Uncomplicated Choices

by Cara Dee

  "Lincoln wants a couple days on a beach, so I think that’s the plan," she answered. "The others are going home tomorrow, too. Adrian's got school coming up." True. The new semester would start in a few weeks, and he was one of those high school teachers who loved his job. He'd spend an eternity getting everything ready. "Okay, so back to the girls staying with you…" There was a noise in the background, papers rustling. "Lincoln has a big project and will stay in Seattle for a bit, and you know how cranky he gets if I'm not with him." Even truer. "If we stay at the condo… Let's see, we get home on a Tuesday… So, 'til that weekend?"

  I nodded. "Sounds good. I can pick the girls up in Seattle. No reason for you to drive up here just to drop them off."

  The familiar excitement of being with Haley—and Lyn—built up rapidly inside me. However, one thing was new. When I thought of shit we could do, my mind strayed to Ellis. What did he think of kids? Other than what was required for the uncle role he played for both of them. Thinking back on birthday parties and dinners, I knew he certainly didn’t dislike children. He put thought and effort into gifts and had accepted the invitation to a tea party once or twice, but beyond that? No clue. He wasn’t the type of uncle who spent time with them unless we were there.

  After finalizing my plans with Adeline, I was ready to get off the phone and get back to Ellis. I had a few more days of keeping my head firmly stuck in the sand; I was going to worry about later…well, later.

  Ade had another agenda. "So how's work?"

  Who cared? It was fine. I answered on autopilot as I watched Ellis leave without me. He couldn’t very well stay by the fuel dock.

  "Interesting," Adeline noted. "Why are you lying to me?"

  I frowned. "What?"

  "I got your message the other day. Your pretty bathroom selfie?"

  Oh. Yeah. I smirked. I'd sent it as soon as I'd had cell service. It was too good to keep to myself. Although, this didn’t make me a liar. "You're welcome."

  She made a noise. "Casey. I recognize the bathroom. Are you on the yacht with Ellis?"

  Well, fuck. I ran a hand through my hair, unsure of what to say. The situation suddenly got sticky. I didn’t know what Ellis was comfortable divulging, and though the cat was out of the bag in terms of where I was, there was most likely a correct angle to play this.

  It hadn't been my intention to be vague or untruthful; it'd come naturally to not mention it. Which on its own was slightly disturbing. I didn’t do lies. Once upon a time, I ended up in prison for being a shitty criminal. Was I turning into a serial killer? They had to start somewhere. Sometimes all it took was one lie.

  "To be fair, he kidnapped me," I stated. "I got drunk—as I do—and I spent the night on the boat because it'd been closer than your house. The next day, I woke up in the middle of the ocean. What's a guy to do?"

  Apparently, that was too much for her to process.

  *

  Once Ellis had been directed to a spot for visitors, he left the boat to join me on the dock. He'd put on nicer clothes, slacks and a button-down, and I was in sweats and a T-shirt. If he thought we were going to dinner like this, he was batshit crazy.

  "I'm not a fashionista, but I do have some sense of decorum," I told him. "Either I change on the yacht, or I drag you out shopping."

  He slid on his shades and tossed me something. I caught it—my wallet. So we were going shopping.

  "I want you in something nice for our date." His mouth twisted into a careful smile, confirming that our dinner was, in fact, a date. He was getting more dangerous by the minute. "I may have a fantasy."

  Let's talk about that.

  "What kind of fantasy?"

  "It's not entirely sexual, you animal." He chuckled quietly and gestured toward the parking lot farther away. "But the thought of seeing your ass in a pair of nice dress pants might've sparked something."

  I could do dressy for him. "Ellis Hayes likes my ass. This is going in my diary."

  He laughed.

  "I also made reservations for dinner," he added conversationally. "Our car's over there."

  He'd been busy while I was on the phone. I learned he'd ordered transportation to take us to a shopping center, after which we were returning to the harbor for six o'clock reservations at a hotel slash restaurant frequently used as a wedding destination.

