Chapter 25

"You're gonna miss."

I felt a frustrated sigh emit from my mouth as my body bristled in irritation, but I simply narrowed my gaze toward the street below in further focus, ignoring the comment.

"You ain't doin' it right."

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I again ignored the voice behind me and pulled my arm back, ready to release.

"You ain't got a chance in-"

However, after the third interruption, I felt my irritation begin to bubble over as I quickly spun around to face the tall boy standing behind me and hissed, "For God's sake, Rummy! Shut up!"

But Rummy simply smirked in response, shrugging casually as I reared back to throw Spot's old slingshot at his head. I stifled a laugh myself as he fearfully jerked out of the way, stumbling over the box that he had been perched upon only moments before. And as Rummy steadied himself again, I put my hands on my hips, erecting my body to its full height while asserting, "Serves you right, cheater."

Rummy laughed, raising his eyebrows at me as he replied, "And here I was thinkin' we were just playin' a friendly game to pass the time."

I smirked back at him, as I saucily responded, "And here I was thinking that you'd actually be somewhat of a challenge to beat."

Rummy sat back down on the crate, lighting a cigarette as he playfully stated, "Honestly, Kate, between you and Conlon, I don't know who's got the bigger ego."

I felt a familiar elation fill me at the mention of Spot's name, a genuine smile growing on my lips as I shot Rummy a knowing look and said, "Definitely him."

And upon turning back toward the ledge of the lodging house roof, Rummy's amused chuckle echoing behind me, I felt my smile widen as the last month of my time spent with Spot, Mary and the rest of the Brooklyn boys flashed pleasantly across my mind. It had seemed that after my ill-fated run in with Dims several weeks prior, most of the Brooklynites' prolonged feelings of distrust toward me had fully dissipated. And in the wake of the clearing smoke, I had found myself instantaneously privy to something wholly unique to the domain that Spot Conlon had spent his years as leader meticulously cultivating.

The consistent awe-filled reactions displayed by Spot's boys in regards to his abilities, which I had initially considered to be nothing more than a type of misguided hero-worship, had suddenly morphed into a well-deserved testament to his singular character. Of course I had never actually doubted Spot's potential for exceptionality throughout the years I had known him. In our prior personal dealings with one another, I had always been aware of just how extraordinary a man he was capable of being. But once I became enmeshed within the greater context of his rule, I found a plethora of other reasons that unequivocally spoke to his worthiness of such high praise

From the long hours we had spent in each other's company before becoming more officially involved, it had been readily apparent to me that Spot Conlon possessed far more layers than the self-assured, casual facade he so frequently donned. But it wasn't until I had the dual experience of not only being his confidante and lover but also a member of his tight knit Brooklyn clan that I fully appreciated and understood the true depth of his character. His once veiled inner workings had finally become fully transparent to me, allowing me to see that the motivations behind all of his actions had little to do with the cocky bravado he had long brandished. It became undeniably clear that his casual air was not borne out of any vanity or egotism afforded to him by his strikingly handsome features and easy confidence. He had a fiercely loyal and protective spirit about him, an innate drive for fairness and compassion that I was sure must have existed long before even Mary's encouraging influence.

Spot Conlon's dedicated protection of those whom he considered to be his own certainly was an awe-inspiring trait. So, once his commitment to me had become solidified several months before, as far as he was concerned, I was equally established in both his personal and public sphere of influence and therefore deserving of all the benefits that came with such a membership. And after the multitude of hesitancies on his boys' part had ultimately been put to rest, they too welcomed me, no further questions asked. Thus, having finally found myself worthy enough to be counted amongst Spot's ranks, I had experienced the unfamiliar sensation of being apart of something, of belonging somewhere. And in the face of such unconditional acceptance, I settled myself comfortably within the close-knit family that Spot Conlon had spent great time and care hand-picking throughout the years, having at last found a little peace in my life.

"You gonna shoot or what?"

Rummy's voice broke through my meandering thoughts as I jerked my head in his direction and curtly replied, "Are you done cheating?"

He took another deep inhale from his cigarette before stating with a hint of a smile, "A real pro wouldn't be phased by anything."

"Fine," I muttered back, flashing a snotty face in his direction. And with an exaggerated flounce of my skirts, I turned to peer over the ledge, re-marking my original target on the street beneath us. Then, after placing the dried bean from the palm of my other hand swiftly into the worn, discolored slingshot piece, I pulled it back taut, closing one eye and releasing the small pellet onto the unsuspecting victim below. I turned to smirk triumphantly at Rummy as the dock worker's curse of irritation resounded loudly around us. However, he merely shrugged, unimpressed, causing me to throw my hands up and assert, "You don't have anything to say to me?"

But Rummy simply sucked in another inhale off his smoke as he muttered, "Lucky shot."

I raised my eyebrows at him in challenge before saying, "Double or nothing I can do it again." to which he quietly chuckled, motioning with his hand for me to proceed.

Yet, as I reared the slingshot back with another dried bean, I found myself once again reminiscing about my last month in Brooklyn, this time reflecting upon the attempted organization project from several days ago that had ultimately led to the old slingshot's discovery in the first place.

Since Mary's episode several months before, Spot had made a point of stopping by the lodging house for a few hours every day after he had completed his morning selling. It had been a good opportunity for him to not only check in on Mary, but to also spend some hard to come by alone time with me. However, when Spot had taken on a much more permanent position at the shipyard two weeks prior, I had suddenly found myself with virtually nothing to do and no one to talk to for a huge portion of the day. Spot's shift work, though much more lucrative than his headline hawking days, was far less flexible in regards to his ability to move about the borough. And because most of the other boys typically spent their time hanging around a seedy looking pub called O'Toole's between the morning and afternoon editions, the lodging house remained bereft of activity until the early evening. Even Mary, having handed me the proverbial keys to the kingdom several months before, had begun to feel comfortable enough to take a regular, much-needed midday rest while the boys were out. And after the horrifying consequences that had befallen me the last time I had dared to venture beyond the safety of the lodging house, I had been left with no other option but to stay hidden within the building's sturdy, though empty structure every day.

But after Spot's recent string of night shifts, he had been little more than a shadowy presence, leaving for the docks immediately after he had scarfed down a quick dinner, working until the sun rose the next morning and then sleeping until the afternoon edition was ready for selling. I had of course busied myself as best I could in his stead, initiating a multitude of secondary projects in addition to my typical duties around the building while also finding more than enough time to reread old favorites of mine from Mary's small library. But even with the long list of things I had planned to occupy my time, the quiet solitude surrounding me for the majority of the day had begun to create an ironically chaotic environment within which I had great difficulty finding solace. Yet, unwilling to burden Spot, Mary, or anyone else with my silly bout of loneliness, I had pushed tirelessly forward with project after project, until one day, after having sorted the rest of the space into immaculate condition, I had found myself beginning to sift through the absolute mayhem that was the Brooklyn Lodging House attic.

