Click

by Anne Conley

  “Okay. Thanks,” he muttered as he left, realizing he should have just waited at her apartment. He was making his way to his car as quickly as he could when his phone rang.

  Putting it next to his ear, he hid the frustration in his voice as he answered while he walked, “Hello?”

  “Jake?” Abby’s voice was hesitant.

  “Yeah?” He fit the key into the lock of his truck, needing this to be quick.

  “Drew’s throwing up, and I can’t remember what your mother said to do for upset stomachs.”

  “Buttermilk. But I’m not sure that’s the best thing if it’s a virus.”

  “I don’t think it’s a virus, I think he’s having some kind of food reaction. I was sick after we ate some peanut patties we bought from a bake sale at school.”

  “Then buttermilk. Look, I really can’t talk right now, can I come by tomorrow?” Jake didn’t want to hear about their lives going on without him in it, and he certainly didn’t want to be a part of Abby’s life. Every time she talked about something she did with Drew, the anger rose up in him and he couldn’t tamp it down. He needed to focus on things with Miriam right now.

  “I don’t have any buttermilk. I really hate to ask this, but can you pick some up and drop it off here? I can’t leave him, and he’s really miserable.”

  “Okay, I’ll be twenty minutes,” Jake sighed into the phone. Regardless of his mistakes with Abby, he couldn’t turn his back on Drew. Whatever war he had going on with Abby, Drew was an innocent, and Jake was determined not to let him be a casualty.

  When he got to Abby’s house, what used to be their home, she met him at the door, looking weary. He handed her the buttermilk and followed her inside, looking around. The place was a mess.

  “We’ve both been sick. I think it was something we ate at the school carnival…” Abby explained as she poured two glasses of buttermilk, then swallowed one down. “Oh God, that’s disgusting.”

  “It will settle the stomach if it’s not a virus,” Jake said quietly, watching her go to the couch and lie down, covering herself with a blanket. He sighed and took the other glass of buttermilk to Drew’s room, where he hoped his son would be.

  He found Drew, looking a little peaked, but sleeping soundly. “Drew, buddy, wake up a minute and drink this nasty stuff. It’ll make your tummy better.”

  The little boy always looked tinier when he was sick, and Jake got comfortable next to him as he sat up in the bed. His nose wrinkled at the smell of the buttermilk, but he didn’t complain as he took a sip.

  “Try to drink it all,” Jake encouraged him.

  With a squelching noise in the back of his throat, the little boy did what his dad asked and finished the buttermilk.

  “Will you stay with me, Dad?” As if he could say no to that.

  “I’ll stay until you go back to sleep.” Thoughts of Miriam drifted through his consciousness, but Jake knew it was late, and if she’d had a headache before, she was probably asleep and wouldn’t appreciate him waking her up. “I don’t have any place else I have to be.”

  Drew snuggled down into the crook of Jake’s arm and before he knew it, the little boy was asleep. The tiny, warm being curled up against his side reminded Jake of all the other times he’d snuggled with his son, the sense of responsibility for this little boy’s wellbeing a powerful entity inside him. Love surged through him, and Jake knew he would do anything for this kid.

  He laid with him for a while longer, waiting to see if the buttermilk worked. When it seemed he was going to keep sleeping, Jake extricated himself from the little boy and made his way downstairs. He watched Abby sleep while he sat in the chair in the living room to make sure she would be okay, too.

  He and Abby had a fairy tale romance, meeting in college and getting married six months after graduation. She was so happy to be the bride of Jake Calahan, she’d had things monogrammed with ‘Bride’ and ‘Groom’ for them to wear everywhere the week before the wedding. Jake had seen it as a bit of a waste, but her parents had the money and it seemed to make her happy. They’d bought this house immediately when he’d gotten his job selling insurance, and she’d set to work decorating it how she saw fit.

  In retrospect, their relationship had been so mature, the two of them doing everything like they were supposed to, an effort to grow up before they were really ready. Jake had taken the insurance job to support their family, turning his back on his own dreams and wishes, selling his soul for financial security.

