by Scott, S. L.
We walk inside. It’s quiet like always. Though I know there are at least three to five employees working right now, the staff stays hidden for the most part. My father just likes things done. He doesn’t want to see it being done. “Are you hungry?”
“Not right now,” she says. “It’s beautiful in here. Lighter than I expected after seeing the outside.”
“My mother liked light and sunshine. After she died, my father had curtains put up along the back wall. Sometimes they’re open, but for the most part they stay closed now.” I can see the sadness on her face as she looks at a photo of my mom on the table in the entryway.
“Show me your room.”
I lead her into the main room and up the stairs to the second story on the south wing. Down the wood-covered hall that leads to my quarters. She whispers, “Is your dad’s room down here too?”
“No. His quarters are in the north wing.”
. . . My eyes open to the loud sound of a knock. Shit. How long was I out? I ramble up, rubbing my eyes. I open the door and see one of the maids. “Your guests are waiting in the dining room.”
“Fuck.” Scrubbing my face, I forgot. “Dinner?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you. I’ll be down in a few minutes. Please let them know and make sure they have drinks.”
“They do.”
“Thank you.”
She curtsies when she backs away, so I add, “Don’t do that. I’m not my father.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just call me Alexander.”
“Yes, Alexander.”
The cycle’s not going to be broken in one night. I need to make changes, but I have other more pressing business to handle first. Like this dinner. I’m dreading it. But like everything else right now, it needs to be dealt with so I can focus on more important business. Like Sara Jane. God, I miss her.
I splash water on my face and change shirts before heading downstairs to the dining room. The transition team is here to close out some final details to sell Kingwood Enterprises. Nastas O’Hare and Connor Johnson are seated at the far end of the table with half-full highball glasses in front of them. I stop before entering. “My father used to sit at the head of this table—he made many deals here that made Kingwood the billion-dollar corporation it is today.”
Nastas’s smarmy smile and fake laugh do him no favors. “You’re a very rich man, Alex.”
“Mr. Kingwood,” I correct his disrespect. “I’m not my father, but remove yourself from that seat.”
He stands quickly and shuffles around the table. “We, umm, brought the paperwork for you to sign. This will close out two deals tonight. That leaves three other divisions, and we have offers to sort through for those.”
Connor tosses paperwork down on the shiny wood surface. “We don’t have to take much of your time, Mr. Kingwood.”
Sarcasm coats my name when it leaves his mouth. I should punch him the fuck out, but this is business of a different sort. I have no intention of following in my father’s footsteps; I need this company off my shoulders. I sit at the head of the table and start reading over the contract they’re presenting. I only make it to page two before the dots connect. “This says the liaisons will receive a three percent fee. Your money was paid upfront by my father.”
Shifty Eyes Johnson starts stuttering some excuse, “We, uh, were t-told. A deal was made. We c-can’t change-ge it.”
“What do you mean a deal was made? On whose behalf?”
Nastas tells him to shut up and takes the opportunity to state his lies as if they’re truths. “Your father owes us a stake in the sale of these two divisions. We deserve it.”
“My father would never pay twice. The deal was cleared and paid months ago. He didn’t become wealthy by being a fool with his money.”
I notice how tightly fisted Nastas’s hand is balled. “Your father owes us. Since he’s dead. You take on his debt.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Threatening is an ugly word. We want what’s owed. Nothing more.”
“What did you do for my father other than try to steal money from him?”
“You have led a very sheltered life, Mr. Kingwood. Your father didn’t become wealthy from playing by the rules. So before you take your father’s reputation and set it on a pedestal, you should be careful how you choose to move forward. There is a lot of dirt out there that can blow back on you. I suggest you sign the papers and move on with your life.”
I lost any semblance of patience when the threats were thrown in. “Or what?”
“Or you’ll regret going back on a deal that your daddy made while you were off fucking up your life.”
One threat on top of another. Fucker. “I don’t know what you have on my father, but as you mentioned, he’s dead.” Keeping my eyes locked on him, I see a bead of sweat track down his forehead. I stand. “You come into my house with some shitty deal trying to steal my money. Our business is concluded.”
I walk around the table to leave but stop when Nastas warns, “You’re making a mistake, Alex. Sign the deal.”
Alex. Fucker.
In seconds, I have him pinned by the neck against a wood-paneled wall where a painting my mother loved hangs. “Don’t you ever fucking threaten me. And if you ever utter my name again, even as you bow at my feet, I will hunt you down and fucking rip you to pieces.”
I watch as his face turns red, blood trapped by my hand. From behind me, I hear a quivering Connor, “We-we’re sorry, Mr. Kingwood.”
Dropping him to the ground, I turn my back and leave. My message has been delivered. Fuck them. No one will threaten me. No one.
24
Sara Jane
Three and a half hours northeast of the city I grew up in lies a sleepy town of four hundred, though I’ve not seen more than fifty at most. They have a gazebo in the town center where the mayor regularly picnics with the citizens. They have one elementary, a middle school, and have to bus over an hour to the high school. With the combined towns all feeding into it to form a Division 1A football.
