Below Unforgiven

by Stedronsky, Kimberly

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You have no idea,” I returned, sitting up and pulling away from him. “You shouldn’t judge him.”

  “Why not? He’s sure as fuck judging me. He’s already got me pinned as some kind of coke-head, whore Hollywood director trying to steal your innocence. You’re pure as the fucking driven snow in his eyes. I can’t wait to be there when you show him that ring.”

  I wish that I’d almost puked.

  Instead, I gagged, and then turned to the grass beside us and threw up everything in my stomach.

  A couple kids screamed, and one kind woman came over to us with a handful of Pamper’s wipes.

  I smelled them and broke into tears.

  The nursery in our small bungalow had been decorated with clouds and airplanes. The baby shower that Matthew’s mother had thrown had overwhelmed us with gifts. I’d stood at the changing table, carefully stacking the diapers inside the cabinet below before unwrapping the plastic from the Pamper’s wipes box.

  Matthew came home from the school, sneaking behind me and tucking his arms around my bulging belly. “Smells so good in here,” he’d said, and I gestured to the diapers.

  “I don’t want to use any other brand. These smell the best.”

  “You know, they won’t always smell that good,” he’d teased, and I’d only smiled, leaning back against his chest.

  At some point, I registered that I was sitting on the cot inside the First Aid office, the air conditioning blasting from an open vent above me. Keaton was smoothing my hair, talking to a park employee, something about me being overheated and dehydrated.

  When we were alone, I lifted my eyes to his. “I’m okay.”

  “You’re dehydrated. Keep drinking.”

  The bottle of Aquafina sat next to me on a table. “I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”

  “I shouldn’t have pushed the funnel cake. You probably have a little alcohol poisoning from last night.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’ve seen more of my puke in the last two days than I ever have.”

  “You do get kind of out of it when you barf,” he acknowledged. “Is your stomach upset, or did you throw up because I was being a complete and utter asshole?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, and then closed it. I tried again, giving up again, and realized I must look like a fish.

  “You were right. I shouldn’t judge him. I don’t know him. I barely know you.”

  His tone stung.

  His words stung.

  I sat up, brushing the hair away from my face as he handed me a napkin. “I’ll, um… I’ll just wait in the car. If you want to go snap some more pictures or talk to the staff, that’s fine, please take your time. I’ll be fine.”

  He stared at me from across the office, and I shivered at the fresh blast of cold air.

  I expected him to crack some joke, or shoot me that sarcastic grin of his.

  Instead, he nodded, gathering our blanket and my book from the chair. “Okay. I won’t be long.”

  He walked me to the car, leaving me the keys.

  I stared blankly ahead for forty-five minutes, knowing that Robin was right.

  The drive back to New Florence was silent. The closer that we got to Gram’s house, the more my heart began to race. I knew he’d be there, waiting for me, and I had no idea how Keaton was going to handle it.

  And I had no idea how Matthew was going to handle Keaton.

  The side streets were dark, and as he made a right onto Gram’s road, I could see the outline of Matthew’s yellow Jeep in the driveway. I played with the movie camera charm on my wrist, spinning it nervously in my fingers.

  Our car slowed one house away, and I turned to Keaton, confused. “What?”

  “Do you want me to pull in?”

  I blanched. “What, are you asking if I want you to drop me off on the road?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, I don’t want that,” I answered, reaching for his hand. He lifted his eyes, obviously surprised. “I may be confused, Keaton, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you. Okay?”

  I bit my lip, flinching at my own words. In the span of one evening, I’d gone from confessing my love for him to a bland “I care about you.”

  I knew that he was thinking the same thing.

  He nodded, giving my hand a squeeze before pulling into the driveway.

  The yellow Jeep was a ghost from the past. I silently prayed that Matthew was sleeping, even though I knew he’d be waiting for me, no matter what the hour. As Keaton gathered my bags, I made my way to the front porch.

