Tangled up in Love

by Charlotte Byrd

  His hair falls slightly into his face and he moves it out of the way.

  As his hand graces his forehead, I detect a small tremble. His eyes dart away from mine for a second, his nervousness is apparent and disarming.

  I squeeze his hand to convey to him that everything is going to be okay. He gives me a little smile out of the corner of his mouth. Neither of us has ever done anything like this, but it will be over soon.

  “Harley,” he says slowly. “I want to thank you. I want to thank you for being there for me through…everything that we have been through. As much as I loved you when we first fell in love, my love for you is so much more than that now and it’s only growing every day.”

  These words are true, I can feel it in the pit of my stomach and shivers run down my spine.

  “Harley Burke,” Jackson says, getting down on one knee and opening the box. I glance down at the ring that I had worn around the house on my left finger for three full days and smile.

  “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” I say with tears running down my cheeks. “A million times yes.”

  He places the ring on my finger and I pull him up to me. I put my lips onto his. He takes me into his arms and I know that everything is going to be okay.

  32

  Harley

  When I am surprised…

  The cameras were there but it didn’t feel like it.

  Wherever they were, I didn’t see them.

  They were hidden as they were supposed to be and surprisingly the moment felt almost exactly like the first one.

  Real.

  True.

  Honest.

  “Thank you,” Jackson says, back in our room at the house.

  He is no longer wearing his tuxedo jacket and he’s losing his collar.

  I want to get out of this dress as well, but I also want to keep wearing it because of how amazing it makes me feel.

  “You look…beautiful.”

  “Thank you, I hope the pictures and videos turn out good,” I add.

  “I’m sure they will.”

  He turns away from me. Something is still bothering him about this.

  “You know you don’t have to feel guilty. We got engaged. We are engaged. It’s just not as romantic to show the first one. Not like it’s possible at all anyway.”

  “I know.” He shrugs.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  He puts his arms around me from the back, draping his head over my shoulder.

  I bury my fingers in his hair for a bit and he gives off a little moan when I pull on it. Then I turn my head toward his.

  Our lips collide.

  A moment later, his hands are unzipping my dress and he is helping me out of it. My hands are pulling his shirt over his head and unbuckling his pants.

  When we are completely free of our clothes, he walks me over to the bed and lowers himself on top of me.

  “I’ve missed you,” I whisper.

  We haven’t been intimate since before the incident. I was always the one to pull away first, to put a brake on the situation.

  But tonight, I feel different. This feels right.

  “I missed you, too,” he whispers. He kisses my neck, slowly making his way down my body. But then he stops.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, looking down. “What?”

  “What if we don’t use protection?” Jackson says after a moment.

  I stare at him, unsure as to how to respond. He pulls away from me, propping his head up on his hand and waits for me to answer.

  “I…don’t…” I start to say. Thoughts swirl around in my head as I try to focus my mind.

  “I love you,” he says forcefully and with confidence. “I love you and I want to have a baby with you. I am certain of it.”

  “You want to start…now?”

  “Why not?”

  “But it hasn’t been enough time—”

  “It hasn’t? How long should we wait to do what we want?”

  A smile forms at the corner of my mouth.

  I know what he means.

  Before I got pregnant, I also wasn’t sure if I wanted a child. But now, I know that I do. So…why not?

  “Okay,” I say slowly.

  He doesn’t ask if I’m sure.

  He just brings his lips to mine and pulls me back under him.

  He is in control.

  He puts his hands on my body, anywhere and everywhere and I love how this makes me feel.

  A shiver of excitement rushes through me as he wraps me with his body. We should take this slow, but neither of us can.

  His fingers bury themselves in my hair.

  My fingers scratch against his back.

  His mouth licks my neck.

  Mine gasps for breath.

  He makes his way down to my nipples. His kisses become more frantic.

  Out of control.

  My breathing speeds up to match his.

  He is at my belly button and then below it. His tongue makes its way between my hip bones, where my panty line would be.

  But instead of staying there, he goes even more south.

  My legs open for him as he presses his mouth inside of me.

  It plays with me, teases me, just before his fingers thrust inside.

  Waves of passion overwhelm me and I grab onto the sheets to keep them at bay.

  It’s better when you don’t give in right away, when you ride the ride of that wave for a little bit longer.

  “I can’t wait any longer,” I whisper. “I need you in me.”

  My wish is his command.

  He eases himself inside of me and suddenly our bodies become one.

  We move as one.

  We breathe as one.

  We cling to each other as one.

  A familiar feeling of warmth overwhelms my body.

  He moves faster on top of me.

  He yells my name.

  I whisper his.

  Afterward, we lie there for a few moments with our bodies still one.

  “I love you,” we say almost at the same time.

