Now.

"No, no, no. Absolutely not. Are you idiots out of your fucking minds?!"

I pace back and forth in front of the three detectives sitting on my couch. My eyes flick toward the digital clock sitting on my TV. Nearly midnight and these jerks decide to visit me for the first time in almost a year. Greenly runs a hand over his face and shakes his head. Duffy and Dolly are making it more an obvious that coming to me was a terrible idea; their legs bounce with nervousness and Duffy is sweating an ocean from his armpits. I, on the other hand, am so jumbled that I can't even think straight.

"Ridley, for God's sake, just listen to us," Dolly pleads through his fingers. "They are going to come after you to get to the boys. Why can't you understand that?"

I stop pacing and face the trio, placing my hands tightly on my hips. "Well, why the fuck would some mafia assholes coming looking for me, hm?" I demand to know, my head tilting to the side. "My name is not tied to them in any way. We made sure of that eight years ago."

"Yakavetta is callin' 'em out - killin' people, makin' it look like the boys are doin' it," Greenly explains. "It makes sense that he's gonna come after ya: one of the Saint's ex-girlf-"

I hold a finger toward his face as the other two shake their heads at their partner. "You shut your damn mouth," I hiss. "That word does not get brought up, ever."

Greenly rolls his eyes, knowing that in doing so, he's just building my rage. "Whatever. Anyway, they're usin' their best men to track down anyone they can who has any relation to 'em, or may seem like it. They'll find ya eventually."

"We're just lookin' out for you," Duffy adds, swirling the cup of coffee I'd given him when they first shuffled into my apartment. The first thing they did was compliment on the cleanliness of the place. "Do ya have anywhere else you can stay for the next month or two? We don't want ya gettin' kidnapped again."

They explode in a round of laughter. I join in, forcing out the most believable giggle I can muster, as I make my way to my kitchen. I grab for my small, concealed handgun behind the microwave and round the corner, pointing it toward them. "Real fuckin' funny, guys!" I shout, slapping the cup from Duffy's hand with the butt of the gun. It shatters against the nearby wall and a streak of brown liquid trickles down. "Now get the fuck out or I'll put bullets up your asses!"

(-)

"Can I stay with you guys?"

Murphy and Connor exchange a more than confused glance as they stand in the doorway of the speakeasy. To them, I can only imagine how dumb I look. After the quick visit from my detective friends, their words eventually ate away at me until I realized that the last thing I wanted was to get kidnapped...again. So, I figured the safest place was with the twins and Romeo. Even if I ran away to somewhere else, Yakavetta would find me, just like his father did before. So, here I am, standing on the tiny flight of stairs with nothing put a backpack full of clothes and toiletries. Oh, and a loaded Beretta Px4 Storm.

"Aye," the twins respond simultaneously, opening the door wider for me. As I scurry in, I take a quick glance around the place. Its almost unrecognizable.

Sometime during the last two days, the boys had decorated the entire place to their liking. The Irish and Mexican flags (which look nearly the same) hang on opposite ends of the room, signifying which half belongs to the twins and which belongs to Romeo. Empty beer bottles and cigarette packs scatter the pool table, which seems to be used more for an actual table than a recreational toy. Two beds settle underneath the Irish flag and one – fully equip with a sleeping Romeo – sits beneath the Mexican flag. Stashed away in the corner are black bags that the twins must've brought back with them from Ireland. Sitting upon the windowsill is an ashtray loaded with cigarette butts. How could three men smoke so much in such a short amount of time?

"This is only temporary," I inform them before they have a chance to ask any questions. I shove beer cans from a circular table so I have a place for my backpack. The sound of the clutter bouncing on the concrete floor rattles Romeo awake. "Its come to my attention that I may be in danger because of you two again."

I turn to glance at the twins. They're both giving me an incredulous stare, their arms folded over their chests. Romeo moans something in Spanish, flips his pillow onto the other side, and falls back to sleep in an instant. His loud, obnoxious snoring fills in the awkward silence between the boys and myself. Finally, Connor speaks up. "Y'know, lass, yer the one who got yerself into a bit of a bad spot the last time."

