"He took care of it, of me,” she declares, avoiding further details.
“How? How did you get away?” I ask.
She leans in close to me as if she is going to share a secret no one knows. She grabs the back of my neck and delivers a sentence that rocks my very core.
“He killed them,” she whispers.
My eyes widen.
I admit I would have done the same had I been confronted with the opportunity, but for a teenager to swoop in and save her from that misery without being caught is almost unbelievable.
She lays her head on my shoulder and continues her story. I just hold onto her, hoping there is an end to the misery in sight. It pains me to think of her hurt, used, and damaged. She is the strongest person I know, and for this world to have brought her to her knees, makes me want to both weep and battle to the ends of the Earth on her behalf.
“There was a tear in the window covering that they used to black out the window in the room that I was in,” she continues. “Evan saw me and the next thing I remember is him carrying me through the house and to his car. There were drugs scattered all over the living room and their bodies were on the couch and the floor, motionless. I asked later and he said they overdosed. He took me back to Sharon, and I never had to leave her house again.”
“So why do you think he killed them?” I ask.
“Because he told me he was the one who gave them the hot dose,” she says. “He cleaned me up and called his mom. I remember her making phone calls before social services and the police came to the house. All I ever told them, though, was there were drugs in the house and I was with Evan when we came home and found them dead. I never moved from Sharon’s house after that and we never spoke of it again.”
She picks up her phone and examines the screen before looking back at me. “So yes, I love Evan,” she explains. “He saved me in every way a person could be saved, and I’ll forever be thankful for his bravery that day. But the only person I’m in love with is you, Lakin.”
I cradle her face in my hands, wiping away any remaining tears. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I’m sorry that happened to you and I’m sorry it wasn’t me who saved you. I promise you, though, I will never let your heart hurt again. I promise you everything I have.”
She pulls the back cover off her phone, revealing the love token I gave her. She throws the phone on to the bed and holds the charm out for me to hold. Campbell then takes her necklace off and replaces her forget-me-not charm with the one I gave her.
“I can’t promise you everything,” she says before placing my hand back onto her heart, “but I can promise you this.” She smiles and kisses me deeply, twisting love and passion together and pouring it into our kiss.
“I won’t ever be able to let you go,” I say between kisses. “I’m stealing your forever.”
I flip her over and pin her to the bed. Holding her hands above her head, I bend down and lick along her neck. “You know what I want, don’t you?” I ask.
I rise up to see her smile and she pushes me to stand before her. I offer my hand and she accepts it. “I want that, too,” she says with a grin.
She slides her feet into her shoes and grabs her purse. “Then let’s go make it legal.”
I grab her hand and pull her toward the door before she can change her mind. Before the night is over, this woman will be my wife, and I will forever be the only one who gets to save her.
Carly
The sound of the shower running wakes me up, and immediately I know I’ll be paying for whatever I drank last night. I attempt to open my eyes, but my body revolts against the sensory overload of my surroundings. The sunlight peeking through the curtains forces my eyes closed again and makes my pounding head throb even worse. My throat burns as if I’ve swallowed sandpaper and my stomach rumbles in protest.
Slightly cracking open one eye, I find my savior…a bottle of water. I slowly wiggle to the edge of the bed and reach for the plastic bottle. The liquid hits my lips, and it’s warm and stale, but at this moment, it is the best damn water on the planet. Guzzling until I finish the last drop, I then lightly place the empty bottle back on the nightstand and wait for the dehydration to ease. Already I feel better, still hungover, but better.
I want nothing more than to go back to sleep and make this morning start over again a few hours from now, but then I see a pair of jeans on the floor beside the bed. Those aren’t my jeans; those aren’t any of the girls’ jeans. Oh, my God, they are men’s jeans. I take a better look around the room and realize this isn’t even my hotel room. I lift the covers and take a mental appraisal of my apparel. Panties…check, collared button-up shirt that doesn’t belong to me and smells like men’s cologne…check.