But because the attic had also doubled as Spot's private room for almost as long as he had lived there, I had needed to stay my final cleaning project until after Spot had left for the evening so as not to disturb the little rest he did get each day. Thus, three days prior, after Spot had given me a swift, though passionate kiss before he had left for his shift, I had made my way up to his messy domain, hoping to surprise him with a freshly cleaned and organized space when he returned to sleep the next morning.

Considering I had spent most of my nights by his side for the last month, I myself had certainly contributed to the vast disarray of Spot's attic room, a few spare hand-me-downs from Mary laying lightly atop the broken dresser that contained most of Spot's things and a scattering of books and papers around the cot that we shared. But even beyond the little damage I had done to the space, the years of built up dust as well as the haphazardly piled boxes and furniture had destined the task to be a difficult one. So after several strenuous hours of sorting through the once precarious pile of junk, I had finally made some much needed headway. The mismatched furniture had been corralled, cleaned up, and dispersed about the room in such a way as to give it a small apartment aesthetic. I had placed the scratched table and three chairs near the window of the far corner of the space. The broken dresser had not been particularly dirty, but had certainly been a challenge to push across the floor to the wall facing Spot's bed. However, after attempting several different strategies, I had found that the large piece of furniture could be somewhat easily moved by forcing my back against it while walking backwards toward the space I had originally settled upon.

Thus, after the large pieces of clutter had been dealt with, I had set my sights on the few boxes that had remained. The first three had contained an assortment of useful things; namely, extra sheets and blankets that I had set aside with the plan to wash and then integrate them into the usual rotation for the bunkroom beds. However, the fourth box had warranted a much more in-depth perusal. A small, yellowed photo of a man and woman solemnly looking ahead had been the first of many assorted trinkets and pictures that I had pulled out of the half-filled crate, carefully examining each piece before laying it gently on the floor. There had been an old metal rattle, warped slightly from use, a small wooden box filled with an assortment of marbles, and other various knick-knacks that I had added to the growing pile of things next to me. But, after inspecting an old charm bracelet and a worn slingshot, I had peered into the bottom of the now empty box to see a newspaper from nearly a decade prior lining the inside. However, assuming it had just been used to pack some of the more breakable items I had already salvaged, I had turned to set about further exploring the intriguing treasures I had lined up along the floor in front of me. But before I had fully looked away, a strange headline from the crinkled front page had suddenly caught my eye, causing me to reach in and carefully unfold the story to read it.

The small snippet in the "Brooklyn Daily Eagle" entitled "Irishtown murder suicide", barely took up five lines of space, but my eyes easily discerned the name "Conlon" from the smudged ink. I had quickly read through the short blurb describing an altercation between a Mr. Dominic Conlon, his wife Nelly Conlon and their daughter Emily Conlon that had resulted in the man fatally shooting both his wife and daughter and then turning the gun on himself. And for the next half hour I had continued to sit there silently, almost as if I had been cemented to the attic floor, completely engrossed in rereading the story as many times as it took to reach some type of understanding. My mind had prickled at the familiarity of the names but had also reeled at the foreignness of the tale. For from the very few things Spot had shared with me in regards to his past, I had gathered that he had been an only child and that his parents had died suddenly due to an illness. So, who then were these people that shared his name? Distant relations? Strangers? Or was this somehow the Emily he had mentioned once before? And was she, in fact, akin to him?

But, most befuddling of all, why had Spot felt the need to lie to me if this indeed happened to be the case?

However, I had been suddenly jolted from my line of silent questions, nearly jumping out of my skin in panic as a deep voice had said, "Ya herdin' elephants up here or somethin'?"

I had leapt to my feet, swiftly dropping the newspaper behind me almost like a child who had been caught red-handed in a candy jar before dinner as I had faced Rummy's amused grin, hissing, "Jesus Christ, Rummy! Don't you know how to knock?"

But he had merely chuckled in response, looking curiously over my shoulder at the collection of items I had spread out on the floor before saying, "Thought I should come check on you with all the loud scrapin' and thumpin' noises we've been hearin' down in the bunkroom. Figured you were either fightin' or cleanin' up. Glad to see it was the latter."

I had rolled my eyes at him, finally fully catching my breath from his unexpected intrusion as I had quipped back, "Well good thing I wasn't in actual danger up here because you sure took your sweet time coming to check on me."

He had shaken his head, laughing again before replying, "I ain't too worried about you bein' able to hold your own for a bit." But before I had had the chance to respond, he had moved past me, leaning down to pick up the dirty slingshot from the floor. He had turned the wooden piece over in his hands quietly before pulling back the fabric to take fake aim at me. However, upon noting my unamused stare, he had released the elasticity, meeting my gaze and smiling as he had said, "Looks like ya found Spot's old slingshot. Always wondered what happened to it."

I had quirked my head to the side with earnest curiosity as I had asked, "How do you know it's Spot's?"

"'Cause he always marks his stuff like this," Rummy had replied matter-of-factly, holding out the slingshot for me to see while using his thumb to pinpoint an almost indiscernible carving of the letters "S" and "C" entwined together somewhat artistically on the handle.

I had marvelled silently at the finesse of the etching, but had quickly lifted my gaze back to Rummy's dark, pensive eyes as he had continued quietly, "And 'cause this is the same one from when we used to play games on the lodging house roof as kids."

"What games?" I had queried with raised eyebrows and the slightest hint of intrigue in my voice, Rummy's smile widening mischievously in response.

Yet I found myself again brought back to the present moment as I heard Rummy mutter in my ear, "You still ain't doin' it right." causing me to scowl at him and pull the slingshot back even more tautly. But before I was able to release the shot onto a second unsuspecting target below, the sound of someone's throat clearing behind us caused both Rummy and I to turn, my hand instead accidentally discharging the load into Rummy's neck.

I barely registered the large boy's howl of discomfort as my eyes met a pair of bright blue ones from across the space. And there Spot Conlon stood, leaning against the doorway of the roof in that casually confident way that always managed to quicken my pulse. He peered confusedly at the two of us, his shirt untucked and his suspenders hanging limply along the sides of his pants as he brought his cigarette to his lips for a swift inhale. I found I couldn't help the smile that so easily grew on my face as I took in his disheveled, though still captivatingly handsome appearance, an immediate surge of both desire and tranquility flowing steadily throughout my body.

