by DJ Hunnam
"Sounds fantastic." We arrived on the top landing and I unlocked the door. Erica skipped to the refrigerator and pulled out two beers. "What did Helen think?"
"She was practically frothing at the mouth."
"That's great. I'm sure you'll do your best to make it happen." I clinked her beer bottle with mine. I loved to see Erica so excited. "So, I have this awards ceremony next Saturday."
"You're getting an award?"
"I got nominated for Sports Writer of the Year. It's not a big deal. I'm not going to win. I don't even know why I'm going." I shuffled to the front room and slumped down onto my leather couch, flicking on the television.
Erica danced in front of me, eyes practically bugging out of her face. She purposely blocked the basketball game.
"It is too a big deal. Why are you just now telling me this?"
"I forgot until Allie mentioned it tonight."
She started pacing. "What am I going to wear? I'm going to have to buy a new dress. Maybe Janice would lend me something. Is it a black-tie event?"
"Yeah, I think so," I said, sucking back a big gulp of my beer. "And you don't have to borrow something from Janice. I'll buy you a fucking dress."
"Oh, okay, Mr. Potty-mouth," she said with one hand on her hip.
"Sorry. I've been spending too much time with Allister."
"This is so exciting. Which article? The bio on the starting quarterback at U-Dub, or the one about the inner-city kid rising to stardom with the Lakers? Or no, no... it's the one about the coach in Bremerton, isn't it?"
I sat up and set my beer down on the coffee table. "You've read all of those articles?"
Her cheeks flushed bright red. With a sigh, she confessed, "I've read everything you've ever published."
"Why?"
She rubbed her foot across the rug and stared at the stain from a party I'd thrown months ago. "I liked reading what you wrote. It was a way to stay connected to you. And you are a really great writer."
Warmth settled deep in my bones. There was something unbelievably satisfying about having Erica as my number one fan. I didn't warrant it though. While I had never suffered from doubts about my abilities as an athlete, most days I felt like a fraud as a reporter. I knew I wasn't an awful writer or Allie never would have hired me, but I wasn't great, either. I was improving every day, though, and maybe that was all that mattered.
"Come here," I ordered. I patted the spot next to me on the couch. With a timid smile, she came over and sat next to me. "You really are quite the little stalker, aren't you?"
She slugged me in the arm, and I burst out laughing, gripping my sides like a fool. "Asshole," she said while she shook her head.
"Hey, hey, I'm kidding," I said, pulling her tight against me when she tried to stand up. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I stalked you too."
"You did?"
"Hell, yes. I stalked your social media profiles daily and got my hands on any photo I could."
"Really?"
"You don't even want to know what I did with the photos from that shoot in Belize." Her mouth dropped open, and she giggled. "Whoever took those shots probably had to jerk off between takes."
It was like I had sucked the wind out of her sails. She deflated right in front of my eyes. With shoulders slumped forward and eyes downcast, she shook her head.
"What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing," she said, glancing back at me and trying to smile.
"Erica, what is going on? Something has been eating at you."
"There's nothing going on. I'm just tired. I've been on my feet all day." She pushed out of my arms and stood up. "I'm going to go to bed."
As she walked away, I threw over my shoulder, "You know there is nothing that you could tell me that would ever change how I feel about you?"
She came to a stop, but didn't turn around. "I appreciate that. But you can't possibly know if that's the truth."
And then she disappeared into the darkened bedroom.
"Damn," I cursed, jumping back in time to miss the bags of noodles that fell from the top shelf of the storage room. I had been inventorying stock at the mission all day, trying to keep my mind off the conversation with Dante from the night before. His words had been weighing me down all afternoon.
I needed to come clean about Brent, but I didn't want to jeopardize the tenuous connection we'd built over the last few weeks. The routine we'd fallen into had proven to be a great distraction.
"You okay?"
The voice from the doorway startled me from my musings. "Oh, crap, you scared me," I said, looking over my shoulder and giving Helen, the director of the mission, a wan smile.
