by Dani Wyatt
Beckett
“Isn’t anyone going to say anything about the flowers?” Bruce snorts as he settles into the corner of the room by the window. He lays the flowers on the window sill and shakes his head in mock disappointment.
The first five minutes after Bruce walked in with Jordan in tow, I swear I forgot his ass was even here. Promise exploded in sobs, bounced off the bed, pulling the little IV stand behind her. Then, she practically tore the kid’s head off, hugging him around the throat until he had to fucking tap-out.
When the shock wore off, I managed to gather enough composure to ask what the fuck just happened.
Bruce explained he’d gone to the loft like Promise had requested, to pick up some clothes she wanted and the sketch I drew of her in court all those years ago.
He’d been heading into the street side door when a long black Lincoln appeared at the curb and sidled to a stop.
He went ahead into the building, up the stairs and managed to open the loft door. But before he closed it behind him, there was Louis with Jordan in tow, looking for Promise.
Jordan’s bullet wound went straight through, missing his heart by an angel’s hair and shot out the back between two ribs. The whole situation has the word “miracle” written all over it. I’m going to hit my knees later and thank the Lord that my ass has been saved.
“Fuck, man. What the fuck is happening?” I rub my forehead. I’m staring at Bruce, still unsure that this is actually real.
“Watch your language. I’m a kid, you know.” Jordan’s smile lights up the room. Promise pats his head like he's a puppy sitting on the edge of the hospital bed.
“So where’s Louis?” I ask Bruce. I don't want to ruin the moment, but there is still a shit cloud on the horizon and some details that need to be ironed out before I can finally exhale.
“He said he’ll talk to you later. When you’re ready. He’s back at his house.”
“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” Promise sits back on the bed, dragging Jordan practically into her lap with her. She’s had him in a choke hold since he walked in. The kid’s giving me a pleading look but I shake my head. There is no fucking way I’m coming between my girl and what she wants, not this time. And she’s wanted him for so long she’s not going to relinquish him now.
“I’ll tell you,” Jordan pipes up proudly. “Beckett came to rescue me. Louis’s dad shot me, but I’m fine.” He rolls his eyes as he emphasizes the last three words.
“Shot you?” Promise glares at me and tightens her lips.
Jordan flips his head around trying to get his sister in his sights before he starts defending me. “Don’t get mad. Beckett threw himself at me. Tried to block the shot. He tried to shield me with his body.”
“Then what?” Promise’s voice remains steady but she’s still trying to kill me with the spears coming out of her eyes.
“Then, it was all crazy. There was some big fight. I have no idea what they were all saying, but Louis scooped me up and took me to the hospital. Zaid drove and they screamed in Arabic the whole way. I stayed overnight at the hospital. Then that was it. Louis sent Zaid to the house to get our stuff and then we drove to the airport. So, I’ve been shot! Can you believe that?” Jordan’s chest puffs up as he looks between Bruce and me, like it's some sort of badge of honor. Something tells me Promise won't see it that way. “Louis took great care of me the whole trip, so don’t worry. It wasn’t his fault, Promise. His dad shot me. His dad is crazy.” Jordan pumps his blond eyebrows up and down and nods, his wide eyes staring me down.
Promise gives me the look and I raise my hands in surrender. “You didn’t have time to tell me any of this?” She pins her eyes on my face as she waits for my reply.
I keep my hands high as I huff out a breath. The relief is overpowering the guilt, but I'm still feeling like I just took a bullet myself. “Since I walked in here yesterday, you’ve been asleep. Then we had the ultra sound and the baby doctor—”
“Baby doctor?” Jordan’s mouth drops open. “You’re having a baby?”
He looks at Promise, scoots back from her never-ending half nelson and wipes the back of his hand under his nose with a sniff.
She gives him a crooked smile while crinkling her nose and I hear Bruce chuckle in the corner and stomp his foot.
“But . . .” Jordan looks at me through narrowed eyes. “Wait. But, you like just got married. Like yesterday.”
