Cracks in the Dark

Rory POV

I stood by the door after Leo left, my hands shaking as I locked it like he’d told me. The apartment felt too quiet now, just the hum of the fridge and my heartbeat thumping in my ears. His phone sat on the bed, screen dark, but that name—Frankie—kept flashing in my head. I climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket tight, but I couldn’t sleep. My skin still tingled from where he’d touched me, my neck sore from his marks, but my chest felt heavy. Where’d he go? What was he hiding?

Work the next day was a blur. I dealt cards at my table, my hands moving on their own, but my mind was stuck on Leo. He wasn’t on the floor today, and every time I looked for him, my stomach twisted tighter. I wanted to brush it off—tell myself he’d explain later, that it was nothing—but it didn’t feel like nothing.

During a break, I grabbed a soda from the bar and sat with Jude, a skinny guy who fixed the slots. He was chugging a beer, his blond hair messy, griping about the machines. “They’re off again,” he said, slamming his bottle down. “Spitting out less than they should. Someone’s rigging them, I swear.”

I shrugged, sipping my drink. “Maybe they’re just old.”

“Nah,” he said, leaning closer. “I checked the numbers. Money’s missing. Someone’s skimming, Rory.” He wiped his mouth, eyes darting around like he was scared to say it. “And I’d bet it’s someone high up.”

My soda went flat in my mouth. High up. Like a floor manager? Like Leo? I shook my head quick, pushing the thought away. “That’s crazy,” I said, but my voice sounded weak, and Jude just raised an eyebrow.

“Believe what you want,” he muttered, finishing his beer. “Just watch yourself, new kid.”

I went back to my table, my hands cold now. Jude was full of it—had to be. Leo wouldn’t do that. But then I remembered Frankie’s call, how Leo’s face had shut down, how he’d run off without a word. My chest tightened, and I fumbled a card, earning a groan from a player. I mumbled an apology, but my head was spinning. What if Jude was right?

That night, Leo came home late. I was on the couch, picking at a sandwich, when the door creaked open. He looked tired—eyes red, shoulders slumped—but he smiled at me, soft and small. My heart flipped, wanting to believe that smile, but my stomach stayed knotted.

“Hey,” he said, dropping his keys on the counter. “Missed you today.”

“Yeah,” I said, setting my plate down. “You okay?”

He nodded, kicking off his shoes. “Just work crap. Long day.” He walked over, sitting next to me, and his hand slid onto my knee. My skin warmed under his touch, but it felt off—like he wasn’t really here.

I leaned in, kissing him slow, trying to pull him back to me. He kissed back, but it was weak, half-hearted, like his mind was somewhere else. My hands grabbed his shirt, tugging him closer, and we stumbled to the bed, a mess of limbs. I climbed on top, straddling him, my knees digging into the mattress. “Come on,” I whispered, kissing his neck, sucking hard to wake him up.

He groaned, his hands on my hips, but they didn’t grip like usual. His eyes stared past me, at the wall, and my chest tightened. I rocked against him, desperate to feel that heat we always had, but he barely moved. Frustration bubbled up, hot and sharp, and I stopped, my breath ragged.

“Where are you right now?” I snapped, sitting up. My voice shook, and I hated how small it sounded.

He blinked, like I’d slapped him, and his hands fell to the bed. “What?” he said, his voice flat.

“You’re not here,” I said, climbing off him. My legs wobbled as I stood, arms crossed tight. “You’re kissing me, but you’re not here. What’s going on, Leo?”

He sat up, running a hand through his hair. His jaw clenched, and his eyes flicked away—no looking at me, no spark. “Nothing’s going on,” he said, but it sounded like a lie, stiff and fake.

“Bullshit,” I said, louder now. “You run off last night, won’t tell me why, and now this? Jude’s saying slots are rigged—money’s missing. Is that you? Are you hiding something?”

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Jude’s talking crap,” he said, sharp and quick. “You don’t wanna know, Rory. Just drop it.”

My stomach dropped, cold and heavy. “Don’t wanna know?” I stepped closer, my hands shaking. “I’m in this with you, Leo! You can’t just shut me out!”

He stood, fast, towering over me. His face was hard, his voice low and rough. “You don’t get it,” he said, stepping back. “You don’t wanna know.” He turned, grabbing his jacket from the chair, and my heart sank.

“Where you going?” I asked, my voice cracking. “You’re walking out again?”

He stopped, his back to me, shoulders stiff. “I need air,” he muttered, and then he was gone, the door slamming behind him. I stood there, my chest heaving, staring at the empty space where he’d been. The bed felt huge and cold now, our heat gone, replaced by something icy and wrong.

I sank onto the mattress, my head in my hands. Jude’s words kept echoing—someone’s skimming, someone high up—and I couldn’t shake them. I’d brushed it off at first, told myself Leo wouldn’t, but now? His distracted kisses, his running off, that look in his eyes—it gnawed at me, sharp and mean. I crawled under the blanket, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing.

Then I saw it—his jacket, still on the chair where he’d grabbed it. Something stuck out of the pocket, a corner of paper. My heart pounded as I reached for it, my fingers cold. I pulled it out—a wad of cash, thick and crumpled, twenties and fifties rolled tight. My breath stopped. Where’d he get this? Was this what Jude meant?

I shoved it back, my hands trembling, and lay down, pulling the blanket over my head. The room was dark, but I couldn’t close my eyes. Every creak made me jump, every shadow felt like him coming back—or someone else. Frankie’s name flashed in my mind again, and my stomach twisted. Was Leo in deep with him? Was that why he kept running?

The door rattled suddenly, loud and sharp, and I shot up, my heart in my throat. “Leo?” I called, my voice shaky. No answer—just another rattle, harder this time, like someone was trying to get in. I stumbled to my feet, my legs weak, and grabbed the lamp off the table, holding it like a bat. The lock clicked, and my breath froze, waiting.

Then it stopped. Silence. My chest heaved, sweat dripping down my back, and I stood there, staring at the door. Was it him? Frankie? Someone worse? I sank to the floor, the lamp slipping from my hands, and hugged my knees tight. For the first time, I wondered if I ever really knew him at all.