. Men do stupid things for love.”

He has no clue what I’d do for this love of mine.

As far as I’m concerned, his proposition was a no brainer.

I’d walk through the fires of hell for my wife, let alone lose a boxing match on purpose.

Thinking ahead to what I have to do, I turn and cross the street. At the end of the block, I start to take a left—

And I nearly knock over Grace.

For a moment, I can’t comprehend seeing her there. On this rough street, looking like a freshly bloomed tulip among the weeds. It makes no sense. Her condition quickly draws my concern, though. She’s pale and shaking, her eyes fixated over my shoulder on the entrance to O’Keefe’s. Where I just shook hands with the man who she sent to prison.

The man who made her fear for her life.

“Did you follow me?” I ask thickly, dread coating my insides.

She doesn’t bother answering, because we both know the answer is yes. I didn’t give her the promise she wanted last night. That’s totally unlike me, considering I’d lay the world at her feet if I could. She knew something was up. “What did you do, North?” she whispers.

“Grace,” I say urgently, starting to tell her everything. That Curtis will kill her unless I throw the fight. But then her hand slips to her stomach, cradling it protectively even though her pregnancy isn’t showing yet. And I second-guess myself. I hesitate. Because I can’t tell my pregnant wife that this man wants her dead. That it’s all going to come down to me getting knocked out at the exact right moment—which isn’t all that easy to time and do it convincingly. I can’t scare her like that when she’s carrying our child. If the stress or fear caused something bad to happen, I would never forgive myself.

And the second reason I hesitate to tell her about my deal with Tennison is this.

I have a backup plan.

The less Grace knows about it, the safer she is.

Our every move is going to be watched by Curtis from now until the fight. I might not be a member of organized crime, but I know how they work. How they use information like a weapon. I need Grace to believe one thing—that I’m throwing this fight for Curtis. If she knows there is an alternate plan in the works and accidentally gives it away, her life is back in jeopardy. And that is unacceptable.

“North?” she croaks. “Why…why were you shaking his hand?”

Acid spears upward inside my throat, my heart rebelling over what I have to do. Lie to my best friend, my wife, my soul. “I came to see him to make sure you’d be safe with him outside of prison—and you are. You’re safe.” I take her by the arms, looking her in the eye to impress that fact upon her. “Do you understand, Grace? You’re in no danger.”

“Okay…” she says slowly. “There’s more, though, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” I respond hoarsely, looking down because I can’t lie while staring her directly in the eye. Any other time, I think she would be able to see right through me, to detect a falsehood from my mouth, but I’m about to tell her something she will have no choice but to believe. Because a lot of it stems from truth. “You know, Gracie, how badly I want to provide for you. To give you the life you could have had, if you’d never met me. And now with the baby coming…” I swallow hard. “I can make a lot more money for us if I lose this fight.”

Her confusion is obvious.

And I love her for it.

She knows me. She knows throwing a fight is not in my DNA.

If there’s anything stronger than my professional integrity, though, it’s my drive to support and protect and spoil her. It will win every time. “You’re going to lose on purpose?” She flicks a glance over my shoulder. “For…Curtis Tennison?”

“Yes,” I rasp. “There’s always a chance I could get injured down the road. My career could be over and I’d have little to show for it. Or I could take the windfall right now.”

She backs away from me, horror dawning on her beautiful face. “Please tell me you’re lying, North. Please tell me none of this is true.”

I lift a hand and let it drop, heavy as a brick. “I’m sorry.”

Betrayal dances across her features. “That man…his association with my father turned him into a criminal. It turned Simmons into the kind of person who would commit murder. Once they started working together, I realized my father wasn’t who I believed he was and now…” She shakes her head, as if confused. “Are you who I think you are, North?”

“Grace.” The pain brought on by her doubt nearly drops me to my knees. “You know I am.”

