The Rebellion

by S. L. Scott

  “You live in the Hollywood Hills. It’s fancy, all right.”

  I take her bag and set it on the table in the entryway. Taking her hand this time, I lead her through the living room and into the kitchen. When we’re well within the confines of the room, and time when it would be perfectly acceptable for her to release my hand or vice versa, neither of us does. We stand there in front of the oven, and she asks, “You cooked for me?”

  “No. But I bought it and can reheat like nobody’s business.”

  There’s that smile that makes me want to commit a crime or at least a sin worth confessing every time I see it. I pour her a glass of wine and I toast, “To feeling like old times.” One clink and we both drink.

  She leans against the counter and asks, “What’s it like to not worry about money? And to live in a place like this?”

  It’s hard not to feel guilty when you’re living in a castle compared to the shacks you grew up in. “It feels like what we dreamed about.”

  Taking another sip, she says, “I bet it’s wonderful.”

  “Where’s Ace tonight?”

  “With my mom. Sometimes he’ll stay with her if I’m out late.”

  “Are you out late often?”

  “I’m not seeing anyone if that’s what you’re asking. I have school, work, and Ace. That’s enough.” She walks around the bar and sits on a stool. “I’m not trying to ruin dinner but I need to be open with you. If you want me to go, I will without question. I understand that most men won’t want to take on my mess.

  “Do we need tequila for this?” I half-joke.

  “We might.” She swirls the wine around in her glass, then looks at me. “You know Reggie is Ace’s father, right?”

  “I didn’t know for sure, but I assumed.”

  “It wasn’t planned.”

  “I hope not since I had just left.”

  The wine settles in the glass and she closes her eyes briefly. When they reopen she says, “I’ve apologized for a lot of things, but I won’t ever apologize for Ace.

  “I would never want you to. Years ago I made the best and worst decisions of my life. I’m still paying the price for losing you.”

  “Reaping the rewards of leaving me.”

  “You told me to go.”

  “I lied. That was the worst decision I made and it’s one I’ve had to live with for years.

  “How about we clean our slates and start over?”

  She smiles. “I’d like that, but I also think you might have questions. Hit me with them now.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “No. I never did.”

  She never loved him but had sex with him. “Were you ever a couple?”

  “Nope.” She sips her wine. “You’re circling around that night, so I might as well tell you that it was only one time. Ace was just determined to exist.”

  “Why was it only one time?”

  “We’re not on good terms. Tumultuous is the only word that comes to mind right now when I think of him.”

  “Does he help with Ace at all?”

  I think my line of questioning is making her uncomfortable. I’m sure it is, so I stop. She shifts and finishes the wine in her glass. “I have a confession, Derrick.”

  Resting my hands on the counter in front of her, I ask, “Sure you want to share more?”

  “Let’s blame it on the wine.”

  “Okay.”

  Biting her lip, she inwardly debates, but when our eyes connect, she confesses, “You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.”

  I reach out and take her hand, holding it in mine as I savor her admission. “You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.” I never knew how much I needed to hear those words. It had hurt when I found out she’d been with Reggie. I can tell I don’t know all the details, and probably it’s better I never do.

  But those words? Knowing she’s never loved anyone but me? It’s as if a switch has been turned on. I know with absolute certainty that I’m the same. She’s the only one I’ve ever loved. We used to complete each other, but having her in this house, knowing where she lives and the life she struggles in daily, I know she feels the disparity of all things material. But she has Ace, and I can tell the love she has for him sustains and pushes her. You’re the only girl I’ve ever loved, Jaymes.

  Maybe by the end of dinner, I’ll confess my secret too.

  15

  Jaymes

  There’s so much familiarity wrapped in this man; so much that makes me feel content around him. I see the way he looks at me like love only exists for us. A longing found deep in his eyes that comforts, forcing my walls down with the simple act of a smile.

  Our reality was never simple and it definitely wasn’t easy. Two kids from a part of town stuck in the life the generation before ours couldn’t escape. What made us think it would be any different? But here I am near the giant Hollywood sign that sparkles like a star, allowing average people to become one.

  He did it.

  Derrick said he would and he did. I may have sacrificed my own well-being to enable his escape, but I’m still envious of his outcome.

  He tops off my wine.

  “Is this glass made of crystal?” I ask, dabbing the very tip of my finger in the wine and then run it along the rim.

  The beautiful sound rings just as he says, “I guess so. I didn’t buy them.”

  “Who did?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe my friend’s fiancée? She helped me find the place and decorated it.”

  My mouth falls open, but like a fish gulping for air, I say, “Huh? Um . . . Wow . . . I don’t even know what to say to that.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, Jaymes. Get out of your head and just be here with me. You know me. You know who I am inside. Don’t let all this make you think otherwise. It’s money. Nothing more.” His words are as casual as his body language. His muscles never tense, the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him.