I glare at him through my window of hair as I fish into my backpack. "I was trying to help," I murmur, pulling out a shirt I'd found when I was packing my things. "I never got a thank you for that, by the way. Here, Murph. This belongs to you." I toss the shirt his direction and watch him clumsily catch it. "You guys won't even know I'm here. I work weekdays and I go out as much as possible during the weekends."

"How long do ya plan on stayin' here?" Murphy questions, tossing the shirt onto what I assume is his bed. Its the only one that isn't made. My eyes trace his figure as he reaches for an unopened can of beer among the empty ones, cracks it open, but doesn't take a sip of it yet. This is one of his defense mechanisms – reaching for either a beer or a cigarette when he feels uncomfortable, but not actually drinking or smoking it.

I toss my backpack into the corner near Romeo's bed. He mumbles something about "faggoty guns" and stirs for a moment. "Oh, I don't know," I reply, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "A couple days, maybe a week or two." The longer I speak, the more my voice becomes a hushed whisper. "Or a month."

Murphy finally brings the can to his lips while his brother throws a shit fit. "A month?!" Connor hollers. Romeo sits up and yells for him to be quiet, but the Irishman refuses to listen to him. He grabs an empty can and hurls it at Romeo's head. "Shut the fuck up, ya dirty spic!"

"Maybe," I respond. I clear my throat awkwardly and move toward the window. "I don't really have anyone else I can stay with," I explain as I grab the ashtray and empty its contents into a plastic shopping bag. I move around the room like mist, gathering all the trash I can fit. "And, seeing as I let you guys sleep over at my place, I figure you owe me the same."

I spend the next hour taking multiple trips to the dumpster behind McGinty's to throw away bag after bag of trash. All the while, the twins ask me several times if there's anything they can do to help, but I dismiss them with a wave of my hand or a shake of my head. To be honest, anxiety is building inside me like a volcano rearing to erupt at any second and I don't want to admit this to them. Constantly moving, I find, is the only way to make me feel even the tiniest bit better.

Before I know it, Connor has retreated to his bed after giving his brother a nod of acknowledgment. Murphy returns the motion before giving me a quick glance over. Long ago, their unspoken language used to annoy the ever living crap out of me. They always seemed to know what the other was thinking and I was always left in the dark. Now, I could give a shit less. As I return from my last trip to the dumpster, I find both Connor and Romeo sprawled out on their respected beds. Murphy is wide awake, leaning against the windowsill with a cigarette hanging from his lips. The smoke lingers around his mouth before floating out into the night through the small opening between the window and the red brick of the building.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, I tiptoe to my backpack and rummage through it. As my fingers graze my hairbrush, I pull my hair loose from the frayed hair tie that has been holding it in place for the past two days. I figure if I wake up on time tomorrow, I can hurry home to take a quick shower before work. I glide the brush through my hair and take a quick sideways glance at Murphy. He hasn't noticed that I'm here yet; his eyes are fixed on something flashing on and off below. The light creates a shadow on his features, making him look so much more older than he really is.

For a moment, I can't take my eyes off him. Even though all the sleepless, tear-filled nights that he caused me, he still looks so handsome and perfect in every single way. My gaze trails down to his hand as it grabs for the cigarette. The "AEQUITAS" tattoo is still so prominent that I assume he must've touched it up recently. My own tattoo, a small four-leaf clover on my left forearm, gives off a soft tingling sensation as I reminisce back on all the times I traced the art carved onto his skin with my fingertips – both tattoos and scars alike.

"Y'know, yer bein' a bit creepy," Murphy murmurs in a low tone. I realize that the entire time I had been staring at his tattoo, his eyes had been locked on me. "Ya can take a picture with yer phone if ya want. Been thinkin' of takin' up modelin' soon," he jokes.

