by Scott, S. L.
My mouth opens for air as my body takes him in, reveling in the stretch and burn I haven’t felt in too long. When he moves, he’s agile and strong, muscles flexing in his arms and jaw. I watch him, feeling him deep inside, reaching parts of my soul that have only ever been touched by him. Our connection overwhelms me, and I feel a tear slip from the corner of my eye.
Alexander stops and looks into my eyes. “Don’t cry, Firefly.”
“I left you when you needed me most. Will you ever forgive me?”
A soft, understanding smile highlights his handsome features. “There’s nothing to forgive. You did what you needed to do. It doesn’t make it hurt less, but you needed the time.”
Rubbing his cheek, I say, “You waited for me.”
“I’d wait three lifetimes for you.” He smiles, reassuring me. “You feel amazing, baby.”
He starts slowly moving inside me, and my tears dry. “You feel so good. I needed this, more than you know.”
“I’m happy to oblige.” When his gentle strokes inside turn into thrusts, he looks up and says, “Hold on to the headboard.”
I take hold of the wood above my head and stop thinking, wanting to lose myself to feelings and this man that is all consuming. Alexander thrusts harder, chasing the pleasure only I can give, and he takes it full bodied. My orgasm hits hard, my nails digging into the wood while his name rolls off my tongue.
My name comes fast with his orgasm seconds later, paired with two swear words and whispers of love. An hour later, he’s asleep on his back. The smell of our bond lingers in the air, sweet sweat and dirty sex. Alexander’s scent is stuck to my skin, and I’m tempted to never shower again. I lightly run my fingers over the stubble on his chin, the same stubble that made the skin of my inner thighs feel raw and equally heavenly.
Careful not to wake him, I move closer and lick the wounds that I emblazoned on his skin the second time he took me to the edge and let me fall under his spell. He reaches over and wraps his arm around me. Kissing my temple, he whispers, “If you come back, it’s for good.”
It’s not a question or a threat but lies somewhere within the love our souls share. He’s right so there’s no need for a discussion. I kiss his neck, close my eyes, and find sleep soon after.
Light slips through the small opening in the curtains, and I open my eyes—rested and relaxed.
“You have nightmares.”
I look at Alexander who’s sitting up with his back against the headboard, and reply, “Every night since . . .” I don’t need to finish. He knows which night I’m talking about.
“I don’t. Does that make me a bad person?”
“You’ve found peace with him gone, but I don’t know if I’ll ever get that night out of my head.” The smell of whiskey from his father’s breath as he hovered over me. The dark and evil glint in his eyes as he groped me. The loud blast and the thump of his body as it hit the ground. That is what I hear the most. The thump. Over and over again. Then the blood. The mess . . .
“I’m sorry you have to live with that.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” In time I will heal. I lift up, sidling up to him. I weave my fingers with his and our hands rest on top of his leg. I like the size difference. I’ve always loved how much bigger he is than me. His strength in the way he leads his life is an aphrodisiac. I’m tempted to start another round with him, but I don’t, feeling time is slipping away from us. “You saved me.”
“I think you were doing a fine job of saving yourself.”
“I wouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have been able to use that pen.”
“You would have if you needed to. You were holding it against his neck, not wavering, just doing what had to be done.”
I put my head on his shoulder. “He touched me . . . he was going to . . .” I stop speaking, my emotions a lump in my chest.
“I’m sorry.” Remorse wraps around his tongue when he speaks, and I hate it. I hate the sound of it in his voice. I hate the way the corners of his eyes tilt down as if he has any reason to apologize.
He’s not a monster. I hadn’t fallen in love with a monster like I feared.
“You’re not your father, Alexander. You’re better than he ever was.” When he doesn’t say anything, I do. “You’re King for a reason.”
“I don’t mind being Alexander with you, even if just for a little while.” The sentiment makes me smile until I realize it’s only in sentiment. We can’t be Alexander and Sara Jane. Not anymore. Like our innocence, the people we once were are long gone. He sighs, and pulls his hand from mine before leaving the bed. He disappears into the bathroom, and I watch when he returns to get dressed.