Truthfully it was the same emboldening set of emotions that I had revelled in for the past month. Because from the moment I had become Spot's one and only, all of my crippling personal insecurities and fears had settled into a far more manageable collection of obstacles. And it wasn't so much that he had taken my burdens from me, but more so that his steady companionship and even personality had complemented mine in such a way so as to highlight my own capabilities in dealing with them. It had become clear to me that in Spot's eyes, I was not only his intellectual equal and partner, but also someone that he had long considered extraordinary, and thus worthy of only extraordinary love and respect in return.

Of course he had never spoken these specific sentiments aloud, but they had been clearly communicated nonetheless. He had involved me in his decisions, seeking out my input and genuinely utilizing it when applicable, and he had celebrated my autonomy in both our physical and intellectual interactions. I had always assumed that Spot would be an exceptional lover, even before any romantic encounter had been shared between the two of us. His steady stream of partners over the years as well as the in depth, often unnecessary details Julia had imparted to me had spoken volumes to this fact. And once we had finally slept together, he had, if anything, completely exceeded my already high expectations. Yet he had not commandeered our intimate exchanges in a way that I would have anticipated from someone with his prowess and experience. Instead, his body had physically necessitated my full, unabashed engagement, even in spite of my lesser skill. But if anything, our intense physicality had jolted me into an acute awareness of the power my body held, the potential it encased. That I was, in fact, not the damaged, unworthy piece of flesh I had long considered myself, but a valuable being, deserving of the passion, pleasure, and respect he freely and regularly bestowed upon me. Thus, our lovemaking had proven to not only be exhilaratingly dynamic, but also a powerful act of healing.

However, beyond the sexual sphere of our relationship, the way Spot treated me throughout our day to day interactions spoke even louder volumes to the high level of regard in which he so clearly held me. The way he looked at me from across the room and smiled, the soft kisses he so often planted on my cheek in passing, the security with which he positioned his hand on my back when next to me-the small, seemingly trivial interactions between us were nothing if not undeniable testaments to the rightness of our developing intimacy. And when combined with the absolute chemistry that flowed through all of our sexual encounters, there had been no doubt left in my mind that Spot Conlon was who I should have been beside all along. So even with the many lingering concerns still hanging precariously over us in regards to my family and the dangers that most likely lay in wait, one look into his intense, though caring blue eyes always managed to settle my panic. There was a hope that bubbled up within me, a peace that blanketed my worries merely from knowing that he was cemented firmly in my corner, and that he was the person who was supposed to be there.

"What the hell do you two think you're doin?" Spot said quietly, breaking into my thoughts as his eyes darted between me and his now recovered newsie peer.

"Oh, I hope we didn't wake you," I replied with concern, for the first time noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the thin line of irritation his mouth had formed into. "We were just playing a game. I'm sorry if we were too loud."

He raised his eyebrows in response as he took another deep drag from his cigarette, gently pushing himself off of the doorframe to take several strides nearer to us. I looked to Rummy momentarily, hoping to glean some insight about Spot's present mood from his second in command, but the large boy stood facing away from me as he continued to distractedly rub his sore neck.

Yet I found my attention again turning back to Spot's form, surprised by the silent swiftness with which he had come to stand directly in front of us as he met my stare and continued sharply, "Kate, I'm disappointed in you." He paused, seeming to note the shock on my face before he turned toward Rummy and stated, "And, Rummy, you should know better than to teach her this sort of thing."

I looked toward my partner in crime confusedly as he mutely stared at Spot's cool gaze, cocking his head. But, unable to stifle the steady flow of indignance that began to pass throughout my body in the face of Spot's consternation, I sputtered, "I'm sure working all night would put anyone in a foul mood, but you shouldn't take it out on us. I don't see any valid reason for you to make a big fuss over us playing a silly game to pass the time."

Spot's bright eyes flashed back to me in the wake of my comment, and I cursed the lustful flutter that clenched within my stomach while I attempted to match the challenge in his stance. But, he managed to shock me once again as his lips pulled into a gentle smile and he said matter-of-factly, "Well of course you don't. I'm surprised you're hittin' anything with Rummy as your teacher. He's lucky as hell he's so big, 'cause he ain't ever been able to aim for shit."

Rummy smiled sheepishly, making no move to disagree, but I stared pointedly back at the Brooklyn king, smirking as I playfully stated, "I'm not having any trouble aiming."

Spot's gaze sparkled as he smirked as well, flicking his cigarette into the distance and saying, "No, Rummy's right. You're just gettin' lucky." He ran a hand through his somewhat mussed hair before moving to stand next to me and murmuring impishly, "Here, let the master show ya how it's done."

But I could not help the natural scoff that escaped my lips at his cheeky assertion as I quickly said, "Master?" with as much disbelief as I could muster.

However Spot merely chuckled in response, swiftly turning me to again face the street below while grasping my body firmly against his before I could profess any further commentary on the issue. I felt a small thrill pulsate through me and a warm blush automatically come to my cheeks as he enclosed both of my hands within his own, guiding them to place a dried pea into the slingshot and then taking aim toward the street beneath us as he softly whispered in my ear, "Well, seeing as I did invent this game when Rummy and I were kids, I would definitely consider myself the go to authority on how to play it."

I turned my head to the side and lifted my eyes up to slowly meet his gaze, smiling lightly at the sudden tension I felt vibrating within his own body-a clear sign that he also was not immune to the electricity clearly surging between our nearing forms. But he quickly cleared his throat, nodding his head in the direction of the ledge as he murmured in my ear, "Now what most people get wrong is closing one of their eyes."

I turned back to peer over the roof, feeling Spot guiding my hand to pull back on the slingshot as he continued, "Keep both eyes open-look above the shot…"

And as his hand led mine to release the tautly held slingshot, subsequently hitting a tall bowler-hatted man dead on below, I immediately felt myself pulled out of sight, Spot's breath warming my ear once more when he said, "But the whole point of the game is to not get caught."

A warm smile again spread across my face as I gently finagled myself out of Spot's hold and turned toward him, grabbing his hands in mine and jesting, "I suppose you can maintain your title as master for now. But once I've had a little more practice, I demand a real match-just you and me."

He raised his eyebrows, responding with a smirk, "You're on." And I found myself inhaling sharply as he suddenly leaned in, his lips brushing gently over mine and my body naturally leaning into his while the world around us slowly melted away.

But only a moment passed before he just as softly broke off our kiss, cupping my face in his hand as he wryly whispered for my ears only, "I'll follow up with more of that later tonight."

I perked up at his statement, meeting his gaze with tempered excitement and saying somewhat hopefully, "You aren't working tonight?" And upon noting his soft smile in response, I couldn't help but pull his mouth back to mine, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck and reveling in the immediate flow of happiness and calm that flooded through my veins. Yet when he gently broke apart from me again, his eyes somewhat darkened with want, I felt his finger trace down my jawline as he cleared his throat a little awkwardly and continued somewhat louder, "But I needta talk to Rummy about somethin' first."

