Blue Velvet

by Linnea May

  The cab driver greets me as I slump on the back seat, and I retort with an automatic response, telling him where to take me in a short and concise manner that lets him know I’m in no mood for small talk.

  My stomach turns as the car starts driving, and I hope to God I don’t get sick on the drive. I haven’t puked inside a car since my early twenties, shortly after I joined the Army and let loose of all that pent-up tension that built during my bound upbringing.

  Bound but safe and marked by love, I need to remind myself. Melina lacked all those things during her childhood, and I could have been the one to give that to her if I hadn’t fucked it up.

  If Dwight hadn’t made me fuck this up.

  Is it too easy to blame him for this? Am I just casting the responsibility for my behavior aside by insisting that Dwight was to blame for it in any way?

  Yes, he pushed me, but did any of what he said to me justify the way I acted at the club? Did it justify me running out on him earlier when I felt that my head was starting to spin and I needed to get away from him, practically fleeing the office because I was afraid of what I might do?

  Why did he have to show up at the club? Why was he there tonight of all nights? I knew that he was a customer there, too, because he was the one who enabled me to get in, but I’ve never seen him there during any of my other visits. Was it pure coincidence that he showed up there when I was still churning with rage from our earlier meeting?

  It’s hard to believe that evil fate didn’t have his dark hands in this.

  It’s probably for the best. If anything, tonight was a reminder that Melina and I couldn’t work out. A reminder for both of us. We may have clicked in some regards—like both of us craving the soothing embrace of silence for reasons rooted in our past. We were a perfect blend in bed, a comfort to each other, and a promise for something we both lacked until we met.

  But there was no future for us. Not with the danger I pose to her sanity and not with how fragile our unity was under the circumstances.

  Yes, it’s probably for the best that it ended tonight.

  The cab stops, and I take a painfully long amount of time to find my credit card to pay the guy. My movements are slow and sloppy as my balance is still off. I still look and feel like an intoxicated person, barely able to hold my head up as I try to meet the driver’s eyes in the mirror. The looks he cast me are underlying with worry and tense awareness as if he’s ready for an impending attack. It’s hard to tell which one of us is more relieved once the business of paying him is finished and I finally stumble out of the car.

  I pause in front of the building, my head falling back as my gaze travels up along the Art Deco façade of my luxury townhouse as if I can’t believe it’s mine.

  Melina loved this place. She felt so at home within such a short amount of time, and I loved making her feel that way. I loved having her with me, I loved seeing her first thing in the morning, and I loved sharing meals with her that neither one of us had cooked. She cooks as little as I do, but her drinks have certainly brought my dining experience to a new level. Her wonderfully creative mind, her smile, her sighs when she came wrapped around my cock, the way she always remembered to lean in on my left side when she wanted to whisper something in my ear.

  My solid heart feels as if blunt blades are repeatedly stabbing me, tearing me apart from the inside as I recall everything I have lost.

  I’ve been lonely before. It was part of the reason I went to The Velvet Rooms in the first place, seeking distraction and company in a time of need.

  But standing here now, with that aching hole in my chest, I feel like I understand what being lonely really means. Loneliness is not just the lack of someone significant in your life, a person who loves to be with you, who supports you, a partner. You’re alone when there’s no one like that in your life. But being lonely is something else. Loneliness means knowing exactly what it is you’re missing in your life. Loneliness means knowing someone out there can fill that gap in your life but not having them with you.

  Or losing them.

  A voice is calling for me, and for a moment, I mistake it for my imagination because I recognize it. My name, spoken in a muffled plea, spoken by a voice I’m all too familiar with.

  I don’t dare to turn because I worry that my conjecture could be proven right. That there was no one calling for me, but it’s just a sad echo of her earlier exclamation.

  I can’t be sure of it until I feel her hand on my arm. Following that warm sensation, I look into a set of deep hazel eyes I thought I’d never see again.

  34

  Melina

  “Drink this.”

  I hand him a cup of steaming hot herbal tea, and he throws me a skeptical look, doubting whether I wanted to help him or may be about to worsen his state. Rowan sits on a bench in the dining area next to the kitchen, looking weak and smaller than I know him to be. He was swaying when I found him standing in front of his house, staring at the façade as if he was waiting for me to come.

  But I’m sure he didn’t. He looked so utterly lost and hopeless when I jumped out of the cab I’d been following him in, neither noticing the car itself nor the fact that I got out of it just seconds after he’d stepped out of his cab. He didn’t hear me calling at first, and I blamed it on his bad hearing and the fact that my voice came from the right, his bad side.

  It was more than that, though. His mind was as absent as his body is crippled. Even when he did finally hear me and our eyes met, he didn’t quite look like himself. He was just a shell of the man I was looking for.

  He’s still looking at me like that, dazed and absentminded with disbelief lining his face.

  “Drink,” I repeat, pointing at the mug in his hands.