  I threw a glance over my shoulder, looking back at the dock. Was this safe? Ellis was clearly on a mission to explore something he didn’t have in his marriage, something his wife was exploring elsewhere, too. But what the fuck would happen with the poor schmucks they explored with? Namely, me.

  If I were bitter, maybe I would feel used. Being with him now, though, that was impossible. I needed this too much to resist. I'd live out the delusion until it came crashing down around me.

  "You might have some shit to explain to Ade later," I said, ridding the worries in my mind. "She knew I was with you, so I told her you kidnapped me."

  He chuckled, so I hoped that meant he wasn’t concerned about people knowing we were on the yacht together. "You and your kidnappings."

  I wouldn’t be a kidnapping slut if I didn’t mention them often, now, would I?

  *

  A couple hours later, I crammed myself into a stall in the men's room to change clothes. I didn’t enjoy fashion much, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know it. I'd walked straight into a store and found a pair of charcoal slacks that made my ass look fuckable to straight men, and then Ellis and I had stopped at a coffee shop for a light snack. During which I'd suffered his testy grumpiness because I hadn't showed him the damn pants. Lastly, I'd found another store where I bought a blue shirt. Or "midnight marine," as the saleslady had called it. Was there even a lunchtime marine?

  I wasn’t buying new shoes for just one date, so I'd warned Ellis he'd have to settle for my black Chucks.

  "They're very you. I wouldn’t want anything else," was his answer.

  Don't fall for the married man.

  Pushing up the sleeves of my shirt, I checked my arms to make sure the scars weren't too visible. Despite that they'd faded to the point where some people didn’t even know of them, I was self-conscious about it. More so in the summer when my skin got…maybe three-quarters of a shade darker, and my scars stayed the same color.

  The final touch was the free sample of a cologne I'd snatched up, because fuck, I loved free samples. I was one of the reasons that marketing strategy worked so well. When crap was free, I entered a store with my wallet open.

  I ran a hand through my hair and then stashed my old clothes in a bag before exiting the men's room.

  Ellis's reaction made the shopping worth it. He pushed away from the wall and cursed under his breath, his gaze growing predatory and heated.

  That reminded me: "We gotta buy rubbers," I blurted out. His eyebrows shot up, and I cleared my throat. "Don't look so surprised. You have to realize I'm putting out tonight."

  "Oh, I do?" He gathered his wits and stepped close enough to press a kiss to my jaw. "I guess we have one more stop before dinner, then."

  Yeah. To buy a wholesale box of condoms.

  *

  "Evening. Reservations for two under Hayes."

  While Ellis spoke to the hostess, I peered around us to take in what I could only describe as one of the most romantic locations I'd ever been to. It was a resort for couples, no doubt. The Victorian estate sat on a hillside that faced the harbor, and the large terrace was full of tables, candles, white roses, and a ceiling covered in ivy. This, all of this, combined with the setting sun was looking more and more like the recipe for a future heartbreak.

  I had half a mind to jokingly scold Ellis and tell him you didn’t take casual lovers to places like this one.

  "This way, please." The hostess smiled and guided the way to a table near the edge of the terrace. Down the grassy hill, a path lined with tiki torches led to the water.

  We were left alone with two menus after ordering drinks.

  Ellis opened his menu.
"You once told me first dates are awful."

  I quirked a brow.

  He offered a small smirk, keeping his gaze on the chef's recommendations. "What if I wanted to change your opinion?"

  Well, I—huh. So, he was a man with a plan. "Pretty sure you're exempt to that rule, Ellis. We already know each other."

  "Sure," he replied slowly, pensive. "As family. We've never dated."

  No, I would think I'd remember if we had. "True, but you won't freak out or judge me if my prison time comes up. You know I have a daughter, and you—"

  "Yes, I know all that." He smiled and closed the menu. "That doesn’t mean we can't talk about it—as two men on a date. What, you don't think I have questions? Merely knowing you've spent time in prison isn't enough for me."

  What did he mean by that? Ellis had a way of keeping me relaxed, so I couldn’t say this was putting me on edge. There was a big, fat spell of uncertainty now, however. We'd hit a new level of exploring, one I wasn’t sure I could recover from as easily.