I felt a blush burn into my cheeks as I suddenly remembered the tall boy standing not three feet away from us. And upon looking in his direction, Rummy winked slyly, his mouth twisting into a smirk as he noted my embarrassed facade before quipping, "I'm just an innocent bystander over here gettin' corrupted by your depraved ways, Kate."

My face reddened even more as Spot snickered at his friend's comment. But I quickly raised my eyebrows in challenge, taking a step closer to Rummy and asserting almost impassionedly, "Innocent my ass. Anyone walking past that alley between O'Toole's and Sherman's bakery at the right time everyday gets a guaranteed smut show of you and that pretty baking assistant, Annabelle."

The smile disappeared from Rummy's face as he widened his eyes in genuine shock, his own cheeks looking somewhat piqued from my retort. But, even though he quickly recovered his composure as he muttered, "She ain't left this building in a month and somehow she thinks she knows all the happenings of Brooklyn." his reaction did not go unnoticed by Spot, who goaded with a smirk, "Well, stealth ain't ever been your strong suit, Rummy."

I had heard talk around the lodging house over the prior weeks concerning Rummy's supposed love interest, but until that moment, I had not been certain it was true. However, Rummy's clear uncomfortableness with the topic confirmed everything for me, and as I turned to make my way back inside, I shot Rummy a sly smile and said, "I guess you'll need a new rendezvous point from now on." He scowled at me in response, Spot shaking his head in amusement before I continued, "But really, you should bring her over to Mary's and I'll make us dinner. I need to meet this girl who's stolen your heart. She's a lucky lady for sure."

Rummy rolled his eyes at my statement, but then quickly nodded in appreciation, smiling and murmuring, "Thanks, kid."

Spot's face shone with an unreadable emotion as he nodded toward me as well, saying, "I'll be down in a minute to help you with dinner."

And after I turned toward the stairs, I chuckled to myself as I heard Spot say quietly, "Annabelle, huh?"

I continued happily down the rest of the way, elated from the news of Spot's first night off in a week. And after walking through the threshold of Mary's apartment, greeting several of the smaller newsies warmly before closing the door behind me, I noted the older woman's keen stare surveying me as I shot a bright smile in her direction.

"That smile could light up the dreariest of rooms, my dear," Mary commented softly, her eyes twinkling lightly in the afternoon glow of the apartment as she placed her reading glasses atop her head and leaned back in her chair to look me over.

"Thought I should try one on for a spell," I cheerfully replied before walking into the kitchen and lighting the stove in preparation for dinner.

"Well that's certainly good to hear, Katherine," she said, offering a small smile in return before matter-of-factly continuing, "So can we expect Thomas for dinner this evening, or is he off to work for the night again?"

I looked back toward Mary as I pulled several different items out of the icebox, leaning down to retrieve a pot from underneath the counter before saying distractedly, "He'll be down shortly. I thought for certain he would have already come to say hello to you. Has he not been in yet?"

However, when she responded somewhat stiltedly with, "It's been quite some time since I've seen or heard from Thomas. Not since a conversation we had last week, in fact." I felt my attention jolted away from the spice cabinet and back toward Mary's passive face and distant eyes.

In truth, I was immediately aware of the exact conversation from the prior week to which she was referring, though I had not known that Spot had continued to stonewall her since then. But considering I had, unbeknownst to both Spot and Mary, eavesdropped on the entirety of their dialogue, I remained silent, shrugging in response as she sighed lowly and picked up the book she had been reading on my initial entrance.

And after turning back to the task at hand, I found my own thoughts wandering to the strange conversation I had happened upon that late afternoon over a week ago as well. I had been making my way back into my bedroom from the fire escape after having hung a load of wet sheets to dry on the roof, when I had heard Spot's voice from the kitchen say in a somewhat irritable tone, "Mary, for the last time, I'm not going to move back into the apartment. I don't know why you're suddenly bringing that up again. And besides, where would Kate sleep if I moved back to my old room?"

I had paused by my window, feeling a hesitancy to interrupt their conversation by announcing my presence. Spot and Mary had been known to have heated disagreements from time to time, and I had found it best to let them sort it out between themselves without involving myself. However, my delay that day had had little to do with any potential rudeness that my entrance would cause and much more to do with my piqued curiosity from hearing my name mentioned. So, I had quietly seated myself on my bed, listening to Mary's sharp response of, "I may be old, Thomas, but I'm not stupid and I'm certainly no puritan. I know Katherine has been sleeping by your side in the attic almost every night, and I've been considering perhaps moving my things into the smaller room and letting you and Katherine settle into the bigger one. It's been twelve years since Mr. O'Connell passed, and I've had no need for the extra space for quite some time now."

A short silence had followed Mary's somewhat surprising offer as I had waited with bated breath for whatever further thoughts Spot would have on the matter. For me, the idea of moving away from the attic where Spot and I had shared the small, somewhat uncomfortable cot for a multitude of nights and into a real room with a gently used bed had been quite an enticing thought. And it had not just been the ache in my lower back that had incited this want, but also a small nagging need for the further legitimacy this move could potentially give to Spot and my relationship. However, I had been somewhat hurt and confused upon hearing Spot's definitive reply of, "Absolutely not. That's a ridiculous idea. I'm not going to move into your old room with Kate, Mary."

The older woman's response had been immediate as she had demanded, "And why not? From what I can tell, you seem very secure in your decision to finally be with her."

Spot had groaned irritably, stating, "I've never been more certain of anything in my life, Mary. You know that. But, that's beside the point. I just-" he had paused momentarily before continuing more softly, "I just don't like the idea of moving back to the apartment."

I had squinted in confusion, not understanding his vehement opposition to moving in with Mary, especially considering her willingness to accommodate Spot's and my budding relationship. But I had also felt the tiniest surge of insecurity in regards to his continued commitment to me when I had heard Mary sigh heavily before adding, "Well if that's the case, then I think you need to be very careful about your long term intentions with Katherine, Thomas."

I had been somewhat relieved to hear Spot defensively shoot back, "What is that supposed to mean? I just told you how serious I am about her-"

"Then it's time you came out of hiding," Mary had interrupted harshly. A short silence had followed before she had emotionally continued, "You need to stop trying to save her, Thomas. Otherwise, you'll lose her."

However, before I had even had a chance to contemplate Mary's strange words, Spot's voice had risen in anger as he had responded, "What the hell are you going on about, Mary? I'm not about to stop trying to protect her when she's got a fuckin' bounty on her head. And what does any of this have to do with me not wantin' to move back to the apartment, anyway? I swear, the shit you come up with."