“Do you need me to carry your stuff to the bike?”
Stuff? I don’t have enough to fill a grocery sack, much less take with me. I look up, our eyes meeting in an impossible world as if a day never passed when we were apart. “No,” I reply, holding on to the awful coverlet that never saw better days or happy travelers. Studying the room and how my few acquired belongings fit so neatly into it, I know this is it. This is where I decide how I lead the rest of my life. I pull the dress with little flowers back on and put on a pair of sneakers. Sitting at the end of the bed, I look at the life I created. It’s not much, but it is mine.
“It’s almost eleven,” he says as if time matters anymore. The door opens, the sun floods in, and Alexander walks out.
I follow but stop in the doorway, my feet refusing to cross the threshold. His body moves with precision and certainty. Taking hold of the motorcycle, he uses his boot to move the kickstand out of the way. He knows the moment he sees me. His breath is almost audible I’m so in tune with his reactions. Closing his eyes, he lowers his head. When he looks back up, I see the hopeful yet guarded, confident yet burdened, expression. It reminds me so much of the day I first saw him. The day I heard him tell Cruise who I was, or rather, who I would be. “She’s not some girl. She’s my girl.” But now, he looks unsure. “Is this forever, Firefly?”
“No.”
“Don’t take too long.”
I can’t give him an answer to the silent question he’s asking, so I tell him the only thing I’m sure of, “I love you, Alexander.”
One nod and no words. That’s what he gives me in return. His leg swings over and with his back to me, he sits with the engine idling. I hold on to the doorframe, knowing if I let go I’ll get sucked back into his world. I’m not ready for that, so my grip tightens.
Alexander never looks back, but my eyes never leave him as I watch him ride away until I’m staring down an empty highway.
26
Sara Jane
I take a sip of coffee just as the diner door opens, letting in a cool wind. Eric/Jason walks in and sits at the counter in front of me. “You stayed?”
“I wasn’t ready to go.”
“I’m glad.”
“Okay, okay, settle down,” I joke. “I haven’t even had my coffee yet.” My audience is captive and entertained, making me smile. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. I’m nursing a hangover.”
“That’s what you get for partying so much.” I reach for a mug and the coffeepot and fill the cup in front of him.
“What can I say, the ladies love my company.”
Laughing, I offer a menu, glad that this, whatever it is—friendship, I question—is easy between us. “Having breakfast today?”
He points to the menu in front of him. “A number one, eggs over easy.”
I place the order. With the coffeepot back in hand, I walk around the diner filling cups and delivering checks. When I return, his plate is up and I set it in front of him. “Bon appétit.”
He’s about to dig in, his fork hovering over his plate, but he stops and asks, “Alice?”
“Yep?”
“That guy last night . . .”
No need to hide behind lies anymore. “That’s my boyfriend.”
The short answer seems to be enough. He knows where we stand and whe
re I stand with Alexander. “He’s a lucky guy.”
“I’m a lucky girl.” I don’t mean to sound so wistful, but after last night, Alexander has made all those romantic feelings resurface. I didn’t intend for my heart to be stuck in the clouds of hope again, but here we are, going round in this circle again. Maybe I’ll never be free from loving him. His love is so ingrained in me I’m not sure where Alexander ends and I begin. Even after all this time, I’m still a mess of unsettled emotions. One thing I know for sure is I have a lot to think about.
Jason goes back to his breakfast, letting the subject die down just as Della rushes in the front door and behind the counter. “My damn ex-husband has decided to fight for custody of my kid again.” This is nothing new. She’s always dealing with that asshole over something. “I have a court date. In case it takes longer than expected, can you stay a little late, if needed?”
She’s a good woman—nice boss, great mother, town saint for feeding so many who can’t pay their checks. I’ve been thinking about going home since Alexander showed up, but I can’t leave her in a lurch like that. What’s another week at this point anyway. “Sure. I’ll cover.”