“Oh, sweet baby Jesus, I’m a ho,” I whisper to myself as I clamp the duvet back down around my body. The water turns off in the bathroom and I scramble out of bed to find my clothes and get the hell out of the hotel room before my host makes his appearance and I have to endure an awkward morning-after that no one over the age of twenty-five should have to endure.
I dash around the room, finding piece after piece of clothing and shoes. I just need to locate my purse and I can skulk out of here, committing myself to the walk of shame. The handles are poking out from under the armchair in the corner of the room. I bend down to grab it, so I can make a run for it.
“Wow, that’s a view I wouldn’t mind seeing every morning,” a smooth voice drawls. My body stills, wishing like hell I had the magic power of invisibility. I quickly try to think of what to say…what to do. Maybe I could make a run for it and hope I’m at least in the correct hotel. That would be horrible walking the strip or hailing a taxi in a man’s shirt and black lacy boy shorts.
Oh, my God. I’m giving this guy a full peek at my ass right now. I whip around and reach for the hem of the shirt to pull it down as far as it will go to cover my ass. As mortifying as this situation is, the sensation of throwing up kicks in as soon as I lay eyes on the man on the other side of the room. He smells like heaven, and looks like a tempting Greek god. His hair is a wet mess and a towel is tightly wrapped around his waist, revealing a buffet of tattoos that I probably explored in detail last night. “Jen is going to kill me,” I stammer as I nervously shift around to cover my legs.
“No worries, baby doll. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” Royce says with a wicked grin.
“Except herpes, that shit follows you home,” I sarcastically spit out.
The gorgeous lead singer plops himself down on the bed, completely unconcerned with flashing me his manhood. “You weren’t too concerned about that last night,” he says, running his fingers through his wet hair.
My eyes wander around the room, desperately trying to look anywhere but at the impressive piece of maleness before me. “Can you please cover that thing up, and turn around so I can get dressed?” I ask him nervously.
“Seriously?” he scowls.
“Yes!” I screech. “I am so humiliated right now. My ex-husband didn’t even see me naked; I’m certainly not going to let some random one-night stand see me.”
“Well that explains a lot,” he says, rolling his eyes and turning around.
As soon as I know he’s not looking, I strip out of his shirt and hastily put on my clothes from last night. “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“Why you came looking for me.” His eyes slide to mine and his stare makes me want to melt. I resist that enticement and instead try to gather some shred of my dignity.
“Look, I don’t know for sure what happened last night. Judging from my appearance this morning, I have a pretty good guess. Nonetheless, I would appreciate it if we could forget about it and never mention it to anyone.” I throw my handbag over my shoulder and reach out to shake his hand.
“You’re fucking with me, right?” he asks with a chuckle.
I look down at my outstretched hand. “I don’t really know what’s customary after sleeping with a stranger. I’m just trying to be
polite.” I retract my hand and let it rest at my side, slightly offended by his demeanor and foul language.
“Do you really not remember what we did last night?” he asks. “You only had two drinks at the bar.” He has a somewhat whimsical grin on his face like he’s amused by seeing me squirm.
“Yeah, well, I don’t drink often,” I sigh, getting frustrated with him, myself, and the entire encounter. “I get that this is a regular occurrence for you, but this morning-after chitchat is really uncomfortable for me. I’d really like to just leave and forget this ever happened, and I really don’t want anyone else to know who I spent the evening with either. This is very embarrassing.”
His smile fades and he gives me a curt nod. “Because I’m the immature man-slut, right. That’s what you think of me, too.” He’s not asking; he’s simply stating. I can see I’ve noticeably hurt his feelings.
He stands and readjusts his towel to cover himself up and moves past me toward the door.
“Royce, I didn’t mean for that to come out the way it did,” I say, hustling to catch up to him.
