by Adriana Law
I try to shove him away again, only to have him capture my wrist to keep me from slapping his face. He makes a sound under his breath, a sound somewhere between anger and lust. He pushes me into the wall, pinning me there with the length of his body. He knees my legs apart, trailing hot urgent kisses down my neck. My neck stings from the scrape of the stubble along his jaw.
This has to end.
I taste alcohol. He secures both of my hands high above my head with one hand, his free hand sliding up under the fabric of my shirt. This doesn’t feel the same. I try to force the image of him with the blonde out of my head. But I can’t. When I’m aware of his grasp on my wrist lessening before disappearing completely I take advantage of the moment and break the kiss, pushing him away.
He growls, frustrated, coming at me again.
A fist pounding on the door to the apartment causes us both to freeze. “I’m coming!”
I sag against the wall holding his intense gaze.
Sterling slams a fist into the wall. “No. I’m not finished. Whoever it is they can come back later.”
Sawyer’s voice comes from the other side. “I know you’re in there!”
“This isn’t a good time!” Sterling yells his eyes never leave mine.
My heart is pounding. If Sawyer leaves I’ll never get out of here, I go make a move and my back hits the wall again, not hard, but hard enough to let me know he doesn’t plan on letting me go anywhere.
“Open the damn door!” Sawyer shouts, impatience in his tone. “This is important!”
Sterling jabs a finger in my direction. “Don’t move … I’ll take care of it and then we’ll talk.”
I glare at Sterling’s back as he crosses the apartment and jerks open the door with every intention of cussing out his brother.
“Try picking up your cell phone. I’ve been calling you for several hours. Can’t you at least return a phone call?” Sawyers eyes find mine immediately.
“We need to talk,” he tells Sterling. “Outside.”
Something about the way he says it and the way he looks at me causes a sick feeling. I go over all of the possibilities in my mind. If his father has finally decided to kick me out then he’s too late, I’m leaving on my own.
“You know better than to come here shouting orders,” Sterling growls, attempting to slam the door in Sawyers face. Sawyer catches it with a hand; he leans in, whispering something to his brother.
Throwing a quick glance over his left shoulder Sterling follows Sawyer out into the hallway. The door shuts. A chill runs down my spine. Pushing off from the wall I sprint over to the door and press my palms to it, an ear close enough to hear what is being said.
Their words are muffled, unclear.
I listen harder.
When I hear movement right outside the door I go to stand by the couch and wait, gnawing on a corner of my bottom lip. The expression on Sterling’s face when he walks back in tells me everything I need to know. He stops by the bar and sighs, frowning. There is a good fifteen feet between us. He is shirtless and adorably sexy in nothing but his dress slacks. I don’t care. I hardly notice. All I care about is that he went from being angry with me to feeling sorry for me in the short amount of time he spent out in the hallway with his brother.
“Baby, come here,” he says stretching out a hand.
I shake my head “What’s happened?”
“I think maybe you should at least sit down.” He flips one of the bar stools around for me and pats the seat.
My gaze lands on Sawyer, his hands are buried in the front pockets of his jeans, his shoulders rolled forward in the black tee. “Victoria, you should listen to him.”
“I don’t want to sit,” I tell them, clutching the back of the couch for support, the leather stiff under my sweaty palms. “I want one of you to tell me what’s going on.”
Sterling rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling a long breath. “It’s your father.” He swallows hard. “I can’t do this with you standing all the way over there,” he says, his voice hoarse. He takes several steps toward me, his eyes pleading.
“Don’t come any closer. I don’t want you anywhere near me … I just want to know.”
“Okay.” His hands disappear into the deep pockets of his slacks, the reflected image of his brother’s uncomfortable demeanor beside him, the only difference is Sterling never breaks eye contact. He is waiting, prepared for my reaction. Whatever it is he has to tell me he thinks it will devastate me. Tears gather in my eyes.