Each Friday, they make the trek to follow the players from town to town and support their team. By ten at night, the diner gets busy. By eleven, it’s packed and the celebration over their victory or pep talk that they’ll get ’em next time begins overflowing into the parking lot.
Three and a half hours northeast of where I grew up and one month after the night I constantly relive in my nightmares, I’ve become a part of this tight-knit community. I spent my twenty-first birthday working a double shift and taking a piece of pie to eat in the solitude of the motel across the street, where I’ve been staying.
The people here are kind and open, but best of all, they respect my privacy. I think a lot of them are escaping their own pasts. Here, I’ve been given a new start. Here, I don’t have to think about the past. I don’t even have to worry about my future. Here, I go to work and return to the motel. I get a free meal each shift and pay the motel through my weekly wages and tips. I don’t need much—the uniform was provided—one pair of jeans, a few shirts I picked up at the charity shop, and a floral dress I scored for two dollars recently. I would have never worn it in my old life, but something about it allows me to be who I am now.
Lost in the middle.
I have a roof over my head, steady work, and a few new friends. I don’t need much. What I do need, I shouldn’t want. What I want, I shouldn’t need.
Alexander.
I miss him. Half my soul stayed with him when I left. I’ve thrown my stuff in my car, and sat in the driver’s seat ready to return more times than not. I know I shouldn’t though.
Space was needed. When I’m around him, he’s my priority. His life consumes mine. Time has been necessary. I needed to really look inward, look at the life I was living, the life I was choosing. Time has given me a new perspective. Maybe I can live a simpler life and be happy. Maybe I can live without Alexander, although that seems impossible. An ache is forever present wher
e my heart used to reside. It’s only been one month. One month isn’t going to wash away a lifetime.
I’m not stupid. I knew what I was giving up to live in his world. I guess I never realized the true consequences of that decision. A Grand Canyon-sized hole existed in my chest. That emptiness was growing the more he pursued his personal mission. His determination to solve a mystery came at the expense of who he was, which ate away at me and who we were together.
He carried the weight of his mother’s death when I met him, so I don’t blame him for wanting answers or for carrying that darkness with him through the years.
I wasn’t strong enough for him.
I couldn’t help him.
I couldn’t save him, not even from himself.
If I return, I will return knowing what I go back to. This time I’ll have no excuses. This time I’ll know the person I have to be to be with him.
I’m not that person yet.
* * *
“This is the first time you’ve bought anything other than water, soda, or snacks. Going with the hard stuff, huh? Rough day?”
I look up from the money in my hand to the guy behind the counter. He’s relaxed, like he’s sat there for hours. A soccer game is playing on a tablet behind the counter that he seems interested in by the way he occasionally glances back. “No. Just predicting a rough night.”
He laughs awkwardly. “I was giving you a hard time about the wine by calling it hard—Never mind. Bad joke. Sorry about the rough night. You should go out.”
I don’t laugh. Dread fills my veins. I can tell I’m going to have a long night. I’ve been shaking all day. I’ll spend the next few hours reliving every moment I ever had with Alexander. Then the next few I’ll spend in and out of the car, debating, torturing myself if I should return home or not. “I don’t go out.” I stay invisible. “I just work and keep to myself.”
“I know. That’s why you should go out.”
When I look at him this time, he looks different. He comes into focus for the first time, not just a blur, or a random person helping me survive without knowing it. Now he has a face, and when I glance down, a name. “Larry?”
“Eric,” he replies with a light, embarrassed laugh. “The last guy who worked here was named Larry. I never got a nametag so I just took ownership of Larry’s.”
“What happened to Larry?”
“He died.” My expression must say it all because he quickly adds, “He was ninety-eight. He had a good life.”
“I’m not sure that justifies things, but it’s good to hear that it’s possible.”
“That he died? We’ll all die one day.”
“I understand death. It’s the good life that seems like the impossibility.”
“Maybe some of his good luck will rub off on me.”
“Maybe.” Pointing to the bottle of wine on the counter, I ask, “How much?”
A section of his wavy brown hair falls over his forehead. I’ve never seen him like this before, and now I’m noticing a good smile and athletic build. “It’s on me.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“It’s already done. We all have rough nights now and again.”
Taking the bottle by the neck, I look down at it and set it back on the counter. “I don’t want to owe anything to anyone. I pay my debts.”
“You won’t owe me anything but a hi next time.”
When I look up, his kind caramel-colored eyes summon a smile from me. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” I take the bottle again and turn to the door but pivot back to face him just as fast. “Goodbye, Larry.”
“See you tomorrow, Alice.”
My smile grows and I walk out feeling a lot better than when I came into the convenience mart. Kicking a rock as I walk across the dusty lot to the motel, the bell chimes above the door, and I hear, “Hey, Alice?”
I turn back, and he says, “A few of us are going to Growly’s tonight. I know you don’t go out, but maybe, maybe tonight you can make an exception?”
“Growly’s is a bar.”
“Yes, I know.” He laughs then settles on a smirk that could make him dangerous to be around after a few drinks.
“I can’t tonight. Thanks, but maybe another time.”