Spot's flustered response had added to my already befuddled interpretation of their contentious dialogue to that point, but I had found myself reeling in even further confusion upon hearing Mary's sharp retort, "You know full well that I'm not talking about you protecting her from what's out there, Thomas. I'm talking about this perpetual need you have to keep everyone around you at a distance-"

But Spot had heatedly interrupted, "I'm not doing that, Mary-I'm not pushing her away. Like you said, she stays with me in the attic all the time. I don't think I've ever been closer with anyone. So, I have no idea where you're gettin' that from."

Mary's sigh had been full of concern as she had quietly countered, "I think that you do. But what's truly troubling isn't that you're so willing to lie to me about it. It's that-after all this time-I can see you're still lying to yourself."

A silence had stretched on between the two of them for so long that I had almost thought Spot had stormed out of the room. But Mary had eventually continued her thoughts with an even more surprising sentiment when she had murmured, "It's been years, Thomas. I think it's high time that you finally came to terms with the fact that what happened to your mother and sister wasn't your fault."

I had raised my eyebrows in concern as Spot's silence on the subject had pervaded, several more moments passing before Mary had said even more softly, "Have you told Katherine?"

Spot's stoic reply of, "All of that shit with my family is in the past, Mary. And I'm still failin' to see what the hell kinda connection you're findin' between that and me movin' in here with you again." had caused further worry to fill me. Although Spot's voice had been quiet, I had also noted the sharp severity in his tone-a sure sign that he was nearing the point of anger.

"I thought not," Mary had replied, ignoring his evasive commentary and warning timbr as she solidly continued, "Until you come to terms with this and stop sequestering yourself away from everyone around you, you are bound to repeat the cycle over and over again. And Katherine will just be another casualty in this war you insist on waging against yourself. And this is precisely why I worry."

Spot's voice had become even darker as he had stated, "Why? Because you can finally see I'm becoming more and more like my father?"

Yet Mary had quickly responded with an emotionality that I had never heard her voice take on as she had murmured meaningfully, "Because you still don't understand that you were never like him to begin with."

But I felt myself suddenly pulled back to the present, my thoughts about the emotional conversation between Spot and Mary immediately fading away as a strong arm snaked sturdily around my waist and a pair of warm lips gently caressed my neck.

My skin prickled in want, Spot's meandering mouth causing me to almost drop my spoon into the soup I had begun to prepare before I jerked to face him, staring pointedly into his amused gaze as I muttered quietly, "I thought you said you were going to help."

"Aren't I?" he whispered softly enough so only I could hear him, his eyes twinkling down at me as his hand tightened about my middle.

I raised my eyebrows as I attempted to respond seriously, "Not with dinner." But I found myself fighting against the smile that tugged on my own lips as he mirrored my scolding look, finally rolling my eyes and softly continuing, "You are so inappropriate. Save that assistance for later, Conlon."

"Fine," he replied, this time loud enough for Mary to hear, a wicked smile spreading on his face as he backed slowly away from me and continued, "How can I be of use to you then, Ms. Moore?"

I couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped me as I shook my head and shot Spot a wry smirk, saying, "You can stay out of my way and go set the table, good sir."

"I'll allow all your hoity toity demands this once, but just remember who you're dealin' with here," he growled back playfully with a quick wink and a warm smile that I was sure could melt even the iciest of hearts.

I smiled back in kind, saying, "Oh I would never dane to forget the most fearsome newsie in all of New York. That would certainly be a capital offense."

He let out a snort in response, and as I turned back to continue minding the soup that was almost done I heard his somewhat stilted greeting to Mary as he said, "You alright then, Mary?"

But her quick reply of, "Well, it certainly does the soul good to hear the happy banter of impassioned youth fill this apartment again. If only it were permanent." caused me to stiffen somewhat as I quickly recognized the ulterior motive folded into her seemingly nonchalant comment. And although neither Spot nor Mary were aware that I had any inkling of insight into what her assertion could be implying, one quick look at the Brooklyn leader's taut stance caused me to immediately intervene before more shots could be fired.

"Isn't the saying that youth is wasted on the young?" I cut in with a smile as I moved the pot of soup onto the counter and stared intently into Spot's fiery gaze with a warning look that clearly communicated my need for him to keep his temper in check. He looked back toward me in honest surprise, opening his mouth as if to ask me about my sudden awareness of his mood shift, but I shook my head sharply, gathering several bowls from the cabinet above the counter and ladling the vegetable soup into each of them.

Thankfully, Mary chuckled at my comment, easily following the new line of dialogue I was hoping to start as she said, "Truer words were never spoken, my dear."

I placed a hot bowl of soup in front of her and then another in front of Spot, my eyes again catching the Brooklyn leader's keen gaze. He studied me quietly, nodding in thanks as I handed him a spoon, seeming to still have unanswered questions bubbling slowly within him, but also a willingness to postpone any discussion concerning our silent exchange until after dinner. Yet as I seated myself at the small dining room table as well with my soup and spoon in hand, my attention was brought away from the brooding man across from me and to the old widow sitting beside me as she continued to muse, "And if there's one piece of advice I can give to you two young, starry-eyed lovebirds, it's that once you've found the right person do whatever it takes to stay by their side." She paused, her eyes in a distant place, before continuing quietly, "Once you're as old as me, you're able to see that time really does move quickly. You blink-and there go twenty years."

She shook her head slightly, seeming to come out of her momentary haze as she looked first to Spot and then to me, continuing matter-of-factly, "So, try to see past all the distractions and settle on what's really important. That's what I'll leave it at."

I shot her a smile in acknowledgement, watching as her hand patted my own and then I looked up to again meet Spot's steady stare before I said softly, "Dig in, before it gets cold."

The rest of the meal passed by quickly, albeit more quietly than usual. But it seemed that every time I dared lift my face from my soup bowl, there Spot's bright blue eyes were, a beacon of light highlighting my every move while causing me mild discomfort in turn. I had never enjoyed being monitored, and, thanks to my parents' habitual lack of supervision, I found myself immediately averse to even the smallest hint of oversight, good-intentioned or not. So at the end of the meal, as I began gathering the dishes to clean them, I resisted slightly as I felt Spot's hand gently grasp my arm, bringing my attention back to his when he said softly, "Rummy already collected the nightly deposits, so I'm heading upstairs to fill out the ledger for tonight instead of doing it down here. See you there?"

I nodded in response, noting his muted expression and the way his question sounded strangely like an order, before saying, "Let me finish cleaning here and I'll be right up."