There is only one thing that would devastate me.
“Your father died three hours ago in the hospital.” Sterling pulls his hands free from his pockets holding one out. The room spins. I squeeze my eyes shut as sudden coldness hits my core. My breathing is suspended my grip tightening on the couch.
“I’m so sorry, baby. What can I do? Let me do something.”
My eyes snap open to see tears rolling down over his cheeks.
I don’t care. He can’t possibly feel as bad as I do.
I see a better man.
I see gentle eyes and dimples and a man that loves his wife and daughter more than anything. I see a man that is beyond healthy. He is a contractor for Christ sakes. He exercises and is out in the sun every day. Oh God, what was the last thing I said to him? I force myself to remember. A sob erupts from my chest. The payphone! I chose to stay. I could have been with him.
“How?” I ask Sawyer, avoiding Sterling’s eyes.
“A brain aneurism. It was sudden,” Sterling explains. “Your mother found him. My father gave her the number to my cell but when she tried to call ….”
“You were too busy to answer,” I finish already making a move towards the door. I’m on autopilot with only one thought and that is to get home.
Sterling steps into my path and reaches out, grabbing hold of my upper arms, his eyes desperate. “Phoenix?”
Tension crackles in the space between us.
“Sawyer, will you …” I start; glancing at the only guy here I can stand to look at. “I can’t deal with you right now, Sterling.”
“Right now?” he asks deeply. “Or never?”
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”
Sawyer clamps a hand on his brother’s rigid shoulder. “I’ll make sure Victoria gets home safely.”
Sterling releases me giving me my freedom.
I accept it.
Faith
Victoria
I look up into the bright sun not even blinking. If it fries my retinas I wouldn’t care. I keep waiting on the rain, but there isn’t a single cloud in the sky.
It’s always rains at funerals.
A pair of stylish black sunglasses swallow my face. I always thought it looked ridiculous: family and friends gathered around the grave site, dressed in black wearing sun glasses. I always thought it only happened in the movies. I understand now. The sunglasses hide the blood shot puffy eyes.
Pastor Michael is standing at the head of the casket. He is reading from the bible spread open in his hands.
I don’t have a clue what he is saying.
I don’t care.
I glance over at my mother: Her simple black dress shows how thin she is. Her black stilettos make her easily the tallest woman here. Her naturally curly long hair is brushed out, coarse and thick but classy pulled back in a clamp at the nape of her neck, a few pieces springing free. A wide rim hat shades her face. Her lips are a subtle shade of red, just enough color to keep her from looking dead. Sunglasses swallow her face too. She still doesn’t cry, I wonder if it’s her way of being strong for the people around her, but everyone knows she is falling apart underneath it all.
She is a widow now.
My gaze returns to our pastor. God I wish he’d hurry up. I can’t pretend much longer. I can’t keep it together much longer.
White cow lilies hug the top of the elegant cherry casket. In a few moments the casket will be lowered and then we’ll all leave him here, uncovered and alone.
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I tilt my head back looking up at the sky again, waiting on the rain.
It always rains at funerals.
My mother reaches for my hand and I tense all over. It’s totally unexpected, and I’m not too sure how I feel about it, but I guess it makes sense; all we have is each other now. She squeezes to the point where she is crushing my fingers, but I don’t complain. I shift my weight, pulling the points of my heels out of the soggy ground.
The past forty-eight hours have been a blur of arrangements.
The real challenge will be when we go home to an empty house with nothing to do.
God I wish he’d hurry up.
Absently I stare at Pastor Michael, hearing his words, “In light of these promises God has given us in His Word and in as much as it has pleased the Lord in His sovereign wisdom and purpose to take from our midst one whom we have loved, we now commit his body to its final resting place to await the fulfillment of another promise of Scripture. In 1 Thess. 4:13-18, writing to the Thessalonians church, the Apostle Paul wrote:
Pastor Michael reads from the bible.