“I think that’s exactly what you meant, but don’t worry about it. I’ve been a lot of people’s one night mistake.” He opens the door and motions for me to leave. “Your secret is safe with me.” His voice is monotone and flat, his eyes fixed straight ahead, not acknowledging me.
I stand, just looking at him, trying to gauge his true feelings about everything, but I can read absolutely nothing. He’s completely turned off his emotions toward me. That playful Royce I saw just five minutes ago is long gone. I exhale loudly and step into the hallway.
“Well, thank you I guess,” I tell him. I catch him off guard and the surprise is evident on his face.
“What are you thanking me for?” he asks, his brow scrunched. “For agreeing to forget we hung out last night so your friends won’t know.”
I open my mouth to explain, but he speaks and I immediately stifle my words. He moves into the hallway, with no regard for his lack of clothing. “Or maybe you’re thanking me for holding your hair for you when you threw up in front of a group of tourists on the strip last night after those nasty nachos.”
I shake my head in disbelief, and he nods that I did, in fact, make a spectacle of myself, in public no less. “You could even thank me for buying you a lap dance at the strip club we went to last night. Oh yeah, it happened.”
He has continued to walk toward me and I’m now pinned between his massive arms and the wall behind me. My heart is pounding and I can hear myself breathing. He leans into me, placing his lips close to my ear, and all I can think is how great sleeping with him would have been and it’s a shame I can’t remember it.
“Whatever you want to thank me for, Carly,” he whispers, “don’t worry about thanking me for fucking you. As much as I would love to, and as much as you begged for it, I’m not the type of guy to take advantage of someone.”
He turns and walks back into his room, leaving me panting against the wall. “No matter what you think of me, I’m not that big of an asshole,” he adds before slamming the door.
I stand in the hall for a moment to collect my bearings. So not only did I drink way more than my body could handle last night, I puked in public, attended and enjoyed myself at a strip club, begged to sleep with the person who was taking care of me, and then insulted him after reviving me from my bender. Great! My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I’m a grown woman with a child and in the middle of a divorce, and I behaved like a twenty-one-year-old on spring break. Selfie pictures and film clips on social media sites would make this misadventure complete.
I quickly walk to the elevator, step inside, and push the button for my floor. Digging into my purse, I find my phone and begin my scavenger hunt through my photo gallery for evidence of my evening with Royce. Sure enough, there are pictures of the two of us all over town. Margaritaville, the fountains at the Bellagio, the roller coaster, and singing with the piano guy at the New York New York; even pictures with groups of very attractive women. My guess would be the strippers he mentioned.
The thing I notice in all of the pictures, though, is I’m smiling…he’s smiling. No matter what my preconceived notions about Royce were, he made me feel comfortable enough to spend the evening with him, and it wasn’t the alcohol. We looked like friends enjoying each other, and if I hadn’t let my mouth completely mess it up, we would probably be enjoying each other right now.
I close out the pictures and bring my home screen back up to see the multiple missed calls from Vivian and Jen. Numerous text messages wanting to know where I am, and if the Russian mob has kidnapped me and I need Liam Neeson to rescue me. Yeah, that one was Jen.
The elevator doors slide open and I quickly shoot off a text that I’m fine and I’ll meet them for breakfast as planned. I finally make it to my hotel room and relax into my $200 a night king size bed. My eyes are still tired and my body aches, but my mind won’t turn off enough to rest. Instead, I scan through the pictures of my previous evening. I look more alive and free in those images than I have felt in several years. I can’t stop staring at Royce and feel bad for treating him the way I did.
I rub my hands down my face, even though my mother routinely warned me that such an action would pull at my skin and cause wrinkles. It does little to relieve the stress I feel. So I sigh deeply and do the only thing I know will help. I find the number I’m looking for and send the only words I can say.
I’m sorry.
Campbell
I struggled to pull myself away from Lakin this morning. Our bed was a cocoon of warmth and love no one should have to leave, but if I don’t make it to breakfast this morning with the girls, there will be hell to pay.