Suddenly, I feel so ashamed that I can't make eye-contact with him. I turn my head and pretend to fish through my backpack for something else, thinking back on the final words he left me with only two days before. "Fuck that. I still love you." I can't tell you why my brain decided to bring this little snippet of memory up. Hell, I was so drunk that I can't even remember the conversation leading up to that.

"You guys wouldn't happen to have a spare bed, would you?" I ask, knowing full well what the answer is. I can't stand the silence filling the space between us.

"Nah," Murphy replies. He snuffs out the remainder of his cigarette in the ashtray before closing the window. "Ya can have my bed. I'm used to sleepin' on the floor. Back in Ireland, Da woul-"

"I don't care," I snap as I stand from my backpack. "I don't care about Ireland or how great it was for you. I don't want to hear any of it." I don't refuse his offer for the bed. In fact, I'm on it before I even finish talking.

"I still love you."

I yank the blankets over my head and bury my face into Murphy's pillow, shoving my phone underneath it at the same time. It smells so much like him that I want to chuck it across the room. Unfortunately, this is the only free pillow and I don't want to give it up. I hear him sigh and a quiet shuffling on the left side of the bed. Just barely, I lift the edge of the blanket and peek out at him. Murphy had grabbed my backpack to use as a pillow and the shirt I threw at him earlier as a blanket. The guilt inside me becomes too heavy to bear and I end up pushing some of my blanket onto him.

"Thanks."

"Yeah."

"I still love you."

"Riddles?"

"Yeah?"

"Why'd ya come here?"

I know that Murphy knows that I was full of shit when I said I had nowhere else to go. Any one of the detectives would've taken me in for the time being. Tracey would've acted like I would be a burden, but she would let me stay in her guestroom. Even Shauna would've made room for me in her tiny studio apartment. I had so many places to go, and yet I close to run back to Murphy's side, just like I always did.

"Because," I say, watching the moonlight seep in through the window, "I figured if Yakavetta found me here, you'd protect me." I feel so stupid for admitting that. In a way, I see it as a point for Murphy and a point taken away from me.

Murphy stirs below me, shifting my share of the blanket in the process. "Always," he whispers. "I'll always protect ya, Riddles. That's why I had to leave Boston. That's why I had to leave ya."

"I still love you."

My stomach is twisting into knots. When I was just starting to accept that Murphy was gone forever, I promised myself that on the one in a million chance that I would see him again, I would pretend that I didn't know him, that he was just another stranger on the streets. That promise is beginning to falter, though. How do you pretend not the know the one person you'd ever truly given your heart to, you'd ever not felt guilty about sleeping with, and who you imagined growing old with? Now, I know there's no way to do that. Not when I'd built up my future around him and had it torn down to pieces when he left.

"You didn't have to," I say after a painfully long moment of silence. "I could've held my own."

"I realize that now." Murphy's voice is heavy with exhaustion and shivers. I can tell he's fighting to stay awake through the cold air that's crawling into the room through the window and various other openings in the walls. "The second I stepped foot in Ireland, I felt this fuckin'...hole inside me. And it just got bigger and bigger and I couldn't figure the shit out. Every time I thought 'bout ya, it felt like the damn hole grew and I came to realize it was all a mistake. If anythin', I should've taken ya with us."

I close my eyes tightly, thinking back on all the times that I'd wished I was dead as I screamed into my soaked pillows. The pain of losing him, of not knowing what had happened to him was too much to bear at the time. I was still so young and naive. I'd made Murphy my entire world and when he was gone, I had nothing.

I shimmy to the edge of the bed and peek over. Murphy, who had been lying on his side, rolls onto his back to look up at me. His left arm curls behind his head and his right hand rests on his promise to myself begins to creep into my mind, but I push it back. For once, I'm going to allow myself to give in to something I know will ruin me in the long run - other than booze, that is. Fingers trembling, I reach down and place my thumb against his cheek. He doesn't flinch as I gently run it over his skin, feeling the tiny scar that I remember partially being my fault and the stubble of his oncoming beard. Then, I trail my thumb to his lips. They're still as soft as I remember.

