SACRED - S.L. Scott(ang.)

SACRED

S.L. SCOTT

S.L. SCOTT

Copyright © 2017 by S.L. SCOTT All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

To the AMAZING Team of Women Who Inspire Me and Challenge Me to Be the Best I Can Be: Andrea J., Kristen J. Lynsey J., Marion A., Marla E., Melissa K. THANK YOU!

CONTENTS

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27

Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Epilogue Epic Romance SOLACE Prologue Chapter 1 On A Personal Note About the Author Also by S.L. SCOTT

PROLOGUE

Sleep doesn’t come. One . . . Two . . . Three . . . The nightmares arrive as if scheduled. Four . . . Five . . . Six . . . Squeezing my eyes closed won’t save me. Seven . . .

Eight . . . Nine . . .

I seek them out in the dark, looking up. Ten . . . Eleven . . . Twelve . . .

And start counting. Thirteen . . . Fourteen . . . Fifteen . . .

Nothing will change the past. Sixteen . . . Seventeen . . . Eighteen . . . I’ll change my future. Nineteen . . . Twenty.

Until then . . . I’ll keep counting. One . . . Two . . . . . . Three . . .

1

Cruise Cristley

THE LOW TICK of the Omega wrapped around my wrist syncs with the questions that plague me every time I’m here. Why am I here? TICK Why do I keep coming back? TICK What am I doing? TICK Do I care about her? TICK Is there more? TICK

Is this it? TICK The answers are rapid-fire: Need. Necessity. Fucking up. Maybe. Not like I should. I wonder. I hope not. TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK Fuck. Fuck. I’m exhausted, but I’m not sure if the lack of sleep is the only thing to blame. I couldn’t sleep, so I texted, and came over. Two hours later, I’m leaning forward, the weight of my decisions worn heavy on my back. Debating what comes next, I rest my forearms on my legs just as I hear stirring on the bed behind me. “What are you doing, Cruise?” Celeste’s voice is kinder when she rouses from sleep. I prefer this tone to her voice in the daylight hours. It’s less harsh, almost kind. “Why are you already dressed?” “You know why.” I’ve become accustomed to

the look I’ll find on her face when I turn around: disappointment. “Go back to sleep,” I snap, although I shouldn’t after what we just did. I hate the pressure she puts on me every time I’m here. She’s not a bad person. Her needs, unlike mine, which are just physical, run deeper. I shake my head that money is the word that comes to mind, like in a sad game of association, when I think about the depths of her mind. Feeling guilty, I whisper, “Get some rest.” She pats the empty space next to her. “Come back and sleep with me.” We’ve always been honest with what this is, what we are, but I know she wants more and just doesn’t say it outright. Walking to the nightstand, I purposely don’t look in her direction. Despite getting off, I’m in a mood. “We don’t sleep together. We fuck. There’s a difference.” “We could,” she replies, confirming my instincts. “We could try the whole relationship thing. Not just for show, but for real.” The desperation I hear in her voice suits her pretty face. The softness almost makes me believe she wants to settle down and marry into the fantasy of normalcy. I know better than to fool myself into believing she or I are more than we are. Tucking my wallet and phone into my pockets, I glance her way. “It’s not for show, Celeste.” “Sure it is. You basically just said it yourself.”

She sighs and lays her head down. She looks determined to get the answer she wants. She’s never been a woman to be denied by many, if any. “Do you think we’ll ever do more than fuck?” “We go out sometimes. Why ruin that with complications?” “I thought we were moving forward, but it’s clear we’re not moving at all. We’re stagnant.” 6:08 a.m. The time shines red on the expensive silver clock next to my keys. Sitting on the bed again, I know I should have just left. I wouldn’t be having a conversation I don’t want to have, especially at this hour. Angling to the side, I want to see her face this time, to study her reaction. “I never made any promises, Celeste, but you did. If I told you I know the truth, would you still lie to me?” Her fingers find my leg and she digs her nails in as they slide, enough so I can feel them through my jeans. “What do you know, Cruise?” “Rumors of you fucking others.” Huffing, she rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “Rumors. Fucking rumors.” Her English accent is thicker when she lies. It’s a tell I discovered early on. She lies a lot. She’s definitely lying now. “Why do you believe everyone but me?” “I didn’t say I believed the rumors. I only said I’ve heard rumors.” I stand and take my keys, the metal scrapping across the top of the white

lacquered nightstand. “Don’t leave.” “I have to.” “No, you want to.” Her voice rises to the tone that annoys me. I reply without looking back, “Same thing.” When I reach the doorway to her bedroom, I stop and turn around. “I don’t care if you see other people, but I don’t want it shoved in my face by some cocksucker who wants to one-up me.” “Same goes for you.” I can’t help the sardonic smile that fights through my irritation. She knows damn well I’m not fucking anyone else, but if it makes her feel better to throw that back at me, whatever. “Fine.” Finding the front door is never an issue. The dark cover of the early morning is pretty much the only time I’ve seen this hallway. I know it without seeing her photos or furniture guiding me. Before I reach the front door, her voice rattles from the bedroom, “Will I see you this week?” One bolt unlocked, and I pause. Two, and I know the answer. I just don’t want to say it while she’s naked pleading for more of me —time, attention, commitment. “I’ll text you,” I reply and walk out, shutting the door behind me. Shutting her behind me. This apartment building has the fastest elevators in the city, something I appreciate more every time I leave.

I push the button for the parking garage, and rest my back against the corner as the elevator descends twenty-three floors. Getting off shouldn’t be this draining, physically or emotionally. I rub my eyes, and then leave them closed until I reach the garage. My brain and body feel lethargic. I hate it. I eat well. I workout. There’s no reason I should feel this burned out. Something’s not right. My gut tells me it’s her. She’s sucking the life from me. Sex with her is not worth it given I feel this drained when I leave. Sooner than later I need to break the habit. In the middle of the garage I realize sooner is the only answer. Not two minutes later, I’m standing in front of her door and knock. Celeste has tried to give me a key more than a few times. I’ve never accepted the offer. The door swings open. “Well hello, handsome.” I’m instantly reminded of one of the reasons we started fucking in the first place. She grabs me by the shirt and yanks me inside before I can protest. Celeste is handsy and damn good with those hands. She’s also good with her mouth, but I can’t let her sidetrack me, which is easy to do when she’s rubbing her body against me like she is now. My

back is against the door. I catch her wrists just as her fingers reach my zipper and right before she drops to her knees. “I want to . . . we need to talk.” “Why do I feel like I’m not going to like this?” My stomach twists. She may not be the woman for me, but she was there for me when I needed someone. I can’t blame her. We’ve both been fucking around like we had no other choices in life. I have to take responsibility for my part in the mess we’ve made. “I let this go on too long.” She’s smarter than most give her credit. I’m not most. I know how smart and sly this woman can be. “Let’s talk later, babe.” She starts to go down again. “No.” Being on the receiving end of her high-dollar glares doesn’t intimidate me. “What do you mean, no?” I’ve never been on her bad side, but I’ve heard rumors there’s hell to pay if you are. So I soften my tone, trying to tell her with the respect she deserves. “We’re not going to do this anymore.” “What?” She pushes off my chest, and steps back. Standing unabashedly bare before me, her hands go to her hips. “What are you saying, Cruise?” “I’m saying that it’s time we call it quits. I’m not good for you.” The words echo through my mind. I’m no good for anyone, not even myself.

“This isn’t going anywhere. You know it and I know it, so we need to stop dragging out the inevitable.” Grabbing a blanket from the couch, she drapes it around herself. “Is it the rumors? Cruise, they’re only rumors.” Coming back to me, she twists my shirt between her fingers. “You’ve got to believe me. I want you. I’ve always wanted you, but you keep me out—of your heart and your head. You have this wall around you that’s impossible to penetrate.” “Look, it’s not just the rumors. Although hearing that you might be fucking my brother hasn’t helped.” “I’m not. I promise you.” Leaning her head against my chest, she starts to cry. “Cruise please. We are meant to be together. You just have to let me in. Ple—” “I can’t do this.” I’m sure she could produce some tears if she really wanted, but I find dry eyes and a great acting job when I look down at her. I’m not the guy she’ll ever cry over losing. “I care about you. I do, but not the way I should.” Taking her by the waist, I maneuver her away from me, putting distance between us. “I’m not upset about the rumors. I should be upset if my . . .” What is she to me? “You should want someone to feel jealous. Fearful of losing you.” Stomping her foot, she says, “I’m not cheating,

damn it. It was one tim— Oh God.” Her hand covers her mouth in horror, and then she rushes me. “Please, Cruise. I want you. I just needed to feel wanted by someone.” “I’m not that someone.” I never was. I don’t need to rub it in though. “We’ve had good times together, Celeste. We’ll walk away as friends.” “You’ll be my friend?” Her voice rises with each word. “I don’t need another friend. I need my investment to pay out. I’ve wasted so much time on you. I’m ready to be settled.” And there it is. I try to keep my anger at bay. I’m not surprised by her admission, but it still pisses me off. “Investment? On that note, we’re done here. Do you prefer cash or check?” “Fuck you, Cruise Cristley.” I’m done. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay, fuck me.” Her hand comes flying toward me. I can stop her, but why bother? She’ll feel better if I let her get away with it, so I take the pain. The sting of her slap resonates on my skin, leaving me feeling raw. I shoot her a glare. “That was your one time. I suggest you keep your distance from now on.” I turn and open the door. “I hate you, Cruise. You’ll pay for this.” “I already have.”

2

Cruise

I’ M

to the finer things in life. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but one arrived soon after. Actually, maybe I was born with one. I don’t know. I’m adopted. My life before has been weighing on my mind lately. Who was I before I was adopted? Along with a lot of other stuff that seems to be plaguing me. I feel lost, listless, and have for a while now. Although I don’t go without, I feel like I am. Superficial stuff and belongings aren’t filling the void that’s grown the last few years. ACCUSTOMED

My car shines under the fluorescent lights a few parking spaces from the door. As soon as I’m tucked inside my Mercedes S-Class Coupe, I can breathe again, feeling at peace in the silent, but familiar surroundings. I love this car. It was an unexpected purchase for me, so I’m told, but the feel of the fine leather and the slick steering wheel are pure luxury I couldn’t resist. I drive out of the underground garage and start for the penthouse. There’s no traffic at this hour, so I take the long way and pass the park, my mind too unsettled to sleep anyway. My thoughts tick back to Celeste. I could have said something nice so we parted on good terms, but the door slammed closed so fast, and I never broke my stride as I headed down the hall to the elevators. It wasn’t so much a lost opportunity as it was a new beginning for me, free from entanglements. Thinking about how many hours I used to research online, searching for answers to help Alex find the answers he so desperately needed to feel whole, it makes me realize how many years I could have been searching for my own answers. Who is the woman that gave birth to me? Why did she give me away? Was it a selfish act or best for me? Was she poor, rich, blue-collar, blue blood? Who’s my father?

Were they together? Apart? Too young? Not fit? What makes someone give up a child? Or was I taken? Did Child Protective Services remove me? I can’t keep going like this, my mind spinning aimlessly. My mother’s heritage is similar to Alex’s mom. They held the real money in the family. With each dying grandparent, my parents became wealthier and wealthier. As the youngest of five and the only adopted child in the family, I have a distorted view of the environment where I was raised. I’ve always stood out from the others. They are fair with blond hair. I’m olive-skinned with brown eyes, medium brown hair. I never stood a chance of fitting in, at least not visually. My education was the best. I met Alex, this scrawny kid who had a chip bigger than his shoulder, at school. He was born to cause trouble. The day I met him was the day I met my people. Boy, did we cause trouble, but we rarely got caught. Too many good times to count. He’s more my family than my actual family ever has been. Even the peacefulness of the sun peeking through the trees at sunrise doesn’t help temper my restlessness. I’ve burned enough of the daylight already and decide it’s time to go home. When I open the door to the penthouse, Alex is

sitting at a desk—eyes on the laptop in front of him. No other light in the room except the sunlight brightening the room as it rises. The yellow glow in the room is comforting, especially in comparison to the cold darkness of Celeste’s place. Closing the door, I ask, “Working late or starting early?” Alex looks up. “I don’t know. What time is it?” Glancing to my watch, I reply, “Six thirty-five.” He leans back, putting his hands behind his head. “Sneaking in?” “Ha.” I sit on the couch near the desk. “Am I grounded, Dad?” That makes him laugh. “This is your one warning.” “That’s more than my parents ever gave me.” Standing up, he walks to the kitchen. “Coffee?” “Nah. I’m going to bed in a minute.” “Rough night?” “Rough everything.” “Want my opinion?” My best friend has never been one to beat around the bush. “I think you’ll give it either way, so shoot.” “Seems to me that you need a change.” “Change in what?” I know what he’s getting at, but maybe I need the reminder. I turn back and look at him over my shoulder. He hesitates, and when his eyes return to the coffee pot, he replies, “In scenery and companionship.”

“For all the hell we’ve raised, your rich-kid background is showing. Are we old enough to use the word companionship? I’m not sure that’s a proper millennial term.” He laughs easing the smart of his words. “Just calling it like I see it, rich kid.” “If it makes you feel justified in your conclusion, I think you’re right.” “I appreciate the acknowledgment.” There’s a lot of truth in his analysis. I can give him the credit he deserves. He knows me better than anyone and maybe he sees through the bullshit I try to slip past him some days. Despite his fancy fucking name—Alexander Kingwood IV—he might know a thing or two about relationships. His own wasn’t an easy road to travel, but he and his wife, Sara Jane, got there in the end. Jealousy pings from a black box sunken to the bottom of my heart. He knows the struggles I’ve tried hard to hide. With him, I can be honest. It’s early, but maybe it’s a good time to lay out my feelings. Feelings. I sound like such a pussy. Yet, I’m willing to go there because I don’t have anyone else to turn to and something is off. Shifting, I lie back on the couch. “Since we’re at it, any suggestions?” “Take a vacation? Somewhere sunny. You’re looking like shit these days.”

“Geez, thanks.” “You’re welcome. While you’re there, find a pretty girl and fuck your days away.” I smirk. “I do that here.” Resting his arms on the table, he tilts his head. “I’m not here to argue. You told me to tell you, so I am. Find someone that makes you smile.” He’s changed a lot over the last year. His sharper edges might have dulled, but I know what he’s been through. What we’ve been through. It’s only made him appreciate where he is now, and who he has in his life. Near-death experiences will do that to a guy, but where is my reward for surviving? Where is the light I’m supposed to find? Celeste wasn’t the answer. That’s probably my fault for being so closed off, but something between us didn’t make me want to open up, especially if she was fucking other guys. “That easy?” “It’s never that easy.” When I spy the amusement in his eyes, he adds, “But you don’t want easy anymore anyway. Right?” I chuckle. “Is that what my issues are, Dr. Kingwood.” “If I had a Ph.D. in psychology, I’d say yes.” “But since you don’t, what do you say?” “Yes.” I laugh this time. If there is one thing that’s clear, it’s this. I feel better when I’m not around Celeste. Sad really. It is time to move on. My

childhood friend, my chosen brother in life, has my back and his concern is a right he’s earned, even if it makes me uncomfortable to acknowledge. I want what he’s found with his wife. I want someone who makes me smile. It’s just that simple. Alex may not have the credentials of a doctor, but he’s an ace at this psychology stuff. “I think you’re right. Again, though, I hate to admit it.” Never lacking confidence, his smug mug is showing. “About?” “All of it.” With all the shit I have going on in my life, maybe the answer really is to find a woman who I want to spend time out of bed with as much as in. Find a woman. I dissect that phrase. What the fuck does that even mean? Go out and find a woman where? How? I’m twenty-four. Should it be this hard? Can’t I just meet someone when I’m out like how I met Celeste a few months ago? Oh wait, we were set up by my brother. Asshole. His dislike for me was clear in that match. I’m being too harsh when it comes to her. We were easy. No strings. No commitments. No promises. She was a good way to pass some time and burn some energy . . . until I heard the rumors. One of them coming from Alex, who heard she was fucking the same brother who set us up. Fuck him.

He can have her for himself now. If I cared enough, I would have made her deny what I knew was true. But I didn’t. Smiles are a good metaphor for women. They may be simple to come by, but genuine smiles are rare. Instead of sitting here wallowing any longer, I stand. “I’m going to bed.” “What time are you getting up?” “When do you need me?” “How about two? I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the build out on the office downtown.” “Can it wait?” “Yeah. Before you go, I know what I said sounds cheesy, but it’s more about someone who makes you happy. You haven’t been happy in a long time, Cruise.” “No, I haven’t.” Truth. It makes me shift, even a little itchy to admit, but I own it and don’t try to bury it by changing the subject. He won’t dwell on feelings. That’s not something we do. “Night.” “Morning,” he replies, laughing under his breath. “Oh yeah. Right.” I close my bedroom door and leave a trail of clothes behind me as I head to the bathroom and take a shower to scrub my body and brush my teeth. Not lingering under the spray, I’m in and out

and in bed minutes later. With my eyes closed, I think about what Alex said. I don’t know if he’s right or wrong. It seems kind of sappy to think a woman or a vacation can solve the discontent that has been growing inside. Loneliness sucks. The penthouse is empty most of the time, especially since Jason left and Alex got married. Even when people are around, like he is now, I still don’t feel quite right inside. I’m too tired to drone on with my own thoughts. Letting the darkness of the room invade, my mind clears and my muscles relax into the mattress. Pushing this train wreck of thoughts from my mind, I let my exhaustion win and fall asleep.

3

Cruise Two Months Later . . . “Annie, call Mother.” I named my car’s computer assistant the day I got the Mercedes. I had to pick one during setup and Annie was all that came to mind. Seems too informal for the car, but it stuck. Celeste was right about one thing; we were stagnant. I’ve been stagnant. I need to make a decision on what to do, but I think that will come when I get the pieces put together again. “Hello?” My mother answers as if she has no clue it’s me. I try to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Hi, it’s Cru—John.”

Her tone is generally very controlled, but today it slips and an inflection of excitement can be heard. “John, it’s good to hear from you.” “I wanted to stop by.” “Why?” To fix the panic I’ve caused her, I reply, “Just to say hi.” “Yes. I’d like that.” “I’m near the house.” “I’m at the school. We just had a board meeting about the fundraiser. We’re hosting a carnival here on the grounds.” I pass the house where I grew up—a Tudorstyle mansion on fourteen acres of pristine land that rivals some of the smaller castles in the UK. “I can swing by and give you a ride home if you like.” She has a driver she can send on his way. He’d probably appreciate the break. “I have a short meeting if you don’t mind waiting?” “I don’t.” “Very well. I’ll meet you in the gardens out front in about thirty minutes.” “I’ll be there, Mother. Goodbye.” Dread fills my gut. I’ve not seen her in a few months, maybe longer if I think about it. My family is not really the touchy-feely or affectionate type, with an exception to my sister, making it easy for all of us to get caught up in our own lives.

The long, curved drive that leads to the prep school I attended is just how I remember. Back then, Alex and I drove our motorcycles to school just to piss off the principal. Although we graduated with honors, we also left school with a slew of bad impressions. It was worth it. My mother has been trying to tidy up the Cristley reputation ever since by working with the school to keep it one of the most prestigious in the country. After parking in the principal’s parking spot, a push of the button sets the alarm when I get out, garnering a few head turns. This car is eyecatching, especially for a guy my age, but I earned every dollar and have no regrets splurging on this sleek vehicle. It’s weird being back here. I’m such a different person than who I was back then. Wiser, but more jaded. Life’s gotten hold of me in ways I never talk about. During the last year of my life, I’ve spent too much time trying to forget about the abuse I endured to be sitting on this bench today. Words . . . threats are muffled. My ears are ringing and my eyes are too bloodied to see clearly. A molar was dangling in my mouth but with the last breath I gasped for, it fell out. Now just the open wound remains, but is the least of my concerns. As I take another blow to the head, it’s not the

boot I’ve become used to but something more solid. A shovel? A bat? . . . Darkness fills the room when I come to. It’s night. Again. My foggy brain reasons through the thickness of pain. It’s always fucking nighttime around here. And nighttime means one thing— another round with our kidnapper, the captor determined to destroy us. “Cruise? You okay?” I follow the sound of my name said by the familiar voice. King. Alexander. Alex. “No, but I’m alive to see another night and I intend on meeting the next one too.” It only takes two words to send chills down my spine. “It’s day.” Night. It’s night in my world. The realization that my sight is fucked up hits me. I won’t see him coming for me tonight. I won’t see the blows or know the punishment I’m about to receive. Tonight I’m going in blind. Literally. Fuck. I push up on my hands and knees and feel for my bowl. I need to eat. To gain strength. To speed the healing. I can recover. I know I can. This is temporary. Mind over pain.

“They haven’t feed us yet,” he says. “I’m sorry.” When I open my mouth to speak, the throbbing in my mouth begins again. Infection will set in if I’m not vigilant. The taste of blood coats my words when I say, “Why?” “Why what?” “Why are you sorry?” He can see what I can’t. I need to know if I need to be worried more than I am already about our survival. “This place. You. You shouldn’t be here.” “Neither should you, King.” “You shouldn’t call me that anymore.” A chuckle strikes my ribs and I cringe, a harsh reminder that at least one is broken if not more. “What should I call you?” “Alex, like you used to.” “If we survive this, I’ll consider the downgrade.” I can hear him laugh under his breath. I hear his pain as well, but it doesn’t come from physical pain. “Why are you so damn loyal to a cause that’s not your own?” “Because you’re my brother, and brothers stick together.” I don’t know this from personal experience. Seems like a thing family should do— stick together. . . . Under a large tree with knotted branches, I look around not seeing who I used to be in any of

the students walking by. Just like with my family, I never really fit in anywhere. Sure, I was popular. I’m fun as fuck when I party. But where did that get me? Working for my best friend and squatting in his apartment. More money than I can spend and no one to spend it on. Holy shit. I see pink. Curvy ass under a fitted skirt. Tight as fucking —good God Almighty. Bubblegum pink. Like a flame, I’m drawn to her. I stand, not even sure why, but I’m moving before I can stop myself following a bubblegum-pink skirt that just so happens to be attached to a killer little body and a head of brown hair that flows to the middle of her back. “Hey?” What the fuck? Why’d I yell that? Damn. I stumble. She reaches as if she’s going to catch me before I fall. I’m falling all right, but not to the ground. I stop, standing tall and straightening my shoulders. Real smooth. I actually fucking stumble when she looks back and our eyes meet. A halo of yellow sunshine surrounds her, an angel sent from the heavens to save me. The beauty asks, “Are you all right?” “Me?” A smile that rivals the heavens appears.

“Yes, you.” “I’m good, so great.” That pretty smile grows, and a sweet giggle follows. “I’m glad.” The longer we hold eye contact, the more her composure falters, an unease entering her pretty hazels. “Okay, I should go then.” “No.” “No?” “No. Stay.” “Stay?” she asks in the same confused tone as the last question. “Yes.” Stepping closer, I hold out my hand. “I’m Cruise. What’s your name?” Her hand slips into mine and I’m tempted to not just shake it, but never let it go. “Nice to meet you, Cruise. If you’ll excuse me—” That’s when I notice the books held to her chest with her other hand. “Are you a student?” “No.” Her reply comes fast with a look of horror filling wide eyes. “I’m not. Are you?” “No.” The relief between us is palpable as our sighs fill the space. Her eyes glance down to our adjoined hands, my hold on her still just as firm. “May I have my hand back, Cruise?” “Yes,” I reply, and then reluctantly release her. “I’m late for an appointment.” I don’t want her to go. I like looking at her. I

like talking to her and I really like holding her hand. She has fine features, but I can’t stop staring at her cherry-kissed lips. She turns to walk away too soon, so I call out, “Hey, I never got your name.” “Maybe I’ll see you around.” She’s not showy when she saunters off, but I watch rapt by every sweet sway of her hips. I find myself tugging at the collar of my shirt, that allwrong-itchy feeling returning. Fuck it. I run after her. Sidling up beside her, I keep her pace, and ask, “Why won’t you tell me your name?” “Because you don’t need to know it.” “I want to know it.” She stops, and looks at me. “Just because you want it, doesn’t mean I owe it to you.” Feisty. Getting a woman’s name isn’t usually a problem for me, but I respect her argument too much to counter with one of my own. “You’re right. Absolutely right.” This time I notice how the white sweater hugs the front of her body. Damn. I invade her personal space, captivated by her defiance. “I’ve been rude. My apologies.” “I don’t need an apology, but I do need to go. I’m running late.” She takes a few steps away from me, but says, “Have a good life.” My hands rise in the air, exasperated with this outcome. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

Her laughter splinters the air. “Unfortunately no. I can tell you’re the kind of trouble I should definitely walk away from. Name intact.” Quick stepping with determination, I watch as she crosses the parking lot. “John?” My mother is walking down the front steps of the building. One last glance at the beauty who just blew me off and I decide to let her go, and even though she still owns my full attention, I greet my mother. Dressed in a head-to-toe stuffy designer suit, her outfit screams of uptight and snobby. Beatrice Cristley is the epitome of WASP, though her religious beliefs waver with her drive to see the Cristley name immortalized as one of the great families of New England. Despite the fact both women are dressed conservatively, my mother is in stark contrast to the vixen that just caught my eye. I’ll be thinking about that skirt all day. I look back over my shoulder and she’s long gone. Probably for the best. I’m the kind of trouble a good girl like that doesn’t need. That makes me laugh. I’m sure that’s similar to what Alex said to me about Sara Jane the day he met her. “John, you’re here?” my mother says when she approaches as if I wouldn’t be. “As promised.” We greet with polite kisses on each other’s

cheek. “You’re looking well.” “Taking it day by day.” She looks around. “Should we talk here?” “Sure. There’s a bench under the tree.” We take a seat on opposite sides. I would normally be uncomfortable. Conversations with her usually don’t end well. With my ego and her strong stubborn side to make everything into a lesson . . . we tend to clash. I assume she has no plans to speak of money and I have no plans to ask for any, so things should stay on the lighter side. “It’s a beautiful day,” she remarks finally glancing my way. “Why are you here?” “It’s been a while.” “Seven months.” That she knows when we last saw each other surprises me. I drop my head a little and lean my forearms on my legs. “The effects of . . . ah, the recovery from being kidnapped took longer than I would have liked. I’m sorry if that put you out in any way.” She didn’t really want to know about the effects. Just the recovery. “It didn’t put us out, John. It hurt. You made it clear you didn’t want to see us. Although it pained me to see you hurt, I tried to respect your wishes. I understand there’s a lot of water flowing under our bridge, but maybe we can give each other the benefit of the doubt instead of assuming the worst.” She may not be my biological mother, but I’m

definitely stubborn like her. Maybe it’s time to mend fences with my family, especially if I want to find my birth parents. “I’d like that. I know I was a disappointment in many ways, embarrassed the Senator when he was actively in office, but they were growing pains.” “You never embarrassed your father. His advisors on the other hand . . .” She laughs lightly. “I know you think we were hard on you, but we never treated you any differently. For good or bad, all of your brothers and sisters were treated the same. We hoped that tough love would help each of you grow to be independent and fuel a drive inside of you for creating your own security and wealth in life.” “It led me to do things I shouldn’t have done.” I didn’t expect to be sitting in a confessional, but for some reason, this feels right. Laying our emotional weapons down and seeing each other for who we are instead of what we pretend to be. “When I was being tortured, I felt like a failure inside. Like if I died there, my death would be just another disappointment to you both. I was as strong as I could be. I survived when I should have died.” Her hand covers mine. It’s bony and cold, but she made the effort and for that I’m grateful. “You are so much stronger than you ever knew. We knew. We knew the moment we held you in our arms. You had already survived so much.” A small

smile, that lends itself to genuine, appears on her face. “You’re here to tell me you want to find your birth mother.” “How did you know?” “I didn’t give birth to you, but I’ll still defer to a mother’s intuition. I knew this day would come and I tried to prepare myself. I was actually surprised it didn’t come sooner. Being estranged from you has been difficult. We may have stopped paying your bills, but we never stopped loving you.” This is a lot to process. “I thought you didn’t even like me.” “The Senator and I need to work on our parenting technique.” She stands. “You survived a horrendous situation to prove how strong you already were.” There’s that smile again. “You always were a handful, but it saved you this time and for that, I have no regrets. Because of that, we have a second chance. In this second chance, we can discuss your biological parents soon.” “Okay.” Reaching out her hand, I take it and stand. The chill of her skin has warmed, but I’m struck with reality. My mom is getting older. Her hand is so small, frail almost in my hand, and I realize I don’t remember the last time we walked like this. Maybe when I was five or six. A long damn time ago. We stroll toward the car, and she says, “I would like to have the family over for dinner the first Sunday of

next month. Your father and I will be traveling until then, but we’d like for you to join us when we get back.” I stop, and our hands part. When she turns back, I say, “You sure I’m welcome by everyone else?” “I don’t care what they think if you don’t.” I’ve been the black sheep a long time. My siblings haven’t been the kindest. Although there are two exceptions—Paige and Matty. My mother is right. Mending fences, making amends, it’s all the same thing, and maybe it’s time to put this emotional mess behind us. Maybe finding peace with my family will help me find peace in this unsettled world. “I’ll be there.”

4

Cruise

ONCE A MONTH ON A FRIDAY NIGHT, some friends from college get together at the pub near campus. The drive isn’t far, and sometimes the company is good, so I decide to go after much harassing from one of the guys I actually like. Maybe this crowd can knock some sense into me, and break me out of the funk I’ve been in. “I’d have no problem living free of charge up in that fucking fancy-ass apartment if I could,” comes from the big-ass, lucky-I-don’t-punch-him, mouth of Roy Dockers. Business major. Debate captain. Fraternity president. Now rental car sales manager. Still reigning title holder of all around asshole.

I think about letting him rattle off his usual bullshit, but since the subject seems to have turned to me, I speak up. “Nothing comes free. I’ve earned every fucking penny I’ve made and more than enough to justify the rent of that place.” His beer jostles in the mug as he laughs. “Kingwood keeping you busy over there, huh?” By the way he’s looking at me with his tongue shoved against the inside of his cheek and bulging eyes filled with mocking amusement, I understand what he’s saying. I stand, my chair falling back. “Did you just insinuate what I think you did?” Four friends roll their eyes or whine for us to stop. Standing, he’s eye level, but his body is soft, out of shape. I’ll take him down in one blow, if he’s not careful. “Maybe I did. So which is it? You fucking Kingwood for that palace—” The pointing finger doesn’t make it two inches from his body before I have him slammed face down to the top of the table with his arm twisted around his back. I lean down to make sure he hears me clearly. “I could kill you before you have a chance to beg for mercy.” Violence, for me, is a slippery slope I don’t want to slide down. Everyone becomes my captor after the first hit I land. Roy Dockers is an asshole, but ultimately, he’s all talk. I release him, but leave him with a threat to think about. “You ever talk shit about me or Kingwood again, and I’ll finish what you just started. Without a warning

next time.” “Cruise?” The sweet melody of my name rolling off the tongue of an unknown female diverts my interest from the buffoon before me. And there she is. I was a fool to let her walk away without getting her name. This time I won’t make the same mistake with the beauty I met on my old stomping grounds. While my so-called friends are settling back down around the table, I move around Fisher Marks who pats me on the back. “You realize you almost killed Dockers?” “And your point is?” “Dude, that’s savage.” I roll my eyes and walk around another table. Taking the pretty woman by her upper arm, I spin her away from these idiots, positioning my body between her and them. “Hi. You’re here.” It’s amazing how an innocent smile can be so full of mischief. She tries to peek around me, but I lean left to block them from her view, and then right. “Is everything okay over there?” “Better seeing you again. It’s been a while.” “A month isn’t that long,” she says, looking into my eyes. God, she’s gorgeous. And she knew it had been a month since I’d seen her. Interesting. “Longer than I would have liked, but alas, I never got your

name, or number.” “I’m sure you’ve gotten plenty of others in the meantime.” “Eh, no one caught my eye quite like you.” Her long lashes flutter when she looks away. “Does your charm always work for you?” “I don’t know. You tell me.” A lighter shade of the pink skirt she wore that day colors her cheeks, and she whispers, “A girl only has so much armor.” Seeing her blush is a sight I don’t see often. I could banter with her all day, but when I look at her, I don’t want quick banter. I actually want to know her. Noticing she’s empty-handed, I ask, “Can I buy you a drink?” “I’ve actually had enough. I was on my way out when I saw you. You know, you shouldn’t fight like that. It’s dangerous.” Quirking my head in surprise, I chuckle. “Yeah, you’re probably right. What’s up with the shouting to me?” “Figured I give it a try and shout at you since you shouted at me the day you chased me down in front of the whole school.” She’s funny. “Touché, Mssss?” Bursting into laughter, her hands land on my chest. All the composure she held on to so tightly that day on campus is gone in an instant under beer goggle eyes, or maybe it was vodka since I don’t

smell anything on her breath but sweet berries. I’m intrigued to find out what she drinks. Either way, she’s super relaxed, i.e. drunk, and petting my shirt like I’m a puppy she wants to take home from the pet store. “Nice try, Romeo.” She makes that gray sweater and the jeans she’s wearing look sexy as fuck. With that longing look in her eyes, she’s fucking gorgeous and far too tempting. When I look around, I’m not the only one who thinks so. She needs to get home before she gets taken advantage of. “Maybe it’s time to call it a night.” Wide doe eyes stare into mine. “Do you want to come home with me?” Damn, she’s bold. Especially for someone who won’t tell me her name. “Take you home?” “Yes, that’s what I said.” “That’s not what you said.” Jesus, she’s well past drunk. Taking matters into my own hands, hands that I usually wouldn’t trust to not find their way over to her, but will restrain tonight, I offer, “I can take you home, Dove.” At least she’ll be safe with me. “Dove?” “My little peacemaker.” Taking her by the hand, I lead her to the door. Once we’re outside on the sidewalk, I add, “So, why were you so worried about me back there?” Shrugging, she sighs nonchalantly. “I didn’t

want to see you get hurt.” “Me?” I laugh. “You were worried about me and not the other guy?” “I don’t know him. I know you, so I was worried.” I don’t like that she’s taken her hand away from me. “You obviously don’t know me.” Cherry-kissed lips smirk in my direction as she pokes me in the side. “I know your name.” “About that—” “I’m freezing.” There is a chill in the air, and I watch as she rubs her arms to warm up. “I left my jacket at home.” “I’ll drive you home on one condition.” “I’m good with walking.” And walk she does. Quickly. Wow, that didn’t work. I wasn’t even given a chance. “It was good to see you again, Cruise.” “Hey, wait!” I jog until I catch up with her. Walking backward, I try a different approach. “So you’re willing to walk away from me, freezing, for no reason?” “It’s not no reason. I know what you want.” Her teeth start chattering as she holds so dearly to that stubborn streak. “My name.” “C’mon. Just give me a first. Or—” “Or what?” “Or I’m going to start calling you Gertrude or Ethel, maybe Bertha.”

“Those names don’t insult me. Call me Bertha if you want.” She keeps walking, her chin held high in some spite she’s trying to maintain. “You like to play games. Well guess what, Dove? I’m the master.” I walk forward and right past her this time. Three. Two. One. The huff is heard from behind me first, but I keep walking. Slow and steady. “Fine,” she says. Spinning on my heel, I cock an eyebrow. “Fine?” “My name is Clara.” “Clara,” I say, trying it out and matching it to her beauty. It’s perfect for her. “That’s a beautiful name.” I move back within whispering distance, but don’t whisper. “It’s nice to meet you, Clara.” Our hands meet between us and this time I bring hers to my lips. Kissing the soft, fair skin, I catch a whiff of something mysterious that caresses her, lingering just to torture me. Looking into her honey-colored eyes, the centers are so unique, unique like her. “Again.” “Yes, it’s nice to meet you again.” She sways, and her grip tightens, as does mine. Our hands are still bonded together when I lower them to ask, “So how about that ride, Dove?”

“How about we walk?” “Walk?” “Don’t worry, it’s not far.” “I thought you were cold?” “That was before you were here to keep me warm . . . I mean, company.” She may have corrected her slip, but she does so unapologetically. I like this side of her a lot. I liked her other side too. I’ve only had two beers but I’m starting to feel a little drunk myself. Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I say, “I’ll keep you warm. Which way?” I swear I see her blush, and for reasons unknown to me, I feel like I’ve fallen under some sort of spell. I want her as mine. Damn, she’s got magical powers over me. If I’m not careful, I’ll become a pussy and find myself saying stupid things like “live for the day” and “eat dessert for dinner.” No, I can’t let her sweet pinks get the best of me. Walking down the sidewalk together, she bumps against me. “Are you going to walk me home the whole way?” “I think it’s a good idea.” “Me too,” she whispers. She’s right. The house is close. Too close. It’s only three blocks away, but in those three blocks, when I didn’t have my arm wrapped around her, I got to hold her hand. It was almost like an accident.

I readjusted and her hand found mine searching for hers. Our conversation stays light, but I want to go deep with her. The time is passing by too fast, and soon I find myself standing two steps down from her as she unlocks the front door. Turning back to me, she asks, “Want to come in?” Fuck yeah, I do. “Sure.” She throws me off the game I’m trying hard to play with her. Maybe it’s not a game she’s playing. Maybe she’s just this quirky. Either way, I like it. I like her. She swings her arm in front of her. “Entrer.” “Parlez-vous francais?” “Non.” She shrugs, cute with her bad accent, but then adds, “I took Spanish in school, most of which I’ve forgotten. I just like French things— Macarons, the Eiffel Tower, the dogs.” Wait, what did she say? “The dogs?” The door is closed behind me when I enter the small Craftsman-style home. “Yeah, you know French poodles, papillons, and French bulldogs. Papillons were bred specifically for Marie Antoinette. Weird but true fact.” All right then. Looking around, I ask, “Don’t you want to know my last name? You’ve let me into your place without even a thought as to whether I’m here to murder you or I don’t know, have sex with you.”

“Why were you at the school when you’re not a student?” She drops her keys on a small table and walks through the living room and through an archway that’s open to the small kitchen. “Neither are you.” “I’m student teaching this year.” “I was meeting my mother.” “See?” She glances back with an all-knowing smile and bright eyes. “You were meeting your mother.” As if that sets the discussion to rest on if I’m here to murder her or have sex with her. What I find more fascinating is that she seems to be okay with either option. “How horrible can you be?” Trailing a little distance behind her, I point out, “Norman Bates loved his mother. Didn’t stop him from killing.” “Are we having a Psycho conversation?” With her hands on her hips, she looks at me. “Because now I am starting to question if this was a mistake.” “No, just pointing to the fact that you can’t just open your home to everyone you meet.” She carries on like we aren’t having an awkward and sort of scary conversation. Grabbing two glasses from the cabinet, she fills them with water from a pitcher. When she hands me one, she asks, “Are you going to kill me, or hurt me, Cruise?” “No, Clara. I’m not.” “Promise?”

The breath in my chest feels heavy, this promise laden with promise for more. “I promise not to hurt you. Ever.” Ever. Why’d I say that? Where’s my head at? I’m thinking it’s somewhere hiding out with my heart, plotting my demise at the hands of this woman. The shine of the previous smile softens into a glow that worms its way through my hard exterior. Coming forward, she touches me again, her heat penetrating my shirt, and searing my chest. It feels good, so good to have a warm touch over the cold contact I’ve become accustomed to. I cover her hand, holding it there, absorbing her sunshine. She whispers, “You like to hold hands.” “No.” “No?” “No, I don’t like to hold hands. I rarely do it. But I like holding yours.” Moving against me, I release her hand to hold on to her. She’s a tiny thing. Her aura is so much bigger than her actual frame. She fills a room with her light, making me forget about the darkness I usually struggle to evade. Here, with her, I see a way out from under the nightmares that haunt me daily, at least for tonight. I lift her chin up until our eyes meet, and then lean down, pressing my lips to hers. I don’t kiss her. I just close my eyes and feel

her, taking her in. “Will you kiss me?” she whispers. “Take what you want, Dove.” Her arms slide around my neck and her lips push against mine, caressing me. Our mouths move together, her lips parting and my tongue wanting more of her, more of everything she’ll give. I was wrong. She’s not safer with me. Just in the short time we’ve talked and the little I know about her, I want more than I should. I should stop and walk out that door, but when my fingers weave into her hair, she moves against me. Her breath becomes mine as I explore the wet wonderland of her mouth. Pulling back, her eyes have a wild spark to them. “Cruise?” “Yes?” Shyness, something I’ve not seen in her, takes over her pretty features. She looks down, presses even closer to me, and asks, “Would you like to come to my bedroom?” What insanity is this? “What?” “Oh God, how embarrassing. I’m so so—” Cupping her face, I lean my head against hers. “I should probably go.” Go, Cruise. Walk out the door. Her eyes are closed and I feel her nod against me. My heart starts thumping and I can suddenly hear my heart for the first since the darkness took over.

It’s this girl. Clara. Fuck, I’m sunk. I kiss her forehead. Then when our eyes meet, I narrow mine, not sure why this gorgeous creature thinks she should doubt my answer. I never did listen to reason. “I do want to go with you. So much. Show me the way.” Breathing her relief, she leads me around the corner and down a short hall. She stands just inside the bedroom and waits for me. It’s dark in the room, but the with the blinds above the bed open, the moonlight provides enough light to see. When I walk past her, I take her hand and lead her to the bed. Her bed is made, no clothes on the floor or hanging around. The room is neat and taken care of, and I like how homelike it feels here. I sit on the end of the mattress and pull her to my lap. She settles in and looks at me. Her hand on my shoulder is shaking. Not much, but enough for me to notice. It reaches her voice and it quivers when she asks, “Do you do this much?” “Seduce incredibly sexy women?” I cock a smile to ease her nerves while running my knuckles softly over her cheek. “No. Never.” She smiles. With my hand on the back of her head, our lips meet in the space that remains between us. For someone so bold earlier, she’s sweet and nervous now. Lying back, I move so she’s on top, and say, “We’ll go at your pace. Okay?”