  I took this crap seriously. The bastard was going to make me fall in love with him.

  "You can ask me anything." I made sure to keep my expression composed, and then I scanned my menu absently. "That means I can ask you anything, too."

  "Of course."

  Of course.

  It felt like stepping onto a minefield. Maybe he did believe I could ask anything, though that meant shit-all if I still wasn’t ready for the answers. Or rather, I was less ready than before. And that spoke volumes; I'd gone too far as it was when the answers mattered that much.

  Not that any of this was going to stop me from diving in headfirst.

  When a waiter appeared with our drinks, we ordered the rack of lamb with Hasselback potatoes and Cabernet sauce. According to the chef, it was c'est magnifique, and who was I to argue with someone who knew French?

  Then we were alone again, and I figured I might as well get us started right away. "What more about my time in prison is there to know?" Because to be honest, he knew more than just how long I'd been there. He knew I'd succumbed to peer pressure as a kid. Anything to get friends who accepted me. Instead, they'd seen an income. Three of us had gotten involved in stealing and breaking in, and being the inexperienced one, I was the fastest to get caught. I'd learned since then that my "friends" were regulars in jail and prison.

  "What drove you to self-harm?" he wondered.

  For fuck's sake, he could never start slow, could he? Like, how was the food there? Did we wear stripey uniforms? No, he went straight for the crap I didn’t like to talk about.

  I cleared my throat, forced to think back on those years. Unlike Lincoln, who'd spent ten years behind bars and still sometimes woke up expecting to go through our regular routine, I was only in prison for three, and I'd shaken most of the triggers. My brain had reprogrammed itself within a year, and now, only certain sounds and smells earned me brief flashbacks.

  "I guess…in comparison, the first two years were easy because I was with Lincoln. It wasn’t until after that…" I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable.

  "So he was your first cellmate?"

  I nodded. "I was terrified of him at first. I mean, he comes off as pretty menacing if you don’t know him, but I had a nervous breakdown my first night, and he helped me."

  Lincoln hadn't been nice about it, although given the stories about inmates I'd heard beforehand—while I was waiting for my sentence—he was a saint.

  I remembered being shown to my new cell on the second floor. I'd been told it was a reasonably quiet block with very little problems, which meant absolutely nothing to a sheltered dork from a wealthy family.

  "It wasn’t like in the movies," I said and wrung my hands in my lap. "Like when you hear the powerful echoes of barred doors shutting? It was none of that. It was quiet, and nobody gave a shit." In a way, that was worse. The cell door didn’t close until it was bedtime, and when it did, it was with a mechanical hum and the soft clank of the lock being secured. "It was like being forgotten by everyone and everything." Even sound had forgotten me. I barely heard a noise. I recalled Lincoln's unimpressed once-over before he ignored me. Nobody cared. With the memory of my parents' disappointed looks, and worse, how they avoided facing me the last day of the trial, I felt completely fucking useless, unlovable, and invisible.

  I stumbled through an explanation to Ellis on how I'd felt the walls closing in on me. Then how Lincoln had jumped down from his bunk to snap at me. "What the fuck're you doing? Shut up, or I'll do it for you." I hadn't even realized I'd been crying. The hyperventilating came next, and I'd been rocking back and forth and clawing at my skin when Lincoln decided to help me instead.

  I'd clung to him after that. I'd told him I'd do anything if he kept me safe. Anything.

  He'd accepted.

  Ellis averted his gaze for a quick moment, his jaw ticking with tension. When he looked me in the eye again, his resentment was evident.

  I halted him before he could express his distaste. "He did nothing wrong." I was firm on that one. "He took what I offered 'cause we change in a place like that." I'd only given Lincoln head, but even if it'd been more than that, I would've held my stance. Hell, because of him, distant suspicions of my possibly being bi became a lot more than a theory.

  Nevertheless, prison dehumanized a person. Lincoln was closed off for many years; it was a coping mechanism to survive. We were objects on an assembly line, shuffled from station to station until the day was over. Morning showers, breakfast, work, lunch, yard time, dinner, bedtime. Lincoln had called us cattle and sheep. He wasn’t wrong.

