Dom stops me with a hand on my arm. “This one is his.”
Half an hour later, after trick-or-treating and disposing of our Michael masks and plastic gloves, we were half a million richer and had a new list of marks to target. Thanks to Sean and Dom, Elijah became a thumb sucker, and Amelia was set free to make better life choices. By the time the sun rose the next morning, Sean had managed to forget about his broken heart. But I didn’t. And by the time Dom got back from college, we had new rules in place for birds looking to nest. A specific mark meant to protect them. A mark Cecelia now bears.
Dicing some onion, I glance back at the pile of shit I bought for the night and wince about the fact that it might be overkill. I was assured Cecelia would love it. Itching to take another drink of gin, I forgo it as the sunlight begins to fade and glance at the time on my cell. The café closed an hour ago. She should be home. I shoot a text to the new birds on watch.
What’s her twenty?
Café.
I swallow back the sting she may be avoiding me and resume my chopping.
Stretching my neck to relieve it of some of the tension, I sit on one of the sofas in my café gazing into the fire while my phone charges.
As soon as it powers up, I see a missed text from Christy. A picture of her boys in the hand-sewn Halloween costumes she worked on for months. I heart the image and shoot a return text.
Awesome. Love you.
The bubbles start and stop, and I know why. I haven’t called or FaceTimed her since Tobias showed up, and I know she’s angry with me. When I got to Virginia, I called her daily, and being the friend she is, she talked me through setting up in a new life, my heart freshly re-broken.
The fucking usual.
Her texts have become shorter, more abrupt as of late because mine have become non-existent. She’s put up with years of this shit from me and doesn’t deserve it. If anything, she deserves a better friend, and I’ve abused our friendship to the point she should be seriously pissed at me. The truth is, I’m tired of lying.
I’ve been doing it for too long, and it’s shortchanged our relationship.
She’s my constant, my family, and she deserves better, but it’s all part of the cost of loving Tobias. If I tell her I’m with him again, I know I won’t have her support. And worse, if he breaks my heart all over again, I don’t know if I can handle the ‘I told you so.’ So, for now, I’m hiding instead of lying.
This morning, I was ready to give in to what I feel for him, but soon after we were interrupted, I was struck by a gnawing fear that doing so could land me right back to a starting point I’ve been pushed back to one too many times before.
But I love him. And I want him, badly. The craving is getting harder to ignore. We’ve been sleeping in the same bed for nearly a month, and I haven’t once permitted myself to get lost in him.
“Earth to Cecelia.”
I glance up at Marissa to see her shaking her head. It’s then I realize she’s been standing in front of me with the deposit in hand, and I tuned her out the whole time she was trying to get my attention.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I said I’d take the deposit if you want to head home.” She shoulders her purse and smiles down at me. “Boss, please know I have your best interests at heart when I say this.”
“Okay?”
“Put yourself out of your misery and fuck the man, already.” She lifts a brow as my lips part. “First and foremost, I’ve seen him, and not even the Messiah himself will blame you for fornicating sinfully and often with him. You can think it through all you want, but combine sexual tension, old hurts, conflicting feelings, and what-ifs, and you two are going to be hamsters on roller skates for some time.”
“Isn’t it a hamster on a wheel?”
“Which do you think is harder for the hamster?”
I laugh and shake my head at her. “You’re nuts.”
“You’re still punishing him.”
“Trust me. I have reason to. But I’m…I want to let it go.”
“So,” she nudges me and grins. “Go home and mount that fucking lion, mouse.”
“I’m not a mouse, and that’s what I need to make him understand.”
She nods. “Then get persuasive. Fight him if you must, but do it in your laciest thong.” She grabs our cups. “I’m going to rinse these and take off.”
I stand. “I’ll leave with you.”
I set the alarm, and it starts to beep as we head toward the door.
“You could take a day off, you know,” she adds, “we can cover things here.”
“I just did yesterday, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Marissa chatters on about her Halloween plans as I lock up, spotting the two ravens in the sedan parked a few stores down. I lift my chin in both greeting and thanks as Marissa and I step off the curb and she rounds her SUV.
“—I didn’t think I’d see him again after that day, but he’s got potential. I don’t know, we’ll see.”
She opens her car door, and her chatter ceases. “My God, woman, it’s like talking to a wall.”
I wince and look over at her. “Sorry. I’m just…”
“Distracted. It’s okay, girl,” she offers patiently, adding a wink of support. “See you tomorrow, boss.” She starts her Jeep and backs away, just as a mother of two steps out of the minimart a few doors down, passing out two freshly purchased orange pumpkin containers from a plastic bag to two eager costumed Minions. She catches me on the sidewalk noticing them, and smiles, and I wave before she sets to work securing them in the back of her SUV. I imagine her life is similar to Christy’s in the family dynamic, and can clearly see their night playing out. A rushed dinner, followed by trick-or-treating, before wrestling their sugar high kids into pajamas and later collapsing in bed sharing a high five.
A normal life.