“Okay.” “Do you like kissing me, Clara?” I’ve never asked questions like this but with her I want to know. I need to know, and I want to take things slow. Savor this for me. Build it for her. “I do, so much.” I kiss her again because I like the way she moves, molding to me. I love the way she tastes— strawberry, beer, and desire. She’s my undoing before we’ve even begun. There’s no way I can stop our bodies from becoming one.

5

Cruise

THE LIGHT FILTERING in from the hall is just bright enough to see her, really see her. It’s a different side than when she was feisty and confident on campus a few days ago and sexier than the girl who I met earlier tonight when she was both fearless and tempting. Clara distracts me both times. She makes me crave her sweet, cherry-kissed lips. When I came home with Clara, I thought I might get laid. I want her. Badly. I want to taste her sweetness and savor her until she’s on the bed rendered useless for all others. And that will be just the first time.

I want the warmth of her hands to sear my skin not just heat through clothes. I’m no stranger to hookups or one-night stands, but I already know, with Clara, this is much more. The cool air outside has sobered me, but I don’t think it’s the alcohol that has my mind spinning. In the peace of her bedroom, I’m seeing the beauty for who she is, who she really is—shy, a little quiet, bold to be lying in front of me, but present with focused eyes. Like her room, her skin is pristine, too perfect for me to mark with the filth of my past. Like a criminal, I can’t stop myself. I’ve had a taste . . . Her sweater is tossed to the floor. On the bed, her jeans follow right after. She doesn’t protest, but encourages, lifting, tugging, wiggling free from the confines as if her clothes are suffocating her. Positioning herself on her knees, Clara pulls the hem of my shirt up as high as she can reach. I take it from there and drop it at my feet. My socks and shoes have already been discarded, but my erection is still caught inside the denim of my jeans. It’s a painful reminder when I lean down over her just as her back hits the mattress again. Bending in the stiff denim hurts. But fuck that. I’m kissing the center of her chest, my lips on that skin that pebbles under my hands and mouth, and then I go lower between her breasts. Clara squirms, arching her back, but the pressure of my body on her lower half keeps her

steady. Her eyes are on mine as I taste her bare skin, licking her from navel to neck while squeezing her tits through the silky lace-edged fabric of her bra. “Does that feel good?” I ask, pressing my dick against the mattress because being with her feels too damn good, and I want her to come first. “You feel good.” She moves her legs wider, wrapping them around my middle. I move down on her. “You’re really beautiful, you know that?” “No.” I’m about to fucking eat her through these panties she has me so ravenous, but I stop. Did she just say no? I look up, catching her eyes on me, and ask, “What? You don’t see how beautiful you are?” “I don’t feel it.” What the hell? “How is that possible? You’re stunning.” “I’ve lived what some would call a sheltered life. So no, I don’t know.” “You are. You’re so beautiful.” A sweet pink colors her cheeks. She’s so goddamn enticing. Opening my mouth, I exhale a hot breath against the soft cotton of her white underwear. Those fuckers cause my dick to ache. So much fucking innocence wrapped inside them. They’re going to be in shreds on the floor if I don’t control myself. I flatten my tongue against the fabric and breath until she’s wet and panting.

“Oh God,” escapes her lips. “God has nothing to do with this, Dove.” I’ve been with enough women to recognize the level of their experience. She’s so innocent, maybe never touched. Lowering my head t0 her stomach, guilt invades me, because I won’t be gentle tonight. I’m too turned on for that, and she deserves gentle. Fuck. Fingertips run through my hair, as she begs for answers, “What’s wrong? Is it me?” My head jolts up. “What? No. You’re perfect. I’m not.” It may be the last time I get the chance, so I kiss the soft skin right above her hipbone, right before pushing up. Sitting down on the bed, I reach for her hand. When she takes it, I pull her until she scoots lower and is sitting next to me. Concern runs through the lines of her eyebrows. Even worried, she’s so pretty. “What happened?” she asks. “Were you not enjoying yourself?” I love how a trail of goose bumps follows as I stroke her leg. “It’s not that. I promise.” I want to fuck you. I want to leave my fingerprints all over your body. I want to lick you and cover you in ways that are despicable. “I’m bad for you, Dove.” I love the feel of her hands on me. One is comforting my shoulder like I actually matter while the other splays across my thigh possessively. “Bad? How, Cruise? Explain why even though I’ve only known you for five seconds, I want to know

more. Explain how you can be so bad, when despite you pushing a man’s head to the bar table earlier, it was you I wanted to leave with. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I see someone . . . good. And I want to be with you. You told me you’d never hurt me, so please just tell me the truth now.” She wants to know me? She, who is so pure, so strong, so vulnerable, wrapped in a beautiful, irresistible package. She sees who I want to be, not who I am. Covering her hand with mine, I turn to look at her. “You’ve had a few drinks. I’ve had a few drinks. I’m not the kind of guy you bring home to your parents. I’m the one you hide, the one that you see when you want to walk on the wild side. I’m not the one someone marries. You’re good inside, so if you’re seeing that in me, it’s because it’s reflecting from you.” Quickly standing, she goes to grab a T-shirt from a drawer and pulls it on. With her jeans in her hands, she backs away from me. Pain morphs her delicate features, the gentle slope of her nose to the downturn of her eyes that are filling with tears. It’s the cherry-kissed lips that taste like heaven that start to tremble. Jumping up, I go to her. “Don’t cry, Clara. I want you. I do. We just need to slow down. Want me not because I’m the guy you ran into tonight, but because it’s me.”

The trembling chokes her when she asks, “You don’t want me how I am?” “God, no. That’s not it at all.” Running a hand through my hair, I say, “I want you so much that I’ll fuck you when I really want to make love to you.” I turn my back and grab my shirt. I can’t believe that shit just came from my mouth. It may be true, but it’s not the kind of stuff I should be spewing. I need to remain in reality and forget the froufrou shit. I said it myself. I’m not the guy she will want to take home to meet the parents. I realize my problem isn’t that I want to fuck her. The problem is that I want to fuck her and then hold her all night. I’ve lost my mind. Clearly. But even when rejection is justified on one side doesn’t mean it is on the other. “I want you to leave, Cruise.” Her own anguish comes out through her temper. “Now. I want you to leave.” “I’m sorry.” I put my shirt on over my head. Turning away from me, her head drops. “No. I knew better and I broke my own rules. Rules that exist for a reason.” I slip on my socks and shoes as she disappears into her thoughts. “My father warned me about other men. How they’d hurt me. I just thought they’d use me first, but you don’t even want me.” This time her voice wobbles under the tears choking her. “Please. Just leave.”

I want to comfort her, make her understand that I want more than just sex with her. I want tonight if nothing more, but the mood is ruined because I fucking forgot how fucked up my life was for an hour or two. Being with her gave me a reprieve and now I’m paying the price for letting my guard down. When I reach her bedroom door, I stop, the situation feeling similar to when I left Celeste. Except this time, I’m the one being told to go. My head is down, too ashamed to look at the pain on her face. “I’m sorry.” She doesn’t say anything, so I go, making my way back through the living room. I failed to notice the obsession of French knickknacks when I arrived, blinded by the brunette beauty. I swing the front door open, turning the little lock on the inside of the knob before shutting it. Hope she locks the bolts once I’m gone. I shove my hands in my front pockets and head to the street where I parked my car. Only looking back once, I keep going. I royally fucked this up. I shouldn’t have left the bar with her, or walked her home. I shouldn’t have kissed her, or gone to her bedroom. I really shouldn’t have taken her shirt off and kissed her tits like an addict needing a fix. I really shouldn’t have taken her jeans off and inhaled her deep into my lungs. Fuck. I think I just met the one person who speaks to my body and

mind, and makes me feel alive again. Dove. My little peacemaker. She smells like heaven, but I bet she tastes like sin. Undoing. If there’s one person who can make me lose myself, she’s it. Fuck. I click the car alarm and open the door. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I see someone . . . good. And I want to be with you. Am I, though? Is there any or enough goodness in me for someone as sweet as Clara? Her dad was right to warn her off men like me. I hate that I left, but I knew at that moment I needed to. She needed me to leave, even though I wanted to stay and make things right. I want you, little dove. Could she be the answer to my problems? Or is she my destruction in disguise? I don’t know if she’ll give me a second chance to make this right, to do things right next time. I’m willing—desperate—to try again. Something tells me she has a forgiving soul. Maybe she’ll even be able to forgive a sinner like me.

6

Clara Eckerd

STARING AT THE CEILING , I count the stars. Eighteen . . . nineteen . . . twenty. The plastic glow-in-thedark constellation stickers give me comfort just like in my old bedroom. Each one represents a year of my life, another year I survived. I’m not sure how to feel about what’s to come next week. I took the day off from work just in case. It was safer that way. I don’t expect to feel different, but who knows how I’ll feel. The first one is always the hardest, so I’m told. People don’t understand what I feel. His death was so unexpected, but it’s marked the date forevermore. Just not for the reasons others think.

I close my eyes, squeezing them tight, hoping not to relive every tortured moment in my head. I need sleep, to erase the thoughts and drift away. It used to be more than my thoughts I would wish could drift away. I never did though. I lived through every last day from dawn until dark, present in the punishment served daily. Rolling onto my side, the muscles around my eyes start to pinch. I give up trying to block it out. My eyes being closed won’t shut out the memories anyway. A new sting runs through me—Cruise, and although I told him to go, it was on the heels of rejection. He was leaving anyway. Leaving me half undressed, half begging him to have sex with me, half of the person I wanted to be. I wish I were stronger. I would have taken back all the halves he refused to leave behind. He’s a coward. For not telling me why he had to go. For pretending it was me he was worried about. He’s selfish. He just wanted an easy way out. I learned a long time ago that humanity doesn’t exist in a world of liars and monsters. The humiliation of what I did, teasing him with my name in hopes of him wanting to know more, hoping he’d find me attractive. Coaxing him to my house, practically seducing him. That’s not me no matter how hard I want it to be. Sex is a tool and

I’m not skilled enough to use it. I don’t even know how. Why can’t I be normal? Why am I so fucked up? My body clenches in fear as my father’s words come back to me. “The slip of the tongue is the devil’s doing. Watch your words, Clarissa.” I flip the covers off and slide into a kneeling position beside the bed. “Dear Lord, please forgive me for my sin. I promise to be better and to obe—” What am I doing? Squeezing my eyes closed, I say, “Stop.” The habit is formed. Breaking it will be a challenge, but I’m determined to destroy it. There’s no one to hold me to those words anymore. No one to hold me down. I’m free. I stand, my knees aching from the hardwood floors. Climbing back under the covers, I reach for the little teddy bear with one eye and start counting stars again. The ritual calms me. It’s a habit I can live with. Perhaps the only one. . . . Seventeen . . . Eighteen . . . Nineteen . . . Twenty . . . One . . . Two . . .

One Week Later . . . Standing over the grave, I don’t feel sadness. I don’t feel remorse. I don’t feel much of anything. Not even the joy I thought I’d feel. Toby is running over the plaque and no one stops him. I’m jealous I can’t do the same. Run over it. Step on it. Jump on it. Dirty it. Smash it. Instead, I kneel down like the good little girl I always was and use my hand to dust the dirt away. Toby whacks me on the back of the head, and I snap, “No, Toby. No hit.” By his giggles I don’t think he got the message. My mom bends down and picks him up, scolding him for his bad behavior at the cemetery. He’s lucky. A talking to from my mother is a walk in the park compared to what could have happened if my father was here. Maybe he is—in spirit. A chill runs up my spine and I turn to look behind me. Vaughn stands at a distance, refusing to come any closer. My brother just turned seventeen and has grown so tall, taller than my father. My mom won’t force him to pay respect, and can’t anyway. He’s stubborn. We all understand though,

but as the oldest, I’m expected to keep up appearances. I need to keep our secrets safe. I glance to Toby who’s wriggling in my mom’s arms and causing a scene because he wants down. She finally gives in to him while giving me a look that pleads for me to keep going. All eyes are on us, so I don’t smile. I don’t find happiness in this hell anyway. Though I should. I’m free, except for one day a year. Today. Today I’m back to being shackled by a monster that I pretend to love, to miss, to cry over. I sniffle, the sound so fake. I know I can do better, so I sniffle again and again until I perfect the sound. My mom hands me a tissue and I dab at my dry eyes, pretending they’re wet. I won’t be able to produce real tears, so it’s probably best if we cut this act short and leave. Grabbing Toby’s hand in one of mine, I walk to Vaughn, standing toe-to-toe, and whisper, “Keep your eyes down when we go to the car.” He usually listens well. Just like me, he was trained to obey. But at seventeen, and with my father gone, he’s starting to act out. “I know what to do.” We hold each other’s hard gaze a few seconds before I reply, “Okay,” and walk away. I hear his

footsteps fall in line behind me. He’s stubborn, but he doesn’t want to make a scene. A few mourners—my dad’s family, friends, and colleagues—showed up to pay their respects, and move to the sides, allowing us access to the street. They didn’t know who my father really was or they wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t have allowed him to do what he did. I’ve convinced myself this must be true or I’d lose all hope, and hope is the one thing I regained once he died. I make an error in judgment. I look up only to be met with hate I used to see in my father’s eyes. I glance away not sure who the man is, but afraid to look his way. When we’re inside the car, we close the doors, and wait for our mom. She made the mistake of making eye contact with someone and is now stuck listening to condolences for a man she hated. Vaughn says, “I’m not a kid anymore. Don’t treat me like one.” “You’re seventeen, not thirty.” “And you’re twenty, not my mom.” He glances to Toby. I fasten Toby into his car seat and sit back, ready to leave. “We’re not enemies, Vaughn.” “Don’t talk to me.” His tone is so full of hate, something I’m not used to hearing from him. We’ve always been in this together, but now I feel the distance growing and the cold seeping between us.

Why? Why does he seem to hate me now? Toby’s a good distraction. He insists on playing with my hand. He drags his little finger along my palm, specifically my lifeline. It’s impossible for it to have lengthened since my father’s death, but I’m surprised when his finger still traces the line as if it has. A smile comes without my permission. Toby catches it and smiles in return. He’s only one and a half but he’s been so much happier in the last year compared to the first six months of his life. Maybe babies sense distress and despair. That’s all gone though. Like us, he’s become brighter, full of energy, gained the weight he needed. He’s so smart. I rub my fingers through the curls at the back of his head because he really is adorable. “Hi,” I say with a smile. “Hi. A. C. B.” “You’re so smart.” “Bah. Bah. Boo!” “You want to play peek-a-boo?” “Bah. Bah. Boo!” I cover my eyes, but the car door opens and my mother gets in. The game ends before it begins. She immediately reaches across her body and presses the lock down. Habit. Habits are pesky like that.

Vaughn asks, “Want me to drive?” “No,” she replies. “Now that this foolishness is over, how about some ice cream?” Toby claps in excitement. “I keem.” So smart. “I should go home,” I say. “I have a lesson plan to prepare for tomorrow.” She nods, catching my eyes in the rearview mirror. “I was hoping we could all have dinner together. We can eat out or I can make something. I’d like you to join us, Claris—Clara.” Habit. I never get mad when she slips. We’re in this together, so I won’t hold little things against her like he used to do. “Okay. That would be nice.” While driving from the cemetery, she rubs Vaughn’s shoulder. “Where would you like to eat, honey?” “I don’t care,” he grumbles, staring out the window. My brother hasn’t found the same joy as my mother and me since my father’s death. He was beaten regularly, told to “take it like a man,” and fight back. Training for the real world is how my father always put it. He trained Vaughn all right, but not the way he wanted. Vaughn could never be bad like our father. He has too much good inside that remained long after that day one year ago. But he’s a teenager and he’s moody, sometimes bad manages to sneak in when we’re not paying attention. We try

to give him space, but I worry that too much room to grow will leave him no choice but to let things fester inside instead. I want my sweet little brother back. I hope we haven’t lost him for good. To lighten things up, I suggest, “How about Luca’s Italian? We haven’t been there in forever. It was always your favorite, Vaughn.” He shrugs, never looking our way. “Whatever.” Knowing that’s the best we’re going to get, I sit back. My mom tries her hardest to sound perky, though I know it hurts her to see him distance himself. “Luca’s it is.” I’m glad the drive isn’t long. Toby is getting restless and his mood is turning. “I think he’s hungry,” I say just as we pull into the parking lot. “I’m starved.” Inside the restaurant, we’re seated in the far corner. Toby is stationed in a highchair at the head of our booth. We’ve ordered our food, but now he’s making a mess crumbling breadsticks. His eyes aren’t like ours, and I often think it’s because he didn’t have to suffer through years with the man whose death we celebrated today. His sweet baby blues temper my irritation and I start to clean the mess while Mom makes small talk like we don’t feel my father’s reach even from beyond the grave. “. . . and then she told me to reorganize the kindergarteners supplies. I was happy to do it, but I’m still not used to . . .”

My mom has a job after years of being a stayat-home wife. My father wouldn’t have it any other way. She wasn’t home for our needs, but his. I let my gaze slide outside through the large window that overlooks a row of houses converted into small businesses. This is a cute area of town. When she finishes her story, I ask, “Maybe we can go to the gift store and the bookstore after this for a little shopping?” “Sure,” my mom replies with an easy smile. Vaughn says, “I don’t want to shop. I’ll be down by the water.” He didn’t tell us to take him home. Maybe this is progress. Our food is delivered. For the most part, we eat in silence. We’re used to the quiet. It’s not that big a deal. Nobody’s feelings get hurt if we don’t talk. Toby finds noise comforting, and has become a chatterbox more recently. The sound of a child’s laughter should never be silenced. He still reverts to quiet play sometimes. A habit formed from how things used to be. But today, I feel the heat of a stare. When I look up, I catch a man’s hard glare on us, focused on Toby. Instinctually, I reach out and hold his wrist, and correct him. He still needs to learn manners and use them in public. “Inside voice, Tobs.” When I look back, the man is busy looking at

his phone, holding it up at a suspicious angle. Is he taking photos of us? Is he going to report us to the manager for being disruptive? Toby’s sweet spaghetti sauce smile brings me back to the table. Out of the corner of my eye, the man stands and an image from the funeral comes back. Was he there? Was he a friend of my father? His glare hits me like an iceberg and I look down as quick as I can. I hear the bell of the door ring and look up when I think it’s safe.

7

Clara

I’ M

SURPRISED

when I see a familiar face.

“Clara?” The warm tones of Cruise’s voice cover me like a blanket. My eyes stay focused above Toby’s head to where Cruise stands nearby, seemingly unsure whether he should smile or something else undecipherable. “Um, hi,” I reply, glancing to my family. My mom and Vaughn stare at him, Vaughn with narrowed eyes. “I saw you over here and thought I’d say hi. Hi.” “Hi,” I repeat, glancing between him and my mom.

When he turns to her, I can tell he’s about to introduce himself and that means an introduction in return. I bolt out of the booth. “Mom, Vaughn, this is Cruise. A friend of mine.” Before they can reply, I add, “I’ll speak to him in private if you don’t mind.” She laughs lightly. “We don’t mind. Maybe he can escort you to the shops. I can go down to the water with your brothers.” “Great idea.” I’m talking too fast to come off as anything but panicked. They’ve never seen me with anyone before. I’ve never brought a name up even in passing. The questions are forming in their eyes, so I slink my arm around Cruise’s and spin him toward the exit. “See you in a bit.” As we walk to the door, he says, “That’s impressive.” “What?” “You got me out of there in record time. Am I that embarrassing?” “Speaking of embarrassing, you’re lucky I’m even talking to you after the last time I saw you.” “You have nothing to be embarrassed by. I’m the one who fucked things up.” Grabbing my wrist, he stops us just as we walk down the steps of the restaurant. “I’m sorry, Clara. It truly was me, not you. I wanted you.” Looking around to make sure no one can hear us, when I turn back to him, I whisper, “Then you

should have had me.” “It wasn’t right.” “It felt exactly right to me. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel the same.” “Fuck.” He squeezes his eyes closed. With his hands in his hair, he reopens those pools of emotions, and says, “I’m fucking this up.” “At least you’re fucking something.” My knees lower and my hands come together, but I reclaim them with my strength in the moment, restraining myself from a bad habit. His gaze darts to the door as a couple walks out of the restaurant. “Come on.” He takes me by the hand and leads me across the parking lot. What is it with the handholding? He said he didn’t hold hands. It’s like he’s protecting me. From what, I have no idea. Maybe the world? Picking up my pace, I find myself tugging him with me. He asks, “Where are you taking me?” “The bookstore.” “Ah. I should have figured.” “Why should you have figured?” “Because girls love bookstores. Is it the musty scent or the endless ways to lose yourself for hours?” “The musty scent. It’s sexy like mothballs,” I deadpan. I’m yanked back by his sudden stop. Turning to him, he has a wide grin that makes his eyes even

brighter. “I like when you make jokes.” Smiling, I feel pride that I made him laugh. “You think they’re funny?” “No. They’re not funny at all, but I like that you think they are.” “That doesn’t even make sense.” “Sure it does, Dove.” Dove . . . Damn him and that nickname. I have no idea if that is his norm, but I have to admit it feels so cute coming from a guy so . . . well . . . so Cruise. He’s tall and gorgeous and . . . This is terrifying falling for a guy so fast, but he calls me Dove. He has given me a nickname, and that makes me feel a lot of everything all at once for him. He adds, “I understand you better than you think I do.” We start walking again, slower this time. “What do you know about me, Cruise?” “You have moments where you let yourself say what you feel. In those moments, a spark hits your eyes like lightning and you come alive. Then you hide just as fast. A shield seems to go around your heart and the cold sneaks in.” “You think I’m cold?” “I think you’re warm, and sexy, and have more to give than you allow yourself, but you’re protecting something.” “My heart.” What? Why did I say that? “You were offering me your body with no

strings attached. Don’t you know the damage I’ll do? With your body, I’ll weasel my way into your heart, and eventually you know what will happen?” “What?” My chest rises and falls, heavy as I watch his mouth and hear the promises he’s making. “I’ll claim your soul as mine and keep it forever.” “You sound like the devil.” “I never claimed to be an angel.” We stop at the bottom of the bookstore’s front porch. “I may not make claims, but I still try to be good. I stopped because I didn’t want to fuck you and leave. I wanted to take it slow and stay.” “And you claim to be a bad guy.” “I have my moments in the sun.” My voice is so low I barely register the sound. “You could have.” “Could have what?” “Taken it slow with me and stayed. I would have let you.” He’s shaking his head. “No, I couldn’t have. Trust me on that.” Two sighs are released and float together into the breeze as we walk up the steps. I stop at the top and look back—eye level with him. “I do trust you, Cruise. That’s why I invited you into my house.” “You should be more careful with devils in disguise.”

“I may have asked you home because I knew you were trouble, but I also knew you weren’t all bad.” Tucking some hair behind my ear, he says, “I don’t know what to think about you, but I know I can’t stop.” “Can’t stop?” Fingers with pads that have managed a hard day’s work scrape across my skin, fading scars seen as his hand runs from my elbow to my fingertips and back up. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Dove.” I feel the same. “You say that as if you’re free to do so.” I step out of his reach because his touch feels too good to think clearly. “You said you left me because you couldn’t be gentle. That you couldn’t go slow. I’m not breakable. Trust me when I say that. If I were, I would have broken a long time ago.” I try my best to not let my thoughts fall into that memory mind trap, but I lose. The pain of being held down against my will, the pressure on my chest with a hand at my throat, the scars on my wrists when he started to tie me to the rails of my bed frame to keep me from fighting back. He didn’t break me. . . . Rubbing my temples, I take a deep breath and look into worried eyes. I don’t want his

questions, or his concern. I want answers. “I wanted to have fun. I wanted to . . .” I don’t finish that because he won’t understand. I’m wise enough to know that much, even if I’m not wise when it comes to how normal relationships work. “I don’t know you, so maybe you’re lying. Maybe you’re seeing someone. I’ll ask once and then I’m going to trust you. Are you free, Cruise?” Dressed in all black, he’s a dark angel on a cloudy day devouring my words as if they’re spirits. The brown of his eyes are darker at sunset, an intensity filling them as he studies me. “Free?” he repeats the word quietly as if to himself. “Running into you is not a coincidence.” “Are you following me?” “No.” He looks at the door as it opens and people walk out of the bookstore. “But I don’t believe in coincidences.” “So you think we were brought together for a reason?” “Do you?” “The way you avoid topics that make you uncomfortable is a honed skill.” I walk to the railing and lean against it. As much as I long to go inside, the golden glow of the little store to warm me, Cruise and I have unfinished business. My heart is still stinging from last week, but now it bleeds begging for more time with him. Why? Why does he feel so right? What continues to bring me closer

when I should be walking away? An invisible thread is pulling us together. I hope it’s not pain that binds us. “Why would you have to hone that skill?” Peeking at him, he stands so still, barely blinking. “Have I?” My hands fist, my nails pressing into the pad of my palm, but not breaking the skin. “I hate that.” “What?” “Questions answered with questions.” “What else do you hate?” he asks, his interest seeming genuine as he shifts around me so I can’t turn away from him. I think he knows I won’t, but I don’t like being in the spotlight of his heated stare. “I hate how much you look at me. Like you can read my mind and see things I don’t want anyone to see.” “I can’t. I wish I could, but I only have what you give me. Why do you not want me looking at you?” I struggle to stare into his eyes when he offers up so much so easily, every emotion he feels visible in his irises. “I can’t tell if you’re fascinated, infatuated, or disgusted.” “Never disgusted. Definitely fascinated tipping into infatuated. I want to know you, Clara.” “Why didn’t you call or knock on my door if you want to know me so badly?”

“I did, but you weren’t home. So I left the flowers. I also knew you were mad. But here we are with another chance to make things right. And to answer your question, it’s not just your beauty that attracts me.” “What is it?” I ask, my voice fighting for sound with so much sweetness corrupting the pain. Some of the fight leaves my body. Although he still hasn’t answered the question if he is free. He reaches over and lays his hand flat on my upper chest. “I’ve experienced things I don’t want to talk about.” “I understand.” My heart rate picks up and I know he can feel it beating against his hand. I want to be embarrassed, but I’m not, not with him. Not in this moment we’re sharing. “You understand because you’ve experienced things you don’t want to talk about either.” He doesn’t sound like himself. Agony coats his words, but he steadies himself. “I see the pain you try to hide with games.” “I don’t play games.” He sees through me. I never intentionally meant to toy with him, but I thought that’s what girls do to get a man’s attention. And I can admit, I wanted his attention. My cheeks heat and I back away. Opening the door to the bookstore, I walk inside letting the smell comfort me. Books were my salvation. I could travel wherever I wanted in a story, live out a fantasy

between the pages, and trade this world for another inside a book. When no one was there to save me, the words freed my mind temporarily from the hell I was living. Before we reach the self-help section, I stop and turn around. Cruise stops a few feet behind me. I never heard him follow me inside, but he’s here and my heart leaps from the sight of him. “I’m sorry about not telling you my name. That was a game that I took too far. I’m not used to people actually wanting to get to know me.” “I was hitting on you. You had every right not to share personal details with a guy who had nothing but bad intentions.” “You came with me to the bookstore. What are your intentions?” “To get to know you so the next time I’m in bed with you and we’re about to make love, I know what your favorite food is, what day of the week you do laundry, what book has made you cry, and if you like going out on a Saturday night to party or staying in to watch movies.” My breath catches as I listen to this handsome man win me over with his words and sincerity. I drag my sweating hands over my hips, and summon some of my drunken bravado, though I’ve not had a drop of alcohol today, to ask, “You’re fairly confident that we’ll end up in bed together, aren’t you?”

“Not fairly.” He moves in, closer, so close that his peppermint breath warms my cheeks. Or maybe that’s me blushing under his soulful eyes. “I want that second chance to do things right, but I have a confession.” This time his voice returns to normal, lush like a rainforest—secrets and mystery embedded deep into the dulcet tone. Standing at the edge of the paranormal section, I become nervous that I’ve pushed him too hard, so hard that he walks away despite wanting to learn all of those things about me. “What is it?” I don’t even sound like myself around him. My voice is pitchy, my throat closing making it hard to swallow. He leans his hands on the end of the bookcases on either side of me. Lowering his head and his voice, he says, “You captivate me. I never know what you’re going to say and I can’t tell what you’re thinking. It’s fucking frustrating, and such a turn-on.” I can’t feel my body, his proximity turning my bones to jelly. Wanting to say everything and not able to say anything, I stare into his eyes. Standing upright, he tilts his head to the side while studying me. “You seem surprised.” “I’ve never had anyone say anything like that to me before.” “You must have had a million guys dying to date you.” “No, I haven’t.”

My answer confuses him and his gaze drops to my lips before returning up to my eyes. “Then I’ll move to the front of the line. I don’t want someone predictable unless we’re being predictable together. I like your twisted thoughts and your requests for kisses and your odd obsession with all things French.” He sighs, looking at me like he has no idea what to do with me. “Regarding your other question, I’m free to see whoever I want, when I want, and I want to see more of you, Dove.” I twirl back to the books before I melt into a mushy mess in front of him. He sure knows how to make a girl fall apart in the most romantic of ways. Running my fingers along the spines, I stroll down the aisle. This time he makes his presence known— heavy footfalls, a low whistle, and the gentlest of touches when he runs a finger down my spine sending goose bumps across my back. With all the romance and hearts swirling around us, it’s the sorrow he carries inside that reaches me in a consuming embrace. Just when I’m emerging from my own shadows, finding long-awaited light in my own life . . . along comes Cruise with the potential to shroud me in his darkness. I must tread carefully. I whisper as I walk, “I’ve experienced stuff I don’t want to talk about. Things that threaten to bury me daily.” I turn back and he stops. “I see your struggles. You try to hide them like I do, but I recognize the pain you carry in your

eyes.” Taking a step back, I look down. “I should walk away. I should keep my distance from you because I’m not strong enough for the both of us.” Touching my cheek, he strokes his thumb over my skin. I lean into his caress just as he says, “I don’t need you to be strong enough. I just need you to be you.” “I can accept you as you are. That’s not too much to ask, but I ask you to return the favor.” “I’ll accept the broken pieces of you. Your shards aren’t so sharp that I fear getting close.” “So maybe together we can feel whole just for a little while?” Just when I thought we were bonding on a heavy level of sad events, a smile on his face threatens to ruin this depressing conversation, making me smile too. “If you’ll have me a little broken, a lot damaged, but present, living life day by day like you, then I’d like to see you again, Dove.” Moving even closer, I dare to reach up and touch his cheek like he so fondly touches mine. My heart beats heavier as if it recognizes the something deeper between us. “Who are you, Cruise?” I watch his chest expand as he takes in a deep breath and leans down. Exhaling long and slow, he then presses his lips against the shell of my ear, and whispers, “I’m the one who wants you to be mine, but I’ll be your biggest regret.”

8

Clara

R EGRETS ARE the last thing on my mind when my earlobe is taken between his teeth and he not so gently sucks. Wildfires flame across my skin as our cheeks caress. His rough to my soft. I wonder if that’s how we’ll always be. If two shattered souls are better apart or together. I’m not sure I can handle more pain, but with my soul taken with his, I know I have no choice but to see this, us, through. Taking his hand in mine, I look at his lifeline. It matches mine in so many ways—straight before it splits. He’s a survivor like me. I bring it to my mouth and kiss his palm. In that moment, I realize we were always meant to meet,

in this world or the next. It was determined long before now. With my lips to his skin, his dark melds into mine and together we become a lighter shade of gray. We ended up in the deep end of the ocean before we learned to swim. I whisper, “I should have walked away.” The shadow of a beard scrapes against my skin until his lips reach mine. “You should have.” He kisses me, his tongue invading my mouth, mine invading his. A growl deep in his chest vibrates through our kiss and I know it’s too late to walk away now. “Clara?” We part with haste, both of us meeting my mom’s surprised expression. Cruise licks his lips as if he can’t bear to leave a drop of our kiss exposed. Our hands find each other in the middle space. Her eyes dart between us and for a millisecond I see fear flicker across her face before she asks me, “May I speak with you in private?” Cruise takes a step back, and says, “There’s a book I’ve been meaning to pick up. I’m going to look for it.” When he’s turned the corner at the other end, I go to my mother. “What is it?” “Who is he?” Her tone is disapproving and her expression hard, reminding me of how she used to look before . . .

My dark angel. My soul’s keeper. My hell. My heaven. My savior. My solace. My safe place. Is that what he is? “He’s a friend.” He is so much more that friend seems like a disservice to how I already feel about him. “He looks like he’s more than a friend.” “We’ve seen each other a few times.” She comes closer, her shoulders beginning to slack. “Be careful with boys like that.” He’s a man, not a boy, but I don’t correct her. “Why?” “When you fall in love you never think you’ll vanish in the process.” Tucking some of my hair behind my ears, I’m reminded how Cruise did this same caring gesture earlier. She adds, “I know it’s tempting to experience everything you never had a chance to, but you don’t have to do it all at once with the first boy you meet. You don’t have to settle. You have a world and a full life ahead of you. Don’t rush into—” “You know I’m not a virgin.” I look away from her. Her steady voice is broken by my comment, and she coughs, as if that can erase the pain. “I wasn’t talking about sex, Clara. Oh my God, are

you already having sex with him?” “I don’t want to have this conversation with you.” I finally angle my shoulders back and look at her. “I don’t want to have it either, but you know firsthand that the world isn’t all rainbows.” “And yet, you want to take this little joy I’ve found away from me.” “No,” she starts. “I don’t. Honey, please. I understand that this person—” “Cruise,” I smart back. “Not person. His name is Cruise.” “Okay. I understand that Cruise makes you happy and your happiness makes me happy. I want nothing more than that for you. I just want you to be careful. Take things slowly. There’s no rush. That’s all I’m saying.” Slow? I don’t even know his last name. It doesn’t even matter that I don’t know it. I like the way he looks at me like I can save him. I like his touch though it’s always too gentle. He wants to go slow as well. How much slower can we take things? Reason sets in, a byproduct of my mom questioning my decisions. Maybe I don’t know him well enough. I can’t think clearly around him. Is Cruise even his real name? Clara’s not mine. I’m drawn to him in such a raw, vulnerable way, but we don’t even know each other. I stumble over my words, “I need to . . . um, he’s waiting on me.” I

hug her quickly. “I appreciate the concern. I’ll be careful.” Embracing me with both arms, she kisses the side of my head. “I know you will be, but I worry. I love you.” “I know, and I’ll be okay. I promise. I love you.” I back away, our eyes meeting once more before I turn and search for Cruise. I want to reignite the flame between us before it’s extinguished from playing it too safe. I’ve got to trust him even if it means getting burned. I’m not sure what brought us together—fate, destiny, right place, right time, my skirt that he couldn’t take his eyes off, or something buried inside us by some evil that has touched us both— but I’m not willing to walk away now. When I see him reading while sitting on a step stool left behind by an employee, our last encounter doesn’t sting any longer, not now that I know the truth. I may have been raised to not trust men, but I won’t let the devil win. Cruise wears his heart on his sleeve and doesn’t even realize it. I could take it, steal it, and hide it away to enjoy on my loneliest days. But the sides of his lips turn up and the sight of that smile sings to my deepest desires. Maybe love does exist. I have to put myself out there to find out, so I walk to him and lift the book just enough to see what he’s reading. “Cooking to Impress?”

When he looks up there’s a twinkle in his eyes. My heart starts racing because he makes me feel like I’m the reason for that twinkle. “Chicks love when men cook for them. Figured I should learn.” “It’s true. As a chick, I would love that.” The book is slammed shut, and he stands, towering over me, but not intimidating me. “Then I’ll cook to impress you. How’s Monday?” “You don’t waste time, do you?” He slinks his arm around my waist and pulls me against his middle. “I usually go after what I want.” “And you want to cook for me?” “I want so much more, but we’ll start with dinner.” “At your place?” “How about I cook for you at yours? Then you can relax and do whatever you need to do.” “Casual or formal?” “Comfortable. I want to see you in your element.” I laugh, but catch a whiff of his cologne, momentarily distracting me. God, he smells amazing. “What were we talking about?” I lean my head against him. “Elements. Dates. Me cooking for you. How’s six?” “That works. I can work at the table while you work in the kitchen.” A kiss is placed on my forehead before he

releases me and holds the cookbook between us. “Perfect. Plan to be spoiled, Ms. . . .” And this time, I don’t play games, or hesitate. I answer, “Eckerd.” I want him to know more than my name. I want him to know me. All of me. “Come on, let’s checkout so I can drive you home. I have a lot of planning to do tonight.” “But the dinner’s not until Monday.” “I have other obligations to tend to first.” We walk hand in hand to the register. “Should I be jealous?” “No. I have dinner with my family tomorrow night. I haven’t spent much time with them lately, so I can’t get out of it without pissing them off.” “It’s nice you’re spending time with your family.” I bump against him as we walk. “You know you don’t have to cook for me to impress me. I’m pretty impressed already.” Bending down, he steals a kiss. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” He winks. My hand tightens around his to fight this damn swooning that is taking over me. I’ve never felt lightheaded from something good before. I prefer this version. Cruise lays his credit card on the counter. When he looks back, he’s quick to reach for me and pull me in. I can get lost in his soulful eyes and lose myself so easily in the comfort of his arms. I’m not sure what’s come over me. Is this what

normal feels like? Or is it Cruise that makes me feel this good? I take a long breath, inhaling air back into my lungs, and then slowly exhale. My heart beating rapidly. My emotions getting away from me. He’s handed back his card and the book. Taking me by the arm, Cruise is careful when he helps me out the door. So protective. Staring at him, I smile because now I know what’s come over me. Cruise. “You do funny things to me.” With a wry smile appearing, his arm goes over my shoulders. “Funny isn’t what I had in mind, but I’ll take it. Are you still up for letting me drive you home?” I thought I was too damaged to see any man as anything other than a monster, or a predator baiting me. I never thought I could feel anything but contempt for men, but then along came Cruise. It’s too soon to feel this much. I know I shouldn’t, but my feelings are growing too fast for him whether I want them to or not. But maybe that’s how love works. I have no idea. Is this love? It feels like an addiction. He feels like a fix I need. Damn my heart for being so weak. Or maybe, thank God my heart has begun to beat again. “I am.” I am up for anything with you. I don’t tell him that, but I feel it because he’s just changed everything, my world shifting into place before my

very eyes.

9

Cruise

STANDING on Clara’s front porch, I’m tempted to ask if I can come in, but I’m the one who insisted on taking it slow. Fuck slow. “I want to kiss you.” “I want that.” I like how eager she sounds. “I shouldn’t stay.” My fingers tighten around her small waist. When I don’t make a move, she asks, “Are we taking it slow?” “I’m not sure I can with you.” “Do you with other girls?” “You ask a lot of questions, Dove.” “And you answer very few of them.” “This is a lot of talking. How about we

just kiss?” She nods, so I lean down, closing my eyes, and savor her lips when they meet mine. She’s so pliable and willing, her mouth opening and welcoming me inside. God, I can’t wait to be inside other parts of her. Shit. I’m hard. Sloooooow, I remind myself. Monday. That’s not really slow, but it feels like a form of sexual torture all the same. I back away. “Good night.” “Wait.” I’m already two steps down when I look back. I notice how her skirt highlights the curves of her hips. Just like the pink skirt, this black one sends my mind to the gutter. She’s got a killer little body under all those clothes she wears. I can’t wait to take them off her. Again. “What’s up, Dove?” A little huff is heard, making me smile. I think she wants this as much as me. “You left me last time. After—” “After?” “After you kissed me and we did more, you left me.” Like I’m doing now. Shit. “The two have nothing in common. I left because it was too soon for us to go any further.” Leaning against the door to her house, she appears conflicted when she looks away. She’s vulnerable in ways that make me want to protect her from the world, and me. Coming back to the

porch, I lean on the wall next to her and raise her chin until she’s looking at me. “Hey Dove, I have no reason to lie to you. I’m not hiding some truth to later be discovered. I want to spend more time with you before we sleep together. It’s that simple.” She angles her head, and I drop my hand. “Are we friends with benefits?” “We are friends. As for the benefits, that’s the part we’re taking slow.” Her curiosity is getting the better of her. I like that she’s upfront with me though. “Have you ever had friends with benefits?” I sigh. This could end very badly like last time, but she needs to know the truth. “I’ve been in a needs-based relationship before.” “You needed sex so you would call each other?” “Yes.” “Why didn’t it become more? Why weren’t you boyfriend and girlfriend?” “Because I only enjoyed her company some of the time.” “And the other times?” “I didn’t. We wanted different things.” Filling in the blanks, she speaks just above a whisper, “She wanted you, but you didn’t want her.” “She also wanted my brother. I think she wanted anyone . . .” Fuck.