“You’re a godsend, Alice. Thank you.”
Although he says I’ve softened, my heart has hardened since Alexander left. I spend the next few days in my regular routine. I haven’t had any alcohol since that night, not liking how freely my mind wanders under the influence. I threw the bottle of wine out the next day too, the thought of wine turning my stomach. I’ve stuck with water and juice. I’ve been craving Cheetos and ice cream though. After another ten-hour shift, I stop by the convenience store to grab some goodies. Jason isn’t working, so I head to the motel and settle in. I end up staring at the TV until I fall asleep.
Per usual, my sleep is restless, the nightmares more vivid, but instead of seeing him kill himself, I feel that monster’s breath against my neck and his hands touching my body. I wake up in a sweat and run to vomit the memories away. So many questions remain. What if Alexander wouldn’t have come in when he did? Would I have been able to stab him to stop him from raping me? What if? What if? What if?
These questions haunt my day, the torture now around the clock. I vomit often, my body rejecting his presence inside my mind.
Weeks go by and I’ve successfully avoided facing reality . . . continued to successfully avoid making long-term plans or any decisions regarding life. Three weeks have felt like a cycle of nightmares that have become so vivid I’m running more on caffeine these days than sleep. I can’t live my life like this anymore. I need to face the demons of my past to help clear the air for my future. That means going home. It’s time.
Ever since Della won her custody case, she’s been in a great mood. I hate to dampen her mood, but I need to tell her what I’ve been thinking. I’d rather tell her when she’s in a good mood than bad. So when I return from my break, I rinse my mouth so the horrific memories from that night don’t leave such an acrid taste behind. “Do you have a minute, Della?”
“Sure, honey, what do you need?”
I wrap my arm across my stomach, afraid I’ll be sick again if I start crying. “I’m leaving. I hate to do it like this, but it’s time I go home.”
Sympathy settles on her face. “Aw, I hate to hear that, but I understand. I can tell the pregnancy has taken a toll on you. You should be with your family.”
My rebuttal comes fast and punctuated with a laugh, “I’m not pregnant.”
“You’re not?”
“No,” I reply self-assuredly.
“Are you sure?” Her gaze analyzes mine.
My arms wrap tighter around my middle. “I can’t be pregnant.”
“I just thought with you throwing up so much . . . I heard your boyfriend was in town visiting . . . Maybe you should take a test.”
I was on birth control before I started having sex, but since I left the pills behind, and I wasn’t planning on having sex with anyone other than Alexander, I let it slide. My mouth drops open when I realize how natural it is for us to fall into each other like we always have—bare, skin to skin—that I didn’t even think of birth control when he was here. “Oh my God.” My hand covers my mouth in shock.
“Why don’t you take the afternoon off and take a test, Alice. You need to know.”
Grabbing my purse from under the counter, I mumble, “Yes, I need to know. Thanks.” I hurry out the door and across the street to the convenience mart. I’ll have to face Jason, but I need to know, so I’ll deal with the embarrassment.
He greets me with a smile when I enter the store. “Hey, Alice.”
“Hi.” I rush down the first aisle, which has pharmacy needs, and grab two pregnancy test boxes from the bottom shelf. I also grab a large bottle of water and some pork cracklins to distract him. Who am I kidding? There’s no hiding the tests, but I still keep the pork rinds. I dump my stuff on the counter and talk too fast to hide my nerves. “I’ll need a bag today, please.”
The silence that follows slays me, my face heating as he stares at the boxes. Without a word, he grabs a paper bag from under the register and keeps his eyes down. “Sure thing.” He punches a few buttons on the register then looks up. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” Please just let this torture end and let me leave.
He gives me my total, and when I pay him, he says, “If you ever need a friend to talk to or help, you can come to me. I won’t make judgments.”
I try to interject some humor into the conversation, hoping to sidetrack him as well. “Well, what’s the fun in that? Isn’t that what friends are for? To judge us?” I laugh but it’s shallow.
When I reach for the bag, he reaches out and touches my hand. “I mean it, Alice. I’m here if you need anything.”