I could have had that. I had every chance to have normal. But with Tobias, normal will most likely never be part of the equation. And the truth is, I resented normal when I did have it, my whole-being rejected it. I wanted him, a life with him. And he’s here. He’s here because he wants me too, and the rest of it just doesn’t fucking matter.
Remorse courses through me as I picture the exit wound on Tobias’s back while he was showering.
“What are you doing, Cecelia?” I scold as tears threaten.
My heart cracks in understanding at the time I’ve already wasted, begrudging him for mistakes he’s already paid for ten times over. And he’s still punishing himself daily, his heart continually breaking. And instead of forgiving him and trying to put his pieces back together, I’m ripping the possibility of a second chance away from us. While he’s been fighting for what we had, I’ve been weighing him down with expectations.
Every minute counts, every second I’m with him is a gift, and I’m fucking wasting it.
“I remember everything, Cecelia. Every word you said, every look you gave me. Your three kinds of laughs, the details of your dreams, the way your nostrils flare when you’re starting to get pissed. The sting of your slaps, the salt in your tears, the fit of your breasts in my hand. The feel of your mouth, the taste of your pussy, so which part do you need me to remind you of?”
“Shit.” Eyes burning, throat tightening, I unlock my car, get behind the wheel, turn the ignition, and put it into gear before racing out of the parking lot toward my broken king.
Stepping into the house fifteen minutes later, my world is transformed when I see dozens of soft tealights flickering throughout the house. My ears perk up as I try to identify the filtering music—old, melodic, and slow.
Beau greets me with a lick on my hand, and I bend down to scratch his ears before racing through the living room, following the sound of light clatter in the kitchen. Stepping in, I’m met by the sight of Tobias cooking, his muscular forearms on display as he drizzles olive oil into a pan before turning his sunset eyes to me, his lips lifting in greeting. “Late day?”
My eyes water as I pic
ture him in Roman’s kitchen all those years ago. “Yeah, sorry, m-m-my phone died, and I don’t like driving home in the dark without it charged up, just in case. I mean, there’s a charger in my Audi, but I’m used to driving D-d-the Camaro.”
He frowns as I stumble through my excuse, my heart pounding as the elation I felt weeks ago from seeing him in that parking lot comes flooding back in. He studies me, looking completely relaxed, an untouched drink on the counter next to him. He walks over to where I stand and takes the purse from my shoulder, tossing it onto the counter before stepping closer and turning me in his arms to untie my apron.
“Wait,” I say, pulling a bulging jack-o-lantern bag of candy from my apron, my cheeks flushing when I turn and thrust it at him. “Happy Halloween.”
He gazes down at it, and his lips lift. “Thank you.”
“It’s silly, I know.”
“Not silly.” He nods over his shoulder, a sheepish smile playing on his own lips as I look over to the kitchen table full of…everything imaginable, most notably two pumpkins ripe for carving.
“You want to do Halloween with me?”
He nods emphatically, turning back to me, a frown in place when he sees the tears in my eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“I love you,” I blurt out. “I’m sorry I’ve made this so hard on you.”
He searches my eyes. “No, Trésor, I deserv—”
“To be happy. We both do.”
He cups my face in his hands, relief in his eyes as I throw my arms around him and kiss him. He groans in surprise as I amplify the kiss, showing him just how hungry I am, and he tilts my head, diving deep as we stand in the middle of my kitchen and explore, a low moan leaving my throat as he gives in and grips the back of my shirt while pulling me tightly to his chest. He closes our kiss before I’m ready and turns me in the direction of my bedroom. “Go shower. We’ve much to do and a chess game to start. Hurry up.”
Taking his cue with a light slap on the ass and a little bounce in my heels, I walk through the living room to see he’s cleaned the house spotless and vacuumed. There’s not a thing out of place. The fire warms me as I walk by, the ambiance relaxing me further as I pause at the door of the bedroom to see that my desk has been cleared of clutter, the books shelved and organized. On top of my desk lays a leather-bound journal with freshly written script and a pen sitting next to it.
Cher Journal,
I met my grandfather, Abijah’s dad, when I was twenty-one at a park in Paris. He sent me an invite to join him at his table by way of messenger. He’d been watching over me for the years I’d been in Paris, something I took great comfort in after the fact. Before we met, I spent years searching for my mother’s relatives to help me and got the door slammed in my face due to being Abijah’s son. This was not the case with Abel.
My grandfather never once treated me as anything other than his beloved grandson. And he never once begrudged me for my mother’s abandonment of Abijah, either. After our initial meeting, he spent every Saturday with me for months, teaching me the game he held most dear to him while relaying to me everything he knew about life and the strategy of chess. I’ve always been a believer in the saying ‘listen to your elders,’ and though he fit the criteria, he was far wiser than any other man I’ve encountered before and after I met him, with one exception—my brother.
With Abel, I felt a kinship close to that of my bond with Beau, and maybe a little bit more so, due to the blood relation.
I’ve always felt guilty about that.
But after years of living mostly in solitude in the city, I had someone, a friend by way of family.
He was an odd man and laughed about things I often didn’t understand at times without him explaining them. He lived on a diet of French bread, cheese, apples, and the strongest coffee imaginable and often demanded I bring all before playing our game.