Can I trust Clara to want me for me and not my last name? The answer’s found in her eyes when they go wide. “She was using you?” “I don’t judge people for wanting more in life. I judge how they go about it. I don’t want to spend my life with someone who only wants something superficial from me.” “You mean money?” I watch her as a million thoughts seem to fill her head at once. Her lips twist to the side, and she looks down at the space between us. I reply, “Yes. She wants to marry into money.” “Money won’t end someone’s pain.” She glances to the street. “I can tell by how you dress and the car you drive that you have means well above mine. What I can’t tell is why you’re here.” Resting my hand on her shoulder, my thumb strokes her neck. “Because you’re unique. Gorgeous and so fucking sexy. Innocent, and a little quirky. I don’t know what you’re going to say next, but I find myself waiting to hear it.” “I’m messed up, Cruise. What you find cute isn’t on the inside.” “I don’t find it cute. I find you utterly fascinating. Remember? You can see it in my eyes. Now believe me when I tell you. You, Clara Eckerd, are enthralling.” She turns away from me. “What if I’m not so

fascinating? What if I’m just a girl who’s been hurt in ways that are . . .” Her gaze returns to mine. “You spoke of broken pieces, that you’re not afraid of getting hurt, but I am. I’m not healed from the past pain I’ve experienced. If you can walk away from the other woman, what makes me special?” I hate whatever it was that caused her so much self-doubt. She’s fucking incredible, and I don’t know if I can articulate myself clearly. I take a deep breath and give it a shot. “We barely know each other and all I want to do is discover what makes you tick. I want to know everything about you. What brings excitement to your eyes? But also why you seem embarrassed around me?” “I embarrassed myself when I asked you to have sex with me. I felt rejected when you left. But you weren’t leaving me.” “No. I was breaking a habit.” She laughs. “I know a lot about that. I have a few I want to break, too.” “Look, this is already heavier than I’ve gotten with anyone in probably years, but there’s something about you that makes me want to open up. So do I want to have sex with you? Fuck yeah, I do. But do I want this to be like every other relationship I’ve had? No. I don’t.” “You mean that, don’t you? You think I’m special? That’s not a line to get me into bed?” “It’s the truth, Clara.” I kiss her cheek, then

walk back to the steps. “So I’ll say good night because if I don’t leave now I’ll be saying good morning and you deserve better than that from any guy who’s lucky enough to spend time with you. Just tell me one thing.” “Okay.” I quirk an eyebrow. “Tell me this counts as our second date.” The sound of her laughter is soothing to my torn heart. Maybe there’s hope for me yet. Coming over, she wraps her arms around me. “This definitely counts as our second date, and Monday is our third, if you’re keeping track.” Running my palm over the round of her ass, I reply, “I’m most definitely keeping track.” I kiss her again, this time on those sweet lips of hers. Then I dash down the stairs. “I’ll see you Monday, Dove.” “See you Monday.” She heads inside the house and I get in the car. This time my mood is different. The car isn’t a reprieve I need, a sanctuary to escape to. The woman inside the house is. I start the car and drive away in the best mood I’ve been in in a long time.

SARA JANE

OPENS THE DOOR ,

and asks, “And to

what do we owe the pleasure?” “Just wanted to stop by. Is it a good time?” “You’re always welcome. You know that, Cruise. C’mon.” I follow her inside the little white house with blue shutters. It’s little compared to the manor where they used to live. “Alexander’s in the office. Go on back.” I walk to the hall, but stop. “Thanks. You doing okay?” “Great,” she replies with a smile. “You?” “Pretty good.” “Pretty good? Ohh.” Her whole demeanor perks up. “It’s good to see you smile.” I laugh because I’m so obvious. “Feels good.” I pass two doors and knock on the third. I don’t wait, and just walk in. Alex looks up, but he’s on the phone. Nodding, he signals toward the chair. “That valuation is off by forty-three percent. I’m not paying more than it’s worth just because I can. Get the deal done at a fair price. Call me next week with good news.” He hangs up and looks me over. “Is this a social call or business? If it’s business, no can do. I promised Sara Jane I’d eat dinner with her tonight. The last two nights, I’ve been stuck on calls.” “Social.” He stands. “Great. Beer?” “Yup.” We go back to the living room. Sara Jane is in the kitchen with two beers

already waiting on the island. “Are you staying for dinner, Cruise?” “If you don’t mind.” “Nope. I made lasagna from scratch. So you’ll be a guinea pig like Alexander.” She laughs. Like Alex and myself, she’s had challenges to overcome, but I love seeing the carefree person she has become. We take the beers and sit on a pair of stools. I say, “Happy to help out.” Leaning on the marble counter across from us, she says, “So spill.” I grab my beer and laugh. She’s not going to let this go, so I give in. “I met someone.” Sara Jane gasps, but her smile pops out right after. “A new woman? Tell. Me. Everything.” “You’re finding way too much joy in this considering it might not turn into anything.” It has. Already. I’m in deep with these feelings I have for her, but it seems ridiculous to admit it when it’s been such a short time. Sara Jane urges, “Please tell me she’s nothing like Celeste.” “She’s nothing like Celeste.” “Well, that’s good because Celeste is a snob and a gold digger.” Sara Jane was never shy about her feelings toward Celeste. Before I started dating her, Celeste had started a rumor that she had dated Alex during the break that he and Sara Jane took. It

wasn’t true but the bad blood remains. Alex taps his bottle against mine. “She’s old news. What about this new girl?” “I met her in a brief encounter at Baynard Prep and then ran into her down at the pub last Friday.” By how attentive Sara Jane is to every detail I share, I can tell she lives for this stuff. “What happened?” “Well, Mrs. Kingwood, I escorted her home and then . . .” Memories come fast—I taste her skin, licking her from navel to neck while squeezing her tits through the silky lace-edged fabric of her bra. “Nothing happened. I left.” “Oh.” She sounds disappointed. Turning around she takes the dish out of the oven. “But you’re going to see her again?” “I saw her tonight. It’s kind of odd, but we randomly ran into each other again.” Sara Jane gasps, the oven mitts covering her mouth. “Twice. That’s not a coincidence. That’s serend—” “That’s living in a suburb for you.” Her gloved hands fist and she puts them on her hips. “That’s not what I was going to say.” “It’s what I’m comfortable with. Call me superstitious, but I’m not a big believer in happenstance. Do I think there could be a greater power playing a role in this relationship? Sure. But should I believe in Santa Claus. No.”

Alex says, “On one of the worst days of my life, I was given a sign.” I know where he’s going with this. I was there the first time he ever saw Sara Jane. He was never the same after that. He became a better man because of her. Can my Dove do the same for me? “You think Clara could be my sign?” “Her name is Clara?” Sara Jane asks. “That’s so pretty.” “She’s very pretty.” “Is she kind?” The question doesn’t surprise me. Alex’s wife can be guarded sometimes. They may be billionaires, but possessions have never meant anything to her, and she’s sensitive to shallow people. She wants to know where someone’s heart lies. Are they good or bad, evil, or kind? “She’s very kind. A lot like you in some ways. She hides behind walls she’s built around her. I recognize the signs since I do the same. She’s been hurt and carries that with her, but she’s also open. At least with me.” Sara Jane replies, “I like her already. If she can make you smile, she must be nice. The witch never did, that’s for sure.” The witch—Celeste. To be fair, I never went to Celeste for smiles. I take another pull from the bottle. “Your wife is still as feisty as ever. You know that?”

“I do.” He’s chuckling as he moves around the kitchen island and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. Kissing her head, he then says, “She’s always been a badass.” Seeing them so in love for many years, but also in awe of each other reinforces that desire I try to keep buried. I’m not sure I’m deserving of a great love of this lifetime much less the next. If there is a next life after this one. I’ve paid the price five times over, and from what I gather, so has Clara. But is it enough? Is the penance too high for us to ever pay our debts? Or will we remain hopeless sinners in this hell on earth? “I’m hungry. Can we eat?” They both look at me. Sara Jane smiles, and says, “Sure. Get the plates.” Thirty minutes later, we’re all sitting in the living room watching some show on the history channel when I say, “My family wants me to come over tomorrow night for dinner.” Sara Jane, curled against Alex’s side, asks, “Are you going?” “I told my mother I would.” Alex mutes the big screen. “Your brother is going to be there?” He doesn’t have to say which brother. I know which one he means. “My mother said everyone should be there, so yeah, Fredrick will be.” “How do you remain so calm?” he asks.

“Celeste and I were not committed. As for my brother, he crossed a line. He’s an asshole, so most likely he’ll provoke me. Guess I’ll see how calm I remain and then decide.” Sara Jane says, “You don’t owe them anything, Cruise. You know that, right? You’re family here. We’re your family, so if they don’t welcome you, we always will.” “I appreciate that.” And I do, and have for years now. But the nightmares invade my mind, even in good times like these. . . . My wrists feel weightless with the shackles off. My loss of energy is bothersome to the man with the gun. He’s hit me twice on the back of the head to “encourage” me to move faster. He’s more anxious about starting tonight’s round of torture than I am. “Fuck you,” I spew, then spit on his fucking ugly brown shoes. “Always with the attitude, John.” He calls me by my given name to get a rise out of me. When I was adopted, my parents named me after my father, the Senator. They thought it would bond me into their family. But as much as they kissed me in front of the cameras, I was ignored behind the scenes. I’m kicked in the groin and drop to my knees. My lungs burn with the air expelled and the pain is like fire burning through my body. Three times a year, the Senator would ask me

to play catch or ride a horse with him, go for a walk. It wasn’t until I was eight that I realized that I wasn’t just his son, but a photo-op. A metal rod whacks the center of my back and my chest hits the cement floor. I might be broken. I can’t feel much anymore. I used to scream. Yell at my perpetrator, but now, I take life blow by blow. The floor is almost cool against my heated cheek. The taste of blood fills my mouth. It’s too dark to know what’s going on with my vision. Punishment always comes at night. I remember how it used to feel real—my life, like my family actually loved me. I think they do in their own way, just like I love them in mine. The man with the mask on, the one who comes each night to drag me from the cell I share with my friend, my brother not by blood, but by choice, won’t break my loyalty to Alex. He may break every bone in my body, but I’ll die before I let him win. Maybe my death will be his victory. Ultimately, it’s Alexander Kingwood IV’s death that he covets. As long as I’m alive, he won’t get his prize. . . . Alex and I are better at compartmentalizing our emotions after being kidnapped last year. We had to, to survive or they would have killed us mentally before the physical torture even started. Sara Jane is still soft in all the ways that matter. She went through hell, but came out the other side

fiercer than ever with her love for Alex, but still intact with who she always was. Working for the Kingwoods isn’t a job I sought out. It’s the life I inherited. They are my family, so as long as they’ll have me, I’ll stick around. And I could imagine Clara sitting around with us. They would immediately graft her into our fold.

10

Cruise

I NEED A HAIRCUT. Running my hand over the top of my head, I like it shorter these days. Less hair means less hassle. My patience for appearances waned a long time ago. I lean closer to the mirror and look at my skin. My face is clean-shaven. I’m trying not to give my family any reason to judge me and don’t like to give them the ammo. I straighten my tie and then leave the bathroom. My phone lights up just as I grab it and my wallet from my dresser. Clara doesn’t have my number. Hell, she doesn’t even have my last name.

I finally got hers, and now I’m the one withholding. Like Kingwood, Cristley holds weight in this part of the country, probably even beyond state lines. As a Senator, my father was in the public’s eye. By association, his family was as well. I grew up hating the cameras. The nightly news caught every awkward stage of my life, reminding me of every failed haircut and bad fashion choice. I learned a hard lesson; when the public takes interest in you, they believe you owe them more than gratitude. You owe them your soul. My view on life differs. I owe the strangers who watched me grow up nothing. Cameras don’t follow me anymore. Being an asshole generally discourages interest and ratings. Alexander was the king of getting rid of onlookers. Between our two families, the wealth is unfathomable to most. To us, it was our dayto-day life. I take my keys and go to the garage. I’m tempted to take my motorcycle, but my family always hated me riding. I love my Merc, but looking at my bike, I’m reminded how much I always loved pissing off my family more. I detour to the bike. Fuck it. I’m going to be judged anyway. It takes thirty-one minutes to get from the penthouse downtown to my parents’ house on the

hill. They’ve got a nice spread out here. There were lots of places to hide when I needed to get away from people. With a family of seven and a staff of eight, time alone was rare. I had to create it. I push the code to open the gate, but it doesn’t budge. Guess they changed it without bothering to mention it to me. Jabbing the security call button, I wait, my bike idling loudly. “How may I help you?” “It’s Cr—John. John Cristley.” I flash a fake smile at the camera. A loud click is heard and then the iron gate starts to open. A long drive leads to a circular driveway in front of the house. Who needs a butler when the sound of my Harley will announce my arrival? Prius. Paige Audi. Fredrick. Range Rover. Matty. Cayenne. Liza Cadillac. Mother. Harley. Me. My bike fits right in. Not. It makes me chuckle though. My car would have, but it’s much sleeker and newer than even the most high-end models parked here. The Bentley is noticeably missing. The Senator probably had something come up. Just like when he was in Congress, business keeps him away a lot. I hang my helmet on the handlebar and run my

hands down my jacket. Paige is waiting at the door, barefoot and carefree in her flowing dress and untamed hair. “About time, little bro.” “Who you calling little?” I tease, reaching the top step. I greet my sister with a kiss to the cheek and I’m welcomed with a tight hug. “I’ve missed you.” “You know where I live and I believe you have my number.” I walk in. She shuts the door and quickly grabs my arm. “Hey. I’ve been busy.” “Too busy for me apparently. Have you gotten shorter?” I get a swift hit to the chest for that remark. I’m still laughing when she says, “I really have missed you. I’m sorry for not calling.” Shrugging, I reply, “You don’t owe me anything, Paige.” Suddenly she’s wrapped around me. Her arms squeeze me, and her head is tucked close to my chest. “I do. We almost lost you. I almost lost you to those maniacs.” My sister always had the biggest heart, but I’ve learned not to rely on anyone. She’s been dating a banker, also known as an asshole. Needless to say, I had to back out of dinners with them last year or I would have pummeled him. My sister may have a big heart, but she also has shit taste in men. She’s still my sister though. I wrap my arms around her.

“I’m here.” With a twirl and excited jump, her joy in life is contagious. “Yes, you are. Mother said you would be here and you are.” Paige is unlike any other Cristley. I think that’s the reason I like her so much. She grabs my hand and pulls me deeper into the house. “Matty’s here. C’mon.” I’m dragged through the foyer into the main sitting room where my family gathers before dinner. My brothers are both here, talking about something they will never agree upon—money. Matty made his own money at the age of twentyfive. Always a geek for numbers, he found a pattern in the stock market, borrowed one hundred thousand dollars against his trust fund, and made millions. As a financial consultant, he now manages other people’s money. He doesn’t have to work, but he chooses to build his fortune versus spending it. The baseball cap he’s wearing is his way of rebelling, but his outfit reminds me of Forrest Gump. Standing in wrinkled khakis and a checkered button-up, he’s arguing dividends with Fredrick. He’s passionate about money, but more so in the theory of making it. I need to get him to spend some of it on new clothes. Unlike Fredrick, who sits in high command in the wingback chair my father reigns from, he doesn’t care how it’s made as long as he’s gaining

from it. Paige flits into the room like a fairy. “Look who’s here.” My brothers turn at the same time. Their eyes land on me, but their expressions are a long way from each other’s—one happy, one not so much. “Hi,” I say, striding across the room. Matty, who’s about to turn twenty-nine, takes my offered hand and pulls me into a hug. “Good to see you, brother.” “You too.” Sitting on the arm of the sofa, he adds, “You’re looking well. Gained back your old muscle and more. You working out?” “A couple times a week. You?” “Every morning at five. I have to fit it in before I go to the office. Too crazy in the day to do it later.” Fredrick, at thirty-four, is the oldest Cristley sibling. According to him, birth order always matters and all decisions and privileges roll down hill from him. “What brings you by, John?” He refuses to call me Cruise. For some reason, or like every reason, it bothers him to use a nickname, even if I do identify with it more than my given name. “Our mother invited me.” “The Senator will be joining us later. He’s caught in a meeting downtown.” Fredrick works with my father. He’s in line to inherit the family

business. He can have it. I never enjoyed politics or trusted anyone who did. Fredrick does. Since retirement, The Senator seems to be busier than ever running his business. I’m used to it though, so I ask, “Are Liza and Trevor joining us?” Trevor is my sister’s husband. I always liked him. I also felt sorry for him. He had a choice and he still chose to join the family. Paige replies, “She’s around here somewhere. Trevor is out of town. Shanghai. How exciting is that?” “Why is he there?” Padding across the room toward the door that leads to the dining room, she says, “New account.” She pushes through just as a woman I don’t recognize wearing a maid’s uniform comes in, and announces, “Dinner is served.” “I see some things don’t change.” Fredrick rises from his throne. “Not everyone is born with a taste for refinement.” Dig. “It’s not refined, it’s pretentious.” Asshole. He tugs at his lapels and pretends to ignore me. That’s fine. I’m happy to ignore him as well. When I enter the dining room, I find a seat with distance between us. I still see him, down on the other side, opposite end of the table from me. He glances my way. I glare his way. My mother walks in with Liza. Matty, Fredrick,

and myself stand. My mother looks pleased to see me. I’m undecided about being here. I’m giving it a chance, but my fuse is shorter tonight. I see acceptance in my mother’s eyes, and maybe in Liza’s too. Adding that to Paige’s heartfelt welcome, I see something I’ve avoided. I never think I need anyone until I’m in a situation that reminds me that I can’t live a loner’s life and be happy. It feels good to be wanted. Dove comes to mind. Wonder what she’s doing tonight. Anticipation builds for tomorrow when I get to see her again. Is it too soon to have these feelings? I just met her, but damn she’s got my mind all twisted and me thinking about her more than I probably should. “John?” I look to my mother, who’s sitting next to me. “Yes?” “Thank you for coming over.” “I’m glad to be here.” Our wine glasses are filled and the first course is delivered when my father breezes in. We stand automatically once again, little soldiers trained to respect our drill sergeant. “Son,” he greets me with a firm handshake. “Glad you can stop by. I know you’re usually too busy for family.” Dig. Oh the irony. “Senator,” I reply, shaking his hand. I almost don’t recognize him. His collar is open,

no tie around his neck, the top button undone and no suit coat. The salt and pepper hair is loose, as if the gel couldn’t hold back this good mood. Looking down, I’m dressed more conservatively than him. That’s a first. He sits at the head of the table, between Fredrick and Liza. Pecking order. My mother sits next to me at the head of this end of the table. Or maybe her seat is tails. It doesn’t take long for conversation to get heated. So many opposing views and struggles for attention that it was bound to happen at some point. I just thought we’d get through the meal first. Paige sits across from me and I catch her smiling. Setting my fork down, I lean in to whisper, “I know what you’re doing.” “What am I doing?” “You’re reading my aura or some New Agey thing where you try to figure out what’s going on in my head.” Fairies would be jealous of her melodious laughter. “If you’d share more of your life, I wouldn’t have to guess or use New Age techniques to figure it out.” “You love the challenge.” My sister comes off crazy, but she’s pretty good at this stuff. “So, what do you see?” “I’m not a psychic, but your aura is yellow. You

can’t hide it. You exude it. Care to share why you’re so yellow today?” “Yellow means?” Paige has caught my mother’s attention as well as the rest of the table. Conversation ceases while my sister spins the wine glass between her fingers. She doesn’t like attention and my family can be intimidating, but her smile is too wide to hide. “Energy. Intelligence. Happiness. A new awakening. Optimistic. Are you feeling inspired, brother?” I don’t buy-in. Not yet. Everything I say can be used against me. Not by Paige, but by my oldest brother and father. Paige urges, “Come on. Tell me if I’m right or wrong?” “You’re more right than wrong. Happy?” “The most happy.” Her hand flies out, her finger pointing at me as she laughs in delight. “I knew it. You can’t hide your happiness. It’s shining from the inside.” Chuckling, I reach for my glass of water before I notice everyone at the table staring at me. My smile falls fast, tucked away for safety. “What?” Matty says, “It’s good to see you laugh. It’s been a long time.” “So I keep hearing.” My mother’s hand covers mine. “It’s good to see you’re recovering. I’m not sure how you recover from being kidnapped and . . .” She looks

around uncomfortably. When her eyes land back on mine, she adds, “It’s just good to see you.” Seeing a crack in her normally austere exterior is shocking. She basically told me what I’ve been wanting to hear for years. They may have cut me off financially years ago, but they did it to all their kids. I wasn’t singled out in that way, but I felt alone all the same. “It’s good to see you too, Mom.” The name feels foreign coming off my tongue, but maybe I am more yellow these days. There are worse things to be than optimistic. She smiles and when it reaches her eyes, I see how truly lovely she is. I turn my hand up so our hands are holding, and for a few seconds while the others pick up their conversations where they were left off, we bond—mother and son. And this? I know this has been lacking. For me. But in seeing love in her eyes, it’s as if one shackle of many that have bound me is releasing, and it does actually give me hope. Maybe I can be someone who can love . . . love someone as good as my Dove. After dessert is served, everyone returns to the living room. Spread out around the room, the usual suspects congregate. Safety in numbers and all that. Matty, Paige, and myself on one side. Liza and Fredrick on the other. My father in his wingback, and my mother stands by the window looking out into the gardens. The gardens aren’t vast like at the Kingwood manor, but they’re well cared for and

impressive. I walk around the sofa and join her. Although tonight has been unexpected and pleasant, my soul is still unsettled. Ending my relationship with Celeste helped calm a small storm, but the bigger one is still brewing. Do I have a place in this world? Where? Where do I belong? Who do I belong to? As if reading my mind, her smile wanes. “I’m here for you, son.” She releases a hard breath as if a burden’s been taken off her shoulders. “Let’s have tea and I’ll get you a copy of the file we received from the adoption agency.” “I’d like that. Thanks.” Her whole expression lightens up, making her appear even younger. “I’d like that, too, but I do have to tell you, so your hopes aren’t too high.” My body tenses. “Your mother and father are not listed in the file. The address of where you were found—” “Found?” “Yes, you were found in a basket on the steps of a church.” A basket? At a church? Trying to process what she just said, I can’t. This information seems all wrong. That’s not me. I was that bad of a baby that I was dumped on some steps somewhere? I turn away and look at my family. Nothing feels right. Ten minutes ago I

thought I didn’t belong here, didn’t fit in, but now I feel like a complete outsider. When I look at my mother, she says, “I’m sorry. That’s all I remember, but I’ll get you the file.” Paige is there by my side, her hand on my back. “What’s wrong?” My stomach twists. I shouldn’t have asked. I should have just appreciated what I had. Instead I’ve opened a wound that I didn’t know I even had. The truth is gushing out and there’s no tourniquet to stop it. I rub my temple, and reply, “Nothing’s wrong.” My mother adds, “Don’t worry, honey. Everything’s okay.” “Why are you upset, Cruise?” Hearing the name I prefer snaps me out of the spinning catastrophe of my thoughts. “I need to leave.” I start to make my way to the front door, but I don’t make it far. Fredrick has to claw his way in even when he’s not welcome, maybe especially then. “Where do you have to run off to? I heard through the grapevine that Celeste raised her standards and is no longer taking your calls.” My father adds his commentary to a situation he knows nothing about, “That’s too bad. She’s a beautiful girl.” The compliment throws me, and it takes me a moment to work out why. Have I ever heard him

refer to anyone, much less a woman other than my mother, as beautiful? Not Liza. Not Paige. Has he even called my mother beautiful? But here he is calling Celeste beautiful. She’s a beautiful girl. Fredrick stands. Just like I do. He knows. And yet he tried to fuck with me about Celeste. Here. Now. In front of our mother. What the fuck? I want to say it, to expose the meaning behind his simple comment. I can’t. I won’t do that to my mother or to Paige. Not Matty, or even Liza who seems to be caught watching the tennis match between us. Holy fucking shit. My mother is about to ask something, most likely something she doesn’t want the real answer to, so I announce, “I’ve met someone.”

11

Cruise

I HATE that I’ve brought her into this house, even if it’s just verbally. She was my secret. My Dove. My yellow. Now she’s exposed. My family will chew this information up and spit it out as if she’s disposable. Exposing myself is one thing, but exposing her sets us both up. Fuck. “Who?” Fredrick asks with disgust rolling off his tongue. Paige is the opposite. She bounds to her feet. “You are? Who is the lucky girl?” She gives me too much credit.

“It’s new.” My sister laughs of pure joy. “That explains your aura. She’s good for you, Cruise.” “For God’s sake, stop calling him that,” my father snaps. Shooting him a look, Paige says, “Daddy. John is happy. This would be a good time for you to support him.” She’s the only one who can speak to the Senator like that and get away with it. There’s something innately good in Paige. It’s almost like she’s adopted too. She’s not. She’s a spitting image of my mother when my mom was Paige’s age. My father says Paige is like his sister. Other than the no good comments, he says his sister could charm a starving man out of a free dinner she had such a way with words. It’s always been a weird analogy, but we got the point. “I’m out of here.” For some reason my feet don’t move. I don’t know what I expect from him, but it seems like I deserved more than this. The Senator rubs his neck as if an imaginary tie is strangling him. “Bring her around. Let’s meet the girl that’s so special that the youngest needs to make a spectacle of the night.” I laugh. Shaking my head, I am once again reminded that I can never win. Not with him. Not in this family. “You’re a real asshole, Senator.” Refusing him the privilege of the title “father.”

Wow, that felt better than I thought it would. All those years these feelings have festered, leading to this moment. I look at Fredrick and still at the sight of his smug expression. The fucker is just as fucked up as the Senator. Assholes. Not running, I still find myself alone as I exit and walk across the circular drive. Paige reaches me before I grab my helmet. “Don’t leave mad.” Looking at her, I realize how hard she’s always tried, but for what? Why? I’m okay walking away from most of them. Matty and Paige are different though. “I’m not mad, Paigey. I’m done trying. I’m done trying to please them. It’s never going to happen. I’m just done.” “He loves you.” “Then he should be telling me instead of you having to tell me.” “John, wait.” We turn toward the door. My mother walks down the steps and across the drive. When I look at my mother, considering all the good she has done in her life, the idea of the Senator cheating on her with a woman more than half his age makes my chest hurt for her. Actually, it makes me furious. The man is more than an asshole. He’s a hypocrite and bastard. She deserves better, but sadly, will probably never leave. Appearances and all. I need to accept that she is an adult and has to own this. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know I was disrespectful and I’ll apologize to you, but I

won’t to him. We’ll never see eye to eye—” Her hand touches my forearm. “And that’s okay. You and your father are nothing alike. All I ever wanted was for you to be able to find your own happiness. This woman may be new to your life, but seeing you happy makes me happy.” She embraces me. “Ignore him, John. Follow your own path. Find what makes you want to wake up in the morning.” Find a woman that makes you smile. Alex’s words come back as I hug her, the sentiment the same. “I love you.” “I love you, son.” She turns and goes inside without another word. Paige says, “You are loved. I know you don’t feel it, but you are.” She hugs me quick and then dashes back to the house. Calling from the porch, she adds, “I’m going to call you soon and make you tell me all your secrets.” Sliding my helmet on, I lift the visor. “You call me and I’ll tell you some of my secrets.” “I’ll take it. Drive safe, little brother.” I give her a nod before I climb onto my bike. Once I exit the property, I fly down the road. It feels good to be back on the bike. Just me. Just the road. Freedom. The shackles of life fall off. I only focus on the journey ahead, letting my past slide away to deal with another day. If this were a few months ago, I would text

Celeste and head over. That it’s so easy not to text her reaffirms that ending it with her was the right thing to do. If we weren’t, thinking about the Senator with her would end it anyway. It’s tempting to text Clara, but that’s not how we’re going to start this relationship. Anyway, I have a dinner to plan. That’s what I should do when I get home. Like the road, she gives me something to focus on that’s healthier for my mind and body. Still doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of those little white panties. The sweet smell she hides between her legs— her own lust covering the cotton. Her desire for me. The memory causes my dick to ache for relief. Fuck. Once I reach the penthouse, I head straight for the shower with a throbbing cock in hand. Stepping under the water, it’s not even hot, but the warmth will do. The shower covers my back as I lean one hand high on the cold tile and the other takes hold of my hard dick. I start a slow stroke with a tight grip. The water helps my hand slide with ease, and deep inside, the coil starts tightening. Images of Dove beneath me, my mouth on her and how good she smelled and tasted winds me too tight to last. “Dove.” Her name comes like a swear word, fogging the glass in front of me as I shoot streams across the tile. My breaths are heavy, but

satisfaction is found. I remain under the water, letting it beat down on my tired muscles. When I fall into bed, I grab my phone. The mystery of the girl who equally intrigues me and turns me on is on my mind so often that I type Clara Eckerd into the search box. My finger hovers over the search button just like it has so many other times, but I don’t push it. There’s something about her that makes me want to discover every inch of her with her. God, I can’t wait until tomorrow night.

“SIX ON THE DOT. You’re very punctual.” Clara extends her arm above her head while holding the door open. Unabashedly, my eyes travel the lines of her body. Damn, she’s going to do me in. I foresee an early grave with her looking so utterly gorgeous with her brown hair falling in soft curls past her shoulders and light makeup that lets her natural beauty shine through. “Come in.” When she moves to the side, I walk in with two bags in my hands, but stop in front her and lean in. She’s already got me figured out. Her head tilts to the side giving me the access she knows I want. My eyes close when my lips meet her skin. She stands still, but whispers, “You’re very

affectionate.” She doesn’t giggle like most women who bat their eyelashes for attention. No, it’s like the early stages of dating have long since passed for us despite the short time. I find comfort in her smile, the mutual connection extended between us. These damn groceries are filling my arms, but if they weren’t, I’d spend seconds, minutes, days of our lives appreciating her delicate neck and collarbone. She makes it impossible to resist her. “You’re very enticing.” “You’re so open.” The door closes and I hear her behind me as we go to the kitchen. “Do you always say what you think?” “It’s not what I think, Dove. It’s what I feel.” I set the bags on the small butcher-block island in the center of the kitchen. Catching her eyes on me, I give her a smile. Not just for show, like I’ve done for so many others, but because I feel it inside. Yellow. “I don’t always say everything that comes to mind, but I do say what I mean. Life’s too short to rattle about bullshit that doesn’t matter.” She smiles as she starts unpacking the bags, and I nudge her with my elbow. “What are you smiling about?” “You. This. Is it weird that I like when you use swear words? You say them with abandon as if there’s no repercussion.” “There isn’t. Fuck. Shit. Damn. Look, nothing happened. Did you used to get in trouble for swearing?”

The smile doesn’t fade. It vanishes altogether. A darkness comes over her features as she stares at a can in her hand. I ask, “What’s wrong?” Her bottom lip is tugged under her top teeth, worrying it. “We weren’t allowed to swear growing up. It was considered a sin against God, and disrespectful to my father.” “Did he swear?” When she looks up, her eyes are glassy. “All the time, but at us. He hated us.” “I’m sure he didn’t. He was probably just mad, right?” I watch her carefully. When a tear slips down her cheek, I move in front of her and take her face between my hands. With my thumb, I wipe that tear away. “Don’t cry. I won’t swear at you. Okay? I promise.” “My mom said I’m making up for lost time, rushing into a relationship, rushing into you. Too much too soon. But it doesn’t feel that way to me. It’s as if your soul is speaking to mine. Arms wide open, saying, ‘I see you, the real you that you hide from others and I accept you.’” Whoa. This got heavy fast, but as I look at her, I think I feel the same. “That’s how you feel about me?” Please say yes. Please don’t let this be onesided. Nodding, she looks down as if embarrassed. I tilt her chin so I can see her pretty eyes. “What’s

happening between us is real. I feel it, too.” “You do?” Hope fills her eyes and her fingers tangle with the hem of my shirt. I’m drawn to her in such a carnal way that’s more than sexual, and I can see it consuming me if I’m not careful. Like Alex with Sara Jane. I understand now. The thing is, standing in front her now, looking into those doe eyes, I don’t want to be careful. I don’t want to take it slow. I just want her in so many ways that I open my heart and am willing to bleed for her. Vulnerability is what I fight against. It’s raw and rough. But she deserves all my truths. Taking one of her hands, I open it and kiss her palm. “I do, Dove.” She lifts up and I lean down and our lips meet in the middle. Those images from the night in her room, of her almost bare before me, come back, waking my body. I kiss her, backing her until she hits the fridge and my middle is pressed hard into hers. “God, I want you. So much.” “We can—” “It kills me to put the brakes on, but I came here to make you dinner. As for dessert, I’m thinking about the taste of your lips, the smell of your—” “Cruise,” she says, wide-eyed. But I see how her body responds to dirty words. Her nipples are pert against the fabric of her tank top. The long skirt holds all kinds of secrets I want to uncover.

“Baked goods,” I tease. “I was going to say baked goods.” She bursts out laughing and playfully hits my chest when she returns to the groceries. “Sure you were.” Analyzing the spread in front of her, she asks, “What are you cooking anyway?” “Chicken Scallopini with roasted vegetables.” Holding up the bottle of white wine, I add, “I’ll use a little of this with the chicken and the rest we can drink. Do you have glasses?” Reaching into a cabinet behind her, she produces two highball glasses. “Will these work?” There’s something so endearing about her that everything I was taught, etiquette for blue bloods, doesn’t matter. I’d rather drink wine in red Solo cups than in crystal wine glasses with the supposed upper crust of society. “Yep.” I twist the cap off and fill the glasses just less than halfway up. She takes hers and a quick sip. “You know I’m not twenty-one, right?” That catches me off-guard. Shit. I do a double take, this time my eyes going wide. “How old are you?” Maybe that’s why her mother was mad. Please be twenty. “I’m twenty.” Thank fuck. “When is your birthday?” The sun couldn’t shine brighter than the smile on her face. “Three days.” Even better. “Wait. But you were in the pub

drinking.” “No one ever cards me. Guess I look old enough.” “So what you’re saying is I’m contributing to the delinquency of a minor?” “Pretty much.” She sips her wine as if she’s challenging me. I take a sip of mine before raising my glass. “I can live with that.” Tapping her glass against mine, I say, “From one delinquent to another. Cheers.” Our gazes remain on each other while we drink. When the glass is lowered, I add, “Don’t go getting drunk on me.” “I can hold my liquor, big boy. Can you?” “Big boy?” Laughing, I make a move, running my finger under the strap of her shirt. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” Her fingers find the belt loops under my shirt, and she tugs me closer. Our bodies come together and she toys with me. “But I’ve felt plenty.” Fuck me, she’s sexy as all fuck. My whole body reacts to her dirty whispers, my dick wanting free from the confines of these jeans. “I can’t cook in this condition.” “What condition is that?” “Horny.” I scoop her into my arms. “How about dessert for dinner?” What has she done to me? I can’t believe she made me say that.

Her arms encircle my neck and she kisses the edge of my jaw. “As long as it includes eating my baked goods.” “Good God, woman. When you go dirty, you go all in.” Angling to look at her, I kiss her mouth as I carry her down the hall. I bump her feet into the wall accidentally, and angle to fit us through the bedroom door. “Sorry about that.” She’s too busy laughing to care, which makes me laugh. In my hurry to get to dessert, I toss her on the bed. The black fabric of her skirt billows around her as she lies lifted on her elbows, but I don’t want miss a single second with her. Standing at the end of the bed, I let my gaze slide over her exposed legs wishing that skirt had landed a little higher. “Show me your panties.” Tilting her head, she smirks. “I’m not wearing any.” Fuck. Me. “You can’t say things like that, Dove. Not to a man.” Some fucked-up emotion—fear, worry, shock— digs into her sweet face. I fucking hate it. She should never feel anything less than true happiness. “Did I do something wrong? I can put some on. I was trying . . .” Her voice lowers so much that I barely hear her even as I kneel down in front of her to keep her on the bed. Fuck. What did I say to cause her to react like this? “I thought you would

think it was sexy, like in the movies.” She’s so fucking innocent. Yet . . . a little broken. How is that possible in this day and age? “I do. That’s what I mean when I said you can’t say things like that.” I palm my cock, readjusting. “You turn me on.” Then I flatten my hands to the outside of her ankles and start a slow slide upward to prove how much.

12

Cruise

“ARE YOU ON BIRTH CONTROL?” I kiss her neck while my body settles between her legs. “Yes.” “I’ll still use a condom.” I blow lightly over the wet trail I’ve left across her skin. She shivers and I hear her small gasp, her body arching into mine for more. More. God, I want to give her more. Slipping lower on the bed, my knees hit the floor. I slide my hands behind her knees, and then pull her down until her legs are draped over my shoulders. Now she giggles, and as much as I love the sound, I accidentally put an end to it when I say, “I’m going to lick your pussy until you

come, baby.” I’m already burrowing under her skirt, but when she doesn’t react, I peek back up. “Would you like that, Dove?” Seeming too stunned to speak, she nods, and I find myself nodding along with her. Until I realize how unsexy this must look and dive back under her skirt to tend to the business I started. Dessert is served. Thank fuck. Her legs part for me and I kiss the inside of one of her thighs before sucking. The creamy skin on the inside of her legs smells of soap and desire. I lick her, flatten my tongue and glide all the way to where I want to be. Her body starts wriggling so I hold her hips down and dive in tongue first. Slick and wanton. My dick aches for her, wanting to claim her all damn day long. As if my fantasy has come to life, she tastes of buttercream and ecstasy come to life. I might get off before I even sink in. Salty sweet lust consumes me while I consume her. There’s pressure against the top of my head as her hands hold me in place with only the skirt dividing us. I press my erection against the mattress seeking relief. I need Clara to come. I want it. I want to watch her fall apart and taste her broken pieces. Using the tip of my finger, I run it through her

wet lips and finger her entrance. Tempted to feel her tightness around me, I push in just enough to swirl inside her softness. “You’re killing me, Dove.” Flipping the skirt from my head, I look up from between her legs. “I thought I could make love to you. I can’t make that promise.” “Don’t. Just do what feels good to you.” “You feel good to me.” I dip back in and tease her hole with my tongue, wanting her to come on me, to cover me in her secrets. She moves the fabric and her fingers thread through my hair, squeezing until my scalp aches. But fuck, she tastes good and feels even better. Little moans escape her as her body starts to tremble. “That’s it, baby. Come for me like I’m going to come for you.” With my finger buried deep inside her, an arching back draws my attention as her pleasure covers me. Closing my eyes, I suck her clit until she bucks in reaction while I devour all she has to give. When she melts to the mattress, I pull a condom from my pocket before dropping my jeans and briefs along with them. Adoration in her eyes and contentedness of her body are before me as my shirt goes flying. She’s good for my ego, but if I were honest, she’s good for me in so many other ways as well. “Do you want to take off your clothes or do you want me to do it?”

“I think I need you to do it. My body feels like jelly. Delicious jelly.” Baked goods. I toss the foil packet on the bed and bend down. “You taste sweet as pie.” “What flavor am I?” “Cherry with whipped cream on top.” “That’s so naughty.” “What can I say? You bring out the naughty side in me.” Taking hold of the sides of her skirt, I look her in the eyes as I pull it down. “You’re stunning. Like a flower blooming before my eyes.” Pretty pink petals opening for me. When she starts to cover herself up, I grab hold of her hands. “No. Let me look at you.” “You’re staring.” Cocking a smile, I reply, “Then let me stare.” She flails back with her hand across her head. “But it’s so embarrassing.” I crawl onto the bed over her. Peering down into her hazel eyes, I remind her, “I was just eating your . . . baked goods. Now I want to see them.” I catch an eye-roll punctuated with a smile when I slide back off the mattress and peel her knees apart with my hands. Leaning all the way down, I kiss her pussy how I like kissing her mouth. “Do you know how divine you taste? Like a little piece of heaven in my mouth.”

“Show me.” Dragging the hem of her shirt up when I move over her again, I kiss her mouth this time, letting her taste how amazing she does. She moans while her hands rub my back. Our lips part, and she whispers, “Show me everything.” “I don’t need to show you, Dove. Do what feels good.” I wink. “I want to feel you inside me. Make love to me, Cruise.” I don’t hesitate. I want her. She wants me. I put the condom on and position myself at her entrance not wasting any time. I feel like I should say something, what I’m feeling inside wanting to come out. Instead, I stay quiet and shut my mind down to focus on feeling and sensations. Dropping my head to her shoulder, I push inside her. “So tight. So little. So right. Fuck, I’m not going to last, baby.” Her body squeezes around me, swallowing me whole, and I welcome this beautiful abyss. I welcome the darkness because this dark comes with light that sparks like a fuse from my core, coursing through my body. When I ignite, I fuck. I fuck. I love. I fuck. I thrust until I have nothing left to give and collapse next to her. With my mouth at her ear, I whisper, “Say you’ll be mine. Only mine to savor and devour, to hold until the morning comes.”

“Yours.” Turning to the side, her eyes meet mine in the dim light. “Stay with me.” “I’m right here with you. Right here with you, Dove.”

SITTING on a stool at the small island, Clara’s got a purple T-shirt and exercise pants on while watching me as I plate the food. Her eyes roam over my bare chest and down to where my jeans hang low. I flex, gripping the edge of the counter tightening my biceps and my abs. She licks her lips, but I can’t tell if it’s from the food or me. “Where did you learn to cook? Your mom?” “I picked one of my favorite dishes from the cookbook I bought, and then watched some videos today.” “You watched videos today and you’re cooking tonight like you’ve made it a million times?” “What can I say? I’m a quick learner.” Taking the two plates in hand, she grabs the silverware and joins me in the living room. “Mangiamo.” “What does that mean?” “‘Let’s eat in Italian.” “You speak French and Italian?” she asks, bringing a bite to her mouth.

“No. Just picked up a phrase or two.” I start eating. It’s quiet for a few minutes, but doesn’t feel awkward. Watching her enjoy the food, the small bites she takes are so her. “The first bite is always the best.” “Why is that?” She takes another bite, a little moan following. “I guess we just get used to the taste after that.” Setting her fork down, she brings the wine to her lips, but pauses, and looks to me. “You were dating someone recently.” “Not that recent.” “Did you get bored or used to her?” “It’s not the same thing.” I set my knife and fork down and sit up to look at her across the coffee table from me. “Do you really think now that we’ve slept together I’ll be bored?” “I don’t know what to think.” Her attention spans toward the front window. “This is new to me.” To both of us. The feelings I have for her are uncomfortable. They make my chest feel tight. I hate it and I love it in equal measure, but I don’t understand how she doesn’t see I’m just as affected as her. “This is new for me, too.” Moving my plate to the center of the table, so I don’t bump it, I stand and come around to sit next to her. Wrapping my arm around her, she turns into me, leaning her head on my shoulder. The closeness

is new too, but I like all of it. All of her. I pull her legs up and across my lap. “Listen, I don’t do this. You see me with rose-colored glasses, but it’s misguided. Your mom was right to warn you. I’ve seen things. I’ve done things. Things that someone like you should never be near, much less be in bed with.” She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. “You’ve got it wrong. You deserve more than a tainted girl with a fucked-up—” Her hand covers her mouth as she gasps, fear entering her eyes. It’s so fast. Too fast for me to understand what’s happening before she falls to her knees in front of me. Her hands clasp and her head bows, and she begins to pray. What the fuck? Alarmed, I grab her wrists, causing her to look up. “What are you doing?” “I swore. It just came out. I’m sorry,” she pleads. “So sorry.” “What are you talking about?” “I’m sorry.” She starts rocking, her head dipped again, mumbling. Fuck. “Clara!” Since she won’t get up, I get down on my knees in front of her. Her body is shaking. Tears stream down her cheeks, becoming dark spots on her T-shirt. When she doesn’t respond, I raise my voice, hoping to snap her out of this cycle. “Clara, come back to me.”