The casket is lowered. Pastor Michael throws three handfuls of dirt into the deep hole.
I can’t be here any longer.
Dropping my mother’s hand I spin around and stalk toward the first car waiting in the circle drive. The sun heats my back. My hands clench by my sides, I won’t cry. I keep a steady determined pace; burying the rage, burying the desire to scream at the top of my lungs that it’s not fair. It’s a long walk, about the length of a football field.
“Victoria ….” Someone calls out from somewhere behind me. I stop, recognizing the voice. My entire body tenses my heart doing that familiar flutter it does whenever he is near me. Butterflies try to invade my belly but I mentally smother them into nothingness.
I slowly spin around to see Sterling erasing the distance between us. He appears flushed, nervous, stopping a safe distance away.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I growl, turning and resuming my eager pace to reach the car.
“Where ever you’re at … that’s where I should be.” Sterling matches my brisk pace. I give him a sidelong glance. He is wearing an expensive black suit. His eyes are blood shot looking like he hasn’t slept in a while. His hair is a hot mess like usual. He reeks of cigarettes. I consider asking him for one but I’d die before I asked him for anything.
He makes an hmmm noise deep in his throat, rubbing the front of the crisp dress shirt over his heart.
“Don’t shut me out,” he says.
“You did that yourself.” Go home. Like I said, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Dammit it Phoenix, will you stop and listen for a second?” I’m jerked to sudden halt. My gaze drops to his hand clenching my arm before I glare up at him. He doesn’t remove the hand. If anything his hold tightens. “I didn’t have sex with her,” he says like that really matters now. He is an arrogant bastard if he thinks today is about him or about us.
Today is about my father.
“Only because I walked in before you had the chance,” I return.
“I can change. I haven’t used since you left. No girls have been to the apartment. I don’t want anyone else there. All I do is sit and curse myself for being so weak.”
A pang of remorse hits me. I never did like hearing him criticize himself. ‘Don’t call yourself weak’ is on the tip of my tongue. That’s what Sterling does. He gets inside my head. He sneaks his way into my heart.
He releases my arm, the hand that was holding it raking through his hair. “You need me and you and I both know it.”
“Do I look like I’m falling apart without you?” Thank God for sunglasses. “I’m a big girl. I’ve dealt with loss before, Sterling.”
The color drains from his face. He gives a slow disbelieving head shake, throwing a jittery glance at the crowd beginning to separate at my father’s grave site and head this way he says, “At least let me be here for you as a friend. I won’t push for more. Not right now. Right now I just want to be what you need.”
My chin trembles and I look away so he won’t see. “I can’t, Sterling. I need time.”
He sends me a long, painful look and then breaks eye contact. He stumbles back a step.
“I can give you time,” his voice comes out soft, broken. His shoulders drop, his hands disappearing in the pockets of his dress slacks. He walks away, giving me the time I asked for.
I dump the wasted food on my plate in the garbage. Our refrigerator is packed with a ton of it. It seems everyone we know feels compelled to feed us. It’s been three days since the funeral. I feel obligated—knowing the food will spoil if no one eats it—so I try to force myself to eat. A few bites and I become nauseous, same as I have been lately.
My mother is in the same place she’s been in since we came home; In front of the television, staring blankly. I hate having to pass through the living room to get to the stairs to my bedroom because I don’t know what to say to her to make her feel better. I can’t even manage to make myself feel better.
“Hey.” I pause, feeling like I need to say something. We can’t keep going on like this. “There’s still plenty of food. You hungry?”
She shakes her head. “You should eat though. Make sure you eat.”
I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “That’s where I just came from … the kitchen.”
“Good. I don’t want you to get sick.” Her face is long and sad. She is wearing baggy sweats and bunched-up white socks, her hair in a ponytail. No makeup.
“Okay, well, I’m going to take a nap.” I hesitate.