"Sorry. Here, let me help you," she said, squatting down in her billowy skirt, her kind eyes putting me at ease.
"Thanks." After we had gathered all of the packages and stored them back on the shelf, I swiped the dirt from my hands.
"I'm the one who should be saying thanks," she said, fixing her graying hair into a tight ponytail at the nape of her neck. "You have completely transformed this room. It's the most organized I've ever seen it."
"It needed it. I organized everything by category, then alphabetically starting from the bottom shelves and working up. Fruits and vegetables are over there. Starches and beans are here. I also made sure to stack the items based on their expiration dates so the oldest items will get used first," I said, surveying the results of my many hours of work with pride.
"Wow, that is amazing. And scarily anal-retentive. What the heck is going on, honey?"
"What do you mean?"
"You served your first meal just last week and have already put in more hours than most my regular volunteers do all month. Who or what are you trying to avoid?"
"Nothing," I said with a nervous laugh. "I have a lot of free time on my hands right now and I like to help." I grabbed the broom and started sweeping, avoiding Helen's discerning gaze. With a sigh, she overturned two wooden crates and gestured for me to sit.
"I appreciate your help. Now come take a break, or I'll have to kick you out before dinner service starts." I propped the broom up and sat down beside her. Helen pointed to a lone bag of noodles we'd missed. "It's crazy how something so simple as a broom and bag of noodles can bring back memories I thought had died with the man who made them."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh," she said, waving her hand, "I'm sure you don't want to hear my sob story."
"No, I'd love to hear, unless you don't want to talk about it." Although I hadn't known her long, Helen seemed so happy and put-together, I was surprised she had a sob story.
"One night I spilled a bag of rice on the floor, right before my then-husband was due to arrive home from work. I remember I was so frantic, almost in tears, because I knew what he would do if he came home to a mess. I was kneeling on the ground, trying to pick the grains up one by one. I was so out of my head, it hadn't even occurred to me to grab the broom. That was the power he had over me. He turned my brain to mush."
I wasn't sure I wanted to know, but morbid curiosity got the best of me. "What happened when your husband got home?"
She sucked in a deep breath and looked beyond the doorway to the kitchen, where volunteers were prepping dinner. "He asked me what I was doing. I told him I was cleaning up the rice. My fingers were shaking so bad, he laughed. He put his thermos on the counter and walked closer, and for half a second I thought he was going to help me. But then he stomped on one of my hands with his work boot and told me I was a stupid cunt."
"Oh, my God," I said, putting a hand over my mouth.
"It was a good night, all in all. I walked away with a few broken fingers, but at least I didn't have to put up with his attentions that night, in bed," she said with a nonchalant shrug.
I shook my head and rubbed a hand down my face. "That is horrible. Didn't your family find out?"
"By that time, I'd already withdrawn from my family and friends. I hated hiding bruises and making up lies. I was so ashamed that I lov
ed a man who treated me worse than a dog."
"Why didn't you leave?"
"I did. Eventually," Helen said, rubbing her gnarled hands on her thighs. "It just took me a lot of years to realize that it wasn't my fault."
"How could you possibly think that was your fault?"
"He brainwashed me. I met him when I was your age. He was a lot older and took advantage of that. I thought it was my fault. That I deserved it. If I could just keep the house cleaner and have dinner on the table when he wanted, maybe he wouldn't have to hurt me."
"Why'd you finally leave?"
"My silence was hurting me as much as his fists were," she said softly.
The words chilled me to the bone. I swallowed past the tightness in my throat. "So, you took off?"
"I did, but not before putting that asshole behind bars for a few years. You have that same look in your eyes that I did when I finally ran from Robert." The woman was perceptive. She placed her hand on my bouncing knee and smiled. "You don't have to keep running, honey. Whatever is going on, we can figure it out. Together."