Flinching as if I’ve hit her, she covers her head on the couch. What. The. Fuck. My voice is lower, softer, and calmer this time. “I won’t hurt you, Dove. I promise.” The name brings her gaze back to mine. Her tears have dried, her pupils wide, taking me in. As if she didn’t just fucking lose her mind, she says, “I think you should go, Cruise.” “What?” She sits up, her movements and tone are too controlled. “I think it’s best if you go.” “No.” “What do you mean no?” Getting to her feet, she stands above me. “I’m asking you nicely.” I stand up, wanting to hold her, to protect her, to tell her it’s going to be okay, but when I take a step, she steps back. The last thing I want is to intimidate her. “I’m saying no. Nicely. I want to know what just happened. I want to know what happened to you just now. Where’d you go? What are your thoughts?” “Lost. I’m lost to the demons that haunt me.” She walks away from me and I give her the distance she’s craving. When she stops, she looks back at me. It may only be a few feet, but it’s feeling a lot like miles right now. “Please go.”

“Clara, we don’t do what we just did in that bedroom and then turn on each other like it was wrong.” I don’t like the way she’s holding on to the wall behind her as though she’ll fall if she doesn’t. “It wasn’t wrong. It was right. So right, but I’m wrong. You think you have things in your past that makes you bad for me. What you don’t see is how bad I am for you.” Moving slowly so I don’t scare her, I start to close the chasm of darkness between us. “You’re good for me. You’re good to me. You see me as something more than a broken son, friend, or brother. You see me for me. You. See. Me. No one else does.” Standing with our bare feet touching, I reach out and this time she doesn’t flinch. This time she lets me touch her, caress her cheek, and say, “You’re my yellow.”

13

Clara

I NTENSE. Strong. Muscle-y. Hot. I love Cruise’s arms. I love the way they hold me like they never want to lose me. He has visible scars he doesn’t talk about. They’re reflections of the scars he hides inside, and make me feel less alone. But how? How does he do that when he doesn’t know? He doesn’t know about the abuse. Or the scars I hide on the inside.

I’m mortified I prayed in front of him like that, a panic attack taking over, from the simple utterance of a swear word. It was easy to restrain at the bookstore in the light of day. But after sex, my emotions are too raw, and the habits too strong for me to fight. He won’t want me. Dirty. He called me dirty for the way I talked to him sexually. He just hasn’t seen that I’m dirty from wear, tear, and abuse. Filthy girl. Tainted whore. Sullied bitch. Defiled. That’s what I am. That’s what my father made me. Will Cruise still want me when he discovers the truth? No. Why would he? But he’s here. He stayed. Why? Maybe he sees me more than what my father left behind. Maybe he sees the little fragments left of me. Maybe . . . He pulls the sheet higher around my back, and whispers into my hair, “You’re cold.” “I’m sorry about earlier.” I press my cheek to

his chest. “You don’t have to be sorry.” “I’m trying to be normal. For you. I’m trying, but I’m failing.” “Hey, look at me.” When I do, he says, “You don’t have to be anything you’re not. What’s normal anyway?” Tucking my head into the crook of his arm that’s wrapped around me, I close my eyes knowing this won’t last forever. My instability will drive him away. As it should. Before he goes, I still wonder. “I don’t know your last name.” Seeming to hesitate, I wait. He finally whispers, “Cristley.” “Like . . .” I pop up, my hand on his chest, my hair falling to the side as I look at him. Before I can ask specifics, he says, “Yeah.” “I know your mom. From school. She’s . . .” Yikes. Beatrice Cristley is nothing like Cruise. I try the name out to see if it fits the man I’ve come to know. “Cruise Cristley.” “John.” “Who’s John?” “I am. My real name is John.” I feel it, his hold on me tightening as if this admission would send me running. As if he believes he has to hold on to me or I’ll leave him. I’m tempted to tell him the name I used to be called. I don’t. I buried it with my father who

destroyed all the pretty parts every time he uttered it. “You’re tense.” He maneuvers so he’s lying on his side and we’re facing each other. Even though it’s the middle of the night, there’s just enough light to see it reflected from his comforting eyes. The tips of his fingers run along my jaw and down my neck. By the time he reaches my hip, my arm is covered in goose bumps. Pulling the sheet that had fallen back into place, he says, “We said we never have to talk about the stuff in our past, the stuff that changed who we were into who we are, but if you want to, I’ll listen. I’m here for you.” I touch his lips with my finger, addicted to how they move, how they kiss, how they feel against mine. I want to kiss him now and end this conversation before it heads where I don’t want to ever take him. Never to that place. But I realize it’s too late. My habits haven’t died. My behavior will scare him. I already have. So will the truth. I’ll lose him now or I’ll lose him later. Either way, I lose him. Leaning forward I kiss, not the lips that I love the feel of, but above the heart that’s too big even for his large frame. His fingers weave into my hair and I want to stay in the safety of his arms, live there endlessly. After placing a kiss on my messedup hair, he asks, “Were you a virgin? Is that why

you’re upset right now? Did I hurt you? I didn’t mea—” I balk as my body sobs. As naïve as I am on how real relationships work, normal relationships, even I know they don’t work without honesty. My heart starts to race. My skin feels cold, my hands clammy. I try to tame my panting breath, but I know I can’t. This is my normal. Honesty means showing him the dark side of myself as much as the light. “My father is dead.” Big hands are pulling me close, trying to protect my body from where my thoughts are already headed. It’s too late. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not.” Cruise should know before he’s mired in my life, a life that’s being rebuilt, recreated minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. I was stupid for thinking I could be normal, that I had a right to be happy. It’s too soon for that. The right thing to do is to tell him, to save him the trouble of dealing with the catastrophe that is me. He needs to know before I become too desperate for him to stay. Before my heart will be broken into a thousand pieces when he walks out the door. Taking a deep, but jagged breath, it’s time . . . “I was raped.” The muscles of his body tense beside me and he stops breathing. Maybe I do too. I’ve lost track of air as my mind dizzies with the repercussions of my

confession. The floodgates have been opened, so the words pour out, “Repeatedly . . . by my father.” My backside is grabbed, my father encouraging his friends to touch me. The men make jokes about violating me like my father does as they push me between them. I see the look in their eyes, the hunger as if I’ll taste better than their wives. They look at me the same way my father does when he’s mad. Hate-fueled. In the darkest of hours, with the weight of the world I hated holding me down physically, stealing any power I thought I had, my mind would drift to pleasant places. My thoughts free from the body being abused, free to travel to faraway lands like Heaven. I used to believe that was as far from the life I was leading that one could go. I knew I was too sullied for such beauty, but it was a nice retreat. After I was left alone again, I reached for the bear my mom gave me when I was little. He was hers and missing an eye, but he gave me something to hold on to when I had nothing left. . . . This room has always been my sanctuary, my father’s presence never tainting it. The insurance money from his death is the only reason I own it. For the first time since I moved in, it’s starting to feel tainted with my words floating in the open. I don’t know if Cruise is breathing again. My hands haven’t stopped shaking, but I dare to look

up, to check on him. I’m greeted with anger, not directed at me, but somewhere far off. His anger I can deal with. It’s the empathy I can’t. I never want him to feel sorry for me. I just want to be treated how he has already —like a girl he likes, maybe a woman he can love one day. Unless it’s already too late for that. Strands of hair are wrapped around his clenching fist, but I don’t fight it. The pull feels good. It takes away some of the pain I’ve kept hidden inside, distracting it to other places. Keeping my head steady, I hold his gaze, absorbing the fury spiraling in his eyes. I’m more powerful just from being near him, not helpless or alone. “If he was alive, I’d kill him.” He would, too. I can tell. Releasing me, he pushes up, and sits. Scrubbing his hands over his face, a sigh travels from his chest and out. “Fuck. I’m sorry.” All of my worries, my fears, are put to rest when he reaches over and his hand rests on the back of my neck, large enough to cover it. His heated anger sinks into my skin. It’s not aimed at me, but in defense of me. I know I shouldn’t get off on it, but his anger is intoxicating. The rage dissipates and only awe remains. Awe . . . of me? “You’re so goddamn amazing, Clara. You’re here. You’re living.” Bringing me closer, he holds me in his arms. “You survived when so many wouldn’t. I’m so proud of you.”

Peering into his eyes, it’s so easy to get caught up in his emotions, to take his words at face value. “You are?” A small smile on his face lightens the load on my heart. “You’re incredible, Dove. You shared something that’s so much of who you keep to yourself, a pain I can only imagine never goes away. I haven’t shared what I’ve gone through with anyone, not even the psychologist I saw a few times. You’re so fucking brave.” His breath grows heavy as I’m cradled in his arms. He continues, “Your beauty attracted me the second I saw you, but getting to know you little by little has been inspiring. You . . . survived.” He taps my head and my heart and then places a kiss on my forehead. “Fuck, I admire you so much. You are so much more than a past that someone else created for you.” He sits up, horror crossing his dark features. “Fuck, I hurt you when we had sex, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” “No. No. It felt good. You felt good. You helped me. You don’t even know how much tonight has meant to me.” I turn, crossing my legs in front of me. Our hands clasp, our fingers folding together. “I should have told you before we did anything, but I wanted it to be natural, not careful, not treated with kid gloves. I thought I wanted to have sex to get over it, to get over some imaginary hurdle in my mind. If I could, I would be normal, like everyone

else. That’s not what happened though. You treated me with care, but you wanted me. Me. The girl I thought no one would want. But you did.” “I do.” Bringing my hand to his mouth, he kisses it not worrying about being gentle or asking, giving with his heart as much as his body. “How do you feel now?” I smile. “Beautiful.” Closing my eyes, I try to capture the words of how I truly feel. I’ve never had someone feel that way for me, so protective, putting my needs before his. “Now that I think about it, I don’t want normal. I want this, whatever this is, and it’s because of you.” Closing the inches that seem too vast, I kiss his lips just off center, and remain long after our lips stop moving. “John. John. John.” He responds with hands showing their strength as he lifts me by the hips and settles me on his lap. His erection is hard, pressing against my pelvis. Lips open, tongues caress, and bodies become slick as we kiss, pushing our problems into another day. I never thought I’d want someone sexually, but I want him. My body can’t hide how he makes me feel as my nipples brush against his chest and I start to move up and then slowly down on him. “Make love to me, John.” “Cruise,” he breathes into my mouth. “That’s who I am. That’s who I am with you.” It’s the first crack I’ve seen in his emotional

armor. He’s warned me of the bad that resides inside him, and I can see a glimpse of that now. Not bad, but troubled. Alone. I only see his good. Cruise is more fitting than John, and I like that he has a preference for me. After he slips on a condom, we make love— slow and steady with me on top, him guiding my hips. Each glide hits that space deep in my center that only he will ever reach. As a pressure builds from our connection, I start to move on my own, yearning for release. My moans are throaty and foreign to me, much like how he makes me feel. Feels so good that when we’re lying in the middle of the night, our bodies as exhausted as our minds, I whisper, “I don’t know who you are outside these walls, but I like who we are together.” He kisses my head, owning as much of my heart as he does my body already. “Me too.” Two heartbeats pass and he adds, “Get some sleep, Dove.” This time I let my mind drift with the good that manages to keep the bad at bay.

FOUR HOURS of consecutive sleep is the most I’ve had in years. I peek at the clock over Cruise’s

chest: 6:04 a.m. My alarm will go off in ten minutes. I reach over and switch it off to let him sleep. My bear catches my eyes, but I don’t need comfort from him, not when I have Cruise to keep me safe. Reaching over, I’m not covert enough. I’m wrangled into an embrace and my shoulder is covered in kisses. “How are you feeling?” he asks. “Amazing, but sore,” I reply with a light laugh. I have no filter around him. I’m undecided if that’s a good or bad thing. Reaching down, he rubs my hip. “I’m sorry . . . I’m so big.” I burst out laughing. “Why do I get the distinct feeling you are absolutely not sorry?” “Yeah, I’m not. Not at all.” And that’s when I realize something. I feel . . . calm. Happy. This is what happy feels like. It feels like mornings after sex. It tastes like Cruise.

14

Cruise

DESPITE THE LIGHT Clara has brought into my life these last few weeks, the gray day is fitting for what I have on my mind. Clara is so fucking amazing, I find myself smiling on the inside just thinking about her despite the weather outside. It’s as if we had to go through hell to find each other. And now that we have, I’m not willing to let her go. That fucker . . . I blow out a hot breath while clenching my fists. He did this to her. He stole so much from her, her life and her innocence. She’s fighting to be free from the shadow he hid her under.

Despite him, she’s cute, direct, strong, and yet demure. I didn’t get it before, but as she lets me into her world, I see her changing. She’s becoming who she was always meant to be, blossoming right before my eyes. She tests her world, and herself every day, trying to find out what makes her happy, what makes her feel good, what makes her her. She’s incredible. As for her fucker of a father, he better be rotting in hell. If not, when I arrive in that purgatory, I’ll make sure he gets what he deserves. I’m glad she told me. I think she thought I couldn’t handle the news. I’m not scared to take on her demons. I’ll embrace her struggles and pain. If it helps her, I’ll do whatever she needs me to do. She deserves nothing less. She deserves someone who understands what it’s like to live with the boogieman corrupting her past. I can be that someone for her. I want to be that someone for her. I’m used to dealing with indescribable acts of cruelty. My mind used to drifting . . . Staring into the blackness of the room, my arms are shackled, weighing heavy at my sides. King sits against the far wall. I only know because of the way I hear him shift, the chains dragging along the concrete floor. It’s been days of being in here, an unknown captor deciding we need to die. “Do you ever

regret driving around that block?” He knows what I mean. The moment he laid eyes on Sara Jane, his heart was lost to her forever. We circled the block just so he could get another look. Despite my protests. She was a girl in a Catholic school uniform. We were used to girls in heels and short skirts. But I saw it. Two souls came together on that rainy day. I tried to stop it. I was going to lose my best friend, the only person who ever gave a shit about me, the real me. I lie still in our cement cell and say, “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time about Sara Jane the day you met.” A low chuckle fills the space. He’s weakening. Day by day. His voice evidence of the abuse we’ve taken. “You were looking out for me.” “I was jealous.” “Why would you be jealous?” “I took a backseat that day. I saw how you looked at her, but more than that, I saw how she looked at you.” “Tell me how she looked at me. Remind me of why I need to survive this.” “You were the scariest person she had ever encountered. Not because you rode a motorcycle or demanded her time.” “Then what was it? Why was she scared of me?”

“Because she saw her whole life wrapped up in you. Some might call it stars in her eyes. That girl never stood a chance.” “This is deep.” He chuckles again. “But I think you’re right. She should have kept walking though. She should have dated a frat boy from the college.” “That’s not how destiny works.” He knows where my head’s at, where my thoughts lie. “You’re going to live.” “If I’m given only one more day, I hope to find someone who looks at me the same way.” “You’ll find her or she’ll find you. You’ll see.” . . . I believed him back then, just shy of a year ago. I believed I would live and thrive and I would have a full life. I’m not so sure anymore. I’m not sure Clara can save us both. Reflecting on my own life, I guess I always believed at some level it would always come down to that. Abandoned. A baby in basket. For fuck’s sake, I was hated from the day I was born. But Clara, she deserves better than what she got. So pure. So sweet to her core. If I can take her pain and replace it with some happiness, I will. Someone touches my shoulder. I spin, knocking a hand away. My throat grabbed as I take hold of

his neck. “What the fuck, Alex?” “What the fuck is wrong with you?” “Don’t sneak up on me.” Our hands drop at the same time and we both take a step back. “I didn’t. I called your fucking name three times when I walked in. Where’s your fucking head at, man?” Adrenaline courses through me as I gain control of my pounding heart. I sit on the arm of the couch, and run a hand through my hair. “A million fucking miles away. On everything all at once. Back in that cement room coughing up blood, thinking I’m going to die, to lying next to Clara every morning thinking I lived so I could meet her.” Confusion is written into his squinted eyes, and mouth that wants to ask questions, but doesn’t. I continue, “We’ve gotten serious fast.” “I’m not surprised, man. She’s a keeper.” I nod because I know that. I just don’t know if I will get to keep her. “I’m no judge and I’m definitely not your jury.” My gaze tracks him into the kitchen. He bends down and grabs a bottle from the liquor cabinet along with two shot glasses. “It’s been a long time coming, but I think we should talk about what happened last year and put some of that to rest.”

W E EACH LIE on a couch with a coffee table between that’s littered with a half full bottle of Jack, some crumbs from a polished off Frito bag, and two shot glasses. Alex and I have never gone into great detail about what happened when we were kidnapped. We lived it, so we don’t like to relive it if we can avoid it. Today, we talk. He says, “I never knew if you’d be returned to that hellhole alive or dead. I once prayed for your death to end your torture. I’m sorry.” “I would have done the same for you.” “We’ve been through a lot together over the years, and your friendship, your loyalty to me has never wavered. Not even once. Not even when you were bleeding from someone aiming to hurt me.” “You were there for me when no one else was. I owe you my life.” “No you don’t,” he says. “You’ve given more than you ever should have. I owe you.” He sits up and pours two more shots. Pushing one toward me, he takes his glass in hand. “What can I do for you?” “Since . . . then, I’ve filled every waking minute doing something else, thinking about anything but my life. It’s catching up with me. I don’t know if I’m burned out or finally admitting that besides Clara, I’m not living a life worth living. I’ve not been good to you or your business in a long time.

Fuck, I’m sorry.” “You don’t have to apologize. I bury myself in work and my wife for a reason. I don’t want to think about what happened, but I’m glad we talked through some of it. Take some time off.” “I don’t know how long I’ll need.” “You know you can take as long as you want. Do you have something in mind, a way to spend that time?” I sit up and take my shot, downing it in one gulp. “I’m going to find my birth parents.” “Wow, Cruise. You’re stirring up a lot of shit in your life. You sure you want those answers?” “I’m sure. I need to put some things behind me and starting at the root of the cause is the best way to start moving forward.” “You lived through my search for answers, so yeah, I’m skeptical these days about digging up old ghosts.” “You got answers. Now I need some.” “What do your parents say?” “The Senator doesn’t know. My mom said she knew it was coming. I guess it’s only natural.” “I’m surprised the Senator hasn’t figured out how to market this situation, twisting it to his advantage.” “I’m not currently talking to him. I owe them a lot for taking me when no one else wanted me. I grew up never in need for anything—”

“Except love. Seemed to be lacking in your house until the cameras were on. I presumed dinner didn’t go well. Should I ask about it.” “Just as I expected. I think my dad’s fucking Celeste.” “What the fuck?” I shoot him a look and then roll my eyes. He adds, “Damn.” “She’s history to me, but I feel bad for my mom.” “Your mom is a strong woman. Anyway, I doubt this is the first time she’s dealt with his infidelity.” “I know. I just don’t know why she accepts it.” “Maybe it’s not accepting it, but more wanting to keep her family together.” “I don’t know. I just hate it for her. The Senator’s an asshole.” “Changing the subject, what’s with the woman who’s inspired you to figure out your life?” Clara. My Dove. I won’t share her secrets, but I will share mine. “She’s different.” Dipping my head into my hands, I say, “It’s weird, but I already think about her all the time. It’s like once we met, I wanted to know everything about her. And then I want to . . .” Fuck. I can’t tell him. He’s my best friend, the brother I choose to have, but I can’t tell him this. That would be a betrayal to her, so I stay my course, keeping her past out of it. “I want more time with her. I want to protect her. I want to date

her. I want to take her to dinner. I want Paige and Matty, you and Sara Jane to meet her. I want . . . she makes me want so much with her.” When I look up, he’s smiling. “I know the feeling.” He’s shaking his head and then leans back. “I’ve never seen you attached to anyone. I want to meet her.” “You will. Soon.” “It’s funny that of all the women you’ve dated, hooked up with, whatever you want to call it, you never brought them around us.” “But here I am, wanting to bring Clara over like you’re my parents.” “I can promise not to interrogate her, but Sara Jane’s protective over you.” I chuckle, and lean back. “Tell her to go easy on my girl. I like her a lot.” “Maybe more than a lot?” “Definitely more than a lot.”

“THIS PLACE IS AMAZING .” I stand at the bar and watch Clara roam around the penthouse in astonishment. She even spun around at one point with her arms out. She said it was just because she could, the place is so spacious. “Why do you work and live here? I mean, I see

why you want to live here, but why do you work here, too? And what do you do again? You’ve explained it, but I’m confused.” “The penthouse was purchased as a base while we did research on a project we were working on at the time. My family cut the money strings and our friend needed a job and a place to live. So Chad and I lived here, while King—Alex—would come and work at night. It really just made sense to serve the two purposes with one place.” It’s still hurts to think about Chad, much less mention him so casually. But I don’t want to bury his memory, so I say his name whenever I get the chance. Walking to the wall of windows, she looks out. “Your other friend moved out so you have this huge place all to yourself?” Chad. How do I explain what happened to him without scaring her? I was tortured. Chad is dead. God, this sounds like a fucking movie. Just lay it out like she did. “He died.” “Oh.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “I’m sorry. Do you mind if I ask how?” “Chad was killed.” “My father was killed.” It’s as if she catches herself, and corrects some transgression she’s committed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to infer they

are same. Your friend was nothing like that monster. I shouldn’t have said—” Striding across the room, I cup her face. “Hey. You don’t have to apologize all the time. I know what you meant.” Taking her in my arms, I inhale her sweet scent—a light floral fragrance. “When you’re with me, I want you to feel comfortable. I want you to speak freely and say what’s on your mind. Always, Dove. Don’t hold back.” “I don’t want to upset you.” “Don’t worry about that. If I’m upset, I’ll tell you. We’re not going to hide behind passiveaggressive bullshit. Let’s just be open and honest with each other.” Leaning against the window, she looks up at me. “This is surreal. You’re surreal, as if you’ll disappear like a daydream.” “I won’t.” Placing her hand on my chest, I cover it with mine. “I’m here. I’m real. That’s my heart you feel beating. It beats faster around you. I can feel it when we’re together, as if it was dormant and you brought it back to life.” A smile surfaces that’s so delicate it could become a memory before I have enough time to truly admire it. I ask, “How do you feel?” “Like I’m not worthy of your kindness.” My heart clenches. “Fuck that, Dove. You’re more worthy than any of us. You didn’t ask for hell to pay, but you paid the price anyway.”

Her body eases and her smile becomes a part of her as she pokes me playfully in the abs. “You talk about me like I’m amazing. Trust me, Cruise. I’m not. If I were, none of the bad would have happened.” “You were a kid—” “Can we not talk about this?” Coming forward, she embraces my middle, but rests her chin on my chest looking up at me. “I don’t know when we can talk about things or when you’d rather not.” “I feel terrible when you ask and I don’t want to talk. I opened the wound, so I know I’m to blame, but sometimes I just want to be in the now, and to be happy. I’m conflicted, because I want you to know. I want you to feel free to ask questions. I want that same right with you.” “I understand. How about we use a code word if we don’t want to talk about things? If the word is said, then we stop talking about it and talk about something else instead.” Her interest is piqued, a small smile playing on her lips. “What’s the word?” Staring out the window, the sun is beginning to set and the last of the day remains in the reflection of the skyscrapers. “It has to be something unassuming.” “A non-trigger word . . . like frosting or flour.” “Flower like a rose or flour for cooking?”

“Either.” Joy. That’s what I see in her eyes when she suggests, “What about donut?” “What happens when we want donuts?” She laughs. “We go get donuts, silly.” We’ve discussed life-altering tragedies but I don’t even know if she likes donuts. I’m determined to find out. I lean my hand on the glass over her shoulder. “What’s your favorite kind of donut? Let me guess . . . chocolate? Glazed? Sprinkles?” Being this close to her, so close to her lips, I get turned on so easily. Kissing the shell of her ear, I whisper, “Cream-filled?” “God, yes.” Her breathing deepens, her voice husky, revealing her lust. “That.” When I start kissing her neck, she moans, “Donuts. Yes, donuts.” I can’t stop from laughing. “So, donut is our stop word?” Sighing seductively, she grabs my shirt, and pulls me around. “It’s always going to be about the baked goods for us, isn’t it?” “I’m pretty sure it is.” Sweeping her off her feet, I flip her over my shoulder. “Have I shown you my bedroom?” “I’ve been waiting for that tour since I arrived.” Just inside the doorway of the bedroom, I set her down on her feet again. When I kiss her, she giggles while wrapping her arms around my neck, and then asks, “Where have you been all my life?” “It’s not about where we’ve been, Dove. It’s

about where we’re going.” And wherever that is, I hope it’s with you.

15

Clara

W HEN C RUISE SAID he wanted to make love to me, he didn’t lie. I’ve never felt so loved and cherished than when I’m with him. Standing in his closet, physically my body misses his. Emotionally, I couldn’t ask for more. My heart is full. I choose a crisp white shirt, and pull it from the hanger. By looking at the suits and shoes, the ties, and shirts in his walk-in closet, I can tell he spends a lot more on his wardrobe than I’d ever be able to afford. Sliding the fine cotton over my skin, the fabric is cool to the touch and smooth. The label reads Prada. I’m no aficionado, but I know that brand is

expensive. Tiptoeing down the hall, I cross the room in bare feet and sneak outside on the balcony. It’s quieter at this hour and easier to convince myself that I’m at the top of the world, living the high life up here as I look down and around the usually bustling metropolis. I lean against the railing, lifting up on my toes for a better look. This penthouse alone shouts wealth, but then to find out his last name . . . Cristley. I was familiar with the name long before I met his mother during a fundraising committee meeting. It’s her husband, Cruise’s father, which I’d heard about growing up. He was a senator known for reelection scandals and dirty dealings. That’s what my father used to gripe about over dinner—how unfair the world was that scum like John Cristley could get elected and then waste taxpayers money on potholes and mass transit. He claimed the elected officials never solved their constituent’s real problems, like lowering taxes and putting food on the table. My father never appreciated a hard day’s work and thought the whole world owed him just for being born. Wealth of the Cristley’s magnitude is intimidating, to say the least, but the power of his family name scares me more. That’s not a world I

can slip into unnoticed. No, my past will come back to haunt me. Sure, my family put on a good show living in the suburbs among well-maintained lawns and a good school district. But he was evil to his core. Sometimes I overheard conversations I was never meant to hear. “I don’t give a fuck about her. I only care about him, the fucking little bastard that he is. If we have to send a message to make him see things our way, we will.” . . . The sins of my father have been left for us to atone for. The Cristleys are political royalty in this state. I probably saw Cruise on TV when I was younger, not able to dream, much less fathom, that I would one day be dating him, or falling in love with him. Love. The word itself was twisted before I met Cruise, wicked even. I was never taught to love, but to obey. With Cruise, love comes easily and is all encompassing in ways I welcome. It feels good to feel good. He makes me feel beautiful, happy, and worthy. But will his family? The door opens and Cruise leans against the metal frame. “What are you doing out here?” “Thinking.” Coming out, he leans his arms on the railing next to me and looks down the long avenue. When

he turns back his eyes stay steady on mine. “It’s a great place to think, or not, maybe to avoid if that’s what you’re wanting.” “I have a feeling you like to avoid thinking about a lot of things. What you said to me, about being here for me and listening. I want you to know that I’m here for you and I’m also a great listener.” Watching lights flicker on around the tall buildings as people start to arrive for work is a nice distraction, but it never really pulls me away from the bad of my life. “I was taught to remain silent at all times unless spoken to directly by my father.” “I don’t want you to be quiet. I want you to be loud. I want to hear your voice, and your thoughts, your opinions, and for you to always speak your mind. Don’t hold back with me, or anyone. You don’t owe an exchange of your silence for someone else’s.” Running his hands into my hair, I lean against his palm. He whispers, “Be brave, my little dove.” Kissing my lips, I get lost in his words and kindness, his encouragement and desire for me. I feel whole. He’s done that for me. I don’t know how he’s done that in such a short time, but he’s changed me for the better. “Promise me. Promise me that you’ll always speak your truth and you won’t ever let anyone shut you down.” Gently clasping my face between his hands, he says, “Promise me.”

“I promise. I promise you, but why do I get the feeling you’re making me promise because you won’t be here?” When his hands fall to his sides, he walks to the other side of the balcony. I don’t like the distance anymore than I like the dread filling my stomach. “I have to go out of town.” Feeling ill, I stare at the back of his head hoping I misheard him. “A trip?” I try my best to sound positive, not like I have anything to worry about, but I fail. My shoulders slump as if my body already knows the outcome of Cruise and Clara—a fated love story. Maybe he picks up on the desperation in my voice, or he’s in tune with my body, because he turns and looks at me. He may not have hearts in his eyes, but he doesn’t have hate. “Not long. A day or so.” Cruise reaches for me, looking at me like I can do no wrong. So different than what I’m used to seeing from men. I take his hand and am pulled in with a whoosh, his body catching mine. “We’ve talked about a lot of things, but not so much about us in the sense of what this is. What we are.” “What are we?” I ask, not whispering like the wind that blows. I love that he can’t seem to keep his hands off me. From big sweeping kisses to gentle gestures and soft strokes, he’s almost always touching me. With

his fingers tapping against the tips of mine, he asks, “What do you want us to be? What do you want with me?” It’s not that I hesitate. I just want so much with him and don’t want to scare him by overstepping an imaginary line he might have in his mind. The debate is roaring inside my head when I’m pulled even closer and his warm hand touches my neck as heated kisses cover my cheek. He whispers, “I’ll be anything you need me to be. Just please be with me. Please be mine, Dove.” As the city sleeps around us, I’m held in knightly arms by a man so brave to take me on. My gratitude overflows and I realize that the innocent are given second chances. And this is mine. Heaven doesn’t only exist in the skies above or in distant thoughts when escaping hell, but right here on Earth, in Cruise’s arms. Still too hard to believe, taught that I was never enough for anyone to truly want or love, I ask, “You want me?” “So much,” he says as if it’s too painful to bear if he doesn’t. “God, so much.” The shadow from the beard that’s grown overnight scrapes across my skin, marking me. I never wanted to be owned. I never wanted to be loved because the love I knew was perverse. I had it all wrong. So wrong. I think Cruise loves me. He shows me in ways I’ll feel long after I’m gone from his arms. He

owns me. My heart. My soul. All my yeses. And maybe some of my noes. But he’ll respect them like he respects me. Knowing that I can truly be me and he still cares, possibly even loves me, is intoxicating. “We don’t need words, Cruise. I was yours the minute your lips kissed mine.” “To further seal this deal . . .” Our lips meet and our tongues touch. Under an overcast sky, we don’t need stars to find our way to each other. Our hearts are already leading the charge.

“DO all couples have this much sex?” He chuckles lying in bed next to me. “Is it too much?” I hate bringing him into our little piece of paradise, even in indirect references, but I need to know what I feel isn’t bad, isn’t sinful, and doesn’t make me just as twisted as my father. “Is it wrong to like it like I do? Does that make me demented or sick?” Rolling to face me, his face contorts. “God, no.” His hand finds the inside of my wrist and he

traces figure eights lightly across my skin. I’m not even sure he realizes what he’s drawing, but I do. “Forget that sick fuck. What we have, what we feel is right. It’s pure. It’s good. Like you. You’re good. Don’t ever believe the lies he told you. He tried to take your good and turn it bad. But look at you. Goddamn it, look at you. You’re an angel— wholesome with the purest of hearts. So pure that sometimes I worry I’ll be the one who destroys you.” “No, that could never happen. I’d go down in flames before I’d condemn your kind heart.” “When I’m with you, I don’t feel so fucked up.” “Cruise?” I keep my voice low, measured to fit the quiet and dark room. There’s barely enough light to make out his features, but I do. “Yeah?” “You don’t have to, but I’d like you to talk to me.” When he looks away from me, his chest rises and then sinks slowly back down with the weight of the conversation. I lay still and don’t make a peep. I’m really good at it and the atmosphere in the room seems to demand it. He asks, “Are you okay, Clara?” Surprised by the question, I lift up on my elbow, and look at him. “Me? Why are you asking about me?”

“Because you’re trembling.” “I was?” “Yes. Are you okay?” Stumbling over my words, I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that my body betrayed me. “I’m okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” “It’s okay. Just checking to make sure.” I exhale a deep breath I’d just taken and lie down, cuddling into the nook of his arm while trying to calm my racing heart. “Last year, I was kidnapped. King . . . I mean, Alex, had been taken. Sara Jane and I were putting a plan in place when I was hijacked and thrown into a room with a small window in it, with him. It’s funny because I don’t remember being scared at that point. I was just relieved to see him alive. That relief didn’t last long.” His body has tensed, his arm around me tightened. The air around us thickened with dread. I’m not sure I’m ready to hear his story, but he heard mine, so I’ll do my damnedest to be what he needs. I whisper, “You don’t have to relive anything for me, but maybe it will help to relieve some of the pain you hold inside.” Removing his arm, he pushes himself up until his back hits the headboard. When I sit up, he pushes a button that turns on a lamp across the room. The room is still dim, but inviting in the golden glow. Comforting in an unexpected way for

the early morning hour. He says, “Every night I was taken out of that room and down a corridor to what I discovered later was an emptied broom closet. At first I walked, indignant and full of fucking pride. They weren’t going to get the best of me. I had to hold my own . . . every night I was beaten and kicked. I was struck with a metal rod some nights and other nights, my captor would punch the living shit out of me until I was lying on my back, drowning in my own blood.” He coughs and his hand covers his throat as if the mention of it makes it real again. Maybe it does. How? How did he survive that? Maybe we shouldn’t visit the ghosts of our haunted pasts. Maybe that’s been the mistake I’ve been making all along. We should hide our secrets, bury them deep inside a locked chest nowhere near our hearts. Maybe that’s the only way to truly survive. I wish it were dark again. I’m not strong enough to hide my horror. My tears won’t be kept at bay. I break down in the soft glow of his bedroom, dropping my head into my hands and cry. When he pulls me against him, I feel his strength. “Shhhh,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” Moving his hand around my back, he strokes my arm, as he continues, “I’m here. See? We’re two survivors of horrific acts that were meant to kill us, but we’re here together. And I think that’s why I was spared in the end, why I was saved when

I should have died.” I can’t stop from shaking, my body wracked with sorrow for him. I hate whoever did that to him, hate— “Hey, look at me.” Cruise’s voice snaps me from my anger toward someone I don’t know. I now understand the anger he felt toward my father, why he took on my pain to help me heal. Looking into his soulful eyes while wiping away my tears, I don’t want to be weak when he’s so strong. “No one should ever be hurt like you were.” His finger covers my lips. “Your heart is so big, but it doesn’t need to bleed for me. I was going to say, I think I was saved because I was meant to meet you.” Through watery eyes I see the beauty of this man is deeper than his handsome face. I burst into tears. His words are just as perfect as he is. His soul is so good. I hope that one day, I can be the woman he deserves.

16

Cruise

MY PRETTY LITTLE dove has the softest heart despite the heartache she’s had in her life. How is she real? How is she mine? She’s given me the freedom and peace to share all that I’d hidden, all that I refused to acknowledge and bring into the light. As if I can’t stop myself, I continue to let my thoughts ramble as we sit across the dining room table from each other eating breakfast before she has to leave. “It didn’t matter what they did to me. I realized I had to live because as long as I did, Sara Jane did.” “What do you mean?” “I was tortured to torture Alex. They’d go after

Sara Jane next because that would destroy him. So as long as I lived, she did, which meant he did.” The tears have long ago dried and her plate is now empty. She sips her coffee, but stops when I share my revelation. Her eyes are wide in astonishment, the sunrise revealing the gold and greens melding together in the most stunning of combinations. “You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met.” To me she’s seeing her own reflection. “I’m no angel.” Reaching across the table, she slips her hand under mine and tickles my palm. “You’re not the devil either. I know you believe you’re bad. Maybe you were told this growing up, but it’s all lies. I just wish you could see how good you are. I wish you could see how I see you.” I take her hand and hold it. “I feel the same about you.” She stands and comes around. Kissing the top of my head, she then bends to kiss me on the mouth. I love her mouth. I love listening to the words when she speaks and watching her tongue glide across her lips, wetting them for me. I love her mouth on me. Just as I pull her closer, holding her for as long as I can, she says, “I have to go.” “I want you to stay.” With a little laugh that makes my heart sing, she runs her nails into my hair. “I wish I could, but I have to go or I’ll be late for work.”

“I’ll drive you home.” “My car is here. I need it to get to work and then I have class later. Maybe I can see you tonight?” Wrapping my arms around her slight waist, I rest my head against her belly. “I’m not sure when I’m leaving.” “Do you have to go?” Her hands on me cause me to wish I were staying. As much as I think I could be happy here with her, I’m not whole enough to be all she needs. “Yes.” Leaning back, I take her hands in mine. I shouldn’t burden her with my concerns. She has enough going on to keep her mind occupied. “I need to take care of some personal business, but I’ll keep you posted. You need to leave or you’ll be late. I’ll talk to you about it when I get back, okay?” She nods before leaning down and kissing me. “Goodbye, my handsome haven.” Haven. Safe haven. I’ll be that for her, or I’ll die trying. The front door opens. I stand up, my heart racing toward the sun. I don’t want her to go, not like this. “Hey Dove?” She looks back and steals the breath right from my chest. When that pretty smile appears on her face, the words start to flow from my heart to my lips, but at the last second, I choke them back down. “I care about you.”

Recognition comes slowly. First her eyes look at me quizzically and then her head tilts. She knows what I’m unable to say. She knows how I feel without the words. Her voice gives her away when it goes froggy and she has to clear it. “You care about me?” I hate her uncertainty. I slowly cross the room, a breath coming with every step, and stand in front her, my heart in my hands, willingly sacrificing it for her. “I do. A lot.” With tears in her eyes, she says, “I care about you, too, Cruise. With all my heart.” Reaching around my neck to hold on, she lifts up on her tiptoes. “Promise to come back to me.” “Nothing could keep me away.” Digging my nose into her hair, I memorize her scent and the feel of her body in my arms. I take note that the top of her head only reaches the bottom of my nose, and then add, “You should go before I decide to keep you here all day.” My smile is genuine and light, just how she makes me feel on the inside. Yellow. This time I watch as she walks out that door. It doesn’t feel final. It feels like a new beginning, making me smile in the most goofy way. It’s good to know I have her to come back to. Especially since I might be facing the people who wanted nothing to do with me, or find nothing at all. But I have to go. I need answers so I can

move on.