“Not if you’re the kind of man who throws a fight to make illegal money. I know you hate that I had to give up my old life completely, but you’ve taken it too far now. You’re letting that useless insecurity change you, ruin you. It’s going to come between us. The crazy part is that we’re happy. Can’t you see how happy you’ve made me?”

Don’t let her tears break you. As much as you want to die right now.

Her life is in the balance.

Remember, this is all for her safety.

“You could be even happier,” I choke out.

Blanching, she once again puts a hand over her belly, guarding it. “You’re wrong. I couldn’t be.” She takes several heavy breaths, visibly reeling over everything that’s happening. Dammit to hell, why didn’t I anticipate her following me? Why did I leave it to chance? “You’re going to tangle us up into this corrupt world, North. It looks like you already have.” She wets her lips quickly. “Maybe…Maybe it’s not safe for me and the baby to be around you right now.”

That declaration is the equivalent to having a leather whip crack across my face.

It stings and blinds me and renders me momentarily speechless.

“Grace…no. What are you talking about?” Hysteria whips up inside of me like a funnel cloud. “Leaving me?”

Her face crumples, hands wringing in front of her waist.

A beat passes. And then she nods.

She nods.

She’s leaving me.

She’s leaving me?

How is this happening?

This can’t be real.

“No. No, you don’t mean that.” I lunge forward and catch her up in my arms, raking my mouth over hers, holding it there, breathing her oxygen. Looking into her blue eyes with my own, which must be wild. Teeming with the mania that’s running amuck inside of me. “You are going to trust me. You do trust me. You know, Grace. You know I am always, always doing the right thing for us. For you. I love you. I’m insane over you. I wouldn’t fuck this up.”

“You do the right thing. Yes. You always do. But this time you think the wrong thing is the right one,” she hiccups. “I’m going to stay with Tanya for now. I just…I don’t feel like I know you right now, North. Maybe you need to take some time and figure out what’s really important.”

Did I hear her correctly?

She’s going to sleep somewhere besides our bed? At a co-worker’s house?

I’ll climb the fucking walls if I can’t see her. Touch her.

“Don’t do this.” I’m hollowed out, staggering sideways on the sidewalk with her in my arms. My mind burned to a crisp. “Don’t leave me.”

“I don’t want to.” We both look down at her stomach where it’s currently pressed to mine. “But my heart is telling me I don’t have a choice. I feel so b-blindsided.”

My arms tighten around her, my mouth ravaging hers with hard, suctioning kisses. Using my last available weapon—our attraction. But it doesn’t work, because I used it last night. I fucked myself. Made her feel betrayed and confused, instead of loved and cherished and safe. “I’m sorry,” I breathe, winded. “I’m sorry.”

She tries to disentangle herself from me, but I hold on. “If you’re sorry, then walk back into that bar with me and refuse the deal. Tell him you won’t throw the fight. That you want to build a career the right way, with honor, instead of taking an easy payday.”

I can’t do that.

I can’t give her what she wants.

If we both confront Tennison, the truth would be exposed. She’d realize the gangster will kill her unless I pull off the perfect fall—and that fear could harm the baby.

Nor can I tell her my alternative plan. Information makes her a target.

I’m fucked.

I’m fucked and my wife is leaving me.

It’s the worst nightmare imaginable. No Grace. Not having Grace?

I might as well go throw myself off the closest building.

The only thing keeping me semi-coherent is the belief that I’m protecting my family. The only way I know how. And eventually, she’ll know I had no choice. If I can survive long enough for that to happen, we can be together again.

With my guard dropped completely, shattered into oblivion, I let my wife see every bit of the obsession that exists inside of me. It drops her mouth open, makes her issue of gasping sob. “I don’t know what’s going to be left of me when you come back, Gracie.” I lean down and seal my mouth over hers, drawing in as much of her taste as possible. “But until then, I’ll be watching you. Waiting. And loving you without end.”

“I love you, too,” she whispers, backing away. “I always will.”

Somehow I remain standing in place as the girl I worship walks away from me, pulling my heart out through my chest and dragging it in her wake.