Rage

by Michelle Pace

  “Phillip was coming to talk to you that night,” Cheyenne of-

  fered, unsure how Steph would take the news. Steph turned to

  116

  RAGE

  her, obviously chewing over the information. They pulled into

  the driveway, and Steph was out of the Rover before the driver

  put the vehicle in park.

  “Steph, wait!” Cheyenne called and made for the door. Scot

  held her arm.

  “Just leave her alone. Give her some time to think.”

  “She’s had months by herself to think, Scot,” she shot back.

  She scrambled out of the Rover and darting a building over,

  climbed the stairs to Steph and Kara’s room. She tapped gently

  on the door. Kara answered the door looking a bit freaked out

  with Liam perched on her hip. She could see Steph rifling

  through her suitcase.

  “Kara, can you excuse us?” Cheyenne held out her arms for

  Liam, never taking her eyes off of Steph. Kara left without a

  word. Steph stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

  As Steph pulled bobby pins from her upswept hair, Cheyenne

  stepped in behind her and leaned against the door.

  “Stephanie…we’ve been through a lot of shit together . A

  lot. And you were there for me when I floundering. Jacking up my career and my private life, and you tried to help. Now I’m

  trying to help you.”

  “No one can help me.” Steph’s dark reply gave Cheyenne

  the chills. She pulled Liam closer to her chest instinctively.

  Steph had always had a detached air about her, but after the ba-

  by, she’d been bleak and extremely depressed. Cheyenne and

  Cedric had staged a private intervention, and though she’d re-

  fused professional counseling (“who needs a shrink when I have

  the two of you?”), she’d agreed to antidepressants.

  “You need to talk to me. I’ll come back when you’re so-

  ber.”

  Steph scoffed. “That scene on the beach was pretty damn

  sobering.”

  “Then let’s talk.” Cheyenne gestured with her free hand.

  Liam felt like dead weight against her, and she realized he’d fall-117

  TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

  en asleep.

  “Alright.” Steph murmured, the steam from the hot water

  already fogging up the mirror. “Can I get the sand and saltwater off of me first?”

  “Sure.” Cheyenne stepped out, and Steph shut the door in

  her face. Cheyenne went and lay Liam down on Steph’s bed,

  curling up beside him. She stroked his soft cheek and remem-

  bered how she used to stare at him for hours when he was a

  newborn. It was unimaginable that she’d considered aborting

  him as she had. She kissed the top of his head and wandered to

  the mini-bar. The look in Steph’s eyes in the bathroom reminded

  Cheyenne way too much of Italy. She didn’t even like to think

  about that week, but after rushing to Steph’s aid with Cedric tonight, it was bringing it all back.

  Scot had been shooting a video and came home looking ra-

  ther sheepish. At first Cheyenne had thought he was just tired.

  When he had finally raised his eyes to hers, he oozed regret.

  “What?” Leery, she wasn’t sure she was ready for him to

  answer her.

  “Honey…don’t get mad. Please.” Scot started, and Chey-

  enne braced herself.

  “I need to show you the rough cut of the video.” He contin-

  ued. Cheyenne wondered what he’d done in the video that he

  was so worried about her seeing. They weren’t even half-way

  through the video before she was stalking back and forth across

  the room.

  “How the hell could you let this happen?” She was shaking,

  pissed. and her voice had dropped an octave. Scot looked at the

  floor.

  “I know.”

  Cheyenne pulled out her phone and texted Steph.

  Cheyenne: Where are you?

  Stephanie: Milan.

  118

  RAGE

  Cheyenne caught the first flight to Milan. When Stephanie

  opened her front door, she gawked at Cheyenne. Cheyenne

  gawked back at Steph. She hadn’t seen her since the Toxicity

  concert. She looked like she hadn’t showered and was abnormal-

  ly pale with dark circles under her eyes. Take-out boxes littered her stunning ultra-modern apartment, and Cheyenne nearly faint-ed when she noticed a grey tabby cat lounging on Steph’s white

  couch. To Cheyenne’s surprise, a large canvas of Phillip still

  hung over the mantle. Steph picked the cat up and sat down with

  it on her lap. Steph had never been remotely interested in ani-

  mals. Cheyenne looked over her shoulder as if looking for the

  fourth horseman of the apocalypse.

  “So…it’s good to see you. Where’s the baby?”

  Cheyenne paused. Something was terribly wrong with

  Stephanie, and for a moment, she was afraid of making things

  worse.

  Steph dropped the cat, which scurried away. “Is everything

  okay with Liam?”

  Cheyenne cleared her throat. She knew things would be

  worse if Steph stumbled across the video on her own. “He’s fine.

  I have something that you need to see.”

  As the video played, Steph’s face turned a deeper shade of

  purple. The images of Phillip and the girl who looked too much

  like her on the screen seemed to mesmerize her. Her dull eyes

  watered, and the hurt and betrayal on her face forced Cheyenne

  to look away.

  When Cheyenne turned back, Steph was wringing her hands

  and shaking her head with a menacing expression. Cheyenne was

  sure Steph might vomit, when instead a psychotic chuckle tum-

  bled from her lips.