DISAPPOINTMENT IS TOO comfortable a state when I’m around my parents. I think my mother believes she can change me. Serve enough clotted cream and crumpets and suddenly I’ll turn into Prince William. I sit in all black, owning the title of disappointment to a T. She’s dressed in a light blue suit that matches the tearoom walls. Our teacups are filled for the second time since we arrived an hour ago. The tray of finger sandwiches and biscuits has been picked over. Just to point out that I’m not a total slacker, I say, “I’m surprised you wanted to do afternoon tea before noon. You rebel, you.” My mother laughs as if I’ve said the most hilarious thing she’s ever heard. I’m thinking it’s put on for others rather than for my benefit. “Oh, John. You’re incorrigible.” She’s right, but I don’t feel the need to back the claim since we’ve been getting along so well. Returning to business, I tap the brown folder between us on the tiny lace-covered table. “So all I get is New Haven?” Haven. The irony isn’t lost on me. I’m starting to see a pattern. “That’s all the adoption file has listed. This was

all we were given regarding your parents, but it’s more than most, John.” “You had four kids. Why did you want to adopt another?” “I remember that clearly. I was lunching with a friend who had read about a baby found on church steps. My heart hurt hearing the story. The pain for this little abandoned child lingered long after lunch and I called the Senator. I had wanted to go back to school for my degree. I think he preferred me home, so he had his office track down the agency handling your case.” “Case? That’s so clinical.” “It sounds that way, but it didn’t feel that way. When I saw you, I knew you were meant to be mine. It wasn’t clinical. It was love. You smiled at me and after I fed you a bottle, you fell asleep right here.” She pats her chest. “There was paperwork involved, but it was as if I’d given birth to you myself.” She pours cream into her teacup and stirs, seemingly lost in her thoughts. “You always did love solving mysteries.” I reach over and cover her hand with mine, stopping her from the absentminded action. “This is nothing more than me finding out where I came from and who I came from.” I sit back and she watches me, sadness finding her eyes and reflecting her heart. She wasn’t perfect. Fuck, I know that. We all know that, but neither was I. So I’m in no

position to judge her. Maybe she mothered the only way she knew how. I can forgive her for that. As for the Senator, fuck him. “Listen, Mom, this does not take away from your role in my life. You’re my mom. That’s the bottom line. I was a handful but you still made sure I had all the necessities and gave me the best opportunities I could get. I was a baby in a basket who was brought into a home with more than I could ever want or need.” I could have used more hugs, but I feel weak admitting that to myself much less to her. When her eyes well up, I quickly add, “I love you.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize I’m not saying this just for her, though I hope it makes her feel better. I need to tell her because maybe this will bridge that distance that’s kept us emotionally apart for so many years. “I love you, John. I’m sorry I failed you so many times, but know that I always loved, and still love you so much.” “I know, Mom. I do.” She dabs the corners of her eyes with the cloth napkin, then laughs. “I’m a silly old woman. Your great-grandmother always told me that one day my errors would find daylight, and I’d have regrets. She told me to do things right the first time around so I wasn’t wasting my golden years making amends. I never was good at listening to sage

advice. If I were, I would have married Adam Blum.” What? “What?” She laughs and if I’m not mistaken it’s more like giggles. “I shouldn’t have said anything but everyone who ever held that secret has died except for me.” I don’t even know what’s happening, but I’m seeing my mom as a woman for the first time. She’s a woman who has lived a life besides being the mother to five children and the obedient wife of a politician. “I’ll carry your secrets.” “How about you carry them once I’ve moved to the next life. I want to travel lighter next round, less baggage to hold in my heart.” I shake her hand and look her in the eyes. “I promise.” “Adam was a lovely man. I met him when I was fifteen. He was seventeen.” She smiles with raised eyebrows and a look of mischievousness in her eyes. “It was quite the scandal back then.” “Because of the age difference?” “No, because of my family. He was quiet. I was outgoing. He was responsible. I was carefree. He was Jewish. I was from a devout Protestant family. I fell in love the minute I saw him.” “Mom, none of us ever knew.” “It was best that no one did because all good things must come to an end. My mother found out,

which meant my grandmother knew. The irony was that my grandmother slipped me five thousand dollars and told me to run away and marry him when I was seventeen.” Wow. She could have lived an entirely different life. Wonder if that’s one of her regrets. “I don’t know what to say.” She was a rebel. Maybe we’re more alike than I ever knew. Maybe I’m not just made up of genes from strangers, but of traits that I learned, a bond that carries deeper than emotion, but is a part of me. “Why did you stay?” “Because everyone had big plans for me and I wasn’t brave enough to fight for what I wanted.” A small smile still manages to shine through her sad words. “He was gentle, and called me his wildflower. The last time I ever saw him was through a sitting room window, peeking out. Adam was standing outside my parents’ front door with drooping daisies in his hand, being brave enough for the both of us. The door was slammed in his face and I was sent to my room without dinner, crying.” “I can tell you loved him, so why was that the last time you saw him?” “The Senator’s family made a deal at my debutante ball. I was sixteen at the time. I spent the next year fending him off when our parents weren’t looking, and seeing Adam secretly. Once, I even told the senator no, that I was in love with

another boy.” “What happened?” “I ended up in an arranged engagement a week later, an asset traded to the highest bidder.” “But you stayed with him. You had four kids and me with him.” She sighs as if the moment has passed, much like her love for Adam. “I may be sharing a secret, but it’s no secret that I love your father. We’ve had our ups and downs. What couple hasn’t? But he’s provided a good life for me and for all of you. He worked hard and only ever broke one promise to me.” “He broke a vow.” Why? Why is that acceptable to her? That’s not good enough. For me, or her. She looks at me with sad eyes, but I also see acceptance. How many have there been? I would never humiliate her by asking, but I need her to know that I didn’t know. Not until his mention of Celeste. The bastard. “Mom, I didn’t know. I swear. I didn’t—” “John, stop. What’s a vow in comparison to the beautiful life I’ve led? We’ve led?” There is much more depth to this woman than I knew. I’m in awe. Her strength. Her poise. It wasn’t because she was a snob and thought herself one of the elite. It was for her own self-worth and dignity. I want to argue, to tell her that vows, like promises, matter. But it

will fall on deaf ears. She hasn’t left him yet. It’s clear to see she has no intentions to do so otherwise. So I say the only thing I know to say. “I’m sorry.” “Why are you sorry, John?” “I’m sorry that you’ve lived a life without true love.” She smiles. “That’s not true. I knew what true love was for two years, and those two years have sustained me for a lifetime. As I said earlier, I look to lead a lighter life in the next. Less things and more love.” She stands, dropping her napkin to the plush pink chair. “That file has everything I know about your past. I wish it were more.” Touching my cheek, she smiles. “I may not have given birth to you, but I feel so fortunate to have been a part of your life and to watch you grow into the man you are today. Your loyalty and integrity are truly a sight to behold.” “I will never break a vow.” “I know you won’t. That’s why you’re better than the Senator or I could ever be.” Squeezing my shoulder, she also picks up her handbag. “Fill your life with love. And if it helps bring some peace, we never took you out of the will.” I chuckle. I have more money than she knows about, made a life for myself off my street smarts and the education I pursued on my own. But I can tell she finds satisfaction in the fact that the Senator

won’t get his way if anything happens to the asshole. Standing up, I kiss my mom on the cheek and then hug her. I almost don’t recognize the woman I just spent an hour talking to. This is my mother, but more so, she showed me the real person beneath the name. She showed me who she really is, shared with me her dreams, and trusted me with her secrets. I’ll never forget it. “Thank you for taking a baby that had nothing and giving him everything he would ever need to be a good man.” “I’ll happily take credit as your mother. You’re a son to be proud of by any mother. I need to scoot. I have a meeting I’m going to be late for.” “Well, I won’t keep you. I know you hate to be late.” “It was worth it, Cruise.” Cruise? It’s the first time she’s ever called me by my chosen name. I drop back down in the chair and watch her leave the tearoom, smiling from ear to ear. I never wanted my parents’ approval, but today it feels a lot like I just got hers. And it feels good.

17

Clara

B AYNARD P REPARATORY. Top ten prep school in America, rivaling most colleges with the education provided and the résumé of the professors. I’ve only been student teaching a couple months, but long enough to know that this is the future elite, or elitist, depending on my mood, of America. There is no middle ground when it comes to the students here. Each one will find success in the field they choose to pursue, or they’ll rest on their ancestral connections. I never noticed the obvious while on campus. I wasn’t paying enough attention before, and the

name never meant anything other than the last name of the woman whose opinion does matter. Beatrice Cristley is not only a generous benefactor to the school, but the name is everywhere— Cristley Hall, Cristley Foundation, The Cristley Scholarship. All accredited to Cruise’s mother, and three generations of Cristleys who attended the school prior. Kingwood and Cristley, two of the most prestigious surnames to have when walking on these hallowed grounds. It’s kind of ironic considering Cruise said he and his friend were too busy rebelling to appreciate the legacy embedded in the history of this school. I beat forty-five other candidates for this position. I don’t know what won them over, but it feels a lot like charity by the way the staff and students look at me. Sometimes I’m even on the receiving end of a condescending comment in reference to my suburban upbringing. Who knew that, to them, the middle class equals needing a hand up by the wealthy? I ignore it while inwardly rolling my eyes and trying not to judge these well-to-do rich kids the way they judge me. With my sandwich sitting on a piece of wax paper in front of me and my Diet Coke almost empty, I check the time. Seven minutes of freedom before the students return from lunch.

My finger has been hovering over the enter key for a good sixty seconds, John Cristley Jr. taking up the search box on the screen. I haven’t pushed the button, but when I do, the records populate the screen. Every grade he ever received. Every tardy. Every mark. Every absence. Every time Cruise was called into the office is in this file. I should feel guilty looking up his school record, but I don’t. I feel closer to him. I also feel a sense of pride for the man that has come into my life like a hurricane and swept me right off my feet. I study his grades. B. Only one. Ever. Cruise made a B in Advanced Trigonometry his sophomore year. For a rebel bucking the system he was bred into, he sure didn’t bother to hide how intelligent he was. Giggling, I shake my head. He’s a true mystery of a man. The bell rings and I close my laptop. With my hours clocked for the day, it’s time to pack up and head to campus for class. I cross the grounds and turn the corner to the staff parking lot, and then stop in my tracks. Black leather jacket.

Sleek black helmet. A motorcycle of shiny chrome and slick black detailing. One of the nicest Harley-Davidson motorcycles I’ve ever seen. But it’s the man sitting on top that commands my full attention. The helmet is pulled off, revealing my knight in badass sexy leather armor. “I’ve got to give you credit,” I start. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Swinging his leg over the bike, he sets the helmet on the seat and comes to me. With his hands on my waist, he leans back to take me in starting at my feet and working all the way to my hair. “How do you always look so incredible?” I can feel my cheeks heating, and squeeze my planner to my chest shyly. “Most people don’t find sweater vests and button-down shirts sexy.” I shrug nonchalantly, pretending to play off the compliment, but bat my eyelashes. “Sexy as fuck, Dove.” Pulling my middle against him, we kiss. Like every other time our lips meet, the rest of the world fades away. Coming back down from his heavenly lips, I look up. “What brings you by?” “I wanted to see you one last time before I left.” “That sounds ominous. Should I be worried?” He laughs. “No, no need to worry about me. Nothing more than me wanting to kiss those cherry lips again.”

“I’m investing all my money in this gloss if it brings you around for more kisses.” “It’s not just the lips—” “John?” I hear his mother’s voice. I open my eyes and see her staring at us. “Uh oh,” I say quietly. Cruise reaches down and takes my hand before turning toward her. “Hi, Mom.” “I wasn’t expecting to see you again today.” The way he shifts shows the awkwardness he feels. “Well, actually, I came by to see Do—Clara. She was teaching today and I was heading out, so I wanted to stop by and give her a quick”—he glances to me—“hi.” His mother adds, “And a kiss by the looks of it.” Her eyes dart between mine and her son’s as she walks closer. “I didn’t know you two were seeing each other. I didn’t even know you knew each other.” “We are,” Cruise replies while his arm slides around my waist and I slip mine around his middle. “It’s serious. I’m quite taken with her.” Like ice cream on a hot day, I melt into a puddle of mush. I couldn’t even conceive the feelings he evokes from me and here he is in all of his hot goodness, weakening me in the knees, and making my heart skip a beat or ten. His hand tightens around my ribs, causing me to look up. “I l—”

“We should have lunch, Ms. Eckerd.” His mother asks, “How’s Saturday for you?” I find myself pointing to my chest. “Me?” All the heartbeats Cruise made me skip come throbbing back nervously under his mother’s attention. I’m quickly put at ease when she smiles though. “Yes, I’ve been meaning to ask you to lunch for some time. I’m hearing wonderful things about you here at the school, but hearing how much my son is smitten by you, I’d like to get to know you better.” “I’d like that, too. Thank you.” “I’ve got your email and will contact you by Thursday.” “I look forward to it.” She turns her attention to Cruise, and asks, “Will you call me when you get back from New Haven?” He releases me and kisses her on the cheek. “Yes.” It’s good to see this side of Cruise. I thought he was gentle with me, but I can see a softer side of him with her as well. It makes me realize that he just respects women in general. Sure, he cares about us, but I know him well enough to know how he treats us is an example of how he treats others. My feelings are blooming and are starting to blossom beyond the I care about you phrase we shared. I feel him inside me, taking over the weak parts and being the bond that holds me together.

Every day, every hour, I feel stronger just from knowing him. His mother says, “I should get going. The Senator and I are flying to Michigan to help rally for the party tomorrow.” Her hand taps me as if we’re already old friends. “Never let my son go into politics. Once in, they are never really out. I swear it’s worse than the mafia.” She laughs. It’s amazing to see this side of her. She’s so at ease compared to the uptight personality she always projects in the fundraising meetings. I like her. Another something I didn’t expect to come from this relationship with Cruise. A bonus. She adds, “Be careful on that machine. It worries me sick to think about you on it, but I learned years ago that it was of no use to argue.” Turning to me, she smiles. “Maybe you can change his mind about the motorcycle. Anyway, I’m off. Chat soon.” “Goodbye.” When she goes, Cruise takes my hand and we walk back to his bike. Taking his helmet in the other hand, he asks, “How do you feel about the motorcycle?” “Your mom might think of me as a traitor, but I find it sexy. Will you take me for a ride soon?” “Do you know how hot it is to hear you say that?” “No, show me.” “Fuck, Dove.” He readjusts his . . . package. “I

wish I could, but if I do, you’ll be missing class and I won’t be going to New Haven.” “And the problem is?” Whisking me around by the hand, he brings me in. I will never tire of his hard body against the softness of mine. “You sound like me now. I’ve already corrupted you. See? You were warned.” My face is cupped, large hands bringing me to him until our mouths meet. My eyes fall closed and my hands find his shoulders to hold on to. Then I push lightly, freeing myself. “You cannot seduce me with your kissy lips and great body. I have a presentation due in class.” He chuckles. “Kissy lips?” “Yes,” I reply, pointing at his mouth. “That mouth is dangerous.” “And by dangerous you mean amazing.” “That’s exactly what I mean. That’s why I have to go.” I kiss his cheek and then skip two steps back, out of his reach. This man is definitely going to be the end of me in the most delicious ways. “You go take care of what you need to, and return to me sooner.” I take a few more backward steps and then blow him a kiss. He catches it and shoves the kiss into his pocket just as he swings his leg over the bike and mounts it. Good Lord, dirty thoughts come to mind. “It’s not good for me to feel this much for you.” “Sure it is. It’s only fair since I just told my

mother how taken I am with you.” He pulls the helmet over his head, but raises the visor. “I’ll be back in a few days. If you need anything, call me. I’ll be here for you.” I return because I don’t like the distance between us. Grabbing the leather lapels of his jacket, I squeeze a kiss through the open visor. “Good luck on your adventure. Text or call me when you can, but most important, don’t forget about me.” With the sun shining in his eyes, those kissy lips curve up at the sides. “Not even possible. I’ll be thinking about you the whole time I’m gone.” “Then don’t keep me waiting too long.” I’m given a kiss while his hands slide under my sweater at the back. “I won’t. Promise.” I place a kiss on his helmet and slowly back away. It hurts to leave. I’m in so deep. We stare into each other’s eyes as he starts the bike. He’s an angel dressed as the devil, making me want to commit sins against the heavens. After a quick wink, he lowers the visor, and then drives off. The Harley roars through the parking lot of the prestigious school, drawing attention from students and staff alike. They don’t matter to me. All that matters is the man that just stole my heart right out from under me as he rode away.

Inside my car, I click my seatbelt, and turn on some music. I like the company of noise when I’m alone. And I feel alone now. How is that possible? How is it that I’m ready to throw my dreams away in pursuit of his? I can’t do that. That’s not what I want and it’s not what he needs. Even though it’s so easy to get lost in the pools of rich caramel of his eyes, I need to stay focused on what’s best for me. I can never let a man control my destiny. Even a man with perfect kissy lips and a great ass. God, he looks so hot in leather. Smiling, I do allow myself to daydream about his ass. Surely there’s no harm in that. Well, other than to my heart that is. Besides his great ass, he’s got one heck of a swoony side. Who knew? Not me. I thought he was a hot guy who could help me in the area of sex, and becoming more experienced. I thought he’d be the one-night stand to get that out of the way so I could find out if I would ever be able to have sex . . . willingly. I should never have said what I said to my mom the other week. She knows I wasn’t a virgin. And she’s forever felt guilty. Cruise gave me more than the freedom to experience sex without fear or pain or violation. He made it special. Safe. Welcomed. Desired. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love.

Neither was he. But here we are. I owe him a lot more than dinner when he returns. I owe him the full truth before it comes out and destroys the foundation we’re building together.

18

Cruise

NEW HAVEN IS QUAINT. Not a word I typically use, but it fits, so there it is. A college town. Home of Yale University. The word may fit, but I don’t. Maybe that’s why I was given away. I wonder if my mother was a student or my father taught here, or the reverse. Maybe they were locals who had nothing to do with the university at all. Seems unlikely since I think most businesses revolve around the campus and serving the college population. I ride my Harley through the streets, the muffler not as loud as some, but louder than most hear

around here by the looks I’m getting. I don’t mind the attention on my bike, but on me is a different story. I look over at Alex riding like he’s king of the fucking world—smile on his face, hands light on the bar, firmly seated on the saddle. I’m going to have to give him a hard time by how much fun he seems to be having. He takes the lead and we turn down a street that leads us to what looks to be a park. Old buildings, I assume historical, are sprinkled across the scenery, but it’s a tall white steeple that stands out. Revving, I catch up with Alex. I signal to follow and we ride around until we’re parked close to it. Alex looks over at me as he takes his helmet off. “A baby in a basket, huh?” “Yeah. Fuck, that sounds ridiculous.” “Eh, sounds like they cared enough to want to keep you warm.” “I don’t even know my birthday. Not my real one.” He dismounts and hangs the helmet on the handlebar. “Look, man. That stuff doesn’t matter. You think it does. It doesn’t. The birthday you know now is within the realm of reason. It’s just a day. It’s not about that day specifically. It’s just a reminder to celebrate your life.” Setting my helmet on the seat, I think about what he’s saying. He’s right. It’s not about the day I

was born, but the days I’ve lived. Sometimes he’s really fucking smart. “Come on. Let’s go check out those steps.” And sometimes he’s an ass. I roll my eyes and walk with him. When I get closer, he hangs back. Alex was always good about giving me the space I needed or the time I might want to process stuff. While I sit on the front steps of Center Church on the Green, I stare into the great lawn ahead and then glance from one side and then to the other. “We’re surrounded by churches. It could be any of these.” He nods as he comes toward me, and props a foot up on the bottom step. “Churches might keep records of stuff like that. The guy I had looking into it said you might be right on the money with this church. Funny how you came to this one first.” “Guess we’re about to find out. You coming in or staying out here?”

THE FILE WAS SEALED . Apparently off limits without official word, though the staff couldn’t provide us with whose word was needed other than “check with the local police department.” But sometimes you meet the right person at the right time. For me, that was Annie Landers. I think she’s worked here since the church was built in

1812. She’s very calming in an odd way. The moment she sees me, she clasps her hands around one of mine, and says, “Welcome back.” “Thank you, but I’ve never attended church here. I was wonderin—” “You’re so familiar. Surely, you’ve been here before.” Without leaving room for argument, she turns and starts walking. “Follow me.” Alex and I exchange glances, his smile is in opposition to my confusion. We follow her down a set of stairs and down a corridor farther, and then into an office. Filing cabinets line the walls where she stops and turns around. “What year are we researching?” “How did you know I had questions?” “I overheard your conversation upstairs. Something about a baby.” Stepping closer, I lower my voice, which seems caught between wanting to know my beginnings in this world to hesitation of what I might uncover. “I was left on the steps,” I start, still embarrassed, especially in front of my friend. He has his own set of issues with his past, but I still feel shame in mine. “In a basket twenty-four years ago.” It starts slowly. First her smile grows and then light seems to enter her eyes as she clasps her hands in front of her. “Like baby Moses.” “Not quite.” “I knew I recognized you. Maybe not visually,

but something about you.” Her cheerfulness infiltrates her voice and she looks too pleased to interrupt. “What is your name?” “Cru . . . it’s John. John Cristley.” “John is a lovely name. Biblical.” As if her mind ventures back to business, she stares at the ceiling tiles like she’s staring at the stars. “It was a pleasant Thursday. I remember because although I was working late, I also remember summer sweeping in on the last cool breeze of spring. My late Henry, God bless his soul, was at home waiting for me.” Oh God, she remembers. Is this real? Am I ready for this? I feel like a piece of me is being slotted into place. It feels good, so I watch as she pulls a file and continues her story. “I was the one who found you.” “Annie.” “Yes, I’m Annie.” Annie. Annie. My car. Annie. I share a knowing look with Alex. I was teased so hard for naming the computer system Annie, but it always felt right. My guide in life, at least while driving. My Annie. This Annie helped chart my course, and she describes the night she found me as nothing less than magical. “I was told I was a baby found in a

basket on the steps.” “Yes. You were. What’s interesting though is that I usually leave through the back door. That night I wanted to check on the flowers in the pots we used to keep out front. There you were. Just as content as you could be.” “Do you remember the date?” “June seventeenth. I sat beside you not sure what to do. You smiled and cooed. I thought you were too young to do such things, but you surprised me. Your smile now is just as charming as then, John.” I didn’t realize I was smiling, but I’m inspired to continue smiling just for her. “Thank you.” After she sits, she instructs us to do the same. “Let’s see what we can find.” Her attention transitions to Alex. “And who are you?” “Alexander Kingwood the fourth, ma’am.” “That’s a very fancy name and I’m in New Haven, the home of fancy. I think I’ve heard of a few Kingwoods, but sometimes my mind gets fuzzy. Anywho, it’s very nice to meet you, Alexander Kingwood the fourth.” “Very nice to meet you, Annie.” She busies herself shuffling through the papers in the file, but the smile never seems to leave her face. “I remember smells of the night, but other things seem to escape me these days.” When she looks up, she adds, “Yes, here it is. One month old.

Well fed. No signs of abuse. Sweetest thing I ever did see.” She picks up a photo and sets it on the desk in front of me. The colors are dated and the photo a bit faded. A lump forms in my throat, and I struggle to speak. My parents have photos of me from when they adopted me and most of my life has been chronicled in the media in some form or another. That is, until I became the black sheep of the Cristley clan and stories were killed before reaching the public. But looking at this photo of me before I was a Cristley, before I was the me everyone sees, I feel pride in this little guy. I made it. I survived. Not just what happened last year, but life from the start. “Always a fighter,” Alex says. “Yeah,” I say. “Right from the start.” Annie says, “We only have the one photo and never did get the information on your parents from the police. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here.” “Yes,” I reply, holding up the photo. “Would you like to keep that?” I nod, still struggling to wrap my head around everything I’ve found out. She picks up the phone and dials a number. Whispering with her hand over the receiver, she says, “I’m going to call Luther down at the station. See what I can find out.” “Thank you.” “No need for thanks. I’ve waited for this day

for so long. This is like a miracle to me, knowing you not only survived but thrived in this world. I’m just glad I’m still around to see you. You are such a precious gift to the world.” I’m not sure what to say, so I go with how I feel instead. “You don’t know what hearing that means to me.” She starts talking to Luther, but reaches across and pats my hand. “What if we get a name? Are we going if one or both are here in New Haven?” Alex asks. “What do you think?” “I think we scope out the situation and judge on the fly.” “Sounds good.” Seems like the smart thing to do. Let’s just hope we get a real lead. Annie hangs up the phone. “Good news.”

ALL THE LIGHTS in the house were off by the time we tracked down this address. Alex and I checked into a motel, played pool at a local bar to pass time, and then called it a night around eleven. He came banging on my door just after nine in the morning. I’d been awake for hours thinking about if my life is about to change or if I’ll walk away as answerless as before. I should have called

Clara to help ease my mind, but I didn’t want to worry her. Just past ten, we now sit outside a little white clapboard house. When Annie said good news, what she should have said was, “This is just too amazing to be real,” because here I am. Everything about this day has seemed too easy, but I refuse to think the good stops here. Alex hasn’t said a word, nor has he indicated impatience. He just lets me be as I stare at the house that clearly needs a paint job. And new siding, window screens, and sidewalk. I finally swing my leg over and remove my helmet. I can’t delay the inevitable, so I walk up the path. The wood boards of the porch creak under my feet as I cross it and ring the doorbell. Maybe I should have called first. Maybe I should have gone home and done some online research. I could find a million reasons to not be standing here right now, but instead, I take a step back and wait, hoping someone answers. The door opens stopping my heart in the process. When I see the woman, I know. I’d recognize her anywhere—brown eyes, hair the shade of mine, olive skin, that familiar dip in my chin, and a tiny bump to her nose that’s not really noticeable, except to me since I see the same on mine.

“Yes?” she asks, but quickly adds, “It’s you.” What do I say? “It’s me.” Tears come from nowhere, her eyes filling as she stares into my mine. Straightening her shirt, she says, “If I knew you were coming, I would have dressed better.” “No, you’re fine.” She’s amazing. I’ve been raised to see beauty in wealth, beautiful clothing, and other pretentious bullshit, it wouldn’t matter what she is wearing. She’s . . . pretty. I move closer. “Do you know who I am?” She covers her smile and laughs, and it’s a sound of joy. She’s happy to see me. “You’re my son.” I’m her son.

19

Clara The Night Before . . . My feet stop on the sidewalk. For a brief second, I thought it was my father sitting on the steps of my front porch. I try to pull back my heart that’s threatening to burst through my chest, but it’s hard when you think the ghost of your worst nightmare has come back to haunt you. “What are you doing here?” I ask my brother. Vaughn stands, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Haven’t seen you in a few days. You usually stop by on Mondays. You didn’t.” “I’m flattered you missed me,” I tease. He’s obviously not in a good mood. Moody

teenager is an understatement when he grinds his teeth. “Why didn’t you come over?” I hold the keys in one hand and my school bag in the other as I start forward again. “I had a date.” Trying to sidestep the subject as I walk around him, I add, “I swear you grow a foot every time I see you.” He’s a full step taller than me now. “A date with that guy? Cruise?” “Yes.” I don’t bother mentioning that we’ve been dating for a while now as I insert the house key into the lock and open the front door. Seems like it’s not the right time judging by his surliness, and I like the privacy. That’s something I’ve never been afforded before. Not that I want to keep Cruise a secret. Quite the opposite. I feel the flutters in my stomach when I think of him. I’ll share him soon enough, but for now, he’s all mine. He follows me inside. “I’m not sure about him.” I click on the living room light as I head for the coffee table to set my stuff down. “Why? What’s there not to be sure about?” “It’s just odd. You dating. And why was he dressed like that at the restaurant?” “I don’t remember what he wore that night.” Black sweater. Black jeans. Charcoal jacket that hinted at midnight. My dark knight. “Like what?” I walk into the kitchen. “I don’t know,” he says, sitting down at the small kitchen table. “Like an uppity Baynard

prepster.” While filling the kettle, I laugh nervously, feeling weird admitting Cruise is alum of the school. “I saw his car. What does he do that he can afford a car that costs over one hundred grand?” “What?” The stove clicks until the gas burner catches. “Yeah, I looked up the make and model. It starts around one hundred and thirty-two K. I have a feeling his isn’t the base model.” Cruise and I haven’t gone out a lot, both of us preferring to hang around here or his place, but the few times I’ve ridden in it I noticed the luxurious details of the console and buttery-leather seats. “Yeah, probably not the base model.” “So?” “So what?” “Answer my question. What does he do, Clarissa?” “Don’t call me that.” “Sorry, Clara.” The way he says my name makes me look up. “What’s your problem?” Standing up, he comes over until he’s a foot in front of me, shadowing me from the light. I want to blame being a teenager on his irritable disposition, but deep down, it feels like more. “No problem as long as that guy stops hanging around you.” “What are you talking about?” I step to the side but he mimics me. Then to the other, trapping me.

“You know what I’m talking about. He’s getting too close for comfort.” “Whose comfort?” Looking up at him, I don’t see my ally. I see my enemy. My voice trembles and my hands shake as I watch the transformation in him—my brother turning into my father. Trying to hold on to any power I can, I don’t want him to see how he intimidates me. “Yours or mine?” The back of his hand lands squarely across my face sending me to the hard linoleum. Tears sting my eyes as I cover my heated cheek, as he grunts, “Mine.” I wasn’t wrong when I saw my father on the front steps tonight. He just goes by a different name now—Vaughn. “Your comfort?” I ask through watery words, my strength evaporated. I can see the struggle in his eyes—a mixture of shock that he hit me and . . . pride. “My comfort and my property.” Property? His property? No. No. No. No. Scrambling to my feet, I will not show weakness. I refuse to fall under his demands. This time I will fight. For my life if necessary. But he’s my brother. How is this possible? How am I here again? I back to the corner of the kitchen, with a million conflicting questions firing in my mind, until the knife drawer is behind me. “What are you doing? What are you saying?”

His pinpoint pupils are targeting me. “Finishing what has to be done, Clarissa.” The phrase my father used echoing in my head. “This has to be done, Clarissa.” “No, Vaughn.” I’m cornered, so I plead, “You’re better than him. Something’s made you angry. You’re hurt, but you, we, are better than him. We can change our fate.” “No, we can’t. He made us who we are.” “Look at me. You’re not him.” Is he on drugs? His chest is thick with a fury that needs releasing. Please don’t let it be released on me. “You’re just tired. I can see the dark circles under your eyes. Go home, Vaughn. Get some rest. We’ll talk soon. I’ll come to the house tomorrow, and we can talk.” And in the blink of an eye, I see my brother again. “You’ll come over?” “Yes, but I want you to go straight home. Okay?” The little boy I once hid under my bed to avoid my father from beating him for not eating everything on his plate returns, remorse sewn into the lines of his forehead as if he suddenly remembers who I am. “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay,” I say, but it’s not. It’s so not okay. The nightmare of that night that I had tucked away in some hidden place hoping to never think of it again resurfaces. Vaughn was ten. I was raped

while he hid under the bed. When it was over, I lay there still like I was told as he pulled Vaughn out from under the bed and dragged him into his room. I heard my brother’s screams but my body refused to move. Couldn’t move. It hurt too much. The trauma to my mind was more powerful than what was done to my body. The next day I saw the bruising and welts as I covered Vaughn with lotion. I wasn’t allowed to treat him with a healing cream, so the lotion my father had given me for Christmas was all I had. The scent—jasmine—makes me vomit to this day. Did my father get what he wanted—a disciple to his church of pain? Can I save Vaughn from repeating the lessons he learned? Or is it a matter of genetics? Like father. Like son. I’ll say anything I need to save myself. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I don’t touch him, but I guide him to the door, and strangely, so different to how he entered not ten minutes before, he willingly follows. “I’m sorry I hit you. Things got out of hand.” Memories come back like a flash. Vaughn’s mentor showing only one weakness—remorse. And that was only twice. “I didn’t mean to do that, Clarissa.” He uses both of his hands to push my sweat-soaked hair away from my face, and then he reaches to untie my hands from the rail of the bed frame. “I’m sorry. Things got out of hand.”

I don’t move. Not my eyes though they remain open. Not my mouth though it remains closed. Silent. Not my body because I know the pain that follows if I do. . . . the door closes and I lock both bolts. Staring into my house, my haven, the place that used to feel safe, I slide down the door and land on the hardwood floors. Then I cry. Two minutes. That’s all I give myself. That’s the only allotted time for pity. Habit. Damn it. I can cry if I want to. No one is here to stop me. No one, but my terror, as if the monster will return to punish me. My father won’t, but it seems Vaughn might. How did this happen? Why now? Why today? After a sad attempt to try to pull myself together, I grab my phone to call my mom. After six rings my call goes to voicemail. “Mom, call me. Something’s wrong. Love you.” Getting up, I’m tempted to call Cruise. He said I could. Anytime. For any reason. But I don’t want to worry him. I also don’t want him to be exposed to the real hell my life is beyond these walls. He’ll return for me if I call. I know he will, but I’ll feel terrible for taking him away from what he

left to do. I’m curious to what that is, but I don’t know if I have a right to ask. I haven’t known him very long, but I know that Cruise doesn’t lie. He’ll tell me, but I want him to tell me when he’s ready. Exhaling a long breath, I swallow hard. My hands are shaking as I go to the kitchen for ice and then my bedroom. I should lie down, but the place I’ve felt the safest has been violated. Maybe I should leave. But go where? The campus library? The bookstore? My head is pounding. It’s been a long day and after facing what I just did with Vaughn, I need to try to think clearly. I’m not sure if it’s drugs or posttraumatic stress syndrome he’s suffering from, but I have to put an end to it before it’s too late. I refuse to lose my brother to some fucked-up gene passed from father to son. Dropping to my knees, I say a quick prayer. This time it’s not for the cursing that came too easily, but for my brother.

P USHING AWAY FROM THE COUNTER , I pace circles around the large island of my mom’s kitchen. “We can’t ignore his behavior. Where is he? What is he doing?” When I stop, I cross my arms over my chest, but keep checking the front door to make

sure he doesn’t catch us talking about him. “Mom?” She sets the spatula down, leaving the cookies on the sheet, and sighs in annoyance. “I hear you, Clara, but I’m thinking. I don’t have all the answers. If I did, I would have handled it already.” “What do you mean already? I thought his behavior was him acting out, him being a teenager.” Turning her back to me, she continues removing the cookies and placing them on a plate. “You’ve only seen him in short periods, over dinner a couple times in a month. I live with him. I see it. I see how he’s changing. Agitated since that man sto—” “What man?” I rush to the counter and yank the spatula out of her hand. “What man, Mom?” The action startles her and she turns to me. “Clara, calm down.” “No,” I say, raising my voice. “I won’t calm down. Vaughn hit me.” “What?” “We can’t treat him like a baby. Something is going on with him and we need to sort this out.” Then I ask the question I haven’t wanted to face all afternoon. “Has he hurt you or Toby?” As if she hears my littlest brother crying, she lends an ear toward the doorway to the rest of the house. “Not Toby.” My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. “You?”

“It was just a little pushing. Nothing I can’t handle.” I rub my hands along my eyebrows, closing my eyes. Vaughn isn’t home, but when I look back at her, I still whisper, “It’s a cycle of abuse. Something he’s learned through example. We have to break it, Mom.” Nodding, she says, “I know, but I thought I could deal with it and put it to rest.” Touching my cheek, she rubs gently. Her forehead is riddled with unforgiving lines that years of fear and worry have carved into her skin. “I’m sorry you were hurt. I should have told you.” “Warned me, you mean.” “Warn—” The front door opens and we share an allknowing glance before Vaughn sees us. “Hey,” he says, skeptically. Managing my tone, I keep it even. “Hey.” The door is slammed shut. “What are you doing here?” Dumping his backpack on the floor by the door, he walks to the recliner and flops down, then flips the footrest up. “I said I’d come by, so here I am.” He clicks on the TV with the remote in his hand, not acknowledging me. It’s how my father treated us. Rage surges inside me and I grab the remote, throwing it to the far end of the couch.

The chair comes flying up and his hand rises into the air. “What the fuck?” My body recoils, my back arching down, and my head tucking under my arms. The expected blow doesn’t come, but my mom’s voice does. “Sit. Down. Vaughn.” I take a shaky breath and dare to look up just as he sits down in the leather chair. Peeking over at my mom, she exhales a long, slow breath, and looks at me. “We aren’t going to be that family anymore. We’re in this together. We all suffered at the hands of abuse of that despicable man.” Turning her attention to Vaughn, she points her finger at him. “If you ever raise a hand to any of us or anyone else, I will handle you myself. Do you understand?” The threat isn’t veiled. She’s not a weak person. My father threatened to kill her constantly. She stayed alive and probably kept us alive too. He says, “I’m sorry,” but the remorse I heard and saw last night isn’t present today. My mother sits on the couch closest to him, taking his hand in hers. “I love you, Vaughn. You can tell me anything and I will do whatever you need me to do to help. What’s going on with you?” “Nothing,” he mumbles and tugs his hand out of hers. Her sad sigh follows and she looks to me where I’ve taken cover behind the other side of the couch, standing behind it. “A man has come by twice to

tell us your father is in debt to him.” “But he’s dead,” I say. “He said the debt is still owed. He either wants his money back or what he paid for to be delivered.” I’m almost hesitant to ask in fear of what the answer might be, but we have to resolve this matter. “What did he pay for?” “He didn’t say, but he paid three hundred thousand dollars for whatever it is.” Gasping, my eyes bulge. “That’s insane!” Vaughn kicks the footstool down abruptly and stands. Tracking him to the window, he stops, and I can see it then. The weight of the world is pressing down on him. He’s too young to bear such a burden. My mom replies, “Yes. His insurance policy was only worth two hundred fifty thousand dollars, which, as you know, we sunk into the houses. So even if we sold them, we won’t have enough.” I didn’t realize my body had gone slack and the arm of the couch was holding me up. Not until I realized I needed to sit down. Fumbling my way around, I drop my head into my hand. Vaughn says, “We don’t have much time left to figure this out.” My mom adds, “I don’t know what to do.” In that moment the change in Vaughn becomes apparent. He’s stepping into the “man of the

house” role of our family, and horrifyingly, he’s misunderstood that role to include violence. How do we undo that? “How much time is left?” Vaughn looks straight into my eyes. It’s sad to see, but his innocence is gone. A cold, hard replacement is firmly intact. “Not more than a week or so. He didn’t give a date, but he said by mid-month.” “What does that mean?” Panic rises inside. “What will happen?” When my mom is about to respond, Vaughn holds his hand up and cuts in before she can speak, “I don’t know, but I’ll do the best I can.” My mom and I speak in unison, “What?” He nods, taking in the backyard with some foolish pride that this family is his to protect all on his own. Giving us a look that’s too familiar from eyes that match his, he says, “I’ll take care of it.” I stand in protest. “You will not. I’m not willing to let you ‘take care’ of anything. You’re a kid—” “And you’re a fucking woman,” he roars, hitting the blinds, which then come toppling down. Then we hear the cries from the back bedroom. Toby. But we all stare in a standoff, my mom and me against Vaughn. Although my heart is racing, I keep my voice low and ask, “Are you on drugs?” His glare is daggers straight to my heart. I’ve seen that stare too many times in my twenty years. “Don’t question me, Clarissa.” He releases a harsh

breath, and then adds, “The baby is crying.” My mom stands from the couch and hurries past me and down the hall. Protective. Love. Care. Friendship. Even motherly. I’ve felt all those things for my brother, but now I have to add hate to the list. Right now. Right here. I hate him. Hurrying to the coatrack, I snag my purse and sweater, and open the door. To my back, he says, “Watch yourself, Clarissa.” I whip around. “Don’t threaten me, Vaughn.” “It’s not a threat. Keep yourself in check.” “I don’t even know what that means.” He turns his back to me, the aggression leaving his body as if he was possessed and now he’s free. How do we undo this? “Just go, Clara.” I do. I go because horror has returned in the form of cutting words and physical violence. I go because tears are filling my eyes and I don’t want to cry in front of him. He’ll take that weakness and feed off it to build his strength. But most of all, I can’t see Toby. I’m in no place to put on a fake smile to keep him from being scared. He reads me too well. Today another place of safe haven has been

tainted. I feel sick with fear. Again.

20

Cruise

MY KNEE IS BOUNCING and my fingers seem to be on a mission of their own by how they’re tapping against my leg. I can’t hide my nervous energy. When I look at Alex standing at the window, he shakes his head just enough for me to get what he means. I stop my hand and my leg and look across the table. My mother is drinking tea and she takes it exactly the same way my mom does. She’s not dressed in an expensive blue suit and every strand of her hair is not perfectly in place, but she’s real and she’s mine. The shape of her mouth I recognize from

seeing my own. Her hair is a bit lighter, but I think that might be from coloring than from genetics. The same shade of brown stares back into mine. Christine Amelia Braddock. The woman who gave me life. I can’t stop myself from thinking of Dove. Different meaning, but same phrase. The woman before me is so much the same, but here we are lives, maybe even worlds apart. She says, “I watched the news every time they showed you on TV.” I’ve been juggling between hurt from being abandoned and joy from finding her since I arrived. It’s all a clusterfuck of emotions that I’m trying to hide. “You knew where I was?” Her gaze goes to the mug on the table as sadness comes over her expression. “I did. I saw an interview with your . . . with the kind people who adopted you. Since your family was in the public, I could keep up with you when I was strong enough. Sometimes, I wasn’t.” Alex says, “I’m going for a ride. I’ll be back shortly.” I’m grateful to have a friend who can read me without a word. Once he’s out of the house, I look at my birth mother and ask, “Why did you give me away?”

“It’s a regret I have every minute of every day.” Straightening her shoulders, she adds, “I would have regretted keeping you more, though. I could have never given you the life you have.” “I have a life, but I didn’t have the love a kid needs.” The response comes without permission and I’m even surprised by the anger in my voice as if she’s to blame for the assholes I’ve lived with all my life. “If I would have known—” “What?” I look at her, but then shift and look around the house. “What would you have done?” “Cruise.” My eyes return to hers. “I don’t know. I gave up my rights to have a say in your life, but I didn’t give up my love for you.” “Do you ever wonder how it could it have been? What I was like, not on your TV, but in person?” “All the time, but where does that leave me? Heartbroken and sad. But you became the son of a senator and his wife seems truly lovely.” I don’t want to feel bad and I’m not here to make her feel worse. I don’t know what I want or expected, or even need from her, but this makes me uncomfortable. I’ve felt off for a long time, but all that “off” seems to want to place blame on her. I take a deep breath and blow out. “I’m happy to meet you.” Her smile returns. “I’m happy to meet you, too,

again. Would you like to hear about your father?” “Yes. And more about you.” “I have photo albums in the living room.” She gets up and I follow. When I sit, she goes to her bookcase and pulls a wide, cream-colored photo album from the shelf. I didn’t know people still used those, much less print pictures to put in them. She sits on the couch next to me with the album on her lap. Before I have a chance to see the first photo, she says, “He was a marine.” “Was?” “He was killed while serving overseas.” Like a punch to my gut, I feel so disappointed. I can’t change things, but I so wish I could now. She opens the album and a large photo of him is set under clear plastic. The photo, like the album, is worn and dated. I may have so many features in common with my mom, but the others are from my dad. Her finger runs over the edge of the photo as if it were him in the flesh. “What was his name?” “Tucker Braddock.” There’s lightness to her voice when she says his name. She turns a page and there are six photos of him in his uniform, most smiling, some more serious. “He wasn’t from New Haven. I don’t know where he was stationed. He couldn’t tell me. Covert operations or something like that.”

“So what you’re saying is my father was a badass?” She laughs, and I love her smile. I prefer the smile to her sadness. “Yes, he was, but he was also so much more. He was . . .” Seeming to remember him in the fairest light, the smile may soften, but her eyes are bright with memories. “He loved me. He used to tell me two more years and then he would be out of the military. We bought this house for him to fix up when he got out. The money I received from a policy after his death, helped pay it off. I just couldn’t bear to sell it. Even after his death, I couldn’t bare to sell. He loved it here.” “How often did you see him?” “Every free day he had and if he had more than four hours off, he was hanging out with me at the library or the diner where I worked, just to spend time with me. He was quite the charmer. I skipped classes sometimes just to spend an hour with him.” Tucker Braddock. Cruise Braddock. John Braddock. “Did I have a name before I was given . . .” I don’t finish. I imagine this topic is as touchy for her as it is sensitive for me. “Yes, I named you after your father, and my father who died when I was young. Tucker David Braddock.” Tucker David Braddock.