It was fall of that year that I showed up at the park, a bag of his favorite things in hand to discover our pieces still in play from the week before.
And I knew he was gone.
But what he left me with was a sense of family I hadn’t felt from anyone but Dom since my parents died. I cherish that time we had together. More often than not, I sensed he’d been a major player at one point in his life, and he’d alluded to it often without much detail, though he never really confessed. However, it was clear that there were many aspects of his life he was deeply ashamed of. The most haunting that he was a militant father. Maybe I was his way of dealing with his grief in losing his only son, my company a reprieve for some of his pain. But for whatever reason he reached out—it was worth it to me just to know him.
I can’t remember his last words to me. And as a man with an extensive memory, that ironic and cruel fact baffles me to this day. I’m certain his goodbye that day was filled with warmth and subtle advice. Because despite the man he might have been, he died a kind man, a man I admired and honestly, a man I began to love like family.
When I attended his funeral as his only living relative, I felt the strength of that lie and decided that one day, I would seek out my birth father to try and get him the care he needed to honor Abel. I don’t know if I believe in the afterlife, but I want to because I don’t have a close living relative left, and it’s comforting to think they all may be reunited somewhere and waiting.
I like to think that if an afterlife does exist, Abel rested easier when I finally found Abijah knowing that he was cared for and wasn’t alone when he died. And maybe now, they both have peace.
It’s a question that plagues me often, the existence of the afterlife, and has since my parents died. A question I struggle with daily, mostly due to guilt.
Because if we are truly looked upon, and those who’ve passed are able to hear us, my confession is this—
I haven’t spoken a word to my brother since he died.
Every day I wonder if he waits for word from me.
And even with the guilt that he might be waiting, I can’t find the words. I don’t know if I ever will.
With a lump swelling in my throat, I sniff and see a shift in my periphery and look over my shoulder to see Tobias watching me, his arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.
“Is this what you want?”
In his head, it’s what I asked for.
I nod. “Yes.”
“This I can do.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“It didn’t seem so long ago when I read it. Did you ever ask about Abijah?”
“No, I never could muster the courage because I think it was too painful for him to talk about.”
I turn my attention back to the journal and run my hand over the page. “Thank you.”
“This is the only time I’ll watch you read it. Whether or not you read my confessions is up to you. And Sensodyne.”
“What?”
“The toothpaste I like.” He shrugs. “I have sensitive gums.”
I can’t help my laugh as I sniffle back the rest of my tears. “I love you.”
“I know,” he shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry that’s such a hard task.”
“Not so hard.” I walk over to where he stands, and he cups my face, his eyes glittering with affection.
“You want another confession?”
I nod, captive in his hands.
“I never had a real girlfriend until you. You were my first and only.” His eyes are earnest, his words ripping at my heart when he speaks. “A flirtation, dinners, sex, but nothing more, and Alicia was…a distraction. She was kind and tried to take care of me no matter how much I resisted, but it wasn’t real, we didn’t share a life,” he runs his thumbs along my jaw, “not carving pumpkins, or a turkey, or picking out a Christmas tree, meeting the parents. And I never thought I would ever want these things, but I do. And I want to do these things with you.”
“You want to do normal with me?” I ask as tears I can’t help spring and spill.
“I do,” he murmurs, wiping them away. “Why are you crying again, Trésor?”
“Because I’m okay with being a mouse…sometimes.”
His brows pull into a deep V. “What?”
“You don’t have to understand it.”
“Okay, well, I love you, too, mouse.” He dips and kisses me again, and I feel the strength of it to my toes as he pulls back, and uncertainty crosses his beautiful features. “I don’t know if I’ll be a good boyfriend.”
“You were when we were together, aside from, you know, the lying and manipulation, and you still are, so very good at it.”
“Trésor, I want to Halloweenie with you and Thanksgiving with you, and Christmas with you, but—”
I can’t help my giggle. “Halloweenie?”
“Yes, with you.”
“Hallow-weenie. That’s what you’re saying, right?”
“Yes.” The line creases in his forehead. “That’s what I said.”
“Tobias, there is no Halloweenie.”
“Yes, there is,” he insists. “My mother said it all the time.”
I snort. “Tobias, it’s just Halloween.”
He looks at me like I’m ignorant. “It’s the event, an occurrence, you know, what you do the day of—” He releases my face, tossing his hand in his explanation. “There’s Christmas carols and caroling. Halloween, and Halloweenie—” He frowns as if it’s starting to sound odd to him.
Laughter erupts from me as I cup his face. “Ah, you poor man, I think your mother lost that one in translation. You had just moved from France, right?”
He nods slowly.
“You’re thirty-seven years old. How is it possible you still believe that’s the right verbiage?”
“I don’t celebrate holidays, so it’s a rare conversation,” he says dryly. “The woman at the store didn’t correct me today.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re a scary, mean-looking foreigner, and they’re terrified to.”
I swear I see his olive skin tint. “Tobias, my love, I’m sorry, but there is no act of Halloweenie.”
The Finish Line Page 25