“I’ll ask again.”
Nodding, I smile to myself and turn around, having a feeling he keeps his promises.
There’s another car parked at the motel. There’s rarely another car parked at the motel. This isn’t a town where people stop, much less stay in, unless they’re looking to disappear for a while, like me. I find my steps slowing, my heartbeat picking up.
I look inside the car as I pass. It’s empty, and I find myself scanning the area and across the street to the diner. I don’t see any signs of the owner. Pulling my key from my purse, I unlock the door and go inside quickly. I toss my purse on the dresser and set the bottle down before closing the curtains.
My paranoia is going haywire. No one can find me, I remind myself. I’m not even using my real name. There’s no record of me here or anywhere for that matter. I destroyed my bank cards the day I arrived. I threw my phone off a bridge into a river one hundred feet below. I’m untraceable.
I peek out the curtains. No one in the vicinity. I go for the wine, the good feelings Eric filled me with disappeared the second a threat was poised to expose me. I get a glass from the towel in the bathroom where I left them drying last night. Standing at the dresser, I peel the foil away from the top of the wine bottle and stare at it. Angling my head to the side, disappointment rolls through me when I realize I need a corkscrew.
This would have been my first legal drink and I can’t drink it. Damn it.
I look around the room for anything I can use to wedge the cork in or out of that bottle. Pen. Lip gloss. Spoon. Knife.
Knife.
I grab the knife from the bathroom counter and return to the bottle. Stabbing it a few times only pulls apart the cork, dropping pieces onto the dresser. “Fuck.” I throw the knife down. As it skids across the cheap laminate surface, I drop down on the bed and cry, letting my bottled-up emotions pour out. It’s been a few days since I was overcome and this is my penance . . .
I’ve never seen Alexander shy like he is now—strong, capable, arrogant—but never shy. He stands in the middle of his bedroom, his head lowered, eyes peeking up at me. “Bedroom?” I ask. “This is bigger than the whole upstairs of my house.”
“They call them quarters.”
“They?”
“The staff.”
Nodding, I repeat, “The staff. Right. And what do you call this place?”
“My quarters.”
I burst out laughing in response, which makes him smile. “I never felt poor until I was standing in the middle of your quarters.”
“You’re not.”
“I know.” I grab the hem of my plaid, pleated Catholic school uniform skirt. “I go to private school, but man, Alexander, this place is huge.” I move to the doors that lead to the balcony and open them. Stepping out, the fresh air settles my nerves until I look beyond the balcony. “That’s the backyard?”
“Thirty acres.”
“I live in a neighborhood with the creepy boy, whose bedroom window looks into mine, less than a dozen feet away.” Turning around, I lean against the balcony and look at Alexander who remains where I left him. “Nobody can hear you scream here.”
“Do you plan on screaming?”
“Just noting.”
“I shouldn’t have brought you here. I knew it was a mistake.” He moves to the end of the bed. “That’s why I never brought you here before.”
“Why didn’t you? You’ve never given me a good reason.”
“I never wanted you to look at me like you’re looking at me now.”
I go inside and stand in front of him, nudging his feet with mine. He parts them and I slide between his parted knees. When he looks up at me, I ask, “How am I looking at you?”
“Like you don’t know me at all.�
��
“I know you, Alexander. I know who you are deep down. I see the soul of the man. I see you. I know where your heart lies, your goodness lives, and where your thoughts wander. I know because I’m just like you.”
“You’re not like me. You’re better.”
“No, I’m not better. I’m just better at hiding it.” I lean down and kiss him. His lips taste of the cinnamon gum he was chewing, the gum he tossed when he saw me after school.
His hands cover my hips, rocking them just enough to tempt me for more. Reaching down, I touch his erection over his jeans, and whisper, “Make love to me.”
I’m flung onto my back on the bed and he’s over me, kissing my neck. One of his hands slides under my skirt. “You’re sin wrapped in a good-girl package.” Goosebumps cover the skin of my inner thigh. When the tips of his fingers reach under my panties, he says, “I want you.”
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” I say on a wanton breath.
“I love you, Sara Jane.”
“I love—ah, God.” One finger enters, another teasing my clit.
“What do you love, baby?”
“You. I love you,” I reply, my moans louder than my words. The other finger is added and my hips respond. “Please, Alexander. Please.”
“As much as I love watching you squirm, I fucking love hearing you beg for my cock.” My cheeks heat from his dirty words. “You want my cock in your wet, silky pussy?”
“Alexander,” I say, not used to that kind of talk.
“Baby, say it for me.” He watches my face while fucking me with his fingers. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give you anything.”
Struggling to keep my eyes open, much less focused on him, I squirm. “Why do you want me to say those words?”
His hand stops and disappears from my body. I want to scream no, but he adjusts so I can feel his steel against me, making me ache even more. “If you want me to take your virginity, I’m going to devour every last fucking ounce of it.” He slips his fingers into his mouth and drags them slowly out, savoring me like the most delectable dish he’s ever tasted.
He starts to sit up, but I grab at him to keep him here. “I want you.”