  33

  Harley

  When I get closer…

  The following morning while Jackson is working and probably answering lots of questions about last night’s surprise proposal, I sit down at my computer and continue to build a rapport with Parker as my online alter-ego Dani.

  As Dani, I am his shy online friend, who doesn’t want to video chat but is okay with sharing other things about her life, including pictures of my body.

  No nude pictures, of course, but I do send a few sexy shots holding a sign with a saying that he requested.

  He wants proof that I’m not an old fat man and I’m only happy to comply.

  Over the last few weeks, we have built quite a friendship actually. We talk almost every day and for a long time as well.

  The nauseating feeling that I got when I first started talking to him has almost vanished and it’s now easier for me to forget who I am actually online with.

  That’s the thing about texting, isn’t it?

  It removes you so far from the person that you can just fill in the blanks with someone else entirely.

  A few days ago, I learned that he grew up with his mom who worked all the time as an overnight nurse and then spent her days nagging him (his words, of course).

  Today, we also talk about how overbearing and demanding she is, and in order to show him that I understand where he’s coming from, I tell him about my parents and how they have always preferred my sister to me.

  I complain to him about how perfect she is and how she always got straight As and never did anything wrong, while I could never do anything right.

  This resonates with him and he quickly jumps to my side by cursing them out and then adding ‘no offense’ at the end.

  No worries, I type. They deserve it.

  Of course they do, he adds.

  When there’s a little bit of a lull in the conversation, I decide to finally go for it.


  So I was thinking…

  Yeah?

  What if we meet up?

  He doesn’t respond at first, but I wait.

  Don’t you want to video chat first?

  No. I want our first time seeing each other to be in real life.

  He doesn’t respond at first, and I freeze thinking that I’ve taken it too far.

  The thing is that there’s something that I didn’t tell you before.

  What?

  I don’t know if I should tell you.

  You can trust me, I reassure him with a smiling emoji.

  I’m in trouble.

  What kind of trouble?

  I’m actually running from the law a bit right now. So, I have to be careful.

  I don’t respond for a bit, just to make him nervous.

  Dani? Are you there?

  So…are you telling me you’re an outlaw? I ask coyly.

  Yes.

  That’s kind of…sexy, I type, wanting to throw up.

  You’re crazy LOL.

  Only a little bit. So what did you do?

  I took things a bit too far with my ex-girlfriend, he lies.

  What do you mean?

  She broke things off with me real suddenly so I was stalking her a bit. But nothing bad.

  I sit back in my chair, shaking my head. Is this what he really thinks or are these the lies that he tells himself just to get through the day? But I have to role-play.

  So you stalked her online?

  Yes. And a little bit in real life. Then she pressed charges when I tried to talk her. I wanted to make things right but she just freaked out. You know how girls can be.

  I hope you’re not still into her, I say, ignoring his misogynistic comment.

  Not at all.

  I don’t believe you.

  Well, you have to, he types quickly. I don’t. I know it was wrong for me to follow her. Besides she’s a total bitch. Nothing like you. Now, I just want to be with you.

  You promise?

  Yes, of course.

  Good.

  I stare at the screen for a moment, knowing very well that this is the tipping point. This is the moment that I won’t be able to take back. Then I put my hands back on the keyboard and type,

  Where do you want to meet up?

  He says that he has to think about it for a while and I give him the space.

  He pivots the conversation more to my day and I make up some mundane problems to keep him entertained.

  The only way this is going to work is if I can get him to trust me. I know that and that’s why I’m doing this in the first place.

  Perhaps there are some more technical ways to get this done but I’m not a private investigator. The police and the FBI are useless, so this is all I have.

  My computer dings and another message shows up on the screen. This one is from Sam.

  Yes, that Sam.

  Parker wasn’t the only one who hurt me that night, so he will not be the only one who will pay for what he did.

  Once I found out and confirmed that I am talking to the right Sam Davis, I started to become his friend as well.

  And then more than a friend. We flirt and he keeps trying to take it further than Parker ever suggests.

  I feel like Sam wants me to be more playful so that’s what I am. I send him pictures as well, but I refuse to do a video chat.

  He is more resistant than Parker.

  Probably because he isn’t hiding. There were a few of our conversations that I thought that I had almost lost him.

  He got mad that I wouldn’t video chat and said I was a fake.

  It took more than a few pictures in a bra and panties holding random objects that he named for me to convince him that I was still a good looking girl.

  Where do you want to meet? I write.

  Tomorrow afternoon. 1524 Atlantic Avenue.

  My heart jumps into my throat. I don’t expect for him to agree to it so quickly.

  Unless you want to meet somewhere more public? He writes.

  Where is this? I ask

  My place.

  A million scenarios run through my mind at the same time.

  Somewhere more public would be safer, but that’s not what I want. His place is actually perfect.