For the first time in so long, I want to cry, but not because I miss Murphy so much that it feels like my insides are disappearing altogether. I want to cry because I know that he'll be gone again soon and I'll be left to wonder what's happened to him. I won't miss him. I think I don't have the ability to miss him anymore. Even so, I continue to touch him, trying to decide if this is all real or if I was hit by a car on my way to work a week ago and I'm having some kind of fucked up coma dream.

"I think this bed is big enough for both of us," I say before I have the chance to stop myself.

"Ya sure?" Murphy replies, his brows raising in disbelief. "I don't mind the floor."

My hand wraps around his wrist and I gently pull him up. "C'mon." I don't say anything more as he scoots onto the bed next to me, trailing the blankets with him.

He tosses it over us, trying to divide it evenly. I end up with a little more, which doesn't surprise either of us. I'd always been a blanket hog and Murphy always swore I did it so he would be forced to press himself closer to me in his sleep. This was true.

In a matter of minutes, Murphy is fast asleep, a light snore coming from his mouth. I, however, am far from being able to even close my eyes for five seconds. My head is resting on his chest and I'm so wrapped up in focusing on his steady heartbeat that I don't notice Romeo stir awake at first. Murphy's arm curls around me, holding me against him. Even if I wanted to get up, there would be no way to break free from his grasp. Our legs naturally entangle each other's. The hair on his tickles my skin, but I welcome the sensation. I spend what feels like hours tracing his father's name tattooed on his chest and the Celtic cross on his forearm with my fingertips.

Just as I begin to close my heavy eyelids, Romeo is up and moving around, stubbing his toes on random objects and hissing out strings of profanity. I pretend to be fast asleep as he taps on Connor's cheeks.

"C'mon, wake up, potato boy," I hear him hiss. "My uncle's waitin'."

"I'm up, I'm up," Connor groans. "Get the fuck away from me."

I can suddenly feel Romeo right next to me. "Aw, look at this shit," he teases, obviously talking about Murphy and I sharing a bed. "So fuckin' cute that I may just throw up over the both of 'em. Ay, Murphy, get the fuck up and stop spoonin' with your chick."

Much to my dismay, Murphy stirs awake from underneath me. "The fuck?" he gripes, the hand that had been resting on my hip reaching up to rub his face. Slowly and very gently, he grabs my arm and neck and slinks out from underneath me. The second I feel myself alone in the bed, my body immediately craves for his touch again. God, I must seem so pathetic.

I hear the three of them move about the room, so I take this opportunity to roll over so they can't see what I'm doing. I dig out my phone and check the time. Four in the morning and these dipshits decide to go see Romeo's uncle? I almost find it hard to believe that I was dealing with the detectives only a few hours ago. Quickly and as quietly as I can, I type out a text to Tracey. "Hey, not coming in," I tell her. "I'm puking my guts out. Probably the flu. I may need the next three days off." I know she's going to come unglued when she reads it, but I push that thought to the back of my mind as Murphy's shadow looms over me. I hurry to hide my phone underneath my hair.

"Sorry, Riddles," he whispers. I crack open my eyes, pretending that he'd just woken me up. His face is so close to mine that if I moved forward even an inch, our noses would touch. "Hey," he mumbles, putting on a smile that I know is fake. "Somethin' came up. We've gotta go for a bit."

"I'm coming with," I announce as I sit up and place my feet on the cold concrete. Murphy inhales to object, but I shake my head and cut him off with haste. "You admitted to knowing that I can hold my own," I say as I grab for my gun in my backpack. I pull my hair up into the usual ponytail and slip on my shoes. "If you think its okay to show up on my doorstep and think I won't get involved, you've got another thing coming."

Murphy looks to his brother desperately for back-up, but Connor only shrugs. "Worst case scenario, we can use her as a scapegoat," he jokes before letting out a soft chuckle. I place my hand on his chest and shove him hard.

"Hardy-fuckin'-har," I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let's go."