  The tirade that followed was legendary even by Steph’s

  standards. It culminated with Steph ripping the picture of Phillip off of the wall from over her mantle and flinging it off the side of her terrace on the sixth floor. Cheyenne gasped and bent over the 119

  TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

  rail to see if anyone was on the sidewalk below. When the can-

  vas somehow landed close to the dumpster, Steph threw her arms

  in the air and shouted “score!”

  Steph was at her laptop, preparing to send private pictures

  of Phillip to the tabloids, when Cheyenne yanked the computer

  off the table. It came unplugged in the process and Cheyenne

  rolled the cord around her hand.

  “No. Don’t sink to his to his level. Go take a fucking show-

  er, and if you can still get a brush through your hair, do so. We need to go have a drink.”

  “Right on. I could use a drink,” Steph agreed and vanished

  into the bathroom. Cheyenne took advantage of the opportunity

  to hide Steph’s laptop in the guestroom closet in case she had

  any other bright ideas. She made a quick call to Scot to check on Liam and let him know she was staying a few days.

  They proceeded to the nearest café, chatting about every-

  thing else in the world but Fury. After dinner and a bottle of

  wine, they wandered into a nearby wine bar and had another.

  They were chuckling about how Steph’s former assistant, Ger-

  ald. was now more of a diva than she was. Steph was smiling

  from ear to ear at Cheyenne’s news that h
e was now the lead

  photographer for The Sound Wave.

  It was at that moment that an extremely unfortunate-looking

  girl appeared in front of them. She proceeded to shout angrily at Steph in Italian. When Cheyenne told at her to calm down, the

  girl slapped Steph hard across the face and screamed “He cut his hair because of you, you bitch!” Steph grabbed her cheek defensively as two men stood and aggressively showed the girl the

  exit. Steph turned to Cheyenne. Her expression was eerily se-

  rene.

  “This is why I never leave my apartment. Everywhere I go,

  he’s thrown in my face. I can’t escape him.”

  “You should have called me.” As Cheyenne dumped ice in-

  to a cloth napkin and pressed it to Steph’s cheek, the two men

  120

  RAGE

  returned from throwing the girl out. They struck up a conversa-

  tion with Steph in Italian, and soon Steph was laughing appreciatively.

  “They called her a ‘hairy beast.’ They want us to go with

  them to check out some club on the next street over. We should

  go.”

  Two hours and many drinks later, Cheyenne was dragging

  Steph from the club. Cheyenne was hailing a cab when she saw

  that the two men were following them. Cheyenne had waved her

  giant rock on her finger around to make it obvious that she was

  married, so they had both turned on Steph. Steph seemed to

  bathe in the attention and had been dancing way too suggestively with both of the men. Though Cheyenne didn’t understand the

  language, the way their hands were all over Steph was pretty

  universal. It didn’t take a linguist to see that they both thought they’d be sharing Steph tonight.

  “Oh, hell no!” she yelled, grabbing Steph by the arm and

  plunging toward the door.

  “Cheyenne!” Steph blurted as Cheyenne shoved her into the

  cab.

  “That was a grand performance. I give it a ten.” Cheyenne

  watched the men wander back into the club as they sped away.

  She told the driver in her terrible Italian how to get to Steph’s place.

  “I thought you wanted me to get out and have some fun. “

  Cheyenne remembered craving a cigarette then more than

  ever. “There’s fun and there’s a public ménage à trois.”

  “In Italian they call it a trio.” Steph giggled tipsily. Steph’s cheeky tone set Cheyenne off.

  “Grow the fuck up, Steph. You’re almost twenty-seven

  years old, not twenty-one. Act your age.”

  Steph looked stricken. “Why are you mad at me?”

  Cheyenne swiveled her head toward her, and all the pent up

  hurt of the past few months burst from inside her. “My goddamn

  121

  TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

  therapist warned me that some of my single friends would be

  gone when I married Scot, but I never thought you’d be one of

  them. I know you feel awkward being around him because of the

  break up with Phillip, but honestly, I’m hurt that you haven’t

  come to see Liam.”

  Steph looked at Cheyenne, her mouth agape. Cheyenne ex-

  pected her to say something snarky, but Steph just blinked a few times.

  “I just can’t see Liam. I can’t look at him.” The cab arrived,

  and Cheyenne was still shaking her head, dumbfounded and an-

  gry as they climbed out.

  “I couldn’t pry him out of your arms at the hospital. What

  changed?” She shouted at her.

  It was there in front of her apartment that Steph collapsed

  into hysterical sobs. Cheyenne was so shocked and concerned

  that she considered calling a doctor. She moved to her and put

  her arms around her, unsure of what else to do. Steph choked out the one sentence.

  “I was pregnant. Cheyenne. It wasn’t my appendix.”

  Cheyenne remembered every detail of that night in vivid

  Technicolor. Though she hadn’t slept a wink, it was branded into her brain. She’d managed to get Steph upstairs and made her

  some coffee. Steph told her everything: her lie of omission to

  Phillip, the bogus eating disorder, telling her agent about the ba-by, Cedric’s force feedings, and finally about the daughter who

  had been genetically flawless.