  He doesn’t live with anyone else.

  It’s an apartment and it’s in a large building but at least it’s not out in the open.

  Sam is free. He has nothing to be afraid of.

  But I do. Especially, if this goes the way I think it might.

  Your place is perfect, I type.

  34

  Harley

  When I go to meet him…

  The following morning arrives much sooner than I want it to. I still don’t have much of a plan.

  What do I do?

  How do I protect myself?

  And what is my end game anyway?

  I want to make Sam pay for what he did, but how? As I sit in the back of the taxi, my thoughts go in circles.

  I remember everything that he did to me. I remember how scared he was yet how forceful. I remember how much he hurt me by leaving me there after his fight with Parker.

  All of these memories come to me at once and I can barely get out of the car on my own.

  I still have a lot of time before our meeting, so I duck into the coffee shop around the corner.

  I had the driver drop me off a few blocks away so that no one could follow me here.

  But what other reason would I have to be in this part of Queens? It’s not exactly nice or scenic. I don’t think anyone really comes here besides those who live here.

  In the coffee shop, I get an espresso and nurse it by the window. I stand out. I don’t belong.

  I can see people staring.

  Will they remember my face after they showed it on the news? This is a terrible idea. I know that already.

  I have no plan except to talk to him. But I don’t need privacy for that, right? It would be better to talk in public.

  I’m just afraid that he won’t be honest in public.

  So that’s why I’m here with this stupid gun in my purse. It’s loaded. I run my fingers over the outside, feeling its contours through the fabric.

  The gun is unlicensed and unregistered.

  I got it the same day I started talking to Parker online. Armslist is a website devoted specifically to private sales of guns and other weapons related gear.

  The guy who sold it to me didn’t ask any questions or even for my name.

  I wore a hoodie over my black wig and disguised my face with heavy makeup so that he would have a harder time identifying me.

  When he asked why I needed a gun, I told him that I was getting it for protection. That part was true. Sort of.

  I walk up to Sam’s building and look it up and down. There is garbage all over the place and the outside is peeling and old.

  This place is the definition of the projects, along with a bunch of teenage boys in oversized clothing standing outside.

  They whistle at me as I walk by, so I flip them off. I immediately regret calling attention to myself and quickly duck into the open foyer, hoping that my disguise is enough for them to forget me.

  I debate waiting for the elevator but then decide to just climb the stairs.

  His apartment is only on the seventh floor and the last thing I want to do is to be stuck in the elevator with someone with a particularly good memory for faces.

  Luckily, the staircase is empty all the way to his floor and I don’t see a soul. I take a few moments to catch my breath on the landing before opening the door and going inside the long narrow hallway.

  More peeling paint welcomes me along with an unforgettable scent of urine. What the hell? Why pee in your own hallway? I wonder to myself silently, burying my nose in my arm.

  “NYPD! Open up!” someone yells. A loud bang startles me, making me jump against the wall. Peeking around the corner, I see five or so police officers all dressed in protective gear ru
sh through the door of an apartment. I can’t be sure if it’s the one that belongs to Sam so I count the doors and try to line up the numbers in my head.

  No, it’s not his, I decide. Then count them again.

  No, it has to be.

  A few neighbors peek their heads out, but the cops crowding around the door tell them to get back inside.

  I stay put as well.

  I want to leave.

  I should.

  But I can’t bring myself to do it until I see him with my own two eyes.

  I look down at my phone. It has been almost five minutes. Then ten. Okay. I guess I should go, I decide.

  But then, just as I’m about to leave, they emerge.

  The cops are crowding around him, two are holding his handcuffed arms behind his back.

  His head is hanging down.

  They are about to turn down my hallway.

  I back away slowly, and then turn around and run.

  They are going to take the elevator and I need to disappear into the staircase before they see me.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Sam asks. His voice carries all the way down the hallway. I freeze.

  “Nothing,” I mumble.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me! Is this what it’s about? This stupid cunt?”

  The cops shake their heads, clearly surprised by my presence but trying not to let him in on it.

  “I have no idea what he’s talking about,” I say and open the door to the staircase. But someone stops me.

  “Wait a second! Are you Dani?” Sam has a lightbulb moment.

  My body stops, freezes, as if I were a deer who sees headlights in the middle of a dark empty road.

  They pull him away into the elevator but another cop, dressed in a leather jacket, corners me.

  He asks me questions that I don’t know how to answer. Finally, something occurs to me.

  I have to tell him the closest thing I can to the truth. That’s the only way he’ll believe me.

  “Okay, fine, I’ll tell you who I am,” I start. “I’m his ex-girlfriend. I made up a fake profile online using the name Dani. I wanted to talk to him. To see if he was talking to any other girls. That’s all. We had a plan to meet today before you busted in there.”