  Is that what money does? Gives you peace? “It’s money. Nothing more,” I repeat, trying to see if the feeling can be transferred just by saying them out loud. Relief doesn’t come. My body doesn’t ease. My worries are too big for a simple solution. No magic is going to save us. Everything I know about my situation and his means this can’t happen. I can’t throw words out like that, like they have no repercussions. My son’s life hangs on the basic thread of me working as much as I can to earn money. I won’t ever earn money of this magnitude or live in a house in The Hills or drink from crystal wine glasses that a personal shopper bought for me without a second thought. But if I can get Ace and my mom out of that neighborhood, I’m winning in life. My perspective is way different from Derrick Masters’ these days.

  His life is actresses and stardom, fancy events, and fans falling at his feet.

  My life is nine-hour days at a used-car lot and hours of night school, triple-checking my locks every night, and hoping I can pay the electricity bill each month.

  The ache of a shattering heart throbs and I share another confession, “I’m here, but I can’t stay.” Derrick’s eyes track mine for lies. He used to be able to see right through me. It’s not a lie I’m telling, but it is a betrayal, even if just to myself. “I shouldn’t have come. Call me curious. I wanted to see how the other half lives.”

  Coming around to my side of the counter, he comes just close enough to trap me, but stays far enough away to make me wish he were closer. “Why do you keep insisting you shouldn’t be here, you can’t see me again, this is all wrong?” He rests his hands on my thighs and leans in. I like his proximity. Too much. “What if this is all right? What if we’re right?”

  I turn away so he stops looking at me like . . . like time hasn’t passed and we haven’t changed. “It’s different now.”

  “What are you scared of, Jaymes?”

  “You.” It’s true, but I can’t tell him the whole truth. I’m scared for him as well as well as scared of my feelings for him and how strong they are. But I’m really scared of Reggie.<
br />
  “Bullshit. You’re not scared of me. You never were. So tell me what keeps you running away from me when I can see how curious you are? And it’s not just the house you’re curious about. You’re curious about me just like I am about you. So, what do you want to really know?”

  “How many girlfriends have you had?”

  “One.”

  “Since me, I mean.”

  “None.”

  One heartbeat.

  Two.

  Three heartbeats.

  Four.

  I whisper, “I’ve seen articles.”

  “But not the truth.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “How many boyfriends have you had since me?”

  “None.”

  That lady-killer smile is in full force and I can’t deny the effects it has on me. “That’s how it’s possible. Riddle me this. How did two really fucking attractive, if I do say so myself, people not find love again in the last five years?”

  “Because they never got over it the first time?”

  “It’s not a question, baby. That’s the truth the articles don’t tell you.” Moving to the side of my chair, he’s just about to kiss me. I’m just about to kiss him. The oven timer goes off.

  Closing his eyes, he sighs. “Not sure about that timing. What do you think? Saved by the timer or unwanted interruption?”

  A trick question that I could easily say in one answer, but that would encourage him in ways I shouldn’t. “I just think it means the food is ready.”

  “Yeah,” he says, chuckling. Turning away, he gets oven gloves and pulls the dish out, setting it on top of the stove. He takes the oven mitts off and tosses them on the opposite counter. “You staying?”

  My stomach growls. I only had a granola bar at lunch. It’s the end of the month and funds are low, so it was my lunch or Ace’s that had to go and I’ll never deprive my kid of something healthy to eat. It smells so good. I bite my lip, trying to resist, trying to tamp down the hunger pangs. I’m starving though. “One meal.”

  * * *

  “At some point, I’m going to have to leave.” I close my eyes while resting my head on the arm of his couch. Maybe just a quick catnap to help this food coma I’m slipping into.

  “You can stay.”

  A lazy smile rolls over my lips. When I open my eyes, his are on me. “I think that’s your answer for everything, but it’s much too complicated to make it that easy.”

  With a foot on the coffee table, he leans back in the chair, settling in. “You sure do hold a lot of secrets. You know, I’m a good listener, and maybe I can help in some way.”

  I sit back up, well aware that this night shouldn’t have happened at all much less continue so blissfully. We’ve talked about his touring, what it’s like to sing with The Resistance, whether or not it’s as good as he dreamed it would be. We’ve talked about Kaz, and how he quickly became such a good friend to Derrick. We’ve even laughed together about some of the funny backstage antics. Even how it’s always been hard to juggle school, being a mom, and work, but I’ve enjoyed the challenge. Sometimes. Well, rarely. But talking with Derrick? Relaxing with him? It’s been easy. “Is this what our life would have been like together?”

  “Our life . . . Things weren’t always good, but they weren’t always bad.”

  “I hate that I’m part of your bad.”

  “You’re always part of the good to me.”

  “I stayed away because I couldn’t risk seeing you and being rejected again.”

  And there it is. My heart hurts, my soul sad from what could have been. “For two teenagers, life sure was complicated back then.”

  “I also thought Reggie would be gunning for me, but I was in LA. He knows I’m still here. He’s never come after me. He’s weak. He likes being a big dog in a small yard. More bark than bite.” Sitting forward, he lowers his foot and rests his forearms on his knees. “I want to help you.”

  “With what?”

  “Life. You and Ace.”

  I stand. “No.” Still shaking my head I walk around the couch and repeat myself, “No.”