  I saw Matthew’s tall figure standing in the darkness.

  “Vivian?”

  His voice.

  My heart was thumping so hard against my chest, I felt like I was going to faint. I tried to compensate for my lack of oxygen by taking extra breaths, but I began getting dizzy, swaying on my feet.

  “Hi, I’m Keaton Thorne. You must be Matthew.”

  Keaton extended his hand, and I watched Matthew took a step forward, actually accepting Keaton’s handshake.

  “Matthew Fowler.”

  The two of them. Side by side.

  I stared at their formal greeting, realizing they’d both run those hands all over my body. They’d both kissed me, and made love to me, and asked me to marry them.

  And I’d said yes. To both.

  In an unprecedented moment of clarity, I realized that I’d fucked everything up.

  Me.

  Not Keaton, and not Matthew.

  Me.

  “I…,” I stammered, glancing between the two of them. “I, um…,”

  “It’s okay, beauty.”

  Matthew’s tone invited a response that my body had forgotten over the past year. Three simple words promised comfort, and hope, and a lifetime of love.

  “I’m going to head over to my mom’s house.” Keaton backed toward the porch door, and I turned to him, rattled. “I want to say good-bye to her before I fly out tomorrow. Vivian, it’s been a pleasure. Nice meeting you, Matthew.”

  I watched him swing the door open with force, jumping as it slammed back against the jamb. The engine of the Ferrari revved only seconds later, and he was gone before I could blink.

  “Please, Vivian… please let me hold you.”

  Every wall that I’d so painstakingly built over the past year came tumbling down with his one sentence. I gasped, realizing I’d been holding my breath the entire time that it’d taken for Keaton to leave the driveway.

  “Please come here. Vivian,” he begged, his warm voice inviting me to take a step closer.

  So I did.

  It was all the incentive that he needed.

  I felt his arms around me, lifting me from the porch. I knew every inch of his body, every expression on his face, and the memories of our love shattered me into a million pieces. I opened my mouth, a silent sob meeting his shoulder as he whispered, hushing, promising that everything would be okay.

  “I love you. I love you so much, baby, and I can’t be away from you anymore.” He soothed, his mouth at my temple.

  “It hurts,” I cried, so broken, unable to form coherent words. He nodded against my neck, still holding me with all of his strength.

  “I know. It does hurt. But you don’t have to do this alone, Vivian.”

  “When I see you, I think of the baby. Of him. I can still feel him.” I didn’t think that he could understand my broken words. They poured out in a rush of tears, my tongue too thick to offer coherency.

  He nodded, comforting as his hands moved over my back. “I was ready for him. I was ready to be his daddy. But I wasn’t ready to lose you. I couldn’t lose you. Please forgive me. Please.”

  “I do,” I realized. “I forgave you a long time ago. I just want it to stop hurting.”

  “We should have stayed together. I shouldn’t have let you run. I thought you needed time alone, but grieving doesn’t work like that.”

  He lowered me to my feet, gathering
my hands in his.

  And then he saw the ring.

  He dropped my hand, and I looked down, staring at the diamond.

  “It-no. No, Matthew. It was just an act, for Keaton’s family. I agreed to-…,”

  “An act?”

  “He was paying me to pretend to be his girlfriend-fiancé- just for the weekend, and …,”

  He lifted his eyes over my head, and I turned.

  Keaton stood in the doorway, holding my book.

  “You left it in the back seat.” Instead of handing me the book, he tossed it to the porch chair, jangling his keys. The darkness that passed over his expression made my stomach turn. “My flight’s at five tomorrow morning. I’ll leave you an envelope at the house. Thanks again, V, for the super fun weekend. Take care, man.” He called to Matthew, turning on his heel for the door.

  Wrecked

  K

  I was still drunk by the time the taxi arrived at my mother’s house the following morning.

  Luke and Madeline were already on their way to Aruba. I’d spent hours on the porch the night before, looking out over the valley, thinking about Vivian.