Last night was one of the hardest and best of my life. Sharing my story with Lakin was so frightening. Other than Sharon and Evan, no one knows about all of it, not even the girls. Lakin was right though, if we were going to take that step, he needed to know all of me, the good and the bad. His reaction, the way he made me feel worthy, only makes me love him even more. My fear of losing everything is fading and Lakin has replaced that fear with hope…a hope for what could be.
However, I’m not ready to tell the girls what Lakin and I did last night. Even though we are here for Jen’s bachelorette party, the wedding still a few months away, and Lakin and I agreed to keep it a secret until it was all over. For me, the heart we had tattooed on my ring finger is enough of a reminder of our new life together.
I kissed his temple, left him a sweet love note, and slipped out the door without waking him this morning. Maybe if I just order toast or something else equally quick, I could be back in our bed before he even notices I was gone.
When I see Jen and Vivian in the booth already, my optimism for a fast breakfast meeting diminishes. Then when I see Carly stumble to the booth, ragged and hungover, all hope is lost.
“Good lord, what happened to you?” Jen asks Carly as we both slide into the booth. I feel for her, but I’m glad those questions aren’t aimed in my direction.
Carly takes a small sip of the water in front of her and then lays her head back on the cushion of the booth, looking up at the ceiling. “Royce took me around town and my liver may never recover,” she says.
“How did this happen?” Vivian asks. “We called several times after dinner, no one ever answered. I thought you were going to a show.”
Carly turns her head to me, pleading with me to step in, but I remain quiet. I don’t have a lie to cover the evening for the both of us, so I let her flail in the wind on her own. When I say nothing, Carly throws me to the wolves.
“We were, but Campbell ditched me. I was by myself at the hotel bar when Royce found me. We just hung out. We had fun. I wouldn’t mind spending more time with him. I don’t see why you hate him so much,” she tells Jen.
Aaaannd the atomic bomb detonates and the mushroom cloud now hovers above Jen’s head.
“Royce! Hung out with Royce!” Jen squeals, her voice taking on a de
cibel level that only dogs could decipher. She then turns her narrowed eyes to me. “This is your fault. If you guys had gone to the show like you were supposed to, she never would have been pulled into his man-whore trap. What in the world was so important that you abandoned Carly and possibly exposed her to a life of a rock star tramp?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Vivian interrupts. “Jen, you need to settle down a tad. Carly is a big girl and can spend time with whomever she wants. Campbell doesn’t need to babysit her.”
“It was fine, Jen,” Carly chimes in. “We had a good time and he was a perfect gentleman. If anything, I was mean to him and hurt his feelings, which was entirely unwarranted.”
Jen huffs and takes a drink of her orange juice. “Don’t sweat it; that man has no feelings.”
“Be nice, Jen, he may prove you wrong someday and you don’t eat crow very well,” Vivian warns.
“Yeah, and I fart rainbows and ride on unicorns,” Jen jokes sarcastically. She turns to Carly and points her finger at her in a stern manner that demands attention. “Let’s just not let this little friendship be a regular occurrence. That man will do nothing but string you along and break your heart. I’ve seen him do it tons of times, and I refuse to let him treat one of my friends that way.”
Carly throws her hands up in surrender. I think more from lack of energy from her hangover, than her being convinced of Royce’s negative attributes. She is appeasing her, so the conversation can shift in a different direction, and I don’t blame her one bit.
If I thought it would help with Jen’s opinion of him, I might have stepped in and spoke up for Royce, but I know better. Actions speak louder than words with Jen, and he has shown her no reason to believe in his virtue.
I’ve known Royce longer than Jen has, and yes, he flings himself from meaningless interlude to the next while on the road. I don’t think the man has ever had an actual girlfriend. He’s a big kid who finds humor in the most immature and ridiculous situations; he can be absolutely infuriating.
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