  He beats me to the doorway of the entry before I reach my purse. “No. I’m not letting you leave like this. We’re just now getting somewhere and you want to walk away?”

  “You’re just going to have to trust me. It’s best this way. We can’t get attached again.”

  “Attached again? I think the problem is I never detached.”

  “You leaving was a pretty damn big detachment.” I hate that I say it, but it’s out there resting between us now. I dare look up, but find only hurt in his eyes. I hate that more.

  Stepping aside, he lets me by. No arguing. No stopping me. No charming quips or slick compliments. I take my purse and move toward the door, but this time, I stop. When I turn around, his back is still to me. He’s standing exactly how I left him. “Derrick?”

  His head drops down. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  This is for the best, even if he’s hurt now. At least he won’t be hurt in the long run. At least I’ll know that I had more of a choice in closing the future from any possibilities with him. Yes, I told him to go years ago, but this time . . . This time I’m making the wisest decision for me. For my future. For my heart.

  I open the door, but then I hear, “Jaymes?”

  “Yeah?”

  Turning around, he says, “I think you’re right.”

  “About?” My knees are feeling weak. Please don’t tell me you agree. Please. I don’t want this dreadful goodbye.

  “I don’t think we should see each other.”

  Why does doing the right thing hurt so much? “Probably best,” I whisper, trying desperately to be strong.

  “When you leave here tonight, do you think you’ll detach from me? Find love this time?”

  I should go, but my feet, maybe my heart, keeps me there, standing in place. “Do you think that’s really possible?”

  “I’m starting to think not so much.”

  Whispering, I say, “Me too.”

  Our eyes stay connected, much like our love. We seem to be caught in a cycle that neither of us cares to break. “You know,” he starts, the bravado gone, his vulnerable side revealed, “maybe we can make the impossible possible?”

  I allow myself the one thing I hadn’t—to feel everything with him again. Adrenaline fills my veins and for the first time in forever, hope grows. Want and need take precedence, my better judgment buried under a good meal. Just one more time with him to settle the reignited fascination I have with him. We will both be able to put us in the past for good. “It’s a challenge I think I’m ready to take. Just one more kiss.”

  “Or more.”

  Taking a step back into the house, I ask, “What if I kissed you this time?”

  One step closer for him, and he says, “What if I kissed you back?”

  I know better, but all that better seems to fly out the window when I take two more steps. “Kiss me, Derrick.”

  The good thing about him is when it comes to making out I never had to ask him twice. One deep, love-filled impossible kiss later, and I can’t hide my feelings. My body gives me away. It’s just so easy to feel so much for him. In the second kiss, I realize everything we had before, still exists between us.

  The third has me against the wall.

  The fourth on the couch.

  By the fifth kiss, I’m underneath him.

  The sixth—my skirt is pushed high on my hips.

  The seventh—he’s situated between my legs.

  His body has changed. Gone is the boy I fell in love with, replaced by the man I now lust for. Lust. Such a dirty word. Sinful. A sin I commit regularly just looking at him. But this time, he’s here. This time, he’s touching me. This time he’s loving my body as if he never gave up.

  The calloused fingertips remember my body, and he strikes a chord with the firm pressure at my hip. My brea
th is ripped away as soon as he touches me like he still knows my inner desires, the ones my body never expresses anymore. My nails press into his broad shoulders. The expanse of his muscles angle down to his carved waist and across his abdomen. I slide my hands over the hard muscles and into his hair, holding him close because I need that eighth, ninth, and tenth kiss.

  Patience isn’t a virtue either of us ever aspired to have. No, Derrick Masters was no angel and never took his time. He took everything he wanted from me, including my heart. Back then I never noticed it was gone until it was too late. I feel alive, my body awakened by his desire for me. I’ve missed being touched. Being desired. Loved.

  I can’t confuse what this is. This isn’t about love, despite how careful, how caring he’s handling me. It’s about that other four-letter word that starts with L.

  Lust.

  But, God. It feels so good.

  16

  Derrick

  “Oh my God.”

  “What?” I ask, lifting up just enough to see Jaymes’s face. Her stunningly beautiful face—flushed cheeks, ruby-red lips, emerald eyes alight with fire burning on the inside.

  “Make me stop.”

  Surprised by the request, I ask, “Why would I ever do something so stupid?” Because there is nothing I’d rather be doing than this right here. I touch her over the lace fabric between her legs.

  “Because I’m not strong enough to stop, especially when you’re doin—Oh, good God, that feels amazing.” I slow my pace and add a little pressure. “Don’t stop that—”

  Dropping her head back on the cushion, she runs her hands through her hair. “It’s been so long. So good. You feel too good.”

  “Too good,” I repeat, chuckling. “Never, but you feel damn amazing, woman.”

  I find her lips when I move up higher on her body, and kiss her. Our tongues meet in a heated embrace, and I’m transported back to a time when we would spend our free hours in bed. Love, we always made love like it was going to be taken away one day. We didn’t know it would be, but damn I loved her. Being with her now, the pounding in my chest and the erection in my jeans, I’m going to struggle to keep it cool with her.