  And her fiancé.

  Robin settled into the porch chair next to mine, propping her ankles on the rattan coffee table and joining me in the darkness. “Well, I’m sorry.”

  Tipping the beer back, I finished the last swig before reaching for the next.

  “For what? For being present while your big brother made a fucking tool of himself?”

  “Keat.” She held her hand out, gesturing toward the cooler at my side, and I gave her a dirty look.

  “I’m drinking every one of these motherfucking beers. Get your own.”

  She rolled her eyes, leaning back into the chair. “I knew she loved him. She’s loved him all along. I tried to stop you. I tried to stop her. You’re both so much alike it’s scary.”

  “Alike. Me and Vivian. How are we so much alike?” I countered, scoffing and wishing like hell that I had one of my Cuban cigars.

  “You’re both impulsive. Reckless. You live in the moment- for the moment-no matter what the consequences. You had her agree to that asinine contract, knowing it was all just to get her to sleep with you.”

  “Yeah? Well, she agreed, Robin. And she counted every dime that I spent on her. She’s one hell of a fucking actress.”

  “Stop it. Stop it right now, Keaton. You put her in that position, and you knew she was working her little ass off. You dangled some exorbitant amount of money in front of her face and labeled it a ‘job.’ You manipulated her, and then you got to know her. You convinced yourself that you love her. And now you move the fuck along, because you never really got to have her. And you never will.”

  “Wow, you’re so insightful, Robin. Too bad you can’t get your own shit together and fix that fucking train wreck of asshole ex-boyfriends you’ve got piling up.”

  She burst to her feet, pointing her finger my way. “Fuck you Keaton. You left me here to deal with Mom’s shit and get Luke’s life together. You left. I had no time to date. I had no big brother to look out for me. And now, I’ve never had a serious relationship because I pick the biggest assholes on the planet. Assholes like Dad. Like you. You’re the biggest asshole of all.”

  I took another slow drink, wiping the back of my hand over my mouth before grinning up at her. “At least I win.”

  She clamped her lips together, storming into the house.

  The ride to the airport was just long and miserable enough for me to start picturing Vivian in every sexual position that I could think of with her fiancé. I imagined Numero Uno carrying her down to Gram’s basement, making sweet, poignant, emotional, romantic, sickening love to her all night long.

  Unlike me, who’d dragged her into an abandoned amusement park exhibit and fucked her against the bars of a jail cell.

  When I’d discovered her book in the car, I turned around at the end of the road. Sure, I could have just left it with Robin, but my overblown ego got the best of me. I fully expected her to be standing on the porch exactly where I’d left her, breaking his heart, explaining that she’d needed closure and would be going to California with me in the morning.

  Instead, she was explaining about how I was just her employer.

  The five hour long plane ride felt twice as long in my hung-over head. I went from furious to angry to irritated, annoyed with myself for even getting involved with her at all, in any way.

  And then I thought about the letter.

  Dearest V,

  I can’t decide which part of our weekend was my favorite. After much thought, it’s definitely a tie between our kiss outside the mall, and the night I went down on you in the hotel.

  Either way, well done. Your acting skills are slightly better than subpar, and I’m sure you’ll make a fantastic B actress someday. If you’re ever interested in taking your clothes off for me again, you have my number.

  Good luck in Ohio.

  -Keaton

  Cringing, I dug through my carry-on for aspirin.

  Fuck.

  Fuuuuck.

  I needed to call Robin as soon as I landed and ask her to destroy the envelope.

  I was the biggest fucking asshole in the world.

  The paparazzi were waiting for me at the gate. I spotted Frank in the crowd, realizing that he was flanked by two hulking men. Their black tee-shirts were stretched across their broad chests, and I tipped my head back, sliding my sunglasses up to my forehead. “Um, what’s with the muscle?”

  “There’s been another murder, Keaton.”

  “Where?”