  That request has been pretty much all the verbal conversation we’ve had ever since I came up to him downstairs. He looked at me with those hurt, foggy eyes, and I took his hand, walking up the stairs next to him without either of us saying a word. I told him to sit down right after we got inside and went to the kitchen to see what he had in stock. I poured him a glass of water first, forcing him to finish all of it before I brought him another one while the water started boiling for tea. He doesn’t have a big selection of tea to choose from, but I’m glad I could find anything at all.

  I sit down next to him, supporting my chin on my palm as I watch him sip on the herbal tea I brought him. His dark eyes fixate me from the side, narrowing as if he was experiencing pain.

  “I’m sorry, Melina,” he says. “I’m sorry you had to see—”

  “Don’t,” I cut him off, raising a finger as if I was rebuking an unruly child. “How are you feeling?”

  He cocks his head to the side, rolling his eyes.

  “Better,” he says, “but not quite like myself yet.”

  He pauses, his gaze wandering for a moment before he returns to me, and a somber shadow casts over his face.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” he says. “After all that happened ...”

  I bite my lip, lowering my eyes as I nod.

  “Because I ran from you when you told me about your past,” I say, feeling an odd sense of guilt washing over me. “Because I turned my back on you when it was just words. And now, you scared me even more because it was no longer just telling, but showing.”

  A cold chuckle escapes him.

  “I never intended for you to see this side of me,” he adds. “I never wanted to—”

  “Rowan,” I interrupt him, placing my hand on his thigh in a soft but demanding touch. “The important thing is that you didn’t do it. You were angry and understandably so. What that guy said to you infuriated you. You were close, but you didn’t do it.”

  His eyes widen as he looks at me, slowly realizing that he may not be as bad a man in my eyes as he thought he was.

  “I didn’t get drunk,” he says, putting weight on each word, making sure that I believe him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I swear to you, I haven’t had more than two small drin
ks. Nowhere near the amount that would explain ... this.”

  I nod, still ridden with that dark suspicion.

  “You met with Dwight this afternoon? Before both of you showed up at the club?”

  He nods. “Yes. That’s when I had the first drink.”

  “And he poured it for you?”

  He nods again, looking stern as his eyes lock onto mine. “You don’t think he ...?”

  “Maybe?” I respond, tilting my head to the side. “I mean ... I’m not saying he did, but ... he was weird after you left, saying things about you not being on your meds—”

  “He said what?!” Rowan interrupts me, jerking up from the couch. “What meds? I have nothing to—”

  “I know,” I say, now being the one who cuts him off. “I believe you. But what if Dwight really … I mean, would he have a reason? Is he angry with you about something?”

  Disdain tinges the laugh that escapes Rowan.

  “Oh yes, we’ve been arguing for months about a business decision that we do not see eye to eye on. He has been working for my father for a very long time and claims he only wants to follow his wishes, but that’s a load of bullshit.”

  “Are you his superior?” I wonder out loud, an idea sparking inside my head that seems almost too cliché to be true.

  Rowan cocks his head from side to side. “In a way, yes, I will be.”

  “He has been working for your father for a very long time?”

  “Yeah, he has been around since I was in high school,” Rowan replies.

  “And you only started getting involved in the business a few months ago?” I probe.

  “More like a year ago, but yes,” he responds, now looking at me with knitted eyebrows. “You don’t think he put something in my drink, trying to aggravate me and then make me lose it in public? So he could benefit from it?”

  I shrug. “It’s a possibility, isn’t it?”

  Rowan sighs, turning the mug on the table as his mind wanders.

  “It would explain a lot,” he whispers as he’s still trying to put the pieces together. “It would explain his irrational stubbornness. It was never about actually signing with Mentor; it was about objecting me, driving me insane, testing my temper ...”

  I don’t know what exactly he’s talking about, but the fact that there may actually be some truth to my assumption frightens me.

  “Do you think he’s capable of more?” I ask, squeezing his thigh.

  Rowan throws me a quick look from the side, then shakes his head.

  “No,” he says. “Dwight can be an asshole, but he’s not a murderer or even a criminal. If all of this is true, which we don’t know for sure, it only means that he’s pissed that my father overlooked him. Surpassed by an heir who didn’t step up to the task for most of his life.”

  He scoffs, shaking his head. “Man, as much as I hate the guy right now, I can’t even blame him.”

  “Wow, you’re a lot more forgiving than I’d be if someone did this to me,” I tell him, raising an eyebrow.

  Rowan looks at me, a surprisingly lighthearted smile gracing his handsome face. I don’t know if it’s my simple water and tea treatment or the relief of seeing me here, next to him, still infatuated, still his, but either way, he looks a lot more aware and clear than he did just a few minutes ago.

  “It’s easy to be forgiving when you’re happy,” he says, lifting the mug up to his lips, winking at me as he takes another sip.

  Epilogue #1

  Rowan

  Three months later

  “She’s lovely. Has a little edge to her. I like that.”

  My father’s voice has become so faint that it has become hard for me to understand him. I’m sitting next to his bed, bent forward with my elbows on my knees and my left side turned to him. He has been in and out of the hospital for the past few months, going back and forth between glimmers of hope and terrible setbacks that make us fear the worst.