“I don’t know what to say to that.” “That’s okay. It’s a lot of information, heavy information at that.” “I have a million questions, but my mind is a little blank right now.” I laugh. “So I’m not sure what to say.” “I feel the same. I was wondering if maybe we can meet again? With the initial meeting out of the way, maybe we’ll be better equipped a second time.” She’s probably right. “I’d like that.” I didn’t even expect to meet her, so I’m feeling like a failure on knowing what to ask. Looking back at the album, I point to him. My dad is holding up a photo. “What is that?” “That’s you. It’s an ultrasound picture I sent him. He was so proud when he found out we were having a baby. I could barely keep him on the phone. We only had three minutes, but he spent it telling every marine around him how he was going to be a father.” As much as I like hearing about him, I can’t help but feel another shoe is about to drop. “Did we ever meet?” “No.” She tears up and her shoulders fold forward. “I’m sorry.” “You don’t need to apologize.” I’m tempted to reach over and comfort her, but I’m not sure what to do. But when she sucks in a trembling breath, I

cover her hand with mine. “I’m sorry for your loss.” “I’m sorry for yours. I wish you could have met him. He was a wonderful man. So strong and kind. His heart was bigger than his large build. You look so much like him. It almost hurts. He was just twenty-four when he died.” My age now. That fact is haunting. “How old were you when you had me?” She relaxes, not moving her hand. “I was twenty-one. The summer after my junior year at Yale.” She turns the page, and while looking at the photos, she adds, “I came here on scholarship. I think we met the day I arrived. I went to the store to get a few groceries. I walked down to the local store and he was coming out. He followed me right back in and talked to me while we walked every aisle. It sounds creepy. It wasn’t. I call it our first date. We were together only a year the first time he was sent over . . . I’m not sure where he was sent. He came back and asked me to marry him. One year to the day we met, we were standing in front of a justice at the courthouse.” She swipes under eyes, and an embarrassed laugh comes out. “Some photos look like the desert. Some are the base camps. I guess it really doesn’t matter. Knowing where he was or where he died that won’t bring him back.” Looking around the house, I start noticing the

small details, the lack of family photos, the abundance of cookbooks, a basket of yarn and knitting needles, and women’s shoes next to the front door. “Did you remarry?” “No one gets a love like that twice in a lifetime. I dated once under pressure from friends, but nothing came of it. My love for Tucker is too great to forget.” “Did you forget me?” “Never.” The album is closed and set aside. “I’m just going to cut to the biggest question I know you have. Why did I give you up for adoption?” “Yes. I’d like to know.” “When I found out I was pregnant, I only had your father. My parents were across the country and divorced. I had no money to see them and they had less. Tucker was thousands of miles away. My family was worried I’d wasted the opportunity I’d been given. I wasn’t given Yale. I earned it. Without your father, I lost myself in grief. You were the sweetest little baby. Everyone who saw you commented on how cute and handsome you were. And how much you looked like your dad. I could see it. I can see it now too. As much as it made me happy to hear, it broke me every time I did. On top of that, I missed too much school and had to drop my classes and get a job. It sounds like excuses now, but I need you to understand how much I

loved your father.” “All right.” “I lost him the week before I had you. I was on my own with no one to turn to. My part-time job fired me for missing work the day you were born.” When she looks at me, she says, “I couldn’t afford my bills between the pregnancy and school. Your father had been sending me money but he didn’t make much.” Pausing to get lost in her thoughts, she smiles but it’s not one of joy. “We thought love was enough, but when he died . . .” “I understand why you did it.” “I didn’t want to give you away. I just thought it was the only way for you to have a good life, a life I couldn’t give you back then.” “You left me at the church.” “Every agency wanted a fee. Usually the adopting family pays it, but without a family in place . . . I was scared and didn’t understand, so I set you on the steps where I knew this sweet older lady worked.” Annie. Christine is nervous, her hands twisting together. She was younger then than I am now and I’m not ready for a kid, much less raising it by myself. “I’m not judging you. You did what you felt was best. I know that.” Sitting forward, I ask, “Why did you stay in New Haven?” “Just in case you or Tucker ever returned

to me.” “But he died.” “Not in my heart.” She’s left me speechless a few times, but that last response hurts the most. I hug her. I embrace this woman for loving me enough to know that sometimes love is not enough to keep dreams alive. I squeeze her to me for loving my father till this day with not just her heart but with her soul. I may have been born through grief, but I was conceived from love. I have no right to ask for more. The love she has for my father is the love I inherited. My heart has the capacity to love greatly, and I intend to. I used to be envious of Alex and Sara Jane’s relationship. They walked through hellfire for each other without thinking twice. Great love, like Christine and Tucker’s. I smile because I’ve found that. I’ve found my savior, my great love, my little dove. I thought I was empty, lonely, because I didn’t know where I came from. Sitting here with my arms full of all the love I was given from before I was born, I realize I’ve found what I was searching for—not just the answers to questions that have plagued me about my birth, but great love. And she’s sitting at home probably wondering where I am. “I should hit the road.” “Oh,” she says, leaning back. “But we can see

each other again?” “Definitely. I’d like that. I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, too.” A wide smile cracks through her concern. “I’d like that very much.” The roar of Alex’s motorcycle is obvious as he approaches the house. “I guess it’s time.” We exchange numbers and I hug her again at the door when she walks me outside. She waves at Alex and he returns one. I’m almost to my bike when I stop, and turn back. “Soon, okay?” “Soon.” We don’t need a goodbye. The one twenty-four years ago was enough for both of our lifetimes. She loved me so much she gave me away. Now I know my worth. Bumping fists with Alex, he asks, “You okay?” “Better than I’ve been in forever.” “Good. Now let’s get going or Sara Jane’s going to kick my ass for being gone all day.” “She’s a real hard-ass,” I tease. She’s not at all. “Stop talking about my girl’s ass, and let’s ride.” I mount my bike and settle into the saddle. Revving my Harley, I nod twice to Alex and then, unlike our regular formation, he waits for me to take the lead. I take off and he follows behind. At the stop sign at the end of the street, he slows down beside me and comes to a stop. “You

didn’t think I’d let you lead the whole way, did you?” Laughing, I lift my visor. “Race you home.” “Yours or mine?” “Clara’s.” He chuckles. “Fuck, you’re sunk.” With my hand over my heart, I reply, “In the best of ways.” Bastard takes off leaving me in his dust. My competitive side rages inside, but it’s my best friend, my brother, so I’ll let him win this time. My prize will still be waiting at the finish line.

21

Cruise

R IDING BACK from New Haven gave me a lot of time to think about my birth mom, my dad, the mom who raised me, the Senator, and my life in general. I was well aware of how hollow my existence had been: fast cars and faster women, and nothing to ever fulfill a deeper need. Being away from Clara for twenty-four hours, I can tell there’s a difference in me. She’s messed with my molecules, the atoms of my heart aligning with hers. She’s burrowed herself into my chest, penetrating my cold heart, letting the sun shine in. I welcome her warmth wholeheartedly. When I reach the edge of town, there is only

one place I want to be and that is with my Dove. I don’t go to the penthouse for clean clothes or a shower after a day of riding. Alex turns off, heading home and I ride straight to my Dove’s house. Without giving her advance notice, I’m greeted with a messy bun, face clean of makeup, tight jeans, and a tighter tank top worn without a bra. Cocking my eyebrows up, I shift to make space for my growing hard-on. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” With flair, she twists her hips and kicks the door open wider. “Get in here and kiss me.” Fucking sexy as all get out. With a head full of bad intentions that will feel so good, I move forward, grab her around the waist, and put her over my shoulder. Her laughter echoes behind us while she drags the back of my shirt and jacket up and dips her fingertips into the back of my jeans. “I take it you missed me?” Although her body slightly tenses, she replies, “I missed you so much.” Sentimental? Sad? I’m not sure what emotion I hear in her voice. Flipping her in front of me, her legs wrap around my waist and I hold her ass. “I missed these pretty eyes.” Leaning in, I kiss her. She rubs my biceps. “I missed these arms and might have had a dream about them.”

Her lips meet mine again but this time she doesn’t sit back after. I like where this is going. Giving her ass a hard squeeze, I say, “I missed this fine ass.” Kiss. “I missed . . .” She drags the pad of her finger across my bottom lip. I bite it. She jumps but smiles. “These lips.” Kiss. “Where did you miss these lips?” “Right here.” Her body wiggles against mine, the heat between her legs warming my abs. “Fuck, I need to be inside you.” I carry her the rest of the way into the bedroom and toss her on the bed. “Tell me you’re wearing those tiny white panties of yours.” She pops the snap on her jeans and slides the zipper down just enough to flash me. “You mean these?” Jesus. Fucking. Christ. “Take your jeans off before I shred them with my teeth.” Her eyes are set on my straining cock. I drop my jacket and tug at the back of my collar, pulling my shirt off over my head. Shoes, and jeans come off even quicker. Hers don’t come off fast enough, so I give her a helping hand by tugging at the ankles. When that fine ass of hers lands on the floor, I bend to pick her up just as fast. “Fuck, sorry about that. Are you okay?”

The shock on her face—wide-open tempting mouth to wide eyes—morphs into a smile and laughter. “Oh my God, Cruise. You’re so rough—” “I didn’t mean to yank you off the bed.” With my hands under her arms, I right her to her feet. “Damn tight jeans.” “I was going to say that I kind of like it.” “You do?” Even with her ankles caught up in her jeans, her hot little body presses to mine. “With you, I do.” Trust. It’s more than a word we talk about. It’s found together. She steps out of her jeans and climbs back on the bed while I watch her. “You’re sexy as fuck.” Flipping onto her back, her hand dips under her tank. “Less talking. More . . .” She smiles but doesn’t finish the sentence. Toeing my socks off, I then climb on the bed right over her. Resting my dick against the hot spot between her legs, I ask, “More what, Dove? Tell me what you want.” There’s a pause, just long enough for me to take a breath. “I want.” When she bites her lip, I say, “Tell me. I’ll do anything you want.” “I want your mouth on me down there.” Down there. I’ll take it. That’s more than I could get out of her when we first met. “Down

there on your pussy?” She nods, and I take a slow descent downward after giving her a quick kiss. Spreading her legs, I eye those little cotton undies of hers. I exhale to slow my hunger for her. Not able to resist for long, I dip my head down and rest the bridge of my nose against the apex of her softness. The tips of her fingers slide against my scalp and I close my eyes and inhale what’s mine deep into my lungs. Opening my mouth, I slide my jaw together while scrapping my teeth against her. Her flat stomach rises against the palm of my hand and I hold her down when she moans. I want to eat right through this fabric to get to her, but I want to eat her more. “I missed you,” I say, kissing the inside of her thigh. She tugs my hair to get my attention. When I look up, she says, “Come here.” Sentimental for sure. I recognize it in her tone, because I feel it being back with her. When I’m hovering over her, I want to kiss her, but I want to hear what she wants more. Touching my cheek, she lifts up and I bend down, our lips meeting and our mouths open, our tongues move together like our bodies. “Is this what you wanted, Dove?” “Yes.” She’s gotten more adventurous sexually. Just

like our trust, it’s built over time. Rolling over, I lift my ass to remove my boxers. “You gonna take those panties off?” “I thought you were going to shred them?” “Thought or hoped?” “Both. When my dick springs free, she can’t keep from touching it. She’s fascinated. Like I am by her. The head is touched, causing my stomach muscles to clench in anticipation. I maneuver down until my knees are between her legs. “I want that top off too. Let me see those tits.” Her nipples are hard, even through the thick fabric of her tank. Her body’s reaction is a total turn-on. I used to be more careful how I talked, but together, we like a little dirty with the love we make. When she’s bare before me, I start kissing her neck and thrusting against her leg. Fuck, I don’t care. She’s hot and she’s my girlfriend. “You look so good, baby. Forgive me. I just want to make love to you.” “Make love?” She eyes me suspiciously. “Or fuck?” My breath stops as I stare at her. Is she going to pray her way out of that curse word? The sides of her lips curl and she sighs a breath of relief. Whispering, I say, “Fuck.”

“Then fuck me, Cruise.” “God, your mouth. I want to kiss it and fuck it.” “We have all night, but stop teasing me. My body feels empty without you.” Thank you, God, for sending me one of your angels. When she giggles, I catch her eyes on me, and she asks, “Did you just thank the Lord for me?” Damn, I thought that was in my head. “I did because I am. I’m grateful for you.” The feel of her hand caressing my cheek feels good, so I lean into it. “I l—care about you so much, Dove.” This is one of those times she has every right to be mad at me, but she’s not. She smiles. “I care about you, too, Cruise. So much.” Wriggling beneath me, she adds, “Please, babe. I want you inside me.” Reaching toward the nightstand, my forearm is grabbed. “Just us tonight.” I rest on my elbows. “No condom?” “No. I want to feel every part of you.” “You’re still on birth control?” “I am.” “If you’re sure.” “I am.” Running her hands through the hair on the side of my head, she says, “Only if you want to.” “I do. I really do.” I’ve never done this before,

but I want this with her. “Okay,” she replies with a smile. I wanted those damn sexy panties off minutes ago, so I could ravage her. Now the mood has shifted, just like our relationship, and I want to go back to taking it slow and appreciating every part of her body while romancing her mind. The tip of my dick touches her entrance and I push just enough to test her wetness. That wasn’t needed. She’s slick with desire. For me. Just like I’m hard. For her. Another inch deep and another kiss shared. Our tongues exploring each other’s mouths until I’m in to the hilt of her luscious body. “You feel so good.” Her arms wrap around me and she moves her hips. “Don’t stop. Keep moving, babe.” Our bodies slide together as a sheen of sweat covers us. I want to watch her face as she comes. I want to see how her body reacts, but my eyelids are heavy, the feeling of being buried inside my soul overcomes me and I close them. I thrust and she takes. She gives and I take. Never this good. So good. I kiss her once more, and then whisper against her shoulder, “Soul mate,” before biting down

gently. Adrenaline rushes my veins, my body fucking until I hear her fall apart and feel her body tremor around me. I let go, moving on instinct, driving toward that goal. I pour my heart and soul into her. More than physically, I give her everything I’ve been holding inside for her—my cares and love, my worries, and protective side. I’m so tempted to tell her, but drop down on top of her, my mind freed from burdens and black after I gave in to the brightness. “I could fall asleep right now,” I say. Stroking my head, she whispers, “You can.” She kisses me. “Sleep.” I keep my eyes closed, but I shift to the side so I don’t crush her. Licking my lips, I kiss her shoulder and then rest, my head next to hers. My arm tightens around her middle and I pull her closer, her back against my front, and hold her. I’m just about to fall asleep with a smile on my face when I hear her whisper, “I missed you.” I love you.

22

Cruise

I HANG up the phone and look inside the front window. Turning it over in my hand, I’m not sure what to think about that call. From the porch, I can see Clara walking through the living room, fresh out of the shower with wet hair. Watching her worry that bottom lip, I feel I might not be the only one with shit to settle. Do I want to open that door to my past? Am I ready? Is it time? Will it put it to rest once and for all? The screen of my phone lights up, a photo of Clara and me lying on a blanket in the backyard under the stars stares back me.

“Hey,” she says, causing me to look up. Standing in the doorway, she leans against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. “I need to talk to you about some stuff going on.” I slide to the left, giving her room on the swing to sit down. “Yeah? What’s on your mind?” She sits but keeps her eyes on her lap. “Talk to me, Dove.” That’s when I notice light bruising on her cheek. “What happened?” I can see her reverting to her secrets and the wall rising around her, but then she surprises me and opens up. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” “Was this here last night?” “I wore makeup,” she says, “I didn’t want you to come home to my mess. I need to talk to you about my brother. He’s been acting erratically. Not himself.” “Teenage hormones?” “It’s not hormones. It’s genes.” “Genetics?” I press her knees down as they start to find their way to her chest. She doesn’t need to feel vulnerable around me, and I don’t want her closing herself off. “My father’s to be precise.” Red flags fly up. “What are you saying? Did he do—” “He hit me.” “What the fuck? When?” I stare at her sweet

face where he hit her. “Two nights ago—” “You should have told me. I would have talked to him.” “I talked to him and he apologized.” “When I say talk, I mean punch in the fucking face. An apology is the least he should have done. Are you all right?” “I’m fine, but I need to go back to my mom’s house. I’d like you to go with me.” I’m sidetracked from her brother when she invites me to meet her family. This is a big step neither of us has formally taken. “Why are you going back?” “I didn’t get to finish talking with my mom and I feel like I need to try to talk to Vaughn again.” “No.” “No what?” I take her hand in mine and our fingers weave together. “You shouldn’t talk to him. You should have him arrested.” “My family needs me.” “I need you.” “And I need you. That’s why I’m asking you to be a part of this.” Leaning back, I push off with my feet. She likes to swing out here. She relaxes and when she’s relaxed, she opens up to me. “Cruise, it’s a lot to ask. I know this. It’s not under pretty circumstances, but I have to make sure my mom

and Toby are okay. And Vaughn.” What the fuck? “He hit you, Clara.” She’s withholding, looking away from me. “We’ve been through a lot as a family. He’s just acting out. I can’t give up on him at the first signs of difficulty.” “I admire your will, but what if he does worse to you next time?” No man or boy should ever hit a woman. I hate the Senator, but he never hit my mom. “He won’t.” “You don’t know that and I’m not willing to take the chance with your safety.” “You can’t stop me.” Her defensive tone catches me off guard. “You’re right. I’m not stopping you. I’m asking you not to go.” “I’m going, so I’m asking you if you will go with me.” “If you’re going, I’m going.” A winning grin appears. “Thank you.” I nod, but look at my phone again. She asks, “Who were you talking to?” “The family lawyer.” “Wow. What’s going on?” “Duty calls. I’ve been asked to make an appearance.” “What does that mean?” The space between us is closed and her head leans on my shoulder. I like

being covered in her. It makes me feel protected in a weird way, like I can hide away with her behind that curtain of silk. “It means the Cristleys have to come together as a family unit.” Sitting up, her surprise is evident in her expression, concern forming a line between her eyebrows. I’m tempted to rub it away, hating when I worry her, but I don’t because this is my life. “I don’t understand.” “My father has been rallying for his political party. Every so often, the family comes together to support his agenda. This time it’s an interview where he’ll discuss his life, his career, and the report will highlight his family.” “Your family is full of assholes.” She doesn’t flinch or drop to pray. “You’ve broken your habit with flying colors.” Smiling, she replies, “Yes. Your dirty mouth has a way of rubbing off on me.” I squeeze her leg. “I like rubbing off on you.” “Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about swearing anymore?” “Because we’re not. How much time do we have?” “Three hours.” “C’mon, let’s go rub off together.” “So dirty.” Waggling my eyebrows, I pull her from the

swing and lead her inside.

W ITH THE BLINDS closed and the curtains hiding the last of the light that wants to filter inside, I can see the stars. I tighten my arm around her back, her body curled around me, both of us comforted in the afterglow of our lovemaking. I don’t know how we got here so fast—love has a way of working its magic when you least expect it. The universe having pity on me, and finally showing me the light . . . or in this case, the stars on the ceiling. My little dove flew right into my life when I needed her most. When I had given up hope, along came Clara. She whispers, “What’s on your mind?” “The stars.” She shifts and looks up, her body not tensing much, but enough for me to notice. I say, “My sister Paige used to have stars like this in her bedroom. They covered her ceiling and down half her walls. We would lay on the floor in the middle of the room with my brother, Matty, and search for the constellations.” “Did she have the constellations mapped out on her ceiling?” “No.” I laugh. “But that didn’t stop us from looking.”

“Sometimes we have to hold on to faith. Just because we can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.” “Like you. That’s how I feel about you. Here we were in the same city, moving like magnets around each other.” “Until we crashed together.” She points at the ceiling. “There are twenty-one stars.” Her lips purse as she blows out and then blinks several times. “They gave me comfort, something to focus on when my mind couldn’t find a happier place . . . when bad things happened to me.” She doesn’t have to go into detail for me to understand it was during her darkest times that she found comfort in the stars above, even if they came in the form of plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars. “I’m okay, Cruise,” she whispers, the tips of her fingers trying to tickle my chest. The tensed anger filling my muscles slowly starts to drain away. She’s all right. Taking her hand, I bring it to my mouth, and kiss. She says, “Now they give me comfort for a different reason. There is one for each year of my life.” There’s no hesitation as she opens up. She’s never used her out—donut. I remain quiet, listening to all she’s willing to share. “One for each year I survived that monster, and thrived thereafter.” When her body becomes heavy against mine again, I say, “You deserve a sky full of

stars, Dove.” “Maybe one day I’ll have it.” She runs her hand over my chest and down lower, awakening my body. “How tired are you?” Taking her hand, I put it on my erection. “Wide awake.” She giggles, but slips out of my arms and moves down under the covers. Her hands wrap around the base of my cock and my balls tighten. When she takes the head in her mouth, I flip the covers off so I can watch my girl get me off. Hot. Wet. Tight. “This is what I hope heaven feels like.” Cold air seeps in when she smiles, but she closes her mouth around me and takes me deeper. I want to fuck her mouth, but I also worry I’ll hurt her. I’m aware of my size, and her small mouth, as much as it’s tempting to shove in until her throat closes around me. That’s something we still need to build up to. In the meantime . . . “Fuck, you feel amazing. You want to swallow because I’m about to come?” There’s just enough light to not only appreciate the view of watching her take me into her sweet mouth, but also see her eyes lift to meet mine. Lightning strikes, my body forcing my orgasm out. Holding her head, I thrust between her lips as they hold steady and tight around me until I’m free from the coiling and she’s swallowed around me.

“Fuck, Dove.” Lying back, my arms fall to the mattress beside me and I close my eyes. She doesn’t climb back up next to me, but on me. Her head rests on my chest, her perfect breasts against my stomach. I start to stroke her hair and try to regulate my breathing. I want to give her the words I feel inside, but I don’t want to do it after a blow job even if it is the best I ever had. She tilts her head to look at me. “It was good? I did all right?” “All right?” How does she not know how incredible that was? “C’mere.” I spread my arms open and she moves to cuddle against me. I kiss her swollen lips, and then say, “It was amazing. You’re amazing.” A smile in the soft light appears. “Thank you.” “Thank you.” “I want to make you feel good.” “I know you do. I want the same for you.” Shifting my arm up, I angle to move. “Let me show you how amazing you make me feel.” The taste of her on my tongue could make a dead man rise. I’m just a mere mortal, not immune to this goddess and her powers over me. Within minutes, her desire coats my mouth and my fingers and I lie back on the mattress closing my eyes and savoring her flavor. Her breath comes harsh, filling the dark room. I

open my eyes to see the stars glowing above me, and I smile, thankful for every last damn one, and say my own prayer for many more to come.

23

Cruise

I WORE WHITE FOR HER . A white shirt, and I even tucked it into my jeans. I guess the black I usually wear intimidates people. That was kind of the point. But for her family, I lightened my look. Second impressions, and all that. I kind of liked living our lives in seclusion, keeping the outside world at bay. After a week of rescheduling with her family, we were all available on the same night for dinner. It was probably best because last week I would’ve pummeled her brother into this week anyway. Dove is the only reason I’m calmer tonight. I straighten the shirt when we get out of the car. I’m calmer now, but just a bit. I don’t know what

bullshit they were fighting over. I only care about Clara’s wellbeing. I never would have hit Paige or Liz. However, I wouldn’t mind a few rounds with Fredrick, the fucking pussy. This past week was busy, which I liked. Alex has me overseeing a new development project downtown and Clara has been busy with her student teaching and classes. We were so normal that she kept pointing it out with a huge grin on her face. She finds joy in the most mundane things. I find joy in her. Holding her hand, she leads me to the front door, a mixture of excitement and fear flickering across her delicate features. She knows me well enough to lay the warning down before we reach the door. “Please don’t judge us too harshly. I know we can come off as different, but it’s because of what we’ve lived through.” “I wouldn’t judge you for that.” She stops and turns toward me. With her hands on my chest, she looks up into my eyes. “I know. That’s one of the reasons I lo—care about you. I just want you to like my family.” “I’m not going to lie. Your brother and I have business to discuss.” “Please just let it slide.” “I’m sorry, Dove. I can’t. But I will wait for another time if that will help you relax a little.” Perking up, she hugs me to her, her lips pressed

to mine. When she drops to her heels, she smiles. “Thank you. That’s all I ask.” She knocks lightly before opening the door. Peeking in like a neighbor overstepping her welcome, she tiptoes in with me walking in behind her. Her mom is in the kitchen to the left, her brother watching TV. The door closes and she announces, “We’re here.” Her mom looks back over her shoulder. “Hi. I didn’t hear you come in. I was checking the roast.” She comes over to us with an apron wrapped over her shirt and jeans. I like that she’s casually dressed. My parents were never casual, not even around the house. She hugs her daughter and then smiles at me. “It’s so good to see you again, Cruise. Clara has said the most wonderful things about you.” “Thank you. I hear the same about you, Mrs. Eckerd.” Waving me off, she says, “It’s Johnson actually. Long story. Anyway, hope you’re hungry. Dinner will be served soon, but make yourself at home in the meantime. Can I get you something to drink?” “Whatever Clara’s having is fine. Thank you, Mrs. Johnson.” Clara says, “I want wine to calm my nerves. We have beer if you’d rather have that.” “Wine’s fine.”

“I’ll get it, Mom. I know you’re busy. I can help you, too.” “Thank you, sweetheart,” her mom replies and returns to the kitchen. Clara sighs before leaving and looks between her brother and me. “Vaughn, you remember Cruise from the restaurant.” Not a question. A statement. His eyes dart to me and then back to the TV. “Yeah.” Clara says, “All righty then. Wine it is.” She heads into the kitchen and I’m not sure what she wants me to do. Stay here, follow her, or sit on the couch. I know I promised to lay off today, but the way he’s a grunting fucking teenager is already on one of my last nerves. I decide to make my presence known. When I sit on the couch, I see her littlest brother playing with the clothes in a laundry basket. I didn’t see or hear him when I arrived, which is really strange, considering most babies are noisy as fuck. He’s a cute kid, even if his father was fucking psycho. At least he won’t have to endure what his siblings did. Hopefully stars can just be stars for him. “What are you watching?” I ask Vaughn, not looking at the TV but at him. He’s wearing a skate shirt that looks like it’s seen better days, some beat-

up jeans with paint splatters near the ankles, and socks with holes in them. He doesn’t look like he belongs in this family, or perhaps Clara and her mother are better at keeping up appearances by the way they dress. I glance toward the kitchen where the two women are talking quietly so we can’t hear. Clara’s holding the filled wine glasses but doesn’t look like she’s going to deliver them anytime soon. Vaughn says, “What do you want with her?” The sound of his voice is not what I expected. Puberty seems to have come and gone with him. The deep tone to his voice might alarm others. Not me. “What?” “What do you want with my sister?” The question in and of itself is odd. I want her. That doesn’t seem like the answer I can give her family since it can come off wrong. “We’re dating, so I care about her very much.” “So I hear. I’m just not sure why.” “I’m not sure what there is that you’re not getting.” Leaning forward, I rest my arms on my legs and stare at him. “She’s never dated anyone. She’s fucked-up.” What the actual fuck? Narrowing my eyes at him, I can’t believe he said that. This jackass has balls the size of the Grand Canyon. “Don’t ever talk about her like that again.”

“Or what?” he asks, sitting forward. A fire’s been lit in his eyes, an excitement that shouldn’t exist. Clara’s right. I’ve seen people lit by drugs, and I think he’s high as a kite, or he’s out of his fucking mind. Either way, he’s a danger to my girl, and I need to make sure he’s kept away. I lower my voice and reply, “If you talk about her like that or touch her in any way ever again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?” “You talk like you have experience in the matter. Should I see if you can back that threat?” Clara’s voice comes from behind me. “Vaughn, shut up.” We turn to find her standing behind the couch staring daggers at her brother. He shrugs, then stands. “Fuck, I’m starving.” We watch as he leaves the room for the kitchen, thumping his brother on the head on the way. Her baby brother starts to cry, so she sets the glasses down and rushes to pick him up. “Shhhhh,” she tries to soothe him, and then kisses his head. “It’s okay.” She’s sweet to him, the love she has is clear by the way she treats him. They’re kind of cute together. I stand and start to walk over to meet the little guy but a family portrait on the mantle catches my eyes. The photo is of Clara, Vaughn, the baby, her mom . . . and her father. Her father. The one that abused them, raped her, beat them. Why the

fuck would they have a photo of him anywhere in this house? As if reading my mind, she frantic to explain, “We have it for pretenses, to hide our secrets that we don’t want the world to know.” Bumping against my arm, she gently pinches me to get my attention back on her. “My mom puts it out when people come by.” Reaching for it, she lies it face down. “I guess she thought she needed to for you. I haven’t told her that you know about him.” Something doesn’t sit right, a conversation we once had is triggered. “Chad was killed.” “My father was killed.” Lifting the photo up, I look into the eyes of the devil himself. My gaze bounces from his chin to his nose, his hair to the heavy lines on his face. I land back on his eyes, staring deep until the full picture of his features come into focus and I realize I know him. “It’s Johnson actually. Long story.” I fucking know him. “How did you say your father was killed?” She hesitates, and I almost expect to hear donut come from her lips, but it doesn’t. “I didn’t.” The sharp response makes me look her way. She’s bouncing the baby on her hip, but stops when she looks at me. The sleeping couple didn’t draw my eyes, the

baby in the crib by the window did. I stand over the baby, staring down. We’re about to murder someone, but not just any someone. Someone’s father. We did the research before coming here. We knew this fucker had a family—a wife, a teenage son, a college-age daughter. Holy shit! We never saw a baby in the records. There were no signs they had another child, but here it is —a girl or boy, I have no idea—but it sleeps peacefully, sucking a pacifier, not realizing its father is about to be taken out. This fucker and his partner are responsible for Chad’s death and Sara Jane being shot. I look at the bed and then to King holding the gun in front of him. If he pulls that trigger, the fucker’s dead on the spot. Jason stands behind him with his gun in hand at his side. I’m more than a lookout on this mission. I’m backup, but I can’t stop thinking about this baby. Staring at him is like seeing a reflection of myself. My own life altered around this same age when I lost my birth parents, or they gave me away. King’s not a killer. He wants revenge. So do I, but is this the way to go about it? Before that gun is fired, they should know that

there’s more than the fucker’s wife in this room. I click my tongue, getting my friend’s attention. They both look my way and I signal to the crib. King comes over and looks down. “Fuck,” is uttered under his breath. I’m not here to make decisions. I’ll leave that burden to bear on their shoulders. The last death was his reaction. I would have done the same. This death is a choice I’m not sure my best friend should make under these circumstances. He returns to the end of the bed and raises his arm. I’m here however he needs me, but my gut is twisted wondering if this is the right thing to do. I’m already going to hell for all the hell we’ve raised. What’s one more mark added to the tally? I wait by the window, making sure it’s clear and that no one starts snooping around my car. The gun is lowered, and he nods toward our exit. I jump out, my feet hitting the grass just as a shot rings out and the screaming inside that bedroom escapes the window and echoes in the night. . . . Whispering to Clara, I say, “We need to talk.”

24

Clara

I

FEEL SICK .

I’ve never seen Cruise look like this, much less sound like the world we built is about to come crumbling down. Toby starts pinching my nose and twisting. “Ow! No, Toby.” Grabbing his hand, I continue to bounce him on my hip and I try to amuse him, but he’s not having it. He starts crying. I look at Cruise, and say, “One moment. Let me give him to my mom.” He nods silently, then turns back to look at the photo of my father. Something’s wrong. Very wrong. I just hope it doesn’t sink us. I move around him to take Toby to my mom when Vaughn comes

back out, and says, “He wants his mother, Clara.” I suck in a breath that never makes it to my lungs. My throat closes as I stare at him. He adds, “Have you told your boyfriend all your secrets?” “Vaughn,” I warn, my feet unable to move. “What are you worried about, sis? He told me he’d kill for you. Do you think he would if he knew the truth?” “Shut up, Vaughn,” I say, my voice quivering. Why is he doing this? I feel like I’m on the edge of a breakdown. I can’t get to my knees with Toby on my hip, but if I could, I would be praying for this to not go any further than it already has. So much damage has already been done, but not to the point of destroying what Cruise and I have together. “Tell him, Clarissa. Tell him. See if your knight wants to stay and save you after he knows what you’ve been hiding.” My eyes flash back to Cruise, who asks, “Why did he call you Clarissa?” I’m quick to reply, “We need to talk.” “I know,” he says with a furrowed brow. “We do.” “Okay. We’ll go. Yes, we’ll talk about . . . things.” Suddenly looking unsure, he shifts away from the mantle and comes toward me. “What things? My thing?” “And my thing.”

The warmth of his hand on my arm is comforting, more so knowing it might be the last time I feel it. “What is going on, Clara?” “Just give me a minute. We’ll go. We’ll talk.” Reaching out, he caresses Toby’s cheek, instantly calming him. Toby happily babbles when Cruise says, “See you around, little guy.” His parting words to Toby give me an inkling of hope. I still feel sick to my stomach though. Toby reaches to touch his cheek and my heart clenches. Seeing them together is so sweet, the quiet acceptance before the storm. Always the gentleman, even under the worst of circumstances, Cruise says, “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Johnson. My apologies for having to leave so soon.” “No apology needed. Maybe another time.” “Yes, maybe.” I hear the uncertainty in his voice when he looks between us. Vaughn’s laughing like an idiot, and I look down in shame. Cruise opens the door and walks out, closing it behind him, so I take Toby into the kitchen. “I’m sorry you went to so much trouble.” It’s the first time we’ve had someone over since . . . since he was killed. Tonight was supposed to be the start of something wonderful for us, a time to work together and figure out how to help Vaughn, and now this . . .

My mom takes him from my arms and steps back to sit down. “I’m sorry, Clara. He seems really nice.” My chest shudders and I lean down to stop the panic attack beginning to drag me under. My mom rubs my back. “Talk to him. If it’s meant to be, it will be no matter what you tell him.” Through sobs, I ask, “Did you put out that photo?” “No. Vaughn did.” I nod, because I knew it. I just needed it verified. Standing up, I kiss my mom on the cheek and then Toby who’s slobbering from blowing raspberries. I wipe my mouth, dragging it across the back of my arm. “I’ve got to go. Bye.” “Bye, sweetheart.” I feel every ounce of sadness in her goodbye. Swinging the door open, I make sure to glare at Vaughn, who stands proud with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’ll pay for this.” “Actually,” he snarls, “you will.” “I hate you.” Three words I never thought I’d use with my brother. “Good. It will make things a lot easier that way.” “What are you talking about?” Nodding to signal behind me, he says, “You should catch up with him, break it off. It was never a good match.”

“You don’t know anything about him, or me, it seems. I have no intention of breaking things off with him.” “You’ll come to regret that.” “Your threats aren’t so veiled anymore.” “No, they’re not.” There’s no backing down for either of us. But I refuse to fear him. We’ve both done more than our fair share of submitting in our lives. Now we’ve tasted freedom, we’ve changed. I thought for the better, but glancing at my brother one last time before the door closes, I don’t know if it is for him. The death march plays in my head as I walk toward the car. Cruise is inside, the tinting too dark to see what he’s doing, although at this moment, I’d rather know what he’s thinking. He gets out when I approach and silently walks around the car to open my door. Please look at me, I silently beg, but am not rewarded with the rich browns I’ve fallen in love with. I slip into the car. “Cruise?” “Can we wait until we get home, Dove?” He always told me to be loud, not ever to be silenced again. Even when he has every right to request my silence, he asks me to speak. I nod, and then my head drops as I cry, because I realize he said home like we share one. My home being his home. Me being his home.

Him, my home. The door is shut and I try to stop the tears from falling before he gets in the car. I never deserved this man. I should’ve always known we could never be, not with all the secrets I’ve kept from him. When he settles into the driver’s seat, he starts the car and steers us onto the street. I hate the quiet, the stiff silence that fills the car. Unspoken arguments rage inside me until he reaches over and takes my hand. I ask, “Is it going to be okay?” “I don’t know.” Finally rewarded with his gaze on me, his smile is only surface deep. “I hope so.” Me too. I don’t say it out loud and wonder if I should. Should I confess all the love I feel for him that I’ve been carrying inside of me since the day he was brave enough to say, “Hey.” I was the girl nobody talked to until that Wednesday. That was the day I became somebody. His somebody. And he’s mine. My hand tightens around his because I’m not ready to lose the only man who’s ever treated me like I mattered. Despite him not saying the words, I know he loves me. He shows me. He listens to me ramble. He buys me macarons even though he thinks they are weird and chewy. He watches me

do boring stuff like study as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world to him, as if I’m the most interesting person in the world to him. When he parks in front of my house, he says, “I’ll come around.” I watch as he walks in front of the car, his eyes on mine the whole time. His face is so serious that I worry even more. What was it that upset him? Did I do something wrong? Was it me? Or Vaughn? Us arguing. I just wish I knew. The door is opened and he offers his hand. When I step out, he wraps me in his arms and kisses my head. I want to live and die in these arms. His strength is not just physical, but he’s an emotional warrior that is brave enough for the both of us. But I don’t know if it will be enough this time. Whispering into my hair, he says, “No matter what happens, no matter what is said in there, I need you to remember that I care about you more than anything.” His voice is even quieter when he adds, “More than anything else in this world.” Too choked up and too scared to speak, I nod, my cheek rubbing against the buttons of his white shirt. The door closes and the alarm chirps. He takes my hand because even in our wreckage, he’s still willing to connect with me. I only glance once at him while we walk to the door, and I see my own devastation marking his

perfect shirt. Black streaks of mascara and pink from my blush stain his chest. The loss of the shirt won’t bother him. He can afford to replace it with a thousand more. But what about me? When the secrets are out on the table, will I be as easily replaced? He has a key I gave him, since we always seem to stay here, and he unlocks the door. Opening it wide for me, I walk in with him right behind me. The door is closed, but not locked. I let my thoughts run away wondering if that’s on purpose for a quick escape or just what it is. Cruise goes into the kitchen while I sit on the chair in the living room. I hear the refrigerator open and then close, the crack of bottle top being popped and heavy swallows as he gulps down a beer. When I lean back and look over my shoulder, I can’t see all of him, but I can see enough. The bottle is set down on the tile countertop, and he rests both palms on either side of it. His head is dropped and the distress is written across his expression. I’m tempted to go to him. To try to ease his pain. To call a truce and use our safe word. But donut can’t save us now. Only the words that will be too hard to bear can. “Cruise?” “Give me a sec, okay?”

“Okay.” I hate how weak I sound, but to him, for him, I am the weakest. I can’t lose him. Please, Lord, don’t let me lose him. My eyes track him as he comes into the living room and sits on the edge of the couch. Our knees almost touch and I adjust to cover the distance. “Listen, Dove—” “I’m sorry.” His eyes lift to mine. “What are you sorry for? It’s me. I didn’t know.” “You didn’t know what?” “About your father.” “I told you, but not everything.” He’s about to reach forward, but restrains himself, and sits back. He hates when I cry. I imagine it’s a struggle not to dust the tears away. If only my lies could be handled so seamlessly. “Tell me everything, Dove,” he pleads, his broken expression breaking me. Trying to clear my throat, I can’t. There’s nothing to clear but the air between us. This time I don’t even try to stop the tears. It would be no use anyway. They flow slowly and steadily over my cheekbones and fall to the abyss where my heart has disappeared. Just when I found happiness, a life to make me feel whole and wanted, to give me blue skies when I was only used to storms, I have to let go. Because of him I lose again. The words fall heavily.

“Toby is my baby.”

25

Cruise

I DIDN ’ T KNOW what I was walking into earlier tonight. I thought my family was fucked up. Maybe I should have seen this coming . . . I want to take away her pain, absorb it into mine, but this is too big me for me to fix. Vaughn’s words ring in my ears: “He wants his mother.” Her confession not what I expected to hear: “Toby is my baby.” I ask, “You’re his mother?” “I am, but not.” “What do you mean, not, Clara?” Clara. I find my hand tapping and my foot bouncing. Clara. “Vaughn called you Clarissa. Is that your name?

Clarissa Johnson?” “Yes,” she answers, but it’s not satisfying. My guilt is too heavy to hold things against her when I fear I’ll lose her when she finds out my role in her father’s murder. Jumping between the two topics, I table one for later and pursue the other. I need to know more even with the sickening feelings eating at the insides of my stomach. “You’re Toby’s mother, his birth mother, but you gave him to your mother to raise?” “No.” Frustration gets a stronghold on me. I stand and start to pace. “I need you to tell me, Clara . . . Clarissa. What am I supposed to call you?” With her back to me, she whispers, “Dove.” My anger evaporates. How can I be mad at her, my little dove? I stop and move around her. Taking the front of her chair, I shift her until she’s facing the couch, and then sit so we’re eye to eye. “Talk to me, Dove. Please.” “I’m so ashamed. Not of him. Never of him. He’s amazing. So smart. But his life is tainted, like mine. I didn’t fight hard enough.” “Fight? Fight hard enough for what?” “Not what. Who.” Who? Fucking hell. “Fight against who?” “Him,” is all she says. “And then Toby came and I couldn’t bear to look at him at the beginning of his life.”

As she speaks through her broken heart, I see her devastation, the pain she still carries day in and day out. I understand what she’s saying even though she struggles to say it. I need to hear her use her words. “Don’t be quiet. Not to me, Dove. You can say anything to me and I’ll stay. Right here with you.” I know the abuse she endured at the hand of that man. In my research on Connor Johnson, there were no babies listed. “There was no record of him.” “Record?” Shit. He hid her away to hide his sins. If anyone would have known, he would have been arrested, so he tortured her to save himself. “He raped you and made you carry his baby to term.” The tears have stopped falling and the streaks are drying on her skin. Her body is empty of willpower or fight as she stares out into nothing. “No. Toby is not my father’s, but I don’t know the man’s name. I do know that my father was paid five hundred dollars. I started at a thousand and was negotiated down to five hundred.” She blinks a few times, her eyelashes wet from the tears. “I remember his eyes were light blue. Haunting in the dim room because all I could see were his dark pupils.” Holy. Fucking. Shit. Her father was even more of a monster than anyone knew.