  “Santa Cruz.”

  “The fuck?” I froze as Frank lifted my carry-on, slamming it against the bodyguard’s chest.

  “Come on. We’ve got a police escort.”

  Three police cars lined the baggage claim exit, and I followed Frank into the nearest one. The back seat smelled like old hoagies and coffee, and I watched through the window as my bags were hoisted into the trunk. “Am I a suspect?” I asked, and Frank gave me a silencing glare.

  “Grant is at the station waiting for you. Don’t talk until he’s with you.”

  “You called Grant?” Grant Robeson was my cutthroat attorney, and I kept him on retainer, especially after getting my ass sued last year over some copyright bullshit about my documentary.

  “Yes. Now shut up.”

  “Why? I didn’t do anything. I’ve been with my family all weekend.”

  “Kid. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

  I normally wouldn’t let Frank mouth off to me like that, but given the situation, I did what he suggested.

  I shut the fuck up.

  The interrogation, if that was even what it was called, was a twenty minute session of Grant speaking calmly and signing papers. I just sat back and watched, and it wasn’t until we were on our way out of the station before he even talked to me.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, eight AM sharp. Keep the armed protection. Don’t talk to the press. I’ll have a statement ready for your publicist tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Grant.” I answered, returning his eager handshake.

  “Absolutely, Mr. Thane.”

  Traffic was a nightmare, and by the time I was back in my apartment, I had about ten minutes to decompress before someone was ringing my doorbell.

  I checked the peephole, watching as Kelsey tapped her foot between the two muscled body guards, a sneer on her face.

  Groaning inwardly, I turned the lock and held the door open. “Kelsey.”

  “Oh thank god,” she cried, flinging herself into my chest, and I held my arms out to my sides as she gripped my neck. “I was so worried about you! There are murders, Keaton! Two murders!”

  “I know. Off.” I unfurled her hands from my shoulders, and she pouted, releasing her hold.

  Stepping back, I gave her a once-over.

  Her belly was perfectly flat, and she’d done everything that she could to show it off beneath her cropped tee. The yoga pants clu
ng to her curves, and her blond curls dripped over her shoulders like white-chocolate twists.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to check on you.”

  “You call the lawyer, he calls me, he calls you. That’s how this whole divorce thing works.”

  “You didn’t return my calls or my email.”

  “Allow me to repeat. You call the lawyer, he-…,”

  “But… about the baby, Keaton.” She gestured to her belly, whining. “I thought, when you found out, you’d have called me.”

  I sighed.

  She gazed up at me, her big, brown eyes pleading for some kind of acknowledgement. I crossed my arms over my chest, nodding toward her middle. “Is it mine, Kelsey?”

  Her pause could only be described as pregnant, and I almost laughed at the pun that Vivian would have enjoyed so much.

  Kelsey finally shook her head. “No. I mean, there is no baby. I was wrong. My lawyer told me it’d be better if I didn’t lie to you.”

  “No fucking shit.” I rolled my eyes, turning to stalk to the bar. I already knew without looking that she’d plunked her hands on her hips, glaring in my direction.

  “I need you, Keaton. Even if we can’t be married, I need you to be part of my life.”

  I uncapped the bottle of Maker’s Mark, snatching a glass from the bar shelf with a sardonic laugh. “What in the hell are you talking about? Be a part of your life? Go. The. Fuck. Home.”

  “Derrick doesn’t want what I want,” she whined, and I assumed that her fitness instructor, or dance partner, or whoeverthefuck’s name was Derrick. “You know me better than anyone else.”

  “Then maybe you should have, oh, I don’t know, not fucked a guy in our bed? Jesus Christ, Kelsey, get out of my apartment. See? I’m here. And I’m fine. I haven’t murdered anybody. Yet.”

  She snapped her mouth closed, seething. “You were spending your whole day with naked actresses! I was pissed! I was jealous! What makes what I did any different than what you did?”