by Dani Wyatt
I belong to him, and it’s beyond the depth of any emotion I’ve ever felt with another human being.
Before I can speak, he’s turned the water off and spins me in a towel. He’s got me dried and tucked in beside him, naked and warm under the covers of his bed, his lips on my forehead and arms locked around me like armor. His body is the pinnacle of masculine presence as I trace my fingers down his collarbone, over the planes and angles of a chest so smooth and hard, it creates a new sensation of texture I’ve never imagined.
“Are you okay? And I don’t want a quick answer. I want to know, Promise. Are. You. Okay? Because this is the beginning. Do you get that? This isn’t a singular event. It’s a door, and we are in a new place now. You and me, together.”
I can feel how much he really wants to know how I am. My default has always been silence or at best a nod or a single word. With him, I feel the sentences form. Paragraphs and thoughts want to tumble out and be received, because I sense he not only wants this from me, he needs it.
“I’m . . .” I take a second because I honestly want to give him an answer that feeds his need to know. “I’m exhausted and exhilarated. I’m horrified and at peace. Does that make any sense? I’m so many things that shouldn’t exist together in the same moment. I want to get dressed and leave and pretend this didn’t happen, and I’m helpless to move away from you.”
He doesn’t just listen to me; he absorbs my words, internalizing them, taking them in like they’re an honor and not just some sonic waves created to drift passed him.
“It makes perfect sense. . . . Do you feel safe?”
“Right now, yes. Safer than I’ve ever felt.”
His body shifts, angling toward me and tucking me into that perfect spot next to him, my head on his chest. The thumping of his heart tells me my answer has changed something inside of him.
“Thank you. That is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.”
He reads my mind again as his lips take my mouth, and a torrent of flapping wings explode in my belly.
Beckett
“I wish you would stay.” We’re driving out of the basement parking structure, and I feel empty already knowing she won’t be laying with me the rest of the night. The Suburban hums as I pull out onto the empty street and take a turn toward the freeway back toward her apartment.
She will soon understand her value. It is beyond this world. Beyond anything anyone can quantify that doesn’t see her like I do.
I can see a little smile curl her lip upward as I glance over at the girl who cried sitting alone in that courtroom all those years ago.
Inside the most magnificent moments of my life, I feel the dread. The possibility that I can be here, right now, with her, and still know that I contributed to the ruin of her life—that I made a choice and let her be consumed by the vile evil that I know exists, the evil that will come back to extract its due from me someday.
“I have to be up at 5:30 to get ready for work.”
I don’t care. I want to tell her I don’t care and show her the empty drawers with her name on them I’ve already set aside. Show her there is space in the cabinet in the bathroom and half the closet is hers.
My brain is working out the pieces of how to make sure she never leaves again while simultaneously trying to stomp out the inevitable seeping in of dark secrets that could send her as far away from me as she’s ever been.
“I’ve been known to be up at 5:30, you know. I’ve been up at every hour on the clock a few hundred times over. I’ll be up all night tonight.”
“Why? Why do you have to stay up all night?” There is a subtle worry in her voice, and I hate to admit I like it.
“Because you won’t be there, and I’ve already realized I won’t sleep unless you’re with me. So, it’s blackmail. I won’t sleep until you come back.”
“You’re blackmailing me? What’s next, a hunger strike if I refuse to let you—”
My chest pulls tight. “Don’t ever refuse me.” The words tumble out faster and harder than they should, and I see her wince.
Did I just say that? And mean it?
“Hey, sorry.” I throw my hand to the back of my neck and squeeze. “That came out wrong. I have to be honest, something about you—about us—is so different. I’m still sort of stunned by you. I’ll try to rein in the beast you have clearly unchained.” I smile, and she gives me one back that feeds my soul.
“Yeah, we kind of got caught up. I never expected this.”
I need her hand in mine. All the time. My hand leaves the back of my neck and gravitates toward her, and I feel the softness of her skin. Could it really be that no woman has ever felt like this before? Is she of such an order that no one has ever come close? Or, am I just so jacked that every sensation seems new with her?
My fingers interweave with hers, pulling the back of her hand to my lips.
“Me, either.” I kiss her hand again then continue. “But, we’re here now, and in my crazy head, we’re never leaving.”
“Yes.” Promise leans her head on my shoulder, and her single word of agreement has me ready to carve into her again.
“Say ‘yes’ again.”
“What? You’re a little weird. You know that, right?” The passing streetlights flash inside the windows every few seconds, lighting up her hair like a glowing halo.
“Just say it.”
I need to hear the word again. I think of all the other answers in the future for which I want her to use this word.
“Yes.” Her voice is clipped, but there is still that little bit of a smile coming through.
“That is now officially my favorite word.”
She shakes her head but I see her smile grow, and my heart is slapping against my chest far harder than the moment calls for.
“Here. Turn in here.” She points as I see the apartment complex on my left.
It’s dark out, but not late. We’d already talked about what happened on the street with the attack and decided not to call the police or tell anyone else. I left it up to her, and she made that call.
As I turn into the complex’s driveway, I remember the sound of her screams, and I feel an invisible fist slam into my gut.
“You okay?” She looks at me, and I realize I must have made some distressed noise.
“Yep. All’s good. Where do I park?”