Promise gives me the deer-in-the-headlights look as if to say it’s my fault. I want to argue that it wasn't yesterday that we got married, but somehow I don't think that would solve the problem.
“It happens,” Bruce chimes in.
Jordan looks up at me, then back to his sister. Then me again, before he squishes up his face which turns ten shades of red.
“Oh my God. Ick.” He shakes his head back and forth like he’s tasted something terrible.
“You’re going to be an uncle.” Promise reaches over and gives him a playful punch on his shoulder.
I let out a deep breath and look over at Bruce, who couldn’t smile any bigger if someone painted it on his face with clown makeup.
“Louis is waiting for you at his house,” Bruce says, tipping his head to the door. “He said he’ll wait up. I’ll stay here if you want. Keep an eye on these two.”
“I’m not sure one of you is enough to handle both of them.” A shiver snakes down my back as I consider what kind of conversation I will have with the man I thought was my best friend. The one who betrayed me.
“I’ve got skills.” Bruce stands up, wiping his hands down the front of his polo. “Trust me. When you do what I do for a living, you learn to juggle the crazy.” He snort-laughs one more time, and Jordan and Promise resume chattering away behind me.
Okay. Time to find out what Louis has to say for himself.
Beckett
Louis’s house is not quite Donald Trump's, but it’s generous. Not gaudy, but classic center hallway. Red brick, with a front porch that drapes from end to end with white pillars and lush ferns hanging between.
I’ve been here more times than I can count. It’s on a street with only a few houses. Louis’s place sits a third of the way down the road and beyond his there are only two more. One is similar to his, a bit newer, set on a big, open, five-acre lot with a manicured lawn and designer landscaping.
The last house is the one that’s always caught my eye though. As I pull the Suburban slowly down Louis’s quarter mile drive, I see the black and gold ‘for sale’ sign in that lot.
The old farmer at the end of the road used to own all this property where the newer houses have been built. But the original homestead still sits back on its own land. Nearly fifty acres of white fencing defining pastures. Beyond their straight lines, I notice a few horses nibbling the grass. The century-old farmhouse is not in its original state but it looks like it’s about to get a new lease on life.
I hope whomever buys it doesn’t tear it down and chop up the land to put in a cookie cutter subdivision. What a fucking shame that would be.
Every window in Louis’s two-story colonial glows with light. I pull in the drive, put the Suburban in park, shut down the engine and try to steady my breath. I can’t imagine what he has to say to me.
I’m trying to decide if I want to break every fucking bone in his body or listen to him, the man I’d thought was my friend for so many years. It takes me ten minutes of stillness to settle the contradictory voices in my head.
I pop my neck a few times. I only realize I am grinding my teeth when the pain starts to shoot into my ears.
I can be an asshole. Especially if you are on the wrong side of me. But even with everything life has shown me, I believe there is still some good in this world. It may be hard to remember right now, but Louis was part of that good stuff for so long that I have to give him a chance, have to give him that part of me that still wants to hear his side of the story. I want more than anything for his explanation to make sense. For there to b
e something there I can hang onto and maybe even open up a sliver of forgiveness.
I’ve got a shit ton of questions for him to answer before we can even consider re-building any level of what we had, but I decide to leave the door open. Everyone has a history. A past. Maybe he has something to say that will help me understand. And the truth is, with Jordan home and Promise on the mend, he's caught me in a good mood. Well, better than it would have been a few hours ago.
I push open the car door and my boots hit solid on the geometric pattern of brick pavers. He knows I’m here. I’m sure of it. Maybe it's my army training or maybe it's a sixth sense, I don't know. But he’s letting me come to him. He knows me well and that’s a good sign.
I sniff and climb the five steps to the porch, then lurch forward with a knot in my stomach the size of Texas, knocking my knuckles onto the walnut carved door twice.