  Watching Abby sleep on the couch, her blonde hair a sharp contrast to the fiery redhead he really wanted, Jake realized he didn’t regret his years with her, only the way they’d ended. The need to make himself known to Miriam took over, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he apologized for his reaction the other night. He needed to tell her he was sorry, that it didn’t matter if she could have kids or not.

  Jake needed to make things right with Miriam.

  Rising from the chair, he left the house, knowing the occupants were resting safely. His new mission was to wake Miriam up, kiss the fool out of her, and gain her forgiveness.

  Anticipation filled him with a nervous energy the closer he got to her apartment, and he knew he was doing the right thing. He would bang on her door to wake her, and when she opened it, he would claim her mouth, telling her with his lips that she was his and he wasn’t going to let her go. The unspeakable chemistry between them was undeniable, and he knew she was a slave to it as much as he was.

  Excited by the prospect at feeling her curves under his hands again, Jake bounded up the stairs to her apartment. He couldn’t stop the stupid grin on his face getting wider with each step he took. It may be sheer exhaustion. It was the wee hours of the morning, but Jake didn’t care. He had to see her now.

  When he reached the landing, his smile faltered with the tight fist that crushed his heart. It stopped beating while he took in the scene in front of him, and looking around frantically, he wondered how nobody had heard her. Surely this hadn’t been quiet.

  Rushing to her side, he couldn’t stop his own anguished roar. “Miriam!”

  Covered in blood, she was a crumpled heap on the ground. Her body was a tangled mess of limbs jutting out at haphazard angles. As he gently placed his fingers at the delicate curve of her throat, he felt a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. “Christ…”

  Dialing nine-one-one, Jake cursed Abby for not having buttermilk, cursed himself for leaving Miriam’s apartment instead of waiting, and cursed Joe, because without a doubt in his mind, this was Joe’s fault.

  Miriam hurt all over. When the voice broke into her consciousness, it was kind, telling her to push the button for relief. She pushed the button, and a slight numbing happened, but the dull, throbbing ache was still there. She succumbed to the darkness tugging her deeper.

  “I’m gonna freeze his accounts. I don’t think he did this, but he did something, and until he starts talking I’m going to make him miserable. She doesn’t deserve this.” Evan? Why was Evan here? And who was he talking about? Her body ached. What had happened?

  “I think I’m going to take him hunting, Dick Chaney style.” That was Ryan’s voice. Her last memory was walking to her apartment, and for the life of her, Miriam couldn’t figure out why the boys were in her apartment while she slept. Or why everything hurt so badly.

  She couldn’t open her eyes, only listen. Vaguely, she realized that was what the Metallica song, One, was all about. She was a prisoner inside her head—able to listen but not do anything. Panic infused her and she wanted to cry out, but she gave in once again to the muddy darkness.

  Lucidity visited her once again, and this time, she was able to open her eyes. Everything was so bright, and she squinted against the white everywhere, muffling a groan. She was covered with a coarse blanket, and tubes came out of her everywhere. She couldn’t move, and as she turned her head to look, she saw her body covered in cuts—small, precise, two-inch cuts.

  Movement to her left captured
her attention, and Miriam saw Quinten, shifting in a chair.

  “Am I in a hospital?” Her voice was gritty with disuse, her mouth dry. Her tongue smacked against the insides of her mouth as if it had been swiped with cotton swabs.

  “You want some water?” Holding a beige plastic jug out, Quinten poured some water into a glass. The crystal clear liquid looked better than nectar from the gods and Miriam took it gratefully, even though it felt like she was re-opening tiny wounds all along her arm as she moved it

  Drinking through the straw as Quinten held the cup out to her, she remembered what happened.

  “Am I okay?” She’d been worked over very carefully, with a knife, one man holding her while one sliced her. She remembered the guys doing their twisted duty to some boss, unknown to her, the cruelty tinged with regret in their eyes as they bruised and cut every part of her body, leaving her in a heap in her foyer. She never even made it to her bedroom.