I reach for her hands. Normal. When we met, she used to say all she wanted was normal. I never knew what this normal was she was so desperate to find, but I do now. Normal is not being sold to a stranger. Normal is having the choice to make love because you want to. Normal is waking up in the arms of the person you’ve chosen to give yourself to. Although I consider our love extraordinary, she only needs normal. She only wanted normal. Her hands are cold. Icy. She recalls. “I had Toby in the tub of our bathroom without pain medicine, without a doctor, without anyone knowing.” “Look at me. Look in my eyes.” When her gaze finally finds mine, I say, “You are a survivor. You. You survived him. He’s not here. He’s not even alive. Don’t let this drag you to some dark place. You’ve come out on the other side.” I think of my mom and the pain she must have felt while giving birth to me—both physically, and the emotional pain from the death and loss of Tucker. I can walk out, push this outside the darkness I have inside me. But that’s not the man I want to be. I want to be like my birth father—strong and kind. To be remembered that way would be worth the pain to achieve it. “Stay here with me. I’m here for you, Dove. I’m not going anywhere.” Her eyes glisten with the revelation of her secret, hope still found in the green. “You

mean that?” I nod and take her hand. Our hands mirror each other and our fingers fold together. “You’re my yellow.” That seems to be the breaking point. Her shoulders shake, her tears come heavy like little waterfalls over the most beautiful landscape, and she sobs. Getting up, I kneel before her and wrap my arms around her shivering body, letting her cry, wanting her to pass her pain onto me to bear. When she looks up, her cries seem to calm. She brushes her hand over my shirt, the wetness bothering her more than me. Her eyes tend toward green when she cries. I love the brightness, but hate what they’re a side effect of. “I don’t deserve you, Cruise.” “Sure you do. Just like I deserve you.” The laughter is light, but I’m happy to hear it. “You make this too easy.” “That’s because it was hard for you to carry this secret for so long. But I’m not here to judge you.” “I should have told you.” No, she shouldn’t have. Not until she knows I love her. Because I do. But now is not the time, either. She is so, so brave. “You didn’t owe it to me. I know now, so tell me how I can help you.” She stands and stretches, her hands reaching

above her head. “You’re too good.” “And here I thought I was always the bad Cristley, the black sheep in the family.” “I have a feeling you’re the good one.” “No, Paige is the good one.” Standing up, I take her by the waist. “I want to introduce you to her.” Arms full of her love come around me and hold me tight. She feels so good that I hate to ruin this moment. “Clara?” “Yeah,” she answers, resting her chin on my chest and looking up. My heart is racing. Her smile falters. Under her hand, each rapid beat gives what I have to admit more weight than it already has. “I killed your father.” Squeezing my eyes closed, I wait for our world to fall apart, for my confession to decimate what we just saved. It doesn’t. I open my eyes to find hers narrowed on mine. When she doesn’t speak, I do. “Say something.” “I don’t know what to say.” Her arms remain around me but they go limp. Taking a step, her hands slip away until she’s not touching me at all. I watch her walk to the window, biting her lip. “Please say something, Dove.” She glances back. “I’m not upset.” You should be. I just admitted to murder, or at least an accessory to murder. “Okay.” “I’m numb.”

“Okay.” She turns to face me, her hands helping to find the windowsill to rest against. The sun is setting, the sky on fire behind her. An orange halo highlights the lighter strands of her hair. Goddess. Mine. All mine. Please stay mine. “I’ve never used donut with you. You now know my innermost secrets. The secrets that could destroy my family. And you’ve given me one of yours.” Standing in the middle of the room, hope stretched between us, unraveling like the threads of an old rope. I wait with bated breath for my punishment. I’ll take it. Whatever she’ll dole out, I’ll take ten times worse if she’ll take me knowing how I’ve sinned against her. Pushing off the sill, she walks around the room caught up in her thoughts. It’s tough to be patient, the wait is torture, but I have to in this situation. Clara goes to the kitchen and gets a glass of water. I watch as she finishes the entire glass before she returns to stand in front of me. Resting her hands on my chest, it’s a gift I cherish because it’s one she always gave me when love existed between us. Does it still? It does for me. I love her. I love you, Clara. The seconds are stripped between us, the low tick of my watch the only sound I hear. I remain, still a criminal begging for her mercy, needing her

forgiveness. “I’ll protect your secret like you protect mine.” When she speaks, the death I was slowly dying is stayed. She lifts up on her toes and her hands embrace my face. “You don’t hate me? He was a fucker who deserved to die, but what have I done to your family?” “You freed us. That’s what you’ve done, babe.” She bounces on her toes. “You freed me from that life. You’re not a killer. You’re my hero.” A hero? Connor Johnson was a despicable scum fuck of the earth, like his partner Nastas O’Hare and everyone he ever did business with. I have never regretted either of their deaths. What they did to my friends, to people I consider family can never be undone. But our vengeance and their blood is on my hands, whether I pulled the triggers or not. I worried she would blame me for hurting her family more than they had been. Knowing she doesn’t, that she breathes before me because of what my crew did, I look at her, and know there’s no life without her in it. And I don’t want there to be. Standing before me, I see a future I never thought I’d have. I see it in her, with her, and I grab hold of it happily. We can hold on to secrets to save our lives, but

this time we’ll hold on to each other’s to give us a life.

I THOUGHT we’d gotten through the toughest topics earlier, and maybe they were, but there were things still lingering that had to be dealt with. I picked up dinner and brought it back. We ate at the table, sitting across from each other. It’s been a hard day. She’s cried more tears than she should in a lifetime. I worried I would lose her, but my sins turned out to be blessings in disguise. Before I left for food, I told her more about that night. That I didn’t pull the trigger. That I’m not some crazy assassin, nor do I work for one. Despite her initial calm about what I told her, I knew she needed that clarified. I didn’t use names or many details. But I did tell her we tried to right a wrong to stop him from every touching anyone again, and how inadvertently, now, I am even more thankful we did. She means everything to me, and I hope she sees that in my confession. More than anything else. Conversation has been light since the heavy drained out of us earlier. The one remaining concern is a subject I’m not afraid to broach, but I don’t want to upset her. Still, Vaughn needs to be

dealt with. “I think something is very wrong with your brother.” Clara chews the last of her fries and sits there, staring at the cheeseburger wrapper. I clean up our trash and shove it in the bag, not leaving her any room to be distracted. Her brother, the fucker, is like their father, and I’m not sure any of them are safe in that house with him. I know exactly what he will become. The last of her soda begins to slurp, and then she says, “He needs help. The physical abuse I endured was not the same as with him. He was beaten but more so, he was trained to see things a certain way.” “To see you a certain way?” “He would never rape me if that’s what you think.” “I don’t know what to think.” I can tell she wants to bolt from this table, to hide under the guise of looking out the window or cleaning up the kitchen. “I can see you don’t want to talk about this. I get it.” “Do you? I grew up sacrificing myself to protect him. To find out it didn’t matter distorts the image I’ve always had in my head. It might take me a minute to flip the switch.” “The image needs to be fucking distorted. He’s a psycho like your father.” She says, “He’s a teen—”

“No. I’m not going to let you justify his behavior because he’s a teenager. I was a teenager once and I never fucking hit my sister across the face. I also never threatened her boyfri—fuck. I have threatened Paige’s boyfriend. He’s an asshole and she can do better, but he never hit her. He wouldn’t be alive if he had.” “I think it’s something else . . . or someone else.” Watching her, I can tell she’s keeping something from me. “What is it?” “I don’t know.” Her eyes flash to mine. It’s only been a few seconds but it’s feeling like minutes. She’s not forthcoming at first, but the longer we stare at each other the more she eases, eventually laying down the rest of her secrets. “My mom said someone’s been coming around.” “Who?” “They don’t know his name or how to contact him. Nothing. He stopped by to get what he paid my father for.” “What did he pay for?” “We don’t know. Whatever it is, my father sold it to him for three hundred thousand dollars.” Fuck. $300K to make something go away or to take control of something? What though? There’s no telling from what I know of her father. “What did your father have that was worth that amount of

money that he was willing to sell?” Shaking her head, she replies, “I don’t know, but we don’t have the money to return to this creep and we don’t know what he wants. We’re screwed.” “How many times has he come around?” “Twice.” Standing up, I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t want you going over there until this blows over.” “Do you think it will? My father’s dead. He can’t collect, right?” “Your father was a low life. We’d been dealing with him for months prior to his death. If there was something illegal or black market around, your dad had a hand in it.” She comes around taking the trash with her to toss in the bin. On the other side of the island, she says, “Every day I wake up, I’m grateful he’s dead. You’ve seen my bedroom. I thank my lucky stars every night before bed.” And I thank my lucky stars that you still want to be with me, Dove. More than anything.

26

Clara

“DO you think you’ll ever tell Toby you’re his birth mom?” “I worry it will hurt my mom and traumatize him. What would I say? I know you were raised as my brother but I’m your mother, and I don’t know who your father is?” I shouldn’t be sarcastic. Cruise has a right to ask the question. It’s only natural he would. He’s trying to figure out the future. But I worry he’ll see me differently and not love me. Not want me. I drop the chip from my shoulder and relent to the guilt I feel. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be harsh. These questions have rolled around my head since

before he was born. I don’t have the answers. I’m just taking things day by day. My mother is the only mother he’s known.” “He’s attached to you.” “He thinks I’m his sister. That’s natural.” “No. I could see it when you held him and how you soothed him. He calmed because he trusts you. He loves you. Like a mother.” Pushing off with my toes, we swing back and then forward again. I love sitting on the front porch. Other than my bedroom, it’s my favorite space of the house. “Like a sister. I don’t think uprooting him is the answer.” “I’ll stand by you, no matter what you choose.” I steal a glance at him, but it’s not the sympathetic look in his eyes that fills my chest with love, though that’s partially to blame. It’s that I know he means what he says. “How are you so ready to take on my problems?” “Because Toby’s not a problem. He’s your son.” My chest tightens, my hand sliding over my heart. “I feel like I’ve cried a million tears today, but hearing you say that makes me want to cry a million more.” “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you.” Bringing me even closer, his arm tightens around me. “I’m not upset. I’m just wondering if you’re my

reward for surviving.” He smiles as we swing like this conversation isn’t a confession of deeper hidden feelings. “I’ve wondered the same about you being in my life. Was I good enough that God showed mercy by sending one of his angels to Earth just for me? Are you my reward for surviving hell? I don’t know and I don’t want to question the universe for fear of losing you.” “You can’t lose me, Cruise.” I’m kissed on the side of the head. “Thank you for . . . caring about me.” “You make it easy.” I love the gold and varying shades of browns that make up his eyes. Like the man, they’re complicated to describe but easy to admire. I love you, Cruise Cristley, I silently send my words to him through a kiss on his cheek. But like all good things, bigger issues than my feelings need to be dealt with. I say, “I worry about Toby.” “Is he safe around Vaughn?” He knows how to stab me where I fear the most. “Safe?” I never even questioned his safety. “Vaughn won’t hurt him. He’s a boy.” “So your father trained Vaughn to hate women?” “My father believed women were lesser humans than men. I was taught that we are on Earth only to serve men and their needs. Women

are nothing more than property.” Vaughn’s words still send chills down my spine. “My comfort and my property.” “I don’t have to tell you that’s not true, right?” “I know now, but it took me a while to figure out that I am allowed to use my brain outside of school.” “If I ever give you shit, don’t take it. Okay? You never have to kowtow to anyone. No one. You hear me, Dove. Not me. Not Vaughn. No one.” Reaching over, I run my fingers over the back of his head. “You’ve never made me feel less in any way. Just because you’re a man doesn’t mean I lump you in with him. I don’t. I see movies, and shows, and the professors at Baynard, and you. I see good men exist.” His hand rests on my leg. “Good.” “As for Toby, I’m not really in a position to take care of him how he needs. My mom works parttime and can bring him with her. I’m still in my internship and taking classes.” There’s sadness in his eyes when he glances my way. “It’s no secret that I’m adopted. That was a huge marketing tool for my father’s campaigns over the years, but the trip I took to New Haven is something I’ve yet to tell you about. I’ve kept it to myself until I could process more of what really happened. I didn’t tell anyone but my mom, because I thought she had the right to know prior if

anything came of it. And Alex because he went with me.” “He used to go by King, right?” I chuckle. “Yeah, he used to. Alex is good these days.” I nudge him and rest my head on his shoulder. His arm comes around me giving me peace on a day of chaos. Cruise is all alpha male. He’s a hard body with a foul mouth. He’s hot-blooded with a temper to match. But he’s also gentle and kind and has this soft side that I wonder how often he shows. Maybe only to his mom and me, which is okay because I love it. “What is it that you’ve been trying to process?” “I found my birth mother in New Haven.” He’s so open with me, my heart already his. “Oh my God, really?” I hug him from the side, holding him close. I love the feel of his body giving in to a good chuckle. He says, “I wanted to tell you, but you’ve had so much of your own stuff happening, I didn’t feel it was right.” “I wish you would have. This is important, and if it’s important to you, it’s important to me. How are you feeling about the trip? Did you meet her? Do you even want to talk about this? Sorry if I’m coming off too strong. I’m just so happy for you.” Lowering his arm from my shoulders to around

my waist, he pulls me close until I’m firmly seated on his lap. “Yes, I met her. It was surreal at first, seeing where I came from. Literally. I look like her.” My smile grows as my heart feels his happiness. He says, “She showed me photos of my birth father, and I can see parts of me in him, too. We’ll talk about this more later, but she told me why she gave me away. It wasn’t that I wasn’t wanted, and I think that was what I really needed to hear. Anyway, I’m not sure how my family will feel about this news, so I appreciate you being happy. It might be the only time I can enjoy it.” “I am. I’m so happy for you. I can see how much this means to you. I can see the change . . . I don’t know, in your spirit.” I’m rambling. The lines in his brow aren’t as intense when he speaks. There’s no straight line to be found on his lips. A smile is begging to be seen. His happiness is contagious and makes me want to kiss him. I don’t because I want this moment to be only about him. “I can tell how much it means to you.” “You’re right, Dove. I was unsettled. Something didn’t feel right. When I met you, so much of that gaping hole felt filled, but I knew I still needed answers to years’ worth of questions.” He smiles at me, and I know all is okay. He is okay. “The family interview is tomorrow. I’ll be seeing them all, and I might tell them then.”

“I think you should. Don’t hide it. This is a great thing. Don’t let it get twisted. Enjoy it.” “The interview is in New York. It’s supposed to be live. I hate doing live TV.” “Why?” “Because reporters never adhere to the guidelines. They want salacious headlines that will sell commercial slots. I’ve learned those come at the expense of our privacy.” “That’s awful. Maybe you shouldn’t go.” “I promised my mom I’d be there. I also told her it was the last time.” “I’m glad. This is the life they chose. You shouldn’t have to still deal with it.” Sitting up, I lean back so I can see his face more clearly. “How long will you be gone?” “In and out. My family doesn’t fly commercial and with so many schedules to coordinate, they promised to have us home by dinner.” “That’s not too bad.” “You’ve never had to spend five hours with my family.” He gives me a wink. “True.” I stand and offer a hand. “I’m exhausted. I’ve cried enough tears to rival Niagara Falls.” “We still need to talk about Vaughn.” “That’s not a quick conversation. Can we table it until tomorrow?” “If you feel we can then I’ll respect that.”

“I don’t know if we can, but tonight, for me, I need to.” “Okay, but tomorrow we have to talk about it, after I get back from New York.” “We will.” We walk together into the house. This time he stops to lock the bolts and shut the curtains in the front window because we’re home. Home. Together. No one needs a quick escape. No one is leaving. Even though our problems still exist inside these walls as they did outside, I’m okay going to bed with where we are in our relationship. Like the ground we walk on, we’re solid through and through. We’re both exhausted. While we brush our teeth, I notice the dark circles under my eyes match his. His eyelids are heavier than usual, matching mine. Our posture isn’t perfect, but that’s what happens when life bears down on you. We climb into bed and turn out the light. The stars come to life, glowing in the moonlight. When he outstretches his arm, I find my spot against his side and settle in for the night. Just before midnight, he asks, “Why did you change your name?” It’s a simple question only requiring a simple answer, but I still feel the need to explain because it’s Cruise asking. “I didn’t want anything to do with my father. He chose my first name. Hearing it

so many times from his mouth . . . it was hard for that not to scar me. And that was his last name, not one I identify with. I want light and love in my life. Those names bring nothing but jet-black nightmares even in the middle of the day.” “Why did you choose Clara Eckerd?” I feel his fingers doodling on my hip. I recognize the figure eight he traces over and over again. “Clara means bright or clear. It was similar to my other name, so I felt I could adjust to responding easily enough, and I loved the thought of a clear slate with a bright future.” “And Eckerd?” “Sacred.” “Sacred,” he repeats. I can almost hear the smile on his face when he says it again. “It’s beautiful and fits you.” “Thank you.” “I never told you how I got my nickname.” Tilting my head up, I say, “How did you get the nickname, Cruise?” “Alex used to say I took everything in stride. I shifted into cruise control and coasted.” “I don’t think you’re coasting through life.” “I was.” He kisses me. “I’m not anymore. I’ve never been more present than when I’m with you.” “If I were a gear, what would I be?” “Fourth is the fastest, but I’ve never wanted fast with you.” I smile as his hand glides up my

waist to the sides of my breasts. “I always want slow.” “Slow and steady wins the race.” “And I intend to win every race with you.” In one swift move, he’s found his way right on top of me. He’s kissing me because . . . less talking.

C RUISE LOOKS up from his bowl of Lucky Charms, and says, “I don’t want you going over there until we figure out what’s going on with this debt situation.” “I don’t plan to. I’ve been texting with my mom. She thinks Vaughn is stressed and is taking it out on me. She has nothing else to go off of.” “He’s volatile. For some reason, it seems you’ve become his target. That means you need to stay out of his line of fire. Come sit. Come eat breakfast with me.” The feet of the chair scrape across the floor when I pull it out, happy to have the early hours of quiet daybreak with him. He says, “I don’t like leaving you, especially right now. Come with me.” Sitting with a bowl in front of me, and a spoon in hand, I wave it in the air in front of me. “I wish I could. I have to finish my student teaching and I have one class later today.”

“It was worth a shot. If you change your mind, I can swing by and pick you up on the way to the airport.” “I want to be with you. I wish I could be there for you like you have been for me. Maybe if I call in sick—” “No. You have commitments. Stick to them. Today is nothing I can’t handle. I want you there for purely selfish reasons. Your school and internship are more important. I’ll be back tonight anyway.” “One more month and then I’m free to fly on that fancy family jet of yours whenever you want to whisk me away.” He laughs, and I love the light I see in his eyes. I make him laugh, and I love that I can. “Duly noted, Ms. Eckerd.”

27

Clara

DOESN ’ T MATTER what time of day it is, goodbyes suck. Morning. Noon. Night. I watch his car drive down the street until I can’t see it anymore. Cruise is heading to the penthouse to change clothes before he meets with his family at their compound—his word, not mine. He was given a strict dress code, which he must adhere to. I made him promise to send me pics. I love a great suit on a hot guy. And no one is hotter than my boyfriend.

After getting dressed and grabbing my bag, I head to Baynard Prep to serve my time. I love the grounds of this school and the facilities, but I don’t feel of much use here. The kids are so privileged that I don’t feel like I make any difference in their lives. I was drawn to teaching to help others, but truly, I’m not much help here. Fortunately the day doesn’t drag. Midday, I receive a text from my mom: Can you babysit Toby for a few hours today? I was asked to fill in to lead the kindergarten graduation. I know it’s last minute, but I need the money and Toby will have a meltdown if he’s not fed on time. I understand the feeling. My stomach is growling and between the hunger pangs and Cruise leaving, I want to melt down too. Me: No worries. I’ll come to the school and pick him up after my class. Mom: Thank you. That was a quick reply. With a granola bar I found in my purse shoved in my mouth, I park and rush across campus only to be surprised with a pop quiz. As soon as I finish, I turn it in and head back out. Checking my phone, I find a missed call and text that came in a half hour ago from Cruise making me smile and feel disappointed. I want to hear his voice but I don’t feel right calling when he’s with his family. He has

enough to worry about than me being clingy. Cruise: There’s a delay. Eat without me and I’ll come over after we land. I stop when I reach my car and return his text: I can’t wait to see you. I’ll wait up. It doesn’t take but fifteen minutes to reach the school where my mom is frantically setting up chairs while Toby is teeter-totting around with one shoe on and one off. “Hi,” I say walking into the cafeteria where the ceremony will be held. Wiping her brow, a big smile appears. “Hi, sweetheart. Thank you for helping me out of this pickle.” “No problem.” I set my purse down and run up behind Toby who hasn’t spotted me yet. He turns around right when I’m about to tickle him and I say, “Boo!” I’m greeted with squeals of delight as he runs into my arms. Picking him up, I swing him into the air just above my head and back down so he lands on his feet. “You are getting so big.” He laughs and runs away, wanting me to chase him while mimicking me, “Big. Big. Goo.” I squat so I’m eye level with my little blue-eyed cutie. “I think you mean goose. Duck, duck, goose.” Seeing him for the first time after telling Cruise, my secret feels different. I feel lighter, less of a liar. For the first time, I can look at Toby without feeling

guilt, or shame. I did nothing wrong. I gave him life. Me. Me . . . what an amazing thing to be responsible for, to be grateful for. Cruise has opened my eyes, and now seeing my son, I feel nothing but love and pride. I feel my mom’s comforting hand on my back. “Are you doing okay?” “Closer than I’ve been in a long time.” I give her a hug. She was just as relieved as I was when I told her everything with Cruise was fine. I doubt she’ll ever know his hand in her husband’s murder, and I’m fine with that. When I step back, I pull my purse onto my shoulder, and say, “I think we should talk about things concerning Toby soon. Not tonight. I know you’re busy, but soon.” She doesn’t appear surprised like I imagined she would be. She isn’t offended or defensive in her body language. A gentle smile is there, warming me that I’m not crossing a line, but I am making her proud. “We can do that. We can talk about Toby and the future. When you’re ready, I’ll be here for you.” “You always have been. Thank you.” “You kids are the best job I ever had.” “The pay was awful.” “But the benefits are great.” Toby is running around without his shirt and banging on his chest like Tarzan, delivering just the right dose of reality.

With a loud sigh, she says, “In the meantime, thank you for taking him. I should be at your house by eight.” I track every step he takes, flinching when he falls, smiling when he dusts himself off. He’s a handful, but he’s my handful . . . I mean, my mom’s. This time I sigh, contemplating if what I’m doing is the right decision for him or a selfish one for me. I go with my gut. “Maybe he can spend the night?” My mom continues to un-stack the chairs and line them up row by row. “If you don’t mind, that’d be great. I could use the sleep after the long day I’m having.” I appreciate that she keeps it casual though we both know it’s a big step, a big change for all three of us. “Yeah, you sleep. I’ll take him tonight and you can come by in the morning. I don’t have class until ten.” “Perfect. I’ll come get him at nine.” “Great.” We share more than a knowing look. We share a moment that we both know has been a long time coming, but needed to arrive when the time was right. She wrangles Toby and we find his shirt and missing sock and shoe. Once he’s dressed, she kneels in front of him, and says, “Go with your m —with your Clara. I love you, baby.” Her cheek is covered in spittle from raspberry kisses, but she doesn’t complain. She just hugs him

tight and smiles before standing up in front of me. “Love you.” “I love you. See you tomorrow.” “See you two then. Have a good night.” With Toby as my backseat copilot secured into his car seat, I check on him in the rearview mirror. “You want to go to the store with me? We can get some yummies.” He claps in excitement. “Nummies.” “Yes, nummies.” When Cruise is home, we grocery shop or he has something delivered. Without him to cook for, I fall back on an old fave—mac and cheese. The comforting blue box of a childhood lost before its time. At home, Toby and I play I’m Gonna Getcha and I chase him around while the water boils. Once the food is ready, I sit on the couch, and place him on the floor in front of the coffee table, our bowls in front of us. Clicking on the TV, he wants cartoons and I give in since it’s too early to see Cruise. Another hour passes. The dishes are cleaned. Toby has been bathed and is now busying himself with scribbling on a piece of paper. His personality is reflected in the crazy, colorful scribble. He’s a wild child and just like the drawing, I love it. After we hang it on the fridge, I settle him on a pallet on my floor, worried he might fall off my bed if I let

him sleep on the mattress. Before I turn out the lights, I look over at my nightstand. Picking up the little brown bear with one eye, I show it to him. “Mine,” he says, snatching it from me before I can argue differently. “Yours,” I reply, tapping him on the nose. Snuggling with it, he rolls to the side and closes his eyes. I lean down, taking in the scent of his innocence and praying he always holds on to it. “I love you,” I whisper, then turn out the lamp beside the bed. I tiptoe out, but leave the door cracked open and the hall light on for him. And for me. When I return to the living room, I click on the news and wait for the story to come on. There are lead-ins before the commercial breaks to make sure you stay tuned when they come back. It’s salacious, even when Cruise is paraded in front of the rally. In the short thirty minutes I’ve been watching, they’ve called him a party animal, wild, out of control, and the Cristley adopted son. Not once have they just called him their son. It’s so dumb. Those terms aren’t him at all. I take offense on Cruise’s behalf. If they knew him, really knew him, they’d know what a big heart he has. I turn up the volume when the Cristley segment finally comes on. The report covers Senator Cristley’s life from his not-so humble beginnings to

his standing in society to this day. Beatrice is interviewed and then each of the kids in the order of their age from eldest to youngest. It’s good to put faces with names, like Paige, and his brother Matty, but I’m not interested in their stories. I’m interested in the youngest Cristley. Cruise, or as they call him, John. He answers every question with integrity and ease, until he thinks the segment is over, but they pop in a random question while the cameras are still rolling.

“Why were you and Alexander Kingwood the fourth abducted?”

W HEN HE TALKED to me about the kidnapping, he was convinced it was to get to Alex, but on TV, he shifts before answering.

“That would be a good question for the kidnapper.” “As you know, he’s presumed dead. His body has never been recovered. Was it for money?

You’re both from prominent families.” “I can’t presume to know what a maniac is thinking. The police closed the case—” “Despite a body never being found. Isn’t that highly unusual for them to close an open case?” “Again, that would be a question for someone other than myself.” “Okay, how about your dating life? You’ve been seen with some of the most beautiful eligible women. Do any hold your attention longer than a Friday night?”

THIS REPORTER IS A BITCH , and I’m not even regretful for calling her out for her horrid behavior. Cruise would be proud. As for the reporter, I’m fully annoyed. She’s trying to not only hack up her prey on live TV for entertainment purposes, but his reputation in the process. I’m angry for him. He’s much nicer than me. Wait. What did he say?

“I’m in a committed relationship.”

“Who’s the lucky lady?” “When we’re ready, we’ll step out, but there won’t be a formal announcement or a press conference associated with it. It will be a date between two people who care deeply for each other.” “Are you in love, John?” “Yes. Irrevocably in love.” “Well, there you have it, ladies. Heartthrob and heir to the Cristley millions, John, is currently off the market.”

They cut to a commercial and I flick the TV off. I want to be irritated by how she referred to him at the end of the segment, but how can I when he said such sweet words? Irrevocably in love. With me. Me. That has to be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. I reach for my phone and text Cruise: I’m irrevocably in love with you, too. The three dots wave on the screen and then a message from him pops up: I don’t like to lie. I should have told you first. In person. I’m sorry I

said it on national TV before telling you. Me: You’ve told me in every kiss since that first kiss. In every touch of your fingertips. In every look we’ve shared. The air around me shifts when you’re near. So you’ve told me. I’ve felt it without the words. Cruise: If you’re trying to seduce me, it’s working. While I’m laughing, there’s a pause, and then the dots appear followed by text: I’m told it’s already a sound bite. Our love is already a sound bite. Grrrr. Me: I have something for you to bite. #wearingwhiteundies #irrevocablyinlove Cruise: I like where this is going. I also like you #wearingwhiteundies and being #irrevocablyinlove with me Me: Me too. #irrevocablyinlove with everything about you. Cruise: We’re leaving the station, but call me. I need the rescue after sitting next to Fredrick most of the day. Laughing, I respond: Will do. This time I’ll be your hero. Cruise: You already were. Before I get a chance to type anything more, my phone rings. Vaughn flashes on the screen and I set it down like a hot potato on the coffee table and stare at it, debating what to do—answer it or not?

Guilt sets in because he never calls me. What if something’s wrong? What if it’s not? “What if there is?” I pick up the phone on the fourth ring. “Hello?” “Clara? I need you.” He doesn’t sound drunk, and he doesn’t sound normal. This is how I imagine someone who’s panicking sounds. “What’s going on, Vaughn?” “Where’s Toby?” The question is easy to answer so my heart rate starts to settle into its regular beat. “Why?” Still wearing the same skirt and shirt I wore to work and class, I stand up and push it down as I walk around the coffee table. “What’s wrong?” “Where the fuck is Toby, Clarissa?” “He’s with me. Why are you mad?” “Because I thought something happened to him. I’ve been fucking freaking out over here for the last hour.” My annoyance peaks. “He’s fine. I’ve got him. You don’t need to worry. Just go on about your night. He’s sleeping here tonight.” “Bring him home. Now.” “No. I’m hanging up.” “Don’t fucking do it, Clarissa. Bring him home. He needs to be here.” “Why? He’s fine here. Sleeping. Let Mom have a night off, for Pete’s sake.”

“Why are you doing this? Why now?” Closing the curtains in the living room, I peek out. “What? What am I doing? You should be grateful to have him out of the house for a night.” He groans, but I can hear his rage, the sound muffled but discernible. “Please, Clara.” “He’s fine here, Vaughn. It’s one night. You’ll see him tomorrow.” I hang up and set the phone on the coffee table as I go into the kitchen for a glass of water. Vaughn needs to be dealt with. He’s out of control and dangerous. Surely he won’t go near Mom while Toby’s gone. I want to text her, but I don’t want to worry her. She’ll be okay. I refuse to worry her. He won’t hurt her. I’m glad I have Toby here for the night. My wild child and sweet baby.

28

Clara

MY BODY STARTLES awake to the loud banging on my door. I’m too foggy to know if I’m asleep or awake despite the yelling. The voice calling my name from my front porch is familiar and my mind clears instantly. Vaughn. Toby. I jump up from the couch and run to open the door before he wakes Toby. Swinging it open, I gripe through gritted teeth, “What the heck?” Vaughn barges right past me. “Where’s Toby?” “Keep it down, you psycho, he’s sleeping.” “I need to get him home.”

I rush through the living room to cut off his path to the hall. “No. Did you hear me? He’s sleeping.” “Mom needs him.” Spreading my arms wide across the arched doorway, I get a good look at him. Sweat beads at his hairline. His eyes are crazed, his pupils no larger than the tip of a pen. His shirt is covered in dirt and he smells like vomit. “Vaughn, what’s going on?” There’s no reasoning to be had. He’s in not state to think logically. “She needs him.” His voice is calm from the panic at the door. “I have to get him home.” “No, she doesn’t,” I say, trying to level mine. “She knows he’s here. She’s sleeping at home. You need to go home too.” “No,” he says, looking into my eyes. He reaches up to rest his hand on my shoulder. “I need Toby.” “No. You don’t. He’s sleeping. It’s late.” His touch is light, but strong enough for me to feel how his hand trembles. Something’s wrong. “Talk to me, Vaughn. I’m your sister. Remember. It’s me, Clarissa. You can talk to me about anything.” “I can’t. It’s too late. I just need to take care of you and Mom.” “And Toby.” The drop of his hands to his sides and his gaze to the floor reveals his pain, but I don’t trust he’s

given up. He says, “No.” Keeping my arms wide, the tips of my fingers are white from the pressure on the plaster. “No?” When he looks back up, he says, “I’m sorry.” “Sorry?” That wobble to my voice is a weakness I could never hide despite trying many times in my life. Fear floods me as I stare at my brother who now towers over me. “Why are you sorry?” “I need to take Toby.” “Where?” “Please. Don’t make this harder than it is.” “You need to go home. You need to leave, Vaughn.” Someone hidden behind the wall of my brother asks, “Where is the boy?” Vaughn doesn’t move, not a muscle, but I bend enough for my eyes to see around him. A man stands in my doorway—black trench coat and piercing blue eyes so light only the dark pupils are seen in the dim light. My body freezes, my bones locking, my muscles straining, but my eyes manage to look at my brother’s. “What have you done?” The man says, “It’s your father’s deal. The kid is just following through.” When he laughs, the dark and insidious sound fills my ears. I know that laugh. I heard that laugh over and over in my nightmares for so long.

Vaughn whispers, “I had no choice.” “You did,” I say under my breath. “This is on you.” The shadow of the attacker climbs the wall beside us, just enough light from the lamp by the couch to set a scene of terror. My heart pounds against my ribcage, fighting to run free, but I can’t leave. I won’t leave my son behind and I refuse to let him be taken away. His voice is shallow, an octave too high to be taken seriously in any setting other than this one. “Bring the boy to me now, Clarissa.” “No,” I reply, staring at my brother as a tear slides down my face. To Vaughn, I look him in the eyes and say, “How could you do this to us?” “It was him or all of us.” “Him? You mean Toby. Your brother.” “My nephew from a rapist.” “My son. From me.” “I had no choice. I can’t lose Mom.” “But you will lose us. All of us for what you’ve done.” A black-gloved hand reaches for Vaughn. “Step aside. I’ll get him myself.” There is no escaping. There is only fighting. Vaughn’s eyes stay trained on me and he silently pleads, “Forgive me.” “No. Rot in hell.” Tears streak down his face and he starts to

move just as metal reflects the light to the wall, catching my attention. A gun. There’s no time to run. There’s nowhere we can be safe. He’ll collect what he’s come for over our dead bodies. We were nothing in his eyes. I was everything in Cruise’s. A lifetime of surviving comes down to this—penance paid for our father’s sins. I often wondered what damage would be done to me, to Vaughn, to my mother, and to my son. Would the effects remain in that moment, or last a lifetime? I always knew who my allies were, the ones who would die fighting, just like me. Looking at my brother who bears such a strong resemblance to the man that has destroyed so much of who we are, I wonder if there was ever going to be a place for him in this world. Such a kind little soul who bore the brunt of a treacherous man. His heir. His pride. His only son. All the times I took a beating or worse for him, the times I hid him in my closet or under my bed, I tried to protect him, to heal his wounds, but I could never heal him on the inside. My shoulders go back, my spine stiff. I stand as tall as my body can stretch. I expect him to do as he’s told like he’s done most of his life. But sometimes expectations are defied for loyalty. I’m not sure what’s come over him, or what

caused his change of heart, but I do hear, “I love you, big sis.” It’s just a murmur before Vaughn yells, “Fight!” Fight. We stand here without weapons, using our bodies as shields. Me shielding the hall that leads to the best part of me sleeping in my bedroom. Vaughn standing guard, shielding me, and refusing to step aside. The flicker of metal reflection rises high and then barrels down taking Vaughn with it. Piercing blue eyes meet mine as I scream, my hands covering my mouth in horror as blood covers the side of my brother’s head, tangling in his hair. He lowers the gun and aims it at my fallen brother. The trigger is cocked, and the second his eyes leave mine, I swing as hard as I can. The shell of his ear is soft and pliable, but I hit hard enough to make it ring. Knocked sideways, he catches himself, and I turn to get Toby from the room, but my legs are flipped out from under me and something hard strikes the back of my head causing me to slam against the hardwood floor. Dazed, I lie there. All I can think about is how close I came to the fairy tale. The bad haunts me when all I want to do is dream of the good and think of Cruise. Irrevocably in love. The dream, the fairy tale, the future—I almost had it all.

I feel the weight, but my soul refuses to acknowledge the truth. My body decides to fight. Pushed off my back, he hits the wall. “Bitch,” is shot my way, a punch coming right after. I think it’s my blood I smell. My eye begins to swell and the taste of blood confuses me. I think I might be dying, but I refuse to die before I know Toby is safe. An elbow to whatever I can reach gives me space away from him and sends the gun flying from his hand. I’m grabbed by the arm and yanked, and then he twists it. “Let her go.” My dark angel. My soul’s keeper. My hell. My heaven. My solace. My safe place. My savior. My hero. As if the cavalry arrived just in the knick of time, my dark knight stands in the doorway with his hands in front of him and a gun aimed in our direction. “Release her.” When he doesn’t, Cruise adds, “I’ll fucking do it without a second thought or a single regret.” I’m called a whore and property, owed to him, and trash. But I am freed.

He is pushed away from me, and I try to move closer to Cruise, but I’m struggling to move at all. Maybe I was all those things my father and men like this scum fuck of the Earth—Cruise’s name— called me. Maybe. But I’m also good, and kind, smart, and Cruise even finds my jokes funny. His name for me, Dove, that’s who I am to him. Because I’m irrevocably loved.

29

Cruise

“R UN , DOVE!” She takes off down the hall. The act both making me happy for her safety, and sad that she’s so damn trained to listen when told what to do. Her safety is at the forefront of my mind, and the most important. The rest we can work on. This fucker’s gonna die for what he’s done to her. Glancing to Vaughn, he lies motionless on the floor. I’m not sure if he’s dead or alive, but I can’t concern myself with him just yet. “Kick the gun to me very slowly.” “The famous Mr. Cristley,” he says, tilting his head. “What an odd way to meet.”

“Shut the fuck up. This isn’t a meeting. This is where you fucking meet your maker for hurting my girlfriend.” “Girlfriend?” He sighs, taking a step closer to the gun that fell from his hand when Clara elbowed the shit out of him. “What an awkward predicament we’ve found ourselves in.” What’s he rambling about? “Not awkward. Deadly if you don’t shut up and get me that fucking gun.” He starts to reach for it, but I add, “If you so much as touch that gun with your hand, you’ll lose it.” Shrugging his shoulders back, the black coat hangs open. A three-piece suit is underneath. This guy isn’t your average criminal. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but he hurt Clara and knocked Vaughn out cold. He threatened to take her son. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I asked for my investment back or to deliver what I paid for. I asked very nicely. Surely, a man of your societal stature can appreciate an approach that is both reasonable and beneficial.” “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t assume you do.” “I once had the pleasure of doing business with your brother, Fredrick. It was a smaller trade deal in the Middle East. Reasonable and beneficial.” Fuckers. The both of them. “Why are

you here?” “For my son.” “What are you talking about?” The question no sooner leaves my mouth as the answer arrives. “Clarissa’s son. She’s a beautiful girl. We made a handsome son together, don’t you think?” Toby. Holy fuck. All the calm I tried to retain evaporates with that one name. “You raped her.” “Rape is a harsh word. Do I look like a man who needs to rape a woman?” “You sure as shit didn’t pay her a social call. You fucking raped her.” His foot is finally on the gun. “She bred the heir I was never fortunate to have with my ex-wives.” “You deserve to suffer like she did. I don’t know whether to call the cops to send you to prison where you’ll be fucked every day and night or to send you to hell.” The images of him having his way with my little dove cause my thoughts to spin. My hand holds steady. I can kill him. I can get rid of the body. Jason. King. They’ll help me. He deserves to die. He fucking deserves it just like her father. “She begged me for more. She likes it—” He drops like an anchor hitting the ocean floor. Screaming in pain, his vile words are cut off, his arms wrapped around the leg where I shot him.

Walking over to get the gun, I kick it away with my foot, and tap the barrel of my gun against his head. “I warned you to shut the fuck up. You made your choice. Prison it is.” A calm comes over me as I dial 9-1-1. I remain there with my gun aimed at his temple as he wails in pain until the sirens are outside and I hear the cops invade the front porch. I’m slammed against the wall, my cheek hitting the textured paint. I take it. This time I do as I’m told, cooperating. My parents would be so proud. When the gun checks out as registered to me, along with my story, and they find out my identity, the treatment changes. Vaughn is rushed in an ambulance to the hospital, still breathing, and they give me the leeway to look for my love. I’m almost positive she ran to her bedroom. When I walk into the room, I can feel her near. I look over my shoulder to find the bear missing from the nightstand. In the middle of the room, I still my body and my mind, stop my breathing, and listen. Looking at the closet, I turn my body and walk slowly over. I don’t open the door without warning not knowing what I’ll find and not wanting to scare her even more. “Clara, it’s me, Cruise. Are you in there?” There’s no response, not a single sound. “I’m going to open the door, Clara. I’m alone. It’s just me out here.” I reach for the doorknob and slowly

turn before wedging it open just enough to let light in. The closet isn’t a walk-in. It’s barely deep enough to fit hangers so there’s nowhere to really hide. But she did the best she could. Sitting at the bottom of the dark little room is my little dove. “Clara? It’s okay. You’re safe.” Her body rocks as she holds her knees to her chest as if her life depends on it. It did. My heart tightens listening to her soft whimpers as she begs God to help her. Black makeup tears have trailed down her cheeks and farther down her legs. Kneeling down, I don’t dare touch her yet. Her fear is palpable as I sit in front of her. “It’s me, Cruise. Will you look at me?” Putting my hand down on the floor, I flip it over so it’s palm side up and move it a foot away from her. “It’s me, baby. I won’t hurt you. You’re safe now.” Hazel eyes with bright green centers find mine before her gaze dashes down to my hand. I repeat, “You’re safe.” She doesn’t make a move, the rocking stopped along with her tears. I ask, “I know you’re scared, but will you come out for me?” It’s not a big gesture, but she shakes her head. I can’t deny the blow to my heart, but I stay in place. It’s not me. I know it’s not. I know she loves me, like I do her. I also remember what it’s like to stand

before death thinking it’s the end. Her head’s full of the bullshit they’ve filled it with. I have to undo the damage they’ve done, and I will because I’ve fallen in love with my little dove. Mine, not theirs. When she drops her head onto her knees, my heart breaks all over again. Her pain is mine and all I want to do is heal her. I want to find that girl with the quick tongue and sensitive heart, the one who asked me to her place on the bravery of her own intuition. I’m determined to bring back the woman who asks me to kiss her just because she likes the way it feels when we do. God, I love her. I love her so fucking much that I refuse to lose her to the nightmares that replay in her head again. “I never did find out your favorite food though I could venture a few guesses. What is it, Dove? What’s your favorite food in the entire world?” She doesn’t answer, but her crying stops. I add, “Anything. Name anything in the world. I like Mexican food. It’s hard to get in New England, but I know a great place I’d like to take you to. Do you like Mexican food?” Peeking up, she wipes the tears away from one of her cheeks, and then licks her lips. “I like—” A sniffle cuts in. Although tears still fill her eyes, she replies, “I like macaroni and cheese.” My pride in her for fighting her way back is

immense, and my smile is instant. “You do? Mac and cheese?” This time she just nods and a little pink from embarrassment over pain sneaks onto her cheeks. I don’t dare move my hand even though she makes no effort to take it. I add, “I love mac and cheese. We can make some this week or I can take you out for the best mac and cheese in town. What about laundry? What day is laundry day or do you do a little every day?” I almost didn’t get the chance to ask her these little things about her. I won’t waste this new one. She exhales a deep breath and her body starts to relax. “Wednesday and Saturday.” “I’m more the send my laundry out kind of guy. I don’t even know how to wash clothes.” “I can show you.” “You’d do that?” She nods. The more I talk to her the more comfortable she becomes. I ask, “What about books? Do you like books that make you cry or do you prefer a happily ever after?” “Always the happily ever after.” I understand why more than ever before. “Me too.” “Would you like to go out with me on Saturday night?” “No,” she replies shaking her head. “I’d prefer to stay in and watch movies with you.”