It’s a gesture. I’m sure he knows exactly where I am. And within three seconds I know I’m right because I hear the latch click. The light from inside streams out in a white streak across my face and Louis steps back, nodding gently and opening his arm to invite me in without a word.
His face is tired. He looks older and his hair is grown out, longer than I’ve ever seen.
“Thanks for coming.” He shuts the door with a little click behind me, then steps to the side as I turn and try to decide how this is going to go.
“What the fuck, Louis?” It’s not the opening I’d rehearsed, but it tumbles out and what the hell, let’s get to it. At least it's honest.
His chin drops as he stuffs his hands into the back pockets of his black pants and drops his eyes to the floor. He’s always been bigger than life to me. An icon of stability, kindness, power. Right now he looks broken. Smaller. I hear him let out a stream of air.
“I fucked up. First, I need you to know I’m sorry. Before I even try to go into the explanation, I need you to hear that because it’s really the only thing that matters. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah? That’s great, but it doesn’t fucking finish it man. I mean . . .” I turn up my palms and squint at him. He starts to step slowly away from me and I grab his arm.
I see the pull of pain in his face as he raises his eyes. Not physical pain. This is something deeper. His brow is tight. His lips don’t have their usual upturn. I imagine it’s how I looked all those times he came to rescue my ass and talk me down from a few ledges of my own.
“I just don’t get it.” I can’t hide the exasperation in my voice. “Why didn’t you just tell us where you wanted to go? Why did it have to be such a fucking circus?”
“Would you guys have agreed?” His voice flattens as he blinks and turns his shoulders back to square with mine. “Let me take him to Egypt?”
I sigh. “Probably not. But you fucking still needed to tell us. Why the fuck after all these years do you suddenly want to go home anyway? You always told me you didn’t have any fucking family, Louis. What was I supposed to think when we found out you were off to fucking Cairo?” I rub my face, trying to find a logical path through everything I need to ask. “That’s where your family is, the family you said you didn’t have? It was complete bullshit, Louis. A huge fucking part of me wants to kick your ass all over this marble floor.” I’m losing the minuscule amount of calm I possessed when I entered this house. My fists are tight and heat rises up from my core. The pulse throbs in my ears.
“Please, man. Just come in. Sit down. Let me explain.” He gives me a defeated look. “Please?”
I tilt my head toward the ceiling and blink a few times, deciding if I can follow him without throwing my arm around his neck and squeezing.
“Fine. But I’m telling you,” I jab a finger in the air at his face, “one fucking thing right now. If you ever, ever fucking try to take him away from Promise again? I will rain down such a hurricane of destruction on you, you will beg me to end your fucking life. We clear?”
Louis nods and turns to step down the hall. I follow, our matching footfalls the only sound on the cold marble hallway. He turns a corner, into his large office at the back of the house, and holds the door for me.
“Here.” He gestures to two leather chairs sitting in front of an unlit fireplace. His mahogany desk sits off to the left. Computer monitors flicker in the gloomy room.
I bite my upper lip as I slowly lower myself into the chair. He takes his seat, leans back and clasps his hands over his middle.
“Can I tell you something first? Then you can ask me whatever you want. I’ll answer anything.” Louis meets my eyes and I see the man I’ve known for so many years.
I set an elbow on the arm of the chair, bring my knuckles to my lips and give him a single nod.
“Okay. I obviously have a family. But I didn’t lie to you about everything.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “I did grow up part of my childhood as an orphan. On the streets. After my father kicked me out and renounced me as his son.”
Louis brings up one hand and rubs the side of his face, then pushes it back over his head and grabs his neck for a long moment. The tension clenches in my gut. He’s not off the fucking hook by a long shot, but I’m no longer imagining how to splatter his brains all over the walls.
“We both know, family isn’t always what it should be. Let me ask you something.” He meets my eyes and holds my gaze until I raise my eyebrows and acknowledge him. “What would you have done to gain back your father? To get back your father’s love? His respect?”
He’s going somewhere with this, but this isn’t fucking about me so I stare down his question with silence.