  “You’ll live.” Grim-faced, Quinten reached for her hand and squeezed it. “They actually went easy on you. You don’t have any internal damage. Just a lot of tiny cuts and a concussion.” He motioned the button she’d been toying with. “Dilaudid, for pain.” His eyes held a question she didn’t understand.

  “How long have I been here?” There were so many questions floating around in her head, but that was the only one she could grab hold of.

  “Three days. We’re all really worried about you. We’ve been taking shifts, but the guys will be glad to know you’re finally awake. The doctors kept you asleep to keep your brain from swelling or something.”

  Miriam’s eyes flitted across the room, noticing the only color in the room was from random bouquets of mixed floral arrangements. “Who brought all the flowers?”

  “They’re from all of us, but the majority of them came from Calahan,” Quinten gritted out. “He comes by four times a day and brings a new flower arrangement every time.” Her stomach did a flip-flop at the idea Jake had been there.

  “How sweet…” Miriam mused, finding her head getting fuzzy. A soft knock at the door preceded an arrangement of mixed flowers as Jake came in.

  He had a black eye, and some memory of Evan and Ryan talking came wavering into focus in the back of her mind. She looked at Quinten, who looked at his feet, but his fists were clenched. Then she looked back at Jake, who held a similar posture.

  “Who hit you, Jake?” she asked softly, thinking she already knew the answer.

  His eyes flitted to Quinten before falling back to his feet. “No one.”

  She dragged in a deep breath, and it hurt, but she needed to put a stop to all this.

  “Quinten, tell Evan to unfreeze his accounts. Tell Ryan not to bother inviting him hunting. And you back off, right now. I am a grown woman, and I can take care of myself. Jake didn’t do anything wrong, so leave him alone. I’m tired of you guys not respecting my decisions regarding my own damn welfare, and if you keep up this alpha male bullshit, trying to beat up everyone who hurts me, I’m going to quit Pierce Securities and move to Florida! Now, get out. I need to talk to Jake. Alone.” It hurt to talk so much, and she was out of breath from the exertion, but her first priority right now was to get everyone out of her room. She could recover when they were all gone.

  Quinten’s mouth opened to speak, but he wisely snapped it shut and left without a word.

  Her head was heavy on her neck as she swiveled it around to Jake. She was exhausted from her diatribe at Quinten but needed to tell Jake something. “Thank you for the flowers.” She managed a smile, even though everything hurt. Miriam pressed the button by her thumb for the welcome relief. Jake faded out in a gray blur, and she muttered a curse that she’d pressed the button before she talked to him.

  When Miriam woke up again, Jake was still there, watching her intently. His face shone with something that scared her, but she couldn’t remember why. Before she could think it through, he started talking.

  “How do you feel?” His hand reached out to brush hair across her forehead and lingered, leaving a welcoming warmth. She nodded, her tongue thick in her mouth.

  “Can I have some water?”

  “Of course.” While he poured her water from the jug, her earlier thoughts that there was nothing better than the clear, cold liquid raced through her mind. As she sipped through the straw, she watched Jake.

  “I’m so sorry this happened. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I got you involved in this to begin with.”

  His words poured out of his mouth so quickly, she had a hard time keeping up with them. “I’m an ass. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did the other night after we made love.” Painful memories crashed in on Miriam as he spoke. She hadn’t remembered what happened until he brought it up. She’d been in a blissful haze of painkillers. She licked her lips to speak, to tell him what she needed to say, but he continued.

  “I realized immediately that I want you in my life, whatever that means for us. I want to spend time with you, I want to know your story. I want to introduce you to Drew, my son. I want to learn about you, Miriam.” He was gripping her hand, hard, and the sadness crept back. She could do all of it. All of it, except his son. That was too painful for her. Looking at a child who was the same age her own child should be was just too painful. She could tell him about her abusive husband. She could tell him about the loss of her femininity, she could let him in to everything. Everything but that.