My smile remains despite my breath halting in my chest as I watch her reach forward and set her hand in mine. This time I nod, not only because I’d prefer to stay in with her, which I do, but because the trust we had still exists. “Me too.” I clasp my fingers around her hand and she holds tight to me. “You can pick the movie.” “I don’t care about the movie. I just want to be with you.” I stand and bring her to her feet with me. She comes to me without coaxing. But I never expect to find what I do. If I look really carefully through a pair of jeans and some T-shirts, I see Toby lying in the back corner tucked behind where she was, curled up asleep. Looking to her, I whisper, “He’s okay?” “Yes. He’s okay.” “You saved him, Dove.” She turns back and looks at him barely visible through the clothes. “I would do anything for him.” “Of course you would. He’s your son. He’s lucky to have you.” Nodding, she looks down. I wrap my arms around her and lean my head on hers, closing my eyes and breathing her sweet berry scent. “I thought I might never see you again.” My confession is whispered into her hair. With her arms around my middle, she rests her head on my chest, and says, “Do you remember

how you said you thought the reason you lived was to meet me?” “Yeah. I know it was.” “The reason I lived was to stay with you and to raise him.” I don’t know how long we stay there, holding each other. Kissing her head, I hear the truth in her words, and I feel it deep inside. “You did good, Dove. So good.”

30

Cruise

SHE HOVERS. I don’t mind. In fact, I like it. Clara stops pacing around the hospital bed and puts her hands on her hips. “You could have been shot.” “I wasn’t, but I guess in some alternate universe I would be the one who got shot.” I wink at her. “In that universe, I’m king.” “Who says?” Shit. Looking over my dove’s shoulder, I see my best friend walking in, and laugh. “Perfectly bad timing, Alex.”

“Maybe I should go by King.” Sara Jane comes around the corner with a fruit basket in hand. “King’s not happening. I like you exactly how you are.” When her eyes land on me, they sharpen and her mouth twists to the side. “What are you doing, Cruise? Get up. Up. Up. Up.” Holding the basket in front of her, she turns her attention to Clara and her expression softens. “I hope you like fruit.” Clara smiles. “I love fruit. Thank you.” “We almost brought flowers, but this has chocolate tucked in there. I love chocolate and thought you might, too. I’m Sara Jane.” I stand quickly. “Sorry.” Slipping my hand around Clara’s back, I say, “Clara, this is Sara Jane and Alex.” As if she doesn’t have a swollen eye and bandages hiding a cut on the side of her head, she holds out her hand. Sara Jane hands the basket to Alex, takes Clara’s hand, and quickly ushers her to the bed. “You should be resting. Trust me. Get the rest now so you heal quicker.” Clara sits on the edge, and says, “Thank you for the basket. That’s very thoughtful of you and I love chocolate and fruit.” Moving to her side, I help her settle back against the raised mattress and remain by her side. “What brings you by?” Alex finds a seat under the window, and replies,

“You didn’t give us much choice. The call with no details was keeping my Firefly awake.” Clara’s eyes find mine. “Firefly?” “That’s Alex’s name for Sara Jane.” “You call me Dove. I love those nicknames.” Holding her hand in mine, I nod. “I do, too, my little peacemaker.” “I wasn’t so peaceful tonight.” “That’s why it’s not worse. You fought back.” “From now on, I will always fight back.” I look at Sara Jane, who’s beaming, and Alex with a raised eyebrow, who seems to have had his curiosity piqued. “Clara’s gone through a lot in life, but man, she’s a badass with a pointy elbow. She took him down with one jab.” Clara’s laughing, and rolls her eyes. “You showed up right on time.” Alex jokes, “He always did like a good entrance. This one time . . . well, now’s not the time for stories. You should probably get some rest. Sara Jane’s right. You’ll heal quicker.” He stands and reaches behind him without even turning. Sara Jane’s hand connects with his and she comes around to the end of the bed. “We just wanted to say hi. See if you’re okay. When you’re up for it, we’d love to get together with you.” Clara glances to me and I give her a smile. “We’d love that.” As they walk to the door, I say, “Thanks for

coming by.” When they leave, I tell Clara, “We don’t say goodbye.” I don’t explain why, but she gets that life is tenuous at best. Why spend time with goodbyes when there are better hellos to be had. A nurse pops in to tell us that a doctor will be by soon, but as soon as she leaves, Clara asks, “Why’d you have a gun?” “Yeah, about that. I tend to carry one.” “Tend? Or do?” “I didn’t have one on me when I was kidnapped. That was a mistake.” “Do you always carry it?” “No, but it’s always accessible.” Her mouth opens, but she doesn’t ask anything, and then it closes. We sit there a minute before she finally says, “You didn’t kill my father.” Looking toward the door to make sure we’re alone, I reply, “I was a part of it.” I’m not going to tell her who did because it doesn’t matter. In the end, I’m glad he’s dead. “My heart. It sees deep inside you. When you hurt, I feel your pain. Your joy becomes mine. I’m not just in your head, I’m in your heart.” “You are my heart.” Her fingers intertwine with mine, and she brings my hand up to her mouth to kiss it as we lie in the bed together, side by side. “I don’t know who killed my father, but I know you carried the weight of it. I

also know when you try to hide the truth it’s because you can’t lie. You can’t lie to me. It’s not that you don’t like to lie. It’s that you can’t. Not to me. Not to them.” “Them?” “Alex and Sara Jane. They’re more than friends. They’re your family.” “They are.” I like her voice and the way she looks at me, the way her lips feel on mine and closing my eyes and lying next to her feels like heaven. The light in her eyes reminds me of summer and the estate where the bushes weren’t as pristine and wildflowers grew. When I bring her to my parents’ home, that’s what I want to show her. “Tell me more about what you see in me.” Her head rests on my shoulder, her chest rising with each breath, falling as she sets it free. “I’m rethinking my position on the lying. I think you’re like me. You can lie when it protects the ones you love.” “You might be right, Ms. Eckerd. Why did you choose sacred as your last name?” “Life is sacred.” I love the simplicity of the answer. She’s right. I was beaten, but not beaten down. A lot like her. She’s my dove not just because she seeks peace in a war-torn world but also because she soars above us, her wings as expansive as her dreams. She adds, “I don’t need blue skies to see the

beauty each day. Sometimes the rain suits my mood. But every day I’m given makes it a gift.” Rolling to her side, her body snuggled into mine while her hand rests on my stomach. I take a deep breath and slowly exhale, pressures of the life I was leading before her releasing, freeing me from the pain. “What happens now?” As she starts to fall asleep, she murmurs, “We survive. We live. We love.” “Irrevocably.”

One Year Later . . . John Cristley, Sr. suffered a fatal stroke during a rally in Williamsburg on Tuesday. After a successful run for Congressman that led him to a distinguished twenty-eight years in the Senate, he had retired from politics four years earlier. He is survived by his wife of thirty-seven years, Beatrice, and their five children.

NOT FOUR AND his adopted son. Five. In the wake of my father’s death, I am finally accepted as one of his own.

I stand in front of the casket with one of my hands in my pocket and the other holding Clara’s. My head remains down as the eulogy is read. The words are almost believable as they’re delivered with award-winning performances. For as hard and cold as the Senator was to me, he was patient and encouraging to his youngest, most carefree daughter, who brought sunlight to a stuffy man and brightened his day. It’s good to hear nice things being said, a reminder to look back and dig through the dark to shed some light on the past. Maybe those TV interviews weren’t always staged. Maybe he actually liked to play ball with me. When we were watching the home videos we provided during our last interview in New York, he looked happy. I was busy watching the camera crews, but he was busy watching me with what looked like pride. So maybe things aren’t always as they seem, or feel. And maybe they are . . . Fredrick would have made the Senator proud this week. Between the public tribute broadcasted across the news three days ago to the private service today, he made sure our father was honored befitting the level of office he held. Tears are shed under an unseasonably hot sun. The loudest sobs at the Senator’s funeral come from the fifth row of mourners on the opposite side of family and close friends.

Celeste wore red. My father’s favorite color. My mother is keeping her emotions hidden under large sunglasses and a barely transparent, short black veil. She doesn’t cry, but she sees the woman in red. It’s probably best to face things we like to deny, but I hate that Celeste chose this day to put the knife into my mother’s back. She is so unbelievably cruel. I know now that I have always underestimated my mother. Maybe the blatant truth of the Senator’s betrayal will be the catalyst to heal her broken heart. She wasn’t just a mom, and wife of a senator, but a woman with dreams, and a heart that bleeds for those whose sadness has overcome them. Fredrick holds his head high when he speaks, managing to hint that his reign as the eldest son, and heir to the Cristley dynasty is just beginning. I laugh, and then get dirty looks. Mainly from Fredrick. But we stop what we are doing to watch my mother as she gets up from her chair and walks around the casket as it’s lowered into the ground. She doesn’t stop to pay respects. She did that enough in life. She doesn’t even glance at it. She keeps her eyes forward, cutting through the crowd, and stands right in front of Celeste. Celeste looks up, her red leather-gloved hand

bringing a white handkerchief to dab her eyes. My mother leans down and hugs her, appearing to console her. When she stands up, she says, “I’m sorry you didn’t have more time with my husband. You deserved each other.” She turns, but stops to add, “He didn’t leave you anything in his will. The executor confirmed that for me this morning. Oh, and your mascara’s running.” A gasp is heard across the crowd, and then Alex starts laughing, breaking the tension for me to do the same. I step forward and grab a shovel, toss some dirt onto the casket, and hand it to Matty. Lowering my sunglasses, I then take hold of my girl’s hand, and start back for the car. Alex and Sara Jane follow right behind. I guide Clara around a gaggle of reporters kept at bay behind a barricade, and tuck her safely inside from the glare of the cameras. My mom is escorted by Matty and Paige, my sister, Liza walks alone behind them, her husband making a statement by not making an appearance today. Like the champ of a son he is, Fredrick holds court in front of the barricade, fielding questions from reporters while the rest of us avoid them the best we can. Right before I get inside the car, Fredrick throws his hat into the political ring, announcing he will be running to win back his father’s seat.

Good for him. Asshole. He’s finally found his people and a place to call home where he’ll fit right in. In one of many black limos of the funeral processional, I sit in the back and stare out a darkened window. My foot is kicked. “Hey.” My eyes slide to the right to see Alex leaning forward on his knees. “Are you okay?” “Yeah.” Looking to my girl, the concern in Clara’s eyes is hard to hide. I lightly squeeze the top of her knee. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” She says, “I know you’ll be fine. I want to know if you’ll be okay.” I smile, keeping it uncomplicated despite how I feel inside. “I never felt like I was enough. I was the black sheep beyond my darker hair, skin, and eye color. Today, I feel at peace with how things have played out. Not because he’s passed. I sort of think we might have gotten along better as I’ve gotten older. Just have a new perspective about my role in this life. It’s up to me to make my own happiness.” I catch a glimpse of my dove’s smile. “So yeah, I’ll be okay.”

31

Cruise

TOBY’ S A LITTLE HELLION . I like that about him. I won’t tell him or he’ll think he can get away with shit. I can respect his rebel ways, as well as relate. He also giggles a lot. The cartoon isn’t even that funny, but he loves it, so I let him continue watching TV while I watch him. I promised Clara I would put him to bed by 7:30. It’s 8:15 when she walks in the front door and gives me that look—the one that tells me despite how sexy I am—I’m in trouble. Hopefully my punishment will be served in the bedroom later. I might’ve added that sexy reference as a hopeful

assumption on my part too, but I catch her staring at my ass and package often. “You promised you’d get him to bed on time tonight, Cruise.” Shrugging, I get up from the couch and lift a wiggle worm Toby into my arms. “We were having guy time.” “I want time with my guy.” She drops her bag on the floor, comes over, and kisses me before turning to Toby with her hands out. “Come to mama, big guy.” I’ve got competition in this house. It’s okay. He’s a really super cute kid. Other than his eyes, he looks just like her. Toby jumps into her arms, calls out “Mama,” then follows it with an excited squeal that makes me wonder if I’ll have loss of hearing from this kid one day. He can hit the high notes. “I was hoping you meant time with me,” I say, rubbing the round of her ass. She laughs, situating Toby on her hip. “I did, but you just delayed it by me having to get this guy to bed.” Going to the bedroom we converted from a spare room into his room, she asks, “How was my mom?” “Good. After a half hour of playing cars with Tobs, she asked for a glass of wine, and finally admitted what we thought.” “That she likes sleep and appreciates the quiet of her house?”

“Exactly. She’s liking the grandma role.” The transition we made over the last year wasn’t fast. No one wanted to disrupt Toby’s life and flip it upside down. Clara and I had a few months to set up the house the way we wanted and to childproof it. She visited Toby every day, took over feeding him, and kissing boo-boos when she was there. Two months later, she wrapped her student teaching, and together, we brought him here and created a home. We also had just gotten used to a new routine. Sex every morning. Sex every night. Sex at noon, or anytime we like—that went away when we had to be responsible adults. I miss daily. We’re more scheduled and less spontaneous these days. Sleep is . . . what is sleep again? The sex isn’t as often as either of us would like, but we manage to squeeze some time in for each other and I usually manage to squeeze into her. At the very least, I get my girl off because damn if it doesn’t get me off as well. After my father’s death, I thought a lot about how I wanted to spend my days in this world. I’m lucky to have options. I’m fortunate to have a large bank account and even larger trust fund that will mature later this year. When I stripped the pain away, I realized how much it had been holding me back. Some details of my abduction will never come out. I don’t need to

give the tragedy a voice or show it the light, but I’m okay with that. I don’t need to bleed my memories to finish my story. Clara’s doing well. Her brother is spending time in a prison psychiatric ward after a psychological evaluation during his trial for aiding in human trafficking. There was no getting him out of serving his time. I wasn’t willing to pay his bond and Clara never asked me to. As for Toby’s father, he made a bargain for solicitation of a minor, rape, and for human trafficking since the deal with her father was made when she was seventeen. He was given twenty-five years even after the plea, which included him giving up all custody. He lasted three months before he was found dead in his cell. The details are sealed but his life came to a violent end according to guards. We don’t talk about him. Not ever, and we never will. She kisses Toby on the head and tucks that bear into his arms. I come to his bedside and say, “Give me knucks, buddy.” Our knuckles bang together and then we do the explosion sound in unison. I bend down and kiss him on the head. His small arms hold me to him, and I whisper, “Love you.” “Love ya.” A lump in my throat forms, the need to protect

what’s mine is strong. I want to protect this boy, who’s become my son, with every fiber of my being. I may not be a part of Toby’s genetics, but I’m a part of this family. And I’ll be a part of who he becomes as a man. It’s a role I don’t take lightly. I was born to a grief-stricken mother, who lost her great love only a week before. People say that is the emotion that will determine the rest of the child’s life, a burden to bear. I’m proof they’re wrong. Moving back to the door, I wait for the woman I want to make my forever to join me at my side. Soon whispers across my mind. Soon. When Clara closes the door, she turns and wraps her arms around my neck. Teeth scrape lightly over my chin, rousing my body awake. Just seeing her did that, but the teeth were my green flag. I level my eyes on her, and lift her up into my arms. We’ve gotten really fucking good at keeping the sounds of our orgasms contained within our bedroom walls. So that’s where I carry her, a place I’ve been waiting to take her all day. Setting her down, she notices the little additions to the room. “You got me flowers?” The vase of flowers next to the lamp on her nightstand is just the beginning. “I saw them and thought of you.” “I love lilies. They’re the national flower of

France, you know?” “I know,” I whisper. The second she spots the next treat, she lets me know. “Oh my God! You got me cookies.” “Not cookies. Macarons. Chocolate. Vanilla, and the green one is pistachio.” “They’re my favorite.” “I know.” She doesn’t see the imposter on the plate, and that’s okay. For now. I have other plans anyway. The lamp doesn’t give much light, but it’s enough. I shut the door as she admires the flowers. Call it a fetish, but I fucking lust over her little undies. So when I say, “Let me see them,” she knows exactly what I want. “What if I told you I went without today?” She’s such a tease . . . she better be teasing. “You’re wearing underwear, right?” Shaking her hips, she heads to the end of the bed. “Maybe. Why don’t you find out?” Frustration sneaks in. “Clara, I need you to wear panties outside this house. Inside this room, it’s a free for all, but outside that front door, I’ll fucking kill any guy looking at you out of pure jealousy.” She slides her hands over her hips and then heads to the promise land. Popping the first snap, she raises an eyebrow. The tease. And damn if my heart doesn’t stop in my chest every time I see the white material wrapped around her like I want

to be. With my hands over my heart from the heart attack she almost gave me, she comes and takes my hands, directing where she wants me to be. “Touch me. Down there. I want to feel your fingers inside me.” One way or another, she’s determined to do me in. Placing my palm against her belly, I slide down and touch the tip of her clit. Her body is panting and I haven’t even begun. “For the safety of others, wear underwear.” “I’ll think about it.” She’s feisty nowadays. She doesn’t do demands. She fights back if it’s important to her, and she compromises if it’s not. She’s not obedient, but she’s softhearted, and gutsy when she needs to be. I’m so damn proud of her, and she’s so fucking sexy. And mine. Pushing down on the outside of her jeans, her hand forces mine until my fingers cover her clit, making her purr. She becomes putty in my hands. I like her noisy and demanding. I like her. I love her, in fact. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?” “Less talking. More kissing?” “Always.” A little pinch and I graze through her wetness, making her squirm. With my palm pressing down where she wants me, two fingers dip into her entrance. I watch as her head falls back and her

mouth falls open. With my free hand, I slide into the hair at the back of her head and support her until she’s looking at me. “I want to watch you and I want you to watch me.” Her breathing is becoming harsh, her body begging to lie down, enticing me with her roaming hands and tugs on my shirt. Putty. Leaning her head against my chest, her body is becoming more than putty. It’s tense and when she comes, she’ll have bones of jelly. Cherry, like her lips. Backing her onto the mattress, she falls back and lifts her legs. I grab the ankles of her jeans and pull, not hard so she lands on her ass again, but with enough gusto to get them off. Her shirt comes off as I remove mine and her bra soon follows with the rest of my clothes. There’s my goddess, before me in cotton underwear with a tiny bow at the top. My mouth is on her, my teeth tugging before I release and smell her sweet desire. I always think this time will be different. This time I’ll make love to her with my mouth and fuck her for hours. Nope. But who cares when you’re both lying together afterward in heavenly bliss. I’m usually good for another round after a quick rest, so there are no complaints. Tonight’s no different except I’m a little more impatient than usual. The panties are ripped on each side and tossed to the floor. It’s not the first

time it’s happened, but it’s the price that’s paid when she looks this fucking hot. Not wasting time, I move into position and slide inside. She warms me, her body embracing mine, and setting me on fire. It’s easy to forget the time and day, life outside this house, the world outside of her. Her. Mine. Clara. My savior. My heart. My soul. My love. My dove. The sparks light up the dark as I fall into her beautiful abyss, never needing anything more, never wanting anything less. When her body finds peace next to mine, our bodies slick with each other, she takes a deep breath and exhales a breath that calms her racing heart. With her head on my shoulder, and my arm wrapped around her, she asks, “What were you thinking about earlier?” “Earlier?” My mind is still fuzzy from the love we just made. “You asked me if I knew what you had been thinking about?” Ah. “Wait. Close your eyes.” I reach over for the French Limoge box in the shape of a macaron

and hold it in my hand. I have to stretch a little farther to turn off the lamp. “Open your eyes.” A sharp inhale, and I smile as I watch her reaction. I had a feeling she’d cry, but I didn’t expect it yet. “Cruise.” Just my name, all other words seeming to evade her as she stares at the ceiling. I say, “I promised you a sky full of stars.” “You’ve given me more.” Her vivid hazel eyes tear up and she looks at me. “You’ve given me a life.” “How about a lifetime?” I open the small porcelain box to reveal the diamond ring that sparkles even in the dark. Like her. “Will you marry me, Dove?” “Yes. With my whole soul, yes.” “I don’t need to possess your soul. I just want your heart.” Her fingers caress my cheek, and she kisses me. “You’ve had that from the start.”

EPILOGUE

Clara

Six Weeks Later . . . This is the life. “You’ve spoiled me. How will I ever go back to the box stuff when I’ve had a taste of heaven?” Cruise cracks one eye open. He was trying to get some sleep on the flight home from France, but I’m too excited. Too excited to settle into our new life with my handsome husband and our son. He opens both eyes, and I’m glad I’m sitting because every time his pools of endless love are directed at me, I still get weak in the knees. “Taste of heaven? Are you talking about me or the mac

and cheese?” “Both. I’m spoiled by both.” “I know you, Mrs. Cristley.” He kisses the hand he’s holding, keeping it against his lips. “You were talking about the food, but I’m up for the challenge and plan to spoil you for the rest of your life.” Laughing, I ask, “By spoil, you mean tear through my underwear with abandon?” “I invested in an underwear company last week.” “Oh good Lord, we’re in trouble.” “Trouble. So much trouble, sweet, sexy wife.” I drag my nails gently over the scruff that shadows his jaw. So damn good looking. “Did I ever tell you how hot you looked saving my life?” “No. Tell me.” “How about I show you?” I’m about to slip to my knees to pray at a different altar—his. I’ve already been to hell, so I don’t live in fear of returning for the sins I’m about to commit. Oh wait, we’re married now. The pilot interrupts my plan. “Please fasten your seatbelts as we start our descent.” Annoyed, he mutters, “Fuck.” “Don’t worry, we will. I have all sorts of plans for you when we get home.” “You are quite the dirty girl these days.” I shrug. “I can’t help that I have a hot husband.”

“Not any more than I can help how stunningly gorgeous my wife is.” We sound mushy. After a small ceremony at a church in New Haven, we left for France on the family jet. I figure we deserve all this goodness, so I just sit back and enjoy our love that feels so big we need to express it, and often.

Cruise I love surprising Clara. After two weeks traveling around France, we’re both eager to get home, but there is a party to attend, and despite my exhaustion, I’m looking forward to it. The estate is two miles past the Kingwood Manor, and situated on a tree-lined street among other multi-million dollar mansions. I have a few surprises up my sleeve. Not just for her, but for someone else special to me. We arrive and walk around to the back, where were greeted by our three-year-old. He runs into Clara’s arms and she swings him around. “Happy birthday, buddy.” “It’s my birthday,” he exclaims. When her embrace loosens, he reaches for me. “Daddy.” “Hey there, kid. How are you, birthday boy?” “I got Legos. And paint. Grandma even let me

paint the walls.” “What? Really?” Clara and I share matching confused looks when I set him down. “You sure?” He starts to pull me, but I stop him, and kneel down. “Can you show me?” “In the house. She let me paint my walls cuz it’s my room now.” My mom? “Grandma Cristley?” He nods. “Come.” This time the look I send Clara is one of unadulterated happiness. My mother has not only accepted Clara into the family, but treats the son I’ve petitioned to adopt as her own. Most of the Cristleys have come a long way. Some like Fredrick are too far gone. We swing Toby between us as we walk in the side entrance to the property. Paige comes running toward us, flailing her arms. “Catch him.” Twenty feet in front of her, a baby papillon is running right for us. Clara squeals and now I hear where Toby gets his deafening pitch from. She immediately sits on the ground and the puppy runs right to her lap. She’s beautiful dressed in yellow with the sunshine on her face. While she’s being covered in puppy kisses, she looks up at me, and asks, “Did you do this?” “Might have had a hand in it.” “He’s the most adorable dog I’ve ever seen.” “The timing couldn’t have been better. He’s

from a rescued mom and needed a good home. I got the call when we were in France. Paige helped getting him here.” Paige breathes a loud sigh of relief and flops down next to Clara. They hug and start chatting about the dog. They’re two peas in a pod these days. Paige also got rid of her boyfriend. Her whole aura has lightened these days. So she tells me. Although the party is inside, it seems everyone wants to greet us where I stand, my family sitting in the tall grass that surrounds us. Toby is thrilled to have a dog and has already named him Spot despite Clara’s insistence on Jacque. I’ll let them battle that out. When I look toward the house, I see the familiar figure of the woman who raised me, and beside her, the woman who loved me enough to gift me to her. That’s what my mom called it the first time she met Christine. She thanked her for the gift of me. Me? The guy who never felt loved was loved enough by two amazing women. Looking down, my dove, my love, smiles up at me. “Thank you.” I think she’s thanking me for the French breed dog, but it feels like so much more. We eventually make our way to the house where Toby’s birthday party is being hosted, the celebration was moved outside to appreciate the beautiful day. I can’t help but notice there seem to

be more blue-sky days since I met Clara. A waiter wanders through the party with a tray full of donuts, but when Clara and I see them, we pass. She wraps her arms around me and says, “I don’t need a donut when it comes to us.” The same goes for me. We have trust, love, and open communication to get us by. Alex comes over and hands me a beer. After doing the handshake we invented when we were fifteen, the bottles are tapped, and he says, “She’s an amazing woman. Toby’s a great kid. Congrats, Cruise. You deserve this.” “I’ve been wondering if I should start going by John.” “Why?” “I’m not really living up to the coasting through life thing anymore. You gave up King. Maybe it’s time for me to try on John again.” “I’ll call you whatever you want, John.” There’s a pause as we take it in before we start laughing. “Nah. John is boring as fuck.” “Cruise was always a lot more interesting.” “I prefer badass.” He chuckles again. “Whatever gets you off.” I find Clara in the crowd. It just so happens I know what that is. Or who. “If you’ll excuse me, I have business to tend to.” Right before I beeline her way, he says, “Will I see you at the penthouse on Monday?”

“Only for work.” “That’s what I like to hear.” Clara and I dance a little, drink a lot, and enjoy the company of our closest friends and family. I even let my mom invite Fredrick, though we’ve kept a wide distance between us. I’m sure the gap will close when we’re ready to deal with our real issues. As for now, we’re both good at keeping up appearances. The final surprise isn’t a gift for my beloved, but something for my mom. Or should I say, someone. Clara’s in on the plan and is almost shaking from giddiness when our special guest arrives. Walking up the terrace steps, he stops when his eyes find my mom in the crowd. And although the music still plays, it fades away. My mom turns, laughing from something Clara’s mom must have said. My mom continues to surprise me. Once, I blindly considered her an elitist, only concerned with how she was received. How we were perceived. Yet, she’s taken Clara, her mom, and Toby into her home with open arms, welcoming them into her home, heart, and into our family. The two women have become great friends. I think they feel less . . . alone. “She sees him,” Clara whispers. She does. Her smile vanishes and then slowly rebuilds as recognition sets in. Clara and I walk over, not making it a big deal outside of the two

people this reunion includes. The widower wasn’t hard to track down. Adam Blum never moved far from where he grew up. My mom joins us, and I make the reintroduction, “Mom, I think you might remember, Mr. Blum.” “I remember. I remember him well.” Her voice is soft, tears filling her eyes. If I’m not mistaken, she might be blushing. He holds out a bouquet of daisies, and smiles. “And I could never forget you, my wildflower.” I excuse us and take my wife for a walk through the garden. Just at the edge of the pond, I steal a kiss, and then reminisce. “Remember how you threw yourself at me when I saw you at the pub?” I’m whacked on the arm as I burst out laughing. She rolls her eyes. “You just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” Grabbing her quickly by the hand, she spins away from me and I spin her right back in. Holding her tightly to me, I say, “No, you’ve got it wrong. I was the right guy in the right place at the right time.” This time she kisses me. When she leans back and looks up at the stars, she smiles. It’s the love that sparkles in her eyes when she looks at me that almost brings me to my knees. Sacred. “You look good in a suit, and white suits your mood better these days.” I cup her face, leaning in to kiss her because

I’m the luckiest guy in the world to call this woman my wife. She whispers, “What was that for?” “For every day that we’ve ever spent together, and every second that remains, I have you to thank for giving me a reason to live, to returning my faith, and handing me hope when you gave me your hand in marriage.” “Cruise?” “Yes?” “I love you.” “I love you, too.” Our legs are tackled by a two-armed little monster who can’t stop giggling. I pick Toby up and toss him in the air. I don’t need to go looking for trouble anymore. I don’t need to search for answers to questions that don’t hold the same weight these days. I’ve everything I need. A life full of yellow. This family right here—my family—is all that matters.

EPIC ROMANCE

If you loved SACRED, make sure to meet all the key players in this series: The Kingwood Duet (SAVAGE & SAVIOR) has been called the most epic romance of the year and heralded as a modern day Romeo & Juliet, features Alex and Sara Jane. CLICK HERE to start their journey Although you don’t meet Jason in SACRED, his presence is made known. He puts the Bad in bad boy. You can get a sneak peek into his book, SOLACE, by flipping the page. Or jump into this Second Chance Romance Standalone right here: CLICK NOW

Thank you so much for reading SACRED. Reviews are always appreciated on Amazon and wherever SACRED is sold, as well as on Goodreads. If you love a book, word of mouth is an amazing gift to an author. Spread the Love.

SOLACE

PROLOGUE

It’s pouring rain, but I don’t care. I can’t look away from my past. God, she’s beautiful. We shared so many shameless kisses. Our bodies covered in the slick love we’d made. Carefree hair blowing in the wind. A sunset captured on the back of a fishing boat. Yeah, we were wild and in love back then with no cares in the world. But something I’ve learned is all good things must come to an end, whether by choice or circumstance. Nothing good can last. And it didn’t. A love so pure, so innocent in its faith—like ours—could never survive. Didn’t survive. We were young. We were naïve.

We were so damn in love. And then apparently, we weren’t. The motorcycle’s too loud to be considered stealth. A bike like this, even custom and almost costing as much as a small house, will never impress her. How do I know that? Because I never impressed her. Guess that’s why she left me. Or did I leave her? I know the truth, but sometimes I pretend the facts are fuzzy. Hazy facts or not, four years is a lot of time to pass without living with your other half —your better half. She’d called us soul mates at one time. Maybe she was right, and it’s half my soul I’ve been living without all this time. I’m back in the same town I once hated, sitting in front of the same house I once visited regularly, not thinking clearly, much like a night I’d like to forget. This time she’s standing on that front porch. I don’t know what I was thinking coming back here. I don’t know what to think at all. Maybe . . . No. She’s not an option—she’s married. She’s off limits. It didn’t stop him back then, but it should stop me now. But then wild memories fill my brain— holding her in my arms and making her promises I

intended to keep. So young. So naïve. So damn in love. Rumor is he hits her. Rumor is she visits my mom on occasion to reminisce. Rumor is she misses me. Fuck. Rumors. Fucking rumors. Looking at her on that front porch now, she’s still so damn beautiful. I see that same look in her eyes I remember from back then. It’s the one that brought me to my knees the first time I ever laid eyes on her. I scrub my hands through my soaked hair and question everything I’m about to do. What am I doing here? Her smile, her small wave . . . two things I’ve craved. Missed. My choice is made. I swing my leg off the bike and cut the engine to the black Harley to find out. I shove my hands into the pockets of my wet leather jacket and start walking across the lawn I’ve walked a million times. I grab the railing that wobbles and is covered in chipped paint, prop one foot up on the bottom step, and stare at her.

Life brings many things that catch us, distract us, keep us. I’m not one easily caught, though. But the one thing I never seemed to be able to get uncaught in is Delilah Noelle. It’s been too long since I’ve laid eyes on the beauty standing before me. “Hi.” Her shoulders drop, the tension falling away as if she’s been waiting for this day, and it’s finally come. “What took you so long?” Keep reading for Chapter 1, or CLICK NOW

CHAPTER 1

Jason Koster New York is always an option. I hate Manhattan, but I could live in a borough. I could blend into city life and disappear among all the other ghosts donning black clothes that inhabit the area. I pass the exit, the city no longer a choice, and keep driving south. I never felt like I belonged there anyway. I’ve traveled this country from Maine to Los Angeles, Alaska to Key West. I stayed a few days in a motel outside of Atlanta. Swam in the gulf along the Mississippi coast. Drank whiskey in the freedom of Joshua Tree, and slept under a blanket of stars in Texas. I lived.

I survived. Yet, all roads seem to lead me here. My jersey number still graces the beat-up old sign along the highway. The billboard is just before the exit that leads you to a one-traffic-light town with a pharmacy that still serves ice cream at the counter and Wilbur Macy still sits in a rocking chair at the corner of Main and First Street. It’s the kind of place where you’ll find the whole town at the stadium on Friday night and then in church on Sunday morning, not leaving much time to sin. Although we always managed to squeeze a little in. I laugh when I spot the sign I use to shoot my BB gun at while driving by: This is God’s country. Don’t drive through it like hell. This time I actually slow down. Might be the first time. I don’t want the attention, much less Jeffrey Whaley, the town deputy, pulling me over. I’ve managed to avoid the law for some time now, so there’s no need to cause trouble in my hometown, especially when I’ve earned a few new scars and inked my skin. I know he’ll have a problem with a tattoo. He’ll judge me from that alone, but I also have a backpack full of memorabilia. I don’t want to explain, much less talk about where I’ve been the last three years. Unfortunately, I have to cruise down Main to get home.

Home. My home was never a place, but a person. It’s funny how time changes things. I don’t think about Delilah as much anymore. I’m really good at pocketing those disconcerting feelings away, but damn if being here doesn’t drag them all back to the surface. As familiar as this place feels, it doesn’t feel like home. Glancing down First when I pass under the green light, I’m tempted to cruise by her house. I wave to Wilbur instead—glad to see he’s alive and still rocking on that corner—and keep driving. I should really say hi to my mom, but my throat is dry, so I pull into a parking spot a few down from Red River—the main bar here. Don’t want to see anybody I know, but I will, so I might as well get it over with. I pull open the door and walk inside. It’s dark and my eyes aren’t adjusted, but I know this place by heart so I keep walking until everything comes into view. Front door. Top half glass. Back door through the small kitchen in the left corner. One large window. One window in the men’s and two smaller windows in the women’s restroom. Five booths. Six people.

Ten barstools. Five taken. Nodding to the bartender standing by the far end near the three beer taps, I take the one vacant place at the end of a row of occupied barstools. Looking down, four guys stare back at me. “Daryl and Billy. Should have guessed you’d be taking up space here.” The bartender, McGilley, swings his towel over his shoulder and rests two hands on the bar top in front of me. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. If it’s not Mr. Eight himself, Jason Koster. What do we owe the pleasure, your high and mighty-ness?” “I haven’t been that number or guy in a long time. How about a Heineken?” That entertains the guys, and they start laughing, mocking me. “Never mind. How about a Budweiser?” McGilley asks, “You sure about that? That’s a working man’s beer. Might be hard on your stomach.” “Serve the fu—” I catch myself. I can’t talk like that around here. I’ll end up in a fight and spending the night in jail. “I think I can handle it.” I put a ten on the counter. “Keep the change.” “Big spender. So where’ve you been that you decided to come home and spend money like it doesn’t matter?” Daryl asks. Daryl Satters—grew up down the road from me. One year ahead of me in school. Got a job at

the plant out of high school. All-around asshole. I’m not surprised to see him here. I figure his ass is parked on a barstool at Red River by five each night, drinking his sorrows away just like his dad. Once dreamed of being a pro-baseball player, but that took a dedication he never had for the game. Ironic how he’s worked at the same industrial plant for eight years. That takes dedication. My beer is set down, the money swiped from the bar. I take a long pull before answering. “All over.” Billy lines up and fires his question next, “What have you been doing for work?” I always liked Billy Langston. A tick older than me, we were in the same grade. At one time, I called him one of my best friends. He always had my back. “It’s good to see you, Billy.” “You too, Koster. Rumors have been flying for years about what happened to you. Did you return to put ’em to rest?” “Nah. Let them gossip.” I down my beer and set the empty down when I stand up. Not looking to entertain an interrogation, I’m ready to go. This might be a record. Ten minutes and I’ve already had my fill of this town. Or maybe it’s these two in front of me. They look the same, talk the same, give shit the same. But I know I’m not that same guy they used to know. The darkness I carry hangs

heavy over my head. My carefree football days are long gone. I don’t need to be here any longer. “I’m heading out.” McGilley asks, “Going to see your ma?” “Heading there now.” I tap the bar top and head for the door. “See you around, gentlemen.” The sun is setting when I head down Main Street and take the curve out to the house where I grew up. It’s dark when I pull up the dirt drive and cut the engine. I’m surprised the sound of the Harley didn’t drag my mom to the window. The lights are on inside, a few of the shades still open. The TV is muffled but heard through the thin walls of the old house. It needs some care. If I stay more than a day or two, I can help her around the house, make sure things are in good working order. I think about walking in the back door like I always have, but decide against it. She hasn’t heard from me in a few months, much less seen me for years, so I head to the front and knock. The door opens and she pushes the screen door with her hand before leaning against the frame. A mischievous smile appears, tipping up one side. I’ve been told I smile the same way. Guess I learned from the best. Her hair is pinned back but some strands from a long day of work have fallen. She’s dressed like she has someplace to go, but I know better. She’s a homebody by choice. Meredith Koster just likes to look good. She crosses her arms,

and says, “Well, if it isn’t my long-lost son. What brings you to town, kid?” The kid reference makes me smile. Also makes me miss the innocence that the name suggests. “Just thought it was time for a visit.” She drops the hard-ass act and opens her arms. “Come here.” Hugging me tight, she adds, “I have missed you so much. I don’t know why you like to worry me like you do.” One front door. Two deadbolts. One chain. A screen door. Back door. Three small windows. Two locks. A screen door. Fourteen windows total. It feels good to hug her again. I’m way bigger than she is, outgrowing her by eighth grade, but she still hugs me like I’m her baby. Backing into the house, she says, “Get on in here and close the door behind you. You’re letting bugs in.” The screen door screeches closed and I shut the front door, locking it behind me, even though I’ve never considered myself the paranoid type. I probably should be, considering what I’ve been up to, but I never felt unsafe at home. She moves into the kitchen as I drop my backpack on the floor. Peeking out, she says, “You sure are traveling light these days.” “A few changes of clothes. The basics are all I need.” I start for the kitchen but get sidetracked by

the framed photos on a bookcase. My graduation photo is too large to enjoy. No one needs to see an eight-by-ten in a cheap brass frame, highlighting a bad haircut. There’s a photo of me as quarterback senior year of high school and one from my little league days. The baby pic of me with my face covered in cake is humiliating, so I don’t linger too long on that one. That seems like a lifetime ago, and a broken arm in college ended my glory days. Bending down, there’s a smaller five-by-seven from prom night. Delilah Noelle. The belle of the ball. The queen of my heart. The town darling. We made a good-looking couple, a match in every way. The head cheerleader who fell for the football star. So unoriginal. People said we were so sweet we gave them a toothache. It was real. We were real. Looking over my shoulder, my mom says, “I can’t seem to pack it away.” A lot like my feelings for Delilah, despite how hard I’ve tried. I stand up and turn to my mom. I take the offered mug of tea, not wanting to talk about the girl in the photo or the woman across town. Sitting on the couch, Mom asks, “How long are you staying?” “How long will you have me?” “As long as you need.”

“I’m not hiding out.” “Okay, as long as you want then.” She sips her tea and I do the same. “I’ve cleaned your room, and you have plenty of clothes in the closet and the dresser. I can take you out shopping tomorrow for anything else you might need.” “I don’t need you to buy me things. I can afford what I need.” “How is that exactly? What do you do, Jason?” “Odd jobs. Here and there.” She knows when to stop pushing for answers I’m not going to give her. Standing, she asks, “Are you hungry? I was just about to make grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup.” “That sounds incredible.” “You go settle in and clean up, and I’ll make dinner.” I grab my bag and head down to the hall but stop when she adds, “It’s good to have you home, son.” Home. There’s that word again. It’s a word I haven’t known in some time. Am I home? I’m not really sure anymore, but my mom has always been a haven, so she deserves to hear that from me. I smile and say, “It’s good to be home.” Spend more time with Jason and Delilah here: CLICK NOW

ON A PERSONAL NOTE

My family has the patience of saints. They are truly the most encouraging, loving, and supportive people. I count my lucky stars every day to have them in my life. To my friends, I miss you. Thank you for your friendship and support while I buried myself in this book and in the world of Cruise and Clara. I promise to drink extra cocktails next time we get to spend time together. WOOT! To the Readers, Authors, and Bloggers, you make this all possible and I’m so fortunate to have such awesome peers and friends. Thank you for reading my books and for the love you always show me and the characters. Irrevocably in love, Suzie

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

For more information on New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, S. L. Scott: Visit her website www.slscottauthor.com Sign up for her newsletter: http://bit.ly/1pF049r

Living in the capital of Texas with her family, Scott loves traveling and avocados, beaches, and cooking with her kids. She's obsessed with epic romances and loves a good plot twist. Her favorite color is blue, but she likens it more toward the sky than the emotion. Her home is filled with the welcoming symbol of the pineapple and finds surfing a challenge though she likes to think she's a pro. www.slscottauthor.com

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To keep up to date with her writing and more, her website is www.slscottauthor.com to receive her newsletter with all of her publishing adventures and giveaways, sign up for her newsletter: http://bit.ly/SLSNewsletter

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