I offered him a smile and leaned in to kiss his cheek, hopeful not only that the small act would communicate my support, but also that the pending discussion between us could be quickly diverted before any type of quarrel commenced. However, upon taking in the palpable agitation still emanating from his body, a contentious dialogue unfortunately looked to be a real possibility. I sighed as I made my way to the sink, the click of the door signaling Spot's exit. The speed with which Spot's mood had shifted southward left me feeling utterly deflated. I had, of course, done nothing to warrant a rebuke from Spot-a point to which he would certainly concede-but I was experienced enough with his disposition to know that emotional exchanges, no matter the subject, always had a tendency to create a volatility in him. And that would often lead him to act either infuriatingly defensive or completely guarded-the latter of those being far more difficult to pull him out of.

But because these shifts were an automatic response- a protective measure he invoked without even thinking about it-I found it best to proceed with caution. To go in, guns at the ready, was a guaranteed way to incite an unnecessary explosion between us, but to temper my emotionality and be the reasonable and supportive sounding board to Spot's inner chaos would most certainly yield more positive results.

So, as I scrubbed the few dishes in the sink and scoured the pot I had used, I began to calm myself, breathing in slowly and deeply so as to put my mind in the best possible frame with which to approach Spot. And once I had finished drying and restocking the bowls and pot into their proper places, I hung the dish towel on the knob of the pantry and began making my way to the door of the apartment.

However, Mary quietly preempted my departure, pushing herself to standing from her armchair and stating, "Katherine, if I could just have a minute of your time." before I even had the chance to put my hand on the doorknob.

I turned slowly to face her, my eyes wide in apprehension, as she sighed heavily before murmuring, "Sometimes he needs to be pushed to do things, even if he's fiercely opposed to the idea." She paused, the same distant look from dinner again taking over her gaze as she continued, "That's how I've kept him away from the edge for all these years. But I'm starting to see that, perhaps, I'm not the one to do it anymore."

She brought her eyes back to me, staring quietly for a moment, her gaze full of emotion but set with purpose before she continued, "Don't mistake his harshness for anger, Katherine. He's terrified-he's just not used to being able to tell someone."

All I could do was nod in response as she proceeded to shoo me away with one of her hands and sit carefully back in her armchair. And with a short "goodnight" exchanged between us, I exited the apartment and slowly made my way up to the attic, further absorbing her words.

Her sentiments had certainly been cryptic, but, strangely, I had immediately understood their underlying intent, save the allusion she had made to the potential precipices looming in Spot's path. However, I truly doubted that I would have more success than Mary in regards to pushing Spot in any direction other than the one he wanted. For as long as I had known him, he had been steadfast and assured by nature, very rarely faltering or backing down from what he thought. Thus, after walking through the threshold of the attic, a small gas lamp illuminating the space warmly, my feelings of apprehension toward confronting Spot only seemed to amplify even more as I saw his form standing by the open window, a cigarette hanging from his lips and his fingers tapping agitatedly against the frame. And upon glancing about the rest of the room, noting the crumpled photos on the floor and the clipping of newspaper grasped tightly in his other hand, I knew that the chances of diverting Spot's impending ire were close to nil at this point.

"Mary put you up to this, then?"

My eyes snapped back to Spot, his voice reverberating throughout the small space with a rawness I had never heard before. He leaned sideways against the wall, his gaze turned cooly toward me, his face almost aloof, but his tense body giving away his clear agitation. And though I hadn't the first idea of what he was referring to, I proceeded to shut the door behind me, attempting to steel myself with as much patience as possible before asking somewhat apprehensively, "What are you talking about, Spot?"

He dismissively shook his head as he took a deep drag from his cigarette, running a hand absentmindedly through his light hair and turning back to the window while muttering, "So, how did she sell it to you anyway?"

I squinted at him in confusion, somewhat irked by his obvious brush-off of my question. But I steadied myself once more, taking several steps nearer to his tense body before softly probing, "Spot, I'm not sure what's set you off here-and I hope you know by now that the last thing I want to do is upset you. But I'm not lying when I say that I don't know what you're talking about. Really."

I almost whispered the last word, hoping to convincingly impart my candor. But he merely scoffed, unmoved by my words as he flicked his cigarette out the window and turned to face me again, crossing his arms over his chest and continuing stiffly, "So Mary didn't tell you to come in here and clean up? To organize this shit so that you'd have no choice but to dig through my things?" He held out the clipping in his hand, gesturing with his other to the photos spilled out on the floor before almost growling, "Or did she use the more direct method of just running her mouth, even though she knows it damn well isn't her place, and you took it upon yourself to investigate?"

I sighed shaking my head in near exasperation as I earnestly replied,"Spot, I swear to you-Mary hasn't said anything to me beyond what we normally talk about from day to day. And I decided to clean up here because I thought you'd appreciate a less cluttered space. I've cleaned the whole lodging house in case you haven't noticed. The attic was the logical next step."

He stared at me warily, narrowing his eyes in disbelief and quietly querying, "So Mary didn't tell you to pull all this crap out? To put that newspaper clipping and old photographs on the table for me to find?"

I met his distrusting gaze intently, silently rueing my decision to place the items I had found on the table several days prior, before stating firmly, "No. I was cleaning up and thought that those things might belong to you. I was planning on telling you about them when I got a chance." But upon noting the further skepticism that darkened his face, I nearly threw my hands in the air, continuing, "Spot, there's been no secret scheming or plotting going on behind your back. I'm finding it a little ridiculous that I have to actually say that out loud." I paused for several moments as I continued to solidly meet his harsh stare, hoping my eyes would further corroborate the truth in my words.

But when he turned from me abruptly, closing the window and crumpling the newspaper in his hand until his fingers turned white, I felt a considerable amount of irritation fill my body, his clear distrust of me becoming too insulting to continue to ignore. And before I could stop myself, I found my feet quickly closing the space between us and my hand grasping his arm as I pulled him back to face me, saying sharply, "Enough of this. I need you to stop the angry brooding and the paranoid accusations and just talk to me." I stared up at him, placing my free hand gently on his face, my eyes pleading for his cooperation, but he pulled away from me, agitatedly running both of his hands through his hair.

A groan escaped my mouth in the face of his petulant stubbornness, and I stomped my foot before stating flatly, "Okay, if you want the truth, Spot, here it is-a collective confession of my sins." He turned to face me again, surprise in his eyes as I unabashedly continued, "I listened in on the conversation between you and Mary a week ago. I heard the things she said about wanting you to move back into the apartment with me. I also read that article about the murder-suicide that seemed to involve people who share your last name. But, as much as I'd like to claim this masterful level of insight you seem to think me capable of, that is the extent of my knowledge. Really, the only thing I can gather is that you seem to be hiding something from me, not the other way around. So, I think if anyone has the right to be demanding answers, it's me."

He stared steadily at me, his face an unreadable mask as I prompted further, "What is it that you're hiding, Spot? What happened in your past and why in God's name do you feel like you can't tell me?"