  "He didn’t make me feel like I was obligated." I ran a hand over my head to adjust my beanie, only to remember I wasn’t wearing one. Right this second, I wouldn’t mind it. "If anything, he treated me the way I needed to be treated. Sure, he protected me, but he also prepared me. He was a goddamn drill sergeant. The only thing he forced me to do was way too many push-ups."

  Ellis's mouth twitched, though I could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced. At the same time, I knew he knew that his cousin was a good man. Which left only a thing or two to be worried about… Me?

  "I don't like the idea of you getting hurt, that’s all." He confirmed my thought—possibly my wish, too—and took a sip of his wine.

  "I hurt myself more than he ever could've done." I supposed that put me right back on track. I sighed quietly and followed Ellis's lead and took a swig from my wine. "Thanks to him, the two years we shared a cell were relatively easy. I took minor smacks from others, and he took care of the rest." So, most of my rude awakening didn’t hit me until the day Lincoln was paroled. When he left, he took away the only sense of security I had. More than that, despite his promises to be there for me—and to be honest, I'd only half believed him—I lost my only friend. "Then he was gone." I mustered a small, empty smile. "The anxiety was back. I might as well have been new again."

  Ellis didn’t reply. He covered my hand on the table with his and just listened.

  Goddamn him. Goddamn me. I should've gone with an abridged version. But goddamn him for making the words tumble out.

  "There isn't much more to say about my last year." Because most of it was a blur. I was in and out of panic. One nervous breakdown after another, until I noticed the prison doc gave me meds every time I was brought in. They didn’t increase my visits with the counselor. Just more medication. Antidepressants, sleeping pills, anxiety meds… "I took the easy way out and hurt myself so I would get sedated."

  At times, it was methodical and planned to the last detail. Other times, I harmed myself during my panic attacks and was less aware of the severity of the damage. And that was how I ended up at the hospital and was labeled suicidal. At that point, Lincoln was granted special clearance to visit me, even though it was generally not allowed for parolees to visit inmates.

  "Lincoln told you about the move then, didn’t he?" Ellis asked. "I think I remember him saying something about that. He really didn’t like Michigan much."


  I nodded. Lincoln hadn't been out more than a few months when I learned he had everything planned out and that I was coming with him to Washington when I was paroled. He'd grown up in Camassia before he headed to LA and became famous.

  It got a little easier in prison once I realized Lincoln hadn't been full of shit and empty promises. He was going to keep his word and make me a part of his family. By then, it'd expanded to include a pregnant Adeline, Jesse, Abel, and Madigan. The band of misfits was born.

  Shortly after we arrived in Camassia, Ellis joined our family.

  He looked lost in thought, though there was a faint smile playing on his lips. "You and Lincoln wouldn’t cross a street until the light turned green when I met you."

  I grinned. True enough. Parole kind of kicked your ass. There were rules and restrictions coming out of the woodwork, and we didn’t wanna risk anything and get sent back to prison.

  Our conversation, thankfully lighter now, took a quick break as our food arrived. I was grateful the heavy topic was over, making it a hell of a lot easier to enjoy my meal. The chef had been right, too. It was magnificent.

  "You were super quiet back then," I recalled.

  He inclined his head. "Since Lincoln and I were never close before, it took me a while to find my place in our family."

  That made sense. I remembered Lincoln telling me about it. Other than being ten years Ellis's senior, Lincoln hadn't been close to Ellis because their fathers had that huge falling out when Ellis's dad decided to become a cult nut. It wasn’t until years later, while Lincoln was in prison, that his dad—Keith—and Ellis started talking.

  "Then you took a chill pill," I concluded.

  He laughed quietly. "It helped that Lincoln called me Uncle Ellis when Lyn was born."

  Shit, that was a crazy day. I'd never been around babies before. Hell, neither had Lincoln. He'd been a mess. It was before he was through his parole too, so he was bitchy as fuck about not being able to calm his nerves with a couple shots of whiskey.