“Do you know why he brought this in the house,” she asks. She holds up the Bible in her lap, showing me the worn leather cover.
Grandma’s Bible.
My mouth opens but no words make it out. I go to sit next to my mother, slipping the bible out of her hands. My fingertips trace over the Beverly Hamilton written in gold. I turn the soft pages until I come to grandma’s handwriting.
“Why did she write: Olivia hopefully one day you will forgive me ?” I ask my mother.
“I don’t know. I didn’t even know she’d added that until your father brought it. It’d been a box out in the building ever since …” she clears her thought. “Maybe it was her way of telling me she felt bad that she didn’t approve of your father in the beginning. Our marriage almost didn’t make it because of her meddling. She was determined he wasn’t going to be a part of our family.”
“But then she moved in with us after grandpa died. Imagine that. She must have not disliked us that much after all,” I say a little snarky.
My mother smiles for the first time in days. “You’re right. She settled right in, didn’t she? We couldn’t get rid of her after that.” The smile vanishes like it was never there. She lays her hand over mine, our gazes meeting. “I shouldn’t have told you. It was wrong of me. I was being a bitch.”
“It’s okay.” I swallow hard. “I shouldn’t have kept bringing her up.”
“No.” She angles her body toward me. “You had every right to miss her, Victoria. You’re grandmother loved you very much. Yes. At first, when I was pregnant she didn’t like the idea but after she saw you … aww honey, she was putty in your hands.”
“I think she added the message after she found out. Grandma wanted the best for you … she just had trouble showing it.”
All the color drains from my mother’s face. She reaches for the Bible in my hands, reading over my grandma words. “I think you’re right. I understand how she felt now. I only want the best for you, Victoria. Sometimes that means I do things out of love that hurt you when the last thing I want is to hurt you. I’m so sorry … for everything.”
I lean into her, laying my head on her shoulder. I tap the leather cover with my index finger. “I found grandma’s bible out in a box not long ago and dad walked in while I was looking through it. I asked him why he wasn’t in here and he told me the date of when he was saved.” Lifting my head my gaze conn
ects with hers. “It was the same day as yours. It was a decision you made together he said.”
She draws in a deep breath. “I remember. I miss him so much, Tori.”
“Me too.” I pull her to me, hugging her tight, murmuring, “I had no way of knowing it would be the last time I’d see him, mom. If I’d known … I would have told him how much I loved him … I would have come home. ”
Her hand strokes the length of my hair. “Oh honey, your father knew how much you loved him.”
A knock comes from the front door causing us to separate.
“Oh no, I’m not in the mood to have visitors,” my mother gasps a hand flying to her unwashed hair. “I guess I should …” She goes to stand and I stop her.
“It’s okay, mom. Whoever it is I’ll tell them to come back later,” I say. “They’ll understand.”
I go to the door, finding the last person I ever wanted to see standing on the porch.
“How are you?” Colton asks, burying his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts.
An angry heat spreads throughout my body. “You have some nerve coming here. I want off my porch and out of my life.” I go to slam the door, but his hand catches it.
“Listen, I know I messed up. I was pissed … maybe I didn’t handle it the way I should have.” He sighs. “We have something in common now.”
I slap a palm higher on the door, my gaze narrowing on his face. “I don’t have anything in common with you, Colton. Don’t call me and don’t ever come to my house again,” I yell. You got it!”
Without giving him time to answer I slam the door and head for my room, the air around me growing dense. I bypass mom not wanting to explain who it was. I’m still not sure she fully gets how much of a pervert creep Colton Bentley is. One day I’ll explain it to her and tell her everything … but not today.
The sun is setting, the light coming through my bedroom windows diminishing. I close the door and collapse against it placing a hand over my heart. It races under my palm. Rage consumes me.
“Oh God it’s not fair, none of this is fair!!” I yell, griping onto the wall as if I could lose my balance. I lift my heavy head, my attention going to the wood statue on the dresser across from me.