He remained silent for several more moments, his eyes not leaving my somewhat desperate stance as I held my palms open to him, anxiously awaiting his response. But he again deflected my query, severing our gaze and muttering shakily, "I'm sure there are plenty of things that you've never told me about your past before."

I sighed at his attempted diversion, saying harshly, "Not because I'm actively trying to keep anything from you. All you'd have to do is ask and I'd answer you honestly."

He brought his eyes back to mine in challenge, the unfiltered chaos swirling within their blue depths causing a slight worry to fill me. And when he just as harshly posed the question, "Did you ever sleep with Jack?" my concern grew, completely enveloping any remaining irritation that had been there.

I sputtered somewhat uncomfortably in the face of his question. And from the look of resolution on his face, it was clearly the reaction he was hoping for. The subject of my intimacy with Jack was a sensitive one, a raw nerve that, even if grazed only slightly, would typically send me into uncontrollable surges of regret and defensiveness. Thus it was a topic that I typically avoided at all costs, and one that Spot had instinctively never brought up before. But even as rattled as my senses were at his query, I was still attune enough to know that if I was hoping to get any nearer to figuring out not only what he was hiding, but more importantly, why, I would have to push beyond my uncomfortableness and tell him the truth.

I took a deep breath, feeling a slight queasiness as the words left my lips, "Yes. The night you left the party with Julia I slept with Jack for the first time. And I slept with him multiple times a week for a few months after that."

His eyes widened, the turmoil behind his gaze shining even more clearly. But as I looked closer at his face, I noted something else lying firmly beneath it. And, suddenly, the thought occurred to me that his question had not been the diversive measure I had at first considered it, but a much more intentional cruel stab at me. I buckled somewhat as this realization settled more firmly within me, hurt radiating from my voice as I murmured emotionally, "I'm not perfect by any means, Spot, and I know that. Have I made mistakes? Plenty of them. Have I done things I wish I hadn't? Too many to count." I paused, swallowing back the quiver in my voice while also noting the sincere regret that passed momentarily through his eyes before I solidly continued, "But I'm not going to stand here and pretend to be anything other than who I am. Not with you."

His own body buckled from the severity of my tone, the chaos that had only been present in his eyes seeming to slowly dissipate throughout the rest of his limbs. He shuddered, roughly rubbing his hands over his face, and I felt a further surge of worry fill me when I noted the wetness that remained around his red eyes once his hands had fallen away. But, if anything, I felt an even stronger urge to finish my sentiments, wanting him to fully understand that my confrontation was coming from a place of care and not anger.

"If we are going to be together and really do this with each other, then there shouldn't be things that you feel you have to hide from me, Spot. I don't know much about relationships, but I do know that if we don't trust each other, things will only go downhill from there," I said with an earnestness in my tone, his wide eyes searching my face as I continued gently, "And you can trust me. I've never given you a reason to think that you can't."

He rubbed his hands over his face again, sniffing agitatedly as he turned from me and muttered thickly, "It's not about trust, Kate...it's…"

He trailed off, sniffing again and pushing his hands through his hair shakily. But, undeterred, I approached him, grasping one of his hands in both of mine and saying softly, "Nothing you can say will scare me away. I promise."

His eyes met mine again, concerning me with the tumultuousness and despair that filled them. But they darted quickly away, his hand pulling away from my hold as he muttered anxiously, "It's so much more complicated than that, Kate. I just-I just can't do this right now. I can't talk about this tonight-I can't do this-I can't-dammit!"

I stood frozen in place as I watched Spot further unravel, pacing as he held his head in his hands and muttered incoherently. He seemed to be on the edge of something, close to some kind of real response, but I felt fearful to push him any further toward it as I noted the way that he continued to glance toward the door, like a wild animal looking for any and every chance to escape.

I held up my hands and slowly stepped toward him, saying softly, "Spot, it's okay. It doesn't have to be tonight-it's okay."

He stopped pacing, looking toward me momentarily before again covering his face with his hands. And I couldn't stop myself from going to him, pulling his tall lean body into my grasp and holding him as tightly as my small arms would allow me.

"You're not alone," I whispered in his ear, his stiffness slowly laxing into me as I felt his hands grasp my shoulders, closing my eyes as he gently laid his forehead against my own. I felt his breathing slow somewhat as I continued, "I'll be here whenever you're ready to tell me and I'll stay no matter what it is you have to say."

I opened my eyes when he suddenly pulled away from me, squeezing my shoulders in his strong grasp, his gaze bearing into mine with an intensity that almost made me gasp before he murmured seriously, "Why?"

"Because I love you," I stated automatically, the words flowing out of me as if I had uttered them a thousand times before without consequence.

But my face immediately paled as the reality of my assertion further settled within me, Spot's beautiful blue eyes staring fixedly, though unreadably, into my wide gaze. I felt my body shudder somewhat in his hold, the exposure of my most susceptible vulnerability laying before him, defenseless and exposed. And although the feelings I had impulsively shared were the undeniable truth, I still felt fear envelope me in their wake as I habitually pulled against Spot's grip and looked away from his intent stare.

However, I gasped in surprise as his hands gruffly grasped my face, tilting my gaze back to his still turbulently churning one. And before I had the chance to say anything further to him, his thumb gently traced over my bottom lip, and then his mouth aggressively covered mine, devouring all of my fears with a mind-numbingly savage kiss. I momentarily hesitated to respond, unfamiliar with the brusqueness he was emanating, but quickly, I found myself slipping into an equally wild rejoinder, his rough touches creating an intense craving within my body for more. I fiercely entwined my hands within his soft hair as I pulled his mouth more firmly against mine, arching my body solidly into his and relishing in the moan he emitted when I nipped his bottom lip suggestively. His hands roughly wandered underneath my skirt as he pushed his mouth back over mine, yanking down on first my petticoats, then my bloomers and lifting me up by gripping my bare thighs harshly with his hands. I wrapped my arms instinctively around his neck, feeling my back slam forcibly into the wall behind me and then I let out a sharp gasp as I felt one of his hands vigorously move to a position between my legs. I let my head fall back against the wall as an ecstasy surged throughout me, my body flowing in direct correspondence to his skillful touches. And upon hearing him hastily unbuckling his pants and feeling his hand move to lift up my skirt, I felt my stomach clench in unbridled want, crying out in pleasure as he pushed himself into me. I barely registered his heightening grunts as I felt my back hit against the wall over and over again, each of his further intensifying thrusts causing me to feel a mounting tension growing between us. I dug my fingernails harshly into his skin, feeling first his hot breath in my ear and then his mouth and teeth grazing against my neck. And as he pushed even harder against me, groping my breasts aggressively through my shirt with one of his hands, his mouth found mine again, his tongue nearly thrusting to the back of my throat. But upon feeling his body tense firmly, his lips broke from my swollen mouth as he groaned and then shuddered forcefully, releasing into me.