  After Steph passed out from wine and exhaustion, Chey-

  enne immediately called Cedric. It was 4 a.m.

  “Cheyenne? What’s wrong?” He sounded worried.

  “How fast can you get to Milan?”

  Cheyenne heard the bathroom door open and watched as

  122

  RAGE

  Steph came out in a fluffy white bathrobe. She crossed to her bed and sat down beside Liam, very gently stroking his hair. He

  rolled over onto his tummy without waking.

  “So what did you want to talk about?” Steph asked softly,

  glancing up from Liam.

  “Why the hell haven’t you called Christopher?” Cheyenne

  demanded in a hushed whisper.

  “Because I don’t know what to say to him.” Steph’s voice

  was cool and firm.

  Cheyenne paused, knowing she could be headed into chop-

  py waters. “Is that because of Phillip?”

  “No.” Steph replied without a moment’s hesitation. “Chris-

  topher told me he loved me, and I hung up on him. That’s what

  this is about, and that’s all this is about.”

  “So, once again, you scurried away again from a man that

  loves you.”

  Steph rolled onto her back and looked at the ceiling. “I’m

  pretty sure I didn’t scurry away from Phillip. Pretty sure Kevin scurried away from me. If I remember correctly, you were the

  scurrier, Cheyenne.”

  Cheyenne ignored Steph’s factual observation and leaned

  forward. “Do you love Christopher?”

  Steph shrugged. Cheyenne thought she looked like a stub-

  born teenager.

  “Why is it so hard for you say those three words?” Chey-

  enne asked. A light rapping on the door interrupted them. Steph

  looked in the direction of the door nervously, but when Chey-

  enne answered it—it was Scot.

  “Is it okay if I come in?” he asked, and his dark eyes had a

  secret conversation with Cheyenne. They seemed to ask two

  questions at once.

  Is everything cool?

  and

  Are you coming to bed soon?

  123

  TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

  “Yeah.” Cheyenne replied, affirmative on both fronts. He

  made toward the bed to pick Liam up. Steph shook her head.

  “He’s fine here with me. You two go.” She murmured. Scot

  smiled and grabbed Cheyenne’s hand.

  “Thanks Steph.” He was slightly out of breath as he pulled

  Cheyenne out of the room and toward their four post bed.

  Once inside their room, Scot scooped Cheyenne up in his

  arms. Cheyenne let out a small giggle as he lay her back on the

  bed. Scot stood up and removed his tie eagerly. He watched as

  Cheyenne bit her lip, her chocolate brown eyes pensive. For a

  fleeting moment, he wondered if she was onto his secret. Then

  he dismissed his concerns. He’d seen this look many times since

  Liam’s birth. Her agile mind constantly ran an obstacle course,

  working to figure him out. He smiled at her lovingly, appreciat-

  ing this and all aspects of her. She slid up on th
e bed a rested her head on the pillow. She looked absolutely delectable.

  “You look unbelievable.” Scot licked his lips as anticipation

  coursed through his veins. Cheyenne scoffed and then tried to

  wipe the expression from her perfect face.

  “Don’t make me spank you, Cheyenne.” He smiled as he

  said it, knowing she wouldn’t consider that a punishment. She

  always enjoyed a bit of pain with her pleasure.

  He crawled up the mattress to her, giving her small kisses

  on the parts of her body that were exposed. Once at her mouth,

  he gave her a gentle kiss and then began nuzzling her neck. She

  purred softly under him. He raked his beard against her cheek,

  and she cried out, bowing her back to press herself against his

  growing hardness. She’d told him many times never to shave his

  beard.

  Scot placed his mouth over hers and their tongues tangled

  124

  RAGE

  and teased one another. He felt Cheyenne’s legs wrap around his

  waist as she roughly grasped handfuls of his hair. He gave her a grind and then ran his hand up her thigh. Cheyenne moaned into

  his mouth; he returned it with one of his own. He hooked his

  fingers on the waist of her panties and slid them off slowly, tossing them over his shoulder. With a crooked smile, he gnawed

  tauntingly on his lip. They locked eyes as she trembled beneath

  him. He rolled over onto his back pulling Cheyenne with him.

  She straddled him and he stroked her long, perfect legs with his fingertips. He looked up at her and cupped her face. She gave

  him a sly smile then slid her dress off over her head. He ran his hand down over her supple breasts and then over her stomach.

  She glanced down at her mid-section nervously, then back to his

  eyes. He hated the self-conscious expression that played on her

  lovely features.

  “I love you” he assured her, pulling her face down to his

  and kissing her hungrily. Scot wrapped his hands in her hair and gave it a tug, his need for her escalating with every passing second. Cheyenne let out a small whimper, but Scot knew it wasn’t

  pain…well, at least not entirely.

  He rolled her over onto her back and practically ripped his

  remaining clothes off. He couldn’t wait to be inside of her to-

  night without fear of interruption. He positioned himself over her and slowly entered her. He could tell by the ravenous look she

  wore that his leisurely approach was driving her crazy.