  She shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, Jake. I can’t do that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we want different things. I just… can’t.”

  She pushed the button again, not because she was in pain, but because she wanted the darkness to return.

  Christmas dinner at the Calahans’ was cheerier than Thanksgiving, and Jake was certainly more at ease this time. Joe wasn’t here, having been in County lock-up awaiting his trial. After a long heart to heart with his parents, explaining as much as he could stomach about what happened, they decided not to post his bail and enable him anymore. Jake was convinced his dad put his foot down on that one, as his mother just cried and claimed it was some mistake. He didn’t blame her, he himself wanted it to be a mistake. He didn’t want to be the twin of the guy who tore the family apart.

  But in the wise words of teenagers everywhere, it is what it is.

  Instead, Jake focused on the younger image of him and his brother sitting across the table from him. Drew was gobbling Christmas roast like it was his last meal, or like he couldn’t open presents until after he’d cleaned his plate. Jake smiled.

  His parents had wanted them to spend Christmas Eve night with them, but he knew the tradition of not opening presents until after lunch was hard, and he didn’t want to watch Drew fidget all morning, so he’d done Christmas Eve at his place, and they’d woken up early for presents at his house. The only presents here were the ones from grandparents—undoubtedly a package of socks and underwear, along with some jigsaw puzzles.

  The boy’s giggles at the table were a balm on everyone present. He did a spot-on impersonation of his gym teacher, which had Jake’s dad belching out contagious guffaws until the entire table was rolling with laughter.

  It had been previously agreed that Jake would have Drew for Christmas since Abby had him Thanksgiving. She had a boyfriend now—a man she’d just met one night out with friends—and Jake found he was actually happy for her. It meant an end to the awkward invitations and insinuations at her house, but Drew seemed to see it as the beginning of the end.

  Jake visited Joe in jail yesterday, against his better wishes, but it seemed to ease something inside him—guilt maybe? He wasn’t sure, but he needed to let him know he was still his blood, or maybe he needed to remind himself of that fact. Jake didn’t have a reason, but he knew he’d be back again, probably with the same reasoning, or lack thereof.

  Joe had a new tattoo, a rushed, blue-inked swastika crawling up his neck with an A and a B at the corners. It was undoubtedly a move of protection on Joe
’s part. It wouldn’t help his trial much, but the defeat and defiance in Joe’s eyes spoke of a resignation to his new life and a need to adapt to it. Of course, the Arian Brotherhood wasn’t a rival of Tres Lobos, but it presumably would afford him some measure of protection against them. Especially since he’d been responsible for the death of one of their leaders.

  Jake cringed, imagining what his brother had to do to earn his descent into hell. Apparently, he’d be there a while. He wasn’t optimistic about his defense attorney, who’d been plain and up front about his chances. Thirty years for the first gun he’d tried to smuggle, twenty-five years for each gun after that. And that was in addition to his assault of Miriam, drug dealing, possession, and gang affiliation. The “money” he’d borrowed was still a big mystery. Jake could only assume he’d initially borrowed the money to buy drugs from Tres Lobos and managed to get himself into deeper debt by wheeling and dealing. And it had landed him in jail.

  They finished lunch and opened their gifts before going back to Jake’s place for the evening. Drew called his mom, beaming about his new model ship of the SS Lusitania, and the book Jake had gotten him about the tragic history of the boat. He promised to help him put it together over the coming months.

  Jake was taking bags of leftovers from his mom’s house into the kitchen when Drew passed the phone over to him before bouncing off to his room with an armful of gifts.

  “Jake? Merry Christmas,” Abby’s voice sounded faint and awkward.

  He put the bags on the counter as he answered her. “Merry Christmas, Abby. Did you have a nice time with what’s his name?”

  She giggled hesitantly, “Yes. Ron gave me a trip to the Bahamas over New Year’s…”

  “Sounds romantic,” Jake allowed. He was happy for Abby. It seemed she was finally finding what she needed from a man. He just hoped the man was on the same page and knew what he was getting into.