Her willingness to share her horrible past and the sincerity of her offer gave me hope. Maybe things weren't as awful as they seemed. Maybe divulging my secrets would somehow free me from their confines.
"Something happened to me in New York. About a year ago. A man I knew slipped something in my drink one night and did things..."
Helen patted my hand. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."
"I haven't told Dante."
"And you're worried if you do, he'll feel different about you?"
"I don't know how he wouldn't," I replied.
"Give him the benefit of the doubt. That boy loves you."
"You got all that from one evening with him?"
"You learn a lot about a person serving food beside them. The man couldn't keep his eyes off of you. Of course, you are the prettiest thing that's probably ever graced our doors, but still."
I chuckled. "What happened to your ex-husband?" I asked.
"He picked a fight one night soon after he got out of prison and was beat to death in the alley behind the bar. I didn't feel an ounce of grief. If that makes me a bad person, then so be it."
I shook my head and stared at the cans in front of us. I needed to tell Dante the truth, because the lie had been festering like an infected wound since Maui. No matter how scared I was, he deserved to know, even if it ruined our budding relationship.
Helen pushed herself up and patted me on the shoulder. "I know it's easier said than done, but don't let that man have any more power over you. Don't let fear of your past ruin your future."
"You ready for this, champ?" Allister asked Dante as the limousine pulled up curbside at the waterfront hotel.
Allister had insisted on riding in style even though Dante had argued against it. I was glad that Allie was making a big deal of the night. Win or no win, Dante deserved to be recognized for his accomplishments.
Dante set his glass of champagne down and smiled. "As ready as I'll ever be."
After we had hopped out of the limo, Dante gestured us into the spacious lobby. The marble floors sparkled and the stylish interior hosted countless people milling around with cocktails. Several stopped talking and watched as we walked by.
I couldn't blame them. Dante's tuxedo fit him like a second skin, and my slinky, black cocktail dress fell a touch too short. Allister's hip, red pantsuit highlighted her trim torso and long legs. We were one fine-looking trio.
As we neared the entrance to the Grand Pacific Ballroom, a hulking man waved to Dante.
"I can't believe my eyes. The Demon has entered the building." The man jogged over with the graceful lope of a professional athlete.
"Logan, my man. I haven't seen you in years. How are you?"
Allister bristled beside me while Dante and Logan shook hands. The man was attractive with a square jaw, aristocratic nose and chocolate-brown eyes. His tuxedo had to have been custom-tailored, because he was huge.
"What are you doing here?" Dante asked, grinning from ear to ear.
"I'm the keynote speaker. The writer from the Oracle was nominated for that article he wrote about me. The good one. Unlike the drivel the Tribune keeps putting out."
Allister snorted and then hid behind her wine glass when Logan glanced her direction. He didn't even try to disguise the fact he was checking her out, his eyes wandering from the tips of her sandy-colored hair to the tips of her red toenails.
"What about you?" he asked Dante, his eyes lingering on Allie.
"I was nominated for Sports Writer of the Year."
"That is fantastic. I wish you were still playing ball, though. We could use someone like you on the field."
Dante's smile faltered for mere seconds before it was back in place. "I miss it too. But I love it at the Tribune. My boss is great."
"Speaking of your boss... what the fuck is up with him? Sorry, ladies," he said with an impish smile that almost made me giggle. Heat radiated off of Allister and Dante reached a hand out, but Logan didn't notice. "He's a real asshole. I mean, who does he think he is, running all that negative shit on me? It's not even true. My publicist has been riding my ass for months because of him."
Dante gestured to Allie. "Logan, please let me introduce you to Allister McCain. She is my boss."
Allie stood up straighter and gave Logan a withering smile. He blinked several times while his jaw ticked in time with Allister's tapping toe. "Oh, hell. Well, there I go putting my shoe square plumb in my mouth. It's so nice to meet you, Ms. McCain."
Logan grabbed Allister's hand, dropping a soft kiss on the back of her hand, like the perfect Southern gentleman.