  This time, however, it’s different. He’s looker thinner than ever, his skin color has changed to a yellow tone, and the shadows beneath his eyes look downright scary.

  It’s very hard to imagine that he’ll walk out of this hospital on his two feet.

  “She’s good for you,” he adds with a hoarse voice. “You know, women have this wonderful ability to keep your head straight. They ground you. But not many do it without suffocating the man you are.”

  He clears his throat, shaken by another coughing fit.

  “That’s the hard part,” he concludes. “Finding a woman who grounds you without suffocating you.”

  He points at the door, through which Melina has just disappeared with my mother to fetch us some drinks, suggesting that he’s sure he’d found such a woman—as have I.

  I give him a weak smile, nodding as I listen.

  “Didn’t know you have such deep wisdom in you, Dad.”

  He waves me off in a weak but sharp gesture.

  “Plenty!” he exclaims. “You just never cared to listen.”

  We exchange a look, the past resting heavily on both of us. Regret is such a painful word. It aches because of the tragic finality that comes with some mistakes, and I’m tormented by a lot of them, especially during these past few weeks when I had to witness my father slowly dying.

  I can’t give Melina enough credit for being with me through this whole time. Our relationship is still so young but has already been shaken by life’s truth with such a vicious force.

  And she was there for it. She was ready to look past my blinding exterior, the wealth that surrounds me, the power I exude, and the looks I’ve worked hard for. It’s easy to grab a woman’s attention when you’re a man like me, but it’s not easy to keep her around once she meets the real you—with all your flaws, ghosts from the past, and daunting prospects for the future.

  We never found out for sure whether Dwight really poisoned me that night, whether he was out to destroy me by having me explode in public and thus lose my father’s trust—and possibly my position at the company—for good. I can’t prove anything, and he’s still working for me, but I’ve made sure to distance myself from his toxic reach.

  Melina is convinced he did it, and she glares at him every time the two meet, willing to protect me like a fierce lioness.

  That girl.

  “Dad, I need to tell you something,” I say, glancing over at the closed door. “Before they come back.”

  His eyebrows raise with curious awareness. “Oh?”

  I clear my throat, trying to calm my racing heart as I gather the courage to give voice to a thought that’s been with me for a while now, a wish that’s been growing inside me, an idea that might sound crazy to some and romantic to others. It’s been there for longer than I care to admit. I dismissed it at first, trying to be reasonable, a grownup and not just a young heart crazy in love.

  But fuck it if I can’t be both.

  “Melina ... I’m going to ask her to marry me,” I tell him, adding a little cough if only to show how weird it is to hear myself say such a thing. Me, a husband? A few months ago, I would’ve laughed at the idea.

  Now, it fills me with comforting warmth. The idea of making Melina my wife feels like a soothing hug around my shoulders, strengthening me, making everything else seem minor in comparison.

  My father responds with a cordial smile, adding a little laugh at my nervousness as I rub my neck and evade his gaze.

  “I’m not surprised,” he simply says, patting my hand. “You have never looked at a woman the way you look at her.”

  He pauses, laughing, a sight that has become rare for him.

  “Heck, you have never even introduced a girl to us,” he adds, shaking his head. “She’s different. Your mother said so right away.”

  I smile, agreeing with his words with a simple nod. “Yes, she is.”

  “But why are you telling me?” my father asks, his expression laced with worry. “You’re not asking for my permission, are you?”

  I look at him, meeting the
same dark eyes I inherited. There’s still so much life, so much of him in those eyes, while his body is growing weaker day by day to nothing but a pale shell.

  “I just wanted to let you know because I’m going to do it soon, very soon,” I reply, chuckling awkwardly. “And ... since I can’t ask her father for approval, well, yes, I guess I’m asking for yours.”

  My father bursts out in laughter, a laughter that soon turns into a coughing fit, reminding him of his sickened state even when he’s amused. I jerk up in my chair, alarmed at how heavily he’s shaken by the tremors that take hold of his body, but he raises his hand, assuring me that he’s fine. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second as he collects himself, making sure that the coughing has come to an end.

  His eyes are red and tears when he looks at me, a wide smile gracing his features.

  “Thank you,” he says, the words heavy with meaning and coming from the bottom of his heart.

  He reaches for my hand, squeezing it as he smiles at me.

  “Let’s just hope she says yes, hmm?” he says, casting a mischievous wink at me just in time. The door opens, and my mother resurfaces with Melina, laughing as they step into the room.

  Epilogue #2

  Melina

  What was that all about? I’ve never been sent home early, no matter how calm the night was and how little there was for me to do. I thought Sandy was joking when she first came up to the bar and told me that Miss Barry herself said that I was allowed to go home.

  It was way too early. The midnight performance hadn’t even started yet. Sure, we didn’t have a lot to do today, and Alex could handle the few clients who were still around, but it was still odd, to say the least. They were all so eager to get rid of me that it made me more suspicious than happy.