I felt my own body begin to shake uncontrollably as he leaned his forehead gently against mine, his fingers caressing my face and his body leading my own to slide down the wall, still within his grasp. My bottom settled softly on the floor, and he pulled his face back from mine, our eyes locking as he knelt in a straddle against me, both of us panting in an attempt to catch our breath.

In all of our passionate exchanges before that moment, Spot had done nothing more than move slowly and purposefully, showing an impressive amount of decorum and control. However, it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps he had been tempering his full urges more than I had realized. Especially when taking into account the intense interchange that had taken place only a few moments before. An uncharacteristic chaos had seemed to govern his movements, a rawness that I assumed he must have intentionally kept under strict lock and key. But, if anything, his aggressiveness had demanded something from me that I hadn't even been aware I had been holding back. For as much as I had insisted that I had long put all of my trust in Spot Conlon, I suddenly realized that his consistently careful initiations of sex with me had been fully governed by my clear hesitancy to relinquish any of my very strict constraints. And he had respected that-without fail, but also to my detriment. Now, however, as I stared into his wide eyes, I felt a closeness to him that I had not experienced before. A barrier had crumbled between us and I hadn't even been fully in tune to its existence. He had finally taken the full control over our intimacy that he had always been capable of, and it had forced me to not just put my body in his hands, but to finally trust him with it.

I remained speechless as I continued to meet his searching gaze, my brain slowly attempting a further examination of the heightened emotional exchange that had just transpired between us, but my fatigue making the task near impossible. His eyes darted to my lips, and his shaky hands cupped my face gently upward as he leaned in and brushed his mouth over mine, utilizing a softness in direct contradiction to the frenzy we had both exhibited only minutes before. And, after another moment of stroking my face with his thumbs, he silently rose, grasping my hands in his to lift me up as well. I kicked off the lower half of my undergarments as I followed him dazedly to the cot on the floor, seating myself as I watched Spot remove his shirt on his way to turn off the gas lamp atop the table. I began unbuttoning my own shirt before removing all but my chemise, tiredly scooting toward the wall and lying down on my back as I waited to feel Spot's warmth next to me. And upon hearing his soft grunt and feeling the mattress give slightly when he settled himself under the quilts beside me, I turned my face and disconcertedly met his gaze, somewhat surprised by his stricken expression. His eyes glowed in the darkness, but instead of the care and affection I had been hoping to see in them, I found my stomach sinking as it noted their guilt and apprehension.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked so quietly I almost didn't hear him.

I shook my head in response, confused by his question, but too dazed and tired to settle on a response that seemed fitting enough to say aloud. Yet, his blue eyes darkened in concern as he quietly continued, "Can I see?"

I nodded, feeling a numbness overtaking my body in response to his clear guardedness as I allowed his hands to roll my frame onto its side so my back was facing him. Then after securing the quilt around my waist, he lifted my chemise up to my shoulder blades, his fingers lightly grazing along my mid back, apprehensive and still somewhat shaky. I heard his breath hitch as his fingers tensed on a small spot along my spine. I turned my head slightly toward him, murmuring, "Spot, I'm fine."

But he either didn't hear my comment or chose to ignore it completely as he gently positioned me onto my back once more, sitting up and adjusting the quilts by my knees. He then lifted my chemise to expose the outsides of my upper thighs, tracing along the places where his hands had clenched mere minutes before. I pushed myself up on my elbows, first taking a closer look at his taut back and tense face, and then peering down to where his eyes were fixated. And in the moonlight that spilled in through the window, I saw the pale bruises that had already begun to form along the spots where his fingers had been. His eyes caught mine for a moment as I murmured again, "You didn't hurt me, Spot."

But he quickly severed our contact as he muttered, "Let's get some sleep." And after lightly kissing my forehead, he laid down with his back to me, causing the last piece of hope I had felt in the wake of my newly realized feelings of closeness with him to vanish.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, even beyond my frantic tossing and turning throughout the night, because I suddenly opened my eyes to sunlight streaming in through the attic. But my stomach clenched in pain as I immediately felt the coldness of Spot's absence. And as I sat up and looked around the room slowly, I felt hot tears involuntarily fill my eyes and begin to indiscriminately fall down my face, the events of the prior night flashing through my mind with a harshness that only the new day's light seemed to be capable of producing.

I held my face in my hands and sobbed for what felt like hours, knowing with a strange definitiveness that even though Spot would eventually come back, his stoic attitude from last night and his absence this morning were sure signs that he had rejected me. I had told him I loved him, and he had all but sprinted out the door.

So for the next hour I took my time in readying myself, allowing a comforting numbness to begin blanketing my body. But I jumped in surprise as I heard a sudden rap on the attic door, Rummy's deep voice muttering, "Kate, can I come in?"

"One minute," I called, quickly pulling my shoes on while formulating a plan that would end my conversation with Rummy as quickly as possible, lest he take note of my still red eyes and begin probing into things I did not have the strength to discuss.

But as the door creaked open and Rummy's knowing, dark eyes met mine, all thoughts of evading him fell from my mind. I stood there quietly, watching the tall boy awkwardly walk into the room, curious as to what he had to say. And after sighing heavily and rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort Rummy stated resolutely, "Look, it probably ain't my place to say anything to you, but…" He sighed again, seeming exasperated before continuing a little more irritably, "Well, fuck it, Kate. Someone needs to tell you what the hell is goin' on, and if Spot's gonna up and walk out without a word, then he fuckin' forfeits his right to the story."

I stared hesitantly at Rummy, feeling the same shakiness begin to flood throughout my body from earlier that morning, but he sharply shook his head as he said, "Listen, whatever you're thinkin' about what's goin' on with Spot, it ain't right. And that's the truth."

I stared warily into his deep brown eyes as I questioned, "How do you know that?"

And without a moment of hesitation he stated, "Because there's some shit you need to know first, before you decide he's fucked this up with you beyond repair."

"I don't know what you could possibly say that would change how I'm feeling right now, Rummy," I said softly, looking away from him and blinking back the tears that I felt forming within my eyes.

"That's why you need to listen to me right now, Kate," Rummy replied compassionately. You, me an' Mary need to have a little chat to get some things out in the open. We shoulda done this a long time ago, but we both felt like it weren't our place to tell his story-"

"He doesn't want me, Rummy," I interrupted flatly, my stomach jolting in a sharp pain as I again fought against the tears building in my eyes.

"He does, Kate," Rummy said forcefully, "But right now he ain't right an' he ain't able to put himself right. So's it's time you understood why." He paused, looking meaningfully at me before murmuring, "'Cause Mary an' I are pretty sure that you're the only one who might be able to bring him back from the edge this time."