"Drop the act," she hissed, pulling her hand away. "And it's Mrs. McCain."
Logan glanced behind us, like Allie's dead husband might appear. "You're married?"
"Widowed," Allie corrected.
"I'm sorry to hear that. No hard feelings, ma'am. I thought Allister was a man's name."
"Don't call me 'ma'am.'" Allister chugged back the rest of her wine and handed the empty glass to Dante. She rolled her shoulders back like a boxer readying for a fight.
"Where I come from, that's a way of showing respect."
"Yeah, well, where I come from, it's worse than calling a woman a fucking old lady."
Logan's lips twitched. "Wow. That is one mouth you got on you, honey. Would you mind telling me why you've been busting my balls?"
"Hey, let's not get into this here," Dante interjected.
Allie took a step forward and placed her hand on Dante's forearm. "No. I've got this. Why don't you two go find our table?" If it had been any other woman, I would never have left, but Allie could handle herself. I was more afraid for Logan.
With a sigh, Dante led me away with a hand on my lower back. "Jesus, that's a train wreck waiting to happen," Dante murmured.
I glanced over my shoulder and giggled when I saw Allister poke a bemused Logan in the chest. "I'd put my money on Allister."
"Every day of the week," Dante said, before coming to a sudden stop. "Speaking of train wrecks..."
I followed his gaze across the room. An older woman in an unflattering tube-top dress lounged against the bar chatting up the bartender. It wasn't until we drew closer that I realized who it was.
"Is that your mother?"
"Yes," he gritted.
"What is she doing here?"
"Fuck if I know." He scrubbed a hand down his face. "Darius must have told her. God, I wish she would learn to stay out of my life."
I'd only met Ida once, at Dante and Damian's college graduation. With pronounced scowl lines and a sallow complexion, it was evident the last few years had not been kind. Her dress looked about two sizes too small and it was obvious from the way she wobbled that she was already drunk.
"Dante," she yelled out when she saw us approach. Her outburst drew more than a few people's gazes.
"Ma, what are you doing here?"
"What does it look like I'
m doing? I'm having a drink with my new friend." Ida gestured to the bartender, who looked like he wanted to melt into the carpet.
Dante took her by the elbow and guided her into a deserted hallway, away from the growing crowd of onlookers.
"You shouldn't be here. You need to leave."
She yanked her arm away and teetered back one step. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm your mother. I should be here to support you."
"You're drunk."
Ida ignored his statement and turned to me. "How are you, Erica? Haven't you grown into a beautiful young woman. A little skinny for my taste, but it's no wonder Dante hasn't bothered to call me in weeks. He must be too busy screwing you."
"Ma..." Dante hissed, taking a menacing step closer.
"Hello, Ida. It's so nice to see you again," I replied, extending my hand. She looked at my hand, but didn't take it.
"Why didn't you tell me you won an award?" she asked, returning her attention to Dante.
"I haven't won the award yet."
"I should know these things. Why do you insist on keeping me in the dark about your life? You never call me or your brothers no more. We not good enough for you?"
"I refuse to have this conversation right now," Dante said, hands clenched into fists at his side.
"Ida, why don't we go for a walk, sober up a little before the ceremony starts?" I asked. This was supposed to be Dante's special night and his mother was on the verge of ruining it.
Her lips curled up into a snarl. "I don't need to go for a walk."
"Then where are you staying? Let me take you there." I placed my hand on her arm, hoping she would follow me.
Before I realized her intention, she cocked her arm back and slapped me straight across the face. Pain exploded in my jaw and I clutched my cheek, too shocked to do anything else.
"Jesus, Ma, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Dante yelled. He reached out to me, but then stopped when he saw the trickle of blood run down my chin. He whipped around and stalked toward his mother.
"Please, Dante. Let's just go," I pleaded, grabbing his arm.
"This is why I don't tell you anything about my life. I don't want you in it. You ruin everything. I'm done with you, Ma. I'm done."