He turns his eyes to the dark window behind his desk. The half-moon glows through a thin streak of clouds.
“When I was ten, my father found me looking at a picture. A naked picture. Now, that would have been enough to earn me a beating. My father was not a kind man, but I loved him and I never wanted to disappoint him. Only, the picture I was looking at wasn’t of a woman.”
He stops there, giving me a moment to absorb. But I'd already guessed what he was going to say.
“And that is an unforgivable sin in my family. Even so, I took the beating. Many beatings. The food and sleep deprivation while they tried to fix me. Bringing in elders from our mosque to try to help me. After weeks of torture, I was finally allowed back into the house. A few months later, one of my brothers saw me stuffing a photograph under my mattress. I was eleven, it was nighttime and I thought I was alone. Doing what eleven-year-old boys do at night with a dirty picture. Only, when he walked in on me, I shoved the picture away, and of course he got my father and they dug it out. They almost killed me that night. Beat me so badly, blood was coming out of my ears. These three fingers you used to ask me about?”
Louis held up his left hand where his middle, fourth and pinky fingers all bent at odd angles from the center knuckle.
“My father broke one, and each of my brother’s broke another. Then, they dragged me, bloody and unable to stand, into the alley behind a slaughterhouse and stuffed me into the garbage. They told me I no longer had a home, that I’d cursed the family. A curse that could never be undone. Not unless I brought home my own son one day. To prove I was pure again.”
Louis clears his throat, crosses his legs and gives me a weak smile. I offer nothing back, but I’m listening and the clench in my gut turns from anger to sadness.
He picks at some invisible spot on the front of his white dress shirt before he continues. “I lived on the streets. Nearly died more than once. Being gay in Cairo is not how you want to grow up. So, I ended up here, by a lot of fucking luck. And not without some fucking baggage too. I think that’s why you and I connected the way we did. I understood your pain. I understood what it would be like to have a father that hated you in a way you didn’t even know people could hate. But I swore to myself, if I ever got out of there, was ever able to rebuild a life, that I would stay true to myself. I wasn’t going to go out and make a baby just to earn my way back into a family that thought I was inhum
an.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
He licks his lips and blows out a breath, dropping his eyes as his hands go to his knees and squeeze.
“Living the way I did. The things that happened to me. They left some damage behind, Beck. When I first came to the United States, I wasn’t who you see now. I broke. They broke me. And that broken part, it would take over sometimes. Leaving me with days, hours, fucking weeks sometimes where I remembered nothing. Finally, I found a doctor. He was able to get me stable, but for a long fucking time, any sort of trauma or surprise, I would disappear again. Going blank. From what they tell me, all I would talk about is the family curse and bringing a son home. But I could never touch a woman. I mean, I wouldn’t. Like I said, I swore I would be true to myself. And up until Holly, I was.”
“Did you rape her?” I could have thrown a little sugar on that question, but naw, he needed it straight.
“No. That’s not what happened. I’ll tell you if you want me to.”
I nod, I want it all. I need all the pieces so I can be fucking sure they all match up.
“She called me that night. I knew her, but not very well. For some reason, she’d set her sights on me and when I didn’t return her attention, I don’t know, it was like some twisted game. Some challenge. I kept my distance, but one night she paged me. She had my pager number from CPS, probably Jeremy. Anyway I called her back and she was hysterical, saying Promise was in trouble and she needed to go to her apartment and get some money and she didn’t have a ride or some shit. It didn’t make sense, but when she told me she’d left Promise at her dealer’s house as collateral, I flipped. I told her I would just pay, but then she had some other reason she needed to go to her apartment first. So, I picked her up. Drove her there. Once we got there, she got all seductive. Ended up telling me Promise was fine. She was at a neighbor’s house and she just wanted to get me alone or some crazy shit. I tried to leave. She blocked the door. Started taking off her clothes. I did what I could to talk her down, to let her know I was not interested.”