Looking at his hand covering mine, his genuine sincerity, I feel ill. Everything about his touch is wrong. My body rejects it altogether, and I pull back. “I’m fine. Thank you though.”
“No problem. I’ll be here all night if you need to talk.”
“Thanks.” My response is clipped, but I have no doubt he understands why.
Not five minutes later, I enter my room and empty the contents of the bag onto the bed, grabbing one of the boxes. I pull the stick from the package and read the directions. One line—not pregnant. Two lines—pregnant. Got it.
As soon as I finish peeing on the stick, I replace the cap and set it flat on the bathroom counter and start the three-minute countdown. My hands start to shake as I stare at the white window box waiting for anything to happen, but praying that whatever the outcome, life will be better because of it.
I am strong.
I am— My old mantra enters my head for the first time since that night at Kingwood Enterprises. I cut it short, not ready to pretend I’m stronger than I am. Yes, I have survived on my own. That is something I have proven. But I can also see I’m stronger with Alexander.
Thirty seconds. Shit. Adrenaline is coursing through me, so I get up and pace to the motel door and back again. Five times. Each time, checking the window. Nothing detectable yet.
One minute and twenty seconds. I take a deep breath as I approach the stick. When I look there’s pink. Success! Oh wait, what does it mean? I bend over for a closer look. Pink. I grab the box and look at the photos again, then skim the included pamphlet once more to confirm. If any part of two pink lines appear—pregnant. I look down at my watch. Three minutes.
Taking the stick in hand, I stare at two very defined pink lines. My head feels light, and I grab hold of the towel bar to keep myself upright. Pregnant.
I don’t know how long I stand there, time escaping me like sand running through my fingers. I’m pregnant.
Setting the stick on the dresser, I lie on the bed and curl onto my side. My arm protectively covers my stomach, and I close my eyes. I see Alexander, the boy who swooped me up into his dark world and let me shine my light in. He’s the man who would do anything for me, but save himself. The image of that photo that han
gs in his closet comes to mind, but the memory vanishes before I have a chance to hold on to it. His father’s eyes pierce my happiness and a sharp pain shoots through my side.
A severe gasp cuts through my throat, the terror of that night wreaking havoc on my body. I run to the bathroom to throw up. Landing hard on my knees, I hover over the bowl, hoping to expel the violent memories along with my lunch.
When I’m done, I lean against the opposite wall, exhausted with nothing left to give, just like when I walked away from my previous life. The gravity of the situation hits me hard. I’m pregnant with Alexander’s baby. Something I don’t think he wants as his words come hissing back. I’d not wish this life on anyone.
The tears come hard and fast, my body wracked with fear—fear of the unknown, fear of disappointing my family, fear of what my life will become if I don’t finish school, fear of Alexander’s reaction, and the worst of fears—fear of failing this child.
I refuse to fail this baby. Pushing up off the floor, I brush my teeth, splash cool water against face, and look at myself in the mirror. Really look at myself. This is it. This is who I am, in ugly and beautiful times, but throughout it all I’m the woman Alexander Kingwood IV loves and cherishes. I’m Sara Jane Grayson. I hold my chin up. I’m the mother of Alexander V, and this child will be raised in a house built on love. I’ll make sure of it.
I know what I need to do. I know what I want to do. I’ve never felt surer about anything in my life. I’m going to end the nightmare I’ve been living and create the happily ever after I deserve.
If you come back, it’s for good.
It’s time I return home. For good. It’s time I return to Alexander. Forever.
My stuff doesn’t take more than ten minutes to pack up. As predicted, I fit most of it in a sack. I load it into the trunk and do one last walk-through before leaving. After locking the room, I drop the key off at the vacant front desk, and then walk to the store. I push the door open and walk straight for the register. Jason’s feet are up on the counter, but he quickly stands. I don’t give him a chance to say hi or make a funny quip like he usually does. I just say what I need him to know, “I’m happy. Despite the puffy eyes and dried tears, I’m happy.”