Bruce is leaning against the kitchen's quartz countertop when we make our entrance into his and Promise's shared apartment. His foot is wiggling fast, and I can see him glancing from me to Jeremy with something between amusement and horror.
“Beckett, this is Jeremy. Jeremy—Beckett.” Promise introduces us with a tension in her voice that I hate.
I’ve found my new least favorite word.
Jeremy.
Whoever this fuck is, he was here when we walked in. Standing there like he belonged. Motherfucker’s got some lessons coming; I can feel it already.
“What’s up? What are you doing here?” Promise is uncomfortable, and it makes me want to tear this dude’s throat out.
Not Bruce.
Jeremy.
My hackles are up, and the dude isn’t smart enough to take his fucking eyes off me.
I know this fucker.
Holy shit. I absolutely fucking know him. What the fuck is he doing here?
“I need to talk to you. It’s important.” He’s talking to Promise, but his eyes are on me.
I can smell shit coming from him. Not the excrement kind, the other kind. The bad kind.
We are only three steps inside the door, but I’m on high alert. I can read the signs. Bruce is smiling, but he isn’t relaxed. Yet, creepo-in-khaki sure as shit thinks he’s at home.
I’ll fix that.
He’s not a big dude, but he’s got that arrogant ego halo around him. Sitting there, at the dining room table, like he’s in his own damn house. I glance over to see his jacket tossed on the sofa in a heap. He’s drumming his fingertips on the table, and they’re making a clicking so
und.
Dude needs to schedule a manicure, and I can see where he couldn’t bother to wipe off the drops of mustard and ketchup from his short-sleeved, worn, plaid dress shirt.
Yeah, I see you, motherfucker. Don’t push me. I’ve got another damn gear that you do not want to experience. Take. Your. Fucking. Eyes. Elsewhere.
When she wraps both her arms around her waist and goes quiet, I can’t take any more of whatever this is.
“Maybe now’s not the best time.” My voice is steady, level, and the hell if I’m dropping my eyes first.
Jeremy looks at Promise.
“Is now not a good time?” His question is a demand, and I think of all the ways I can make him die.
Fucking bully. I hate bullies. Putting her on the spot like that when she is clearly uncomfortable already.
“Now is not a good time,” I answer for everybody in the room, taking one step up, daring him to stand.
“Well,” Jeremy breaks into a playful, condescending smile like this is some fucking game for him. “Then I guess we won’t be seeing Jordan tomorrow.”
Promise darts forward, her eyes wide, moving from Jeremy to me, and her mouth is open like words are there, but she can’t decide in which order to put them.
“Babe, you okay?” I spin around, putting a wall between her and Jeremy, taking a mental note of the look Jeremy flashed at her when he heard me call her “babe.”
“Yeah. I just . . .” She blinks five times before she continues, then lowers her voice to a whisper, her eyes falling to the floor. “I kinda need to talk to him about something.”
At that moment, I realize just how little I know about her life. This girl that I feel some primal responsibility for is a near stranger in so many ways.
I run my hands over my head, back and forth, trying to get a grip on the moment and not let the darkness take over. She’s fucking scared; I can feel it like I can feel the pain in my neck as it starts up and jerks three times before I can take my next breath.
Promise’s eyes dart to mine, watching me intently as my head and neck do their thing.
There is so much we don’t know about each other, and I can see doubt cast over her face as she watches me finish my twitch.
That jerking, twitching shit started when I was around ten. At first, they said it was the stress of the fire and the ensuing shit storm that subsequently engulfed my life. But, a few years and hundreds of twitches a day later, they gave it a name with the added news that it was a lifelong condition.
It’s settled down. As you get older, it ebbs and flows more. Most people think I should be barfing out strings of obscenities in church when they hear the word “Tourettes.” But, it’s not that. That is just what comedians and movies show. It’s this.
A constant obsession, a pressure that needs to be relieved and never will. A tension that builds somewhere inside. You hold back as long as you can, but eventually, you have to make the motion.
“It’s important, Promise.” Jeremy chimes in like a bitch.
“Hey, step the fuck down, man.” I spin around, wishing the fire I feel inside could shoot out of my eyes and turn him into the flaming shitball he is.
“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll go.”
Jeremy moves like he’s going to stand, but I see his pussy-ass glance at Promise.
“Anyone want popcorn? I feel like some popcorn.” Bruce snorts as he tosses back the last of a glass of red wine from his viewing position in the kitchen.
“Don’t leave. Wait.” Promise says, directing her plea toward Jeremy while laying her hand on my chest, drawing my eyes back to her. “I have to talk to him,” she whispers.
“You want me to leave?” I ask as my lips pull tight, and heat starts to radiate up my neck.
More than anything, my new favorite word is “No,” and I sure as shit hope it’s the next one that comes from her amazing lips.
“Yeah, I think you should go.”
I hate all of those words.
I suddenly feel like taking a seat at the table with shit-show Johnny and staking my fucking claim. But, something in her voice tells me there’s more here than I’m going to get to know tonight.
“Okay.” I lean right next to her ear. “But, I’m going to kiss you. Then I’ll leave. And tomorrow, I’m going to be standing outside this door by 6 AM to take you to work.” I point at the door and pin her with my eyes.
I’m on her mouth before she can finish whatever it was she was about to say. I make it quick. I’m not here to embarrass her. But, fuck if this asshole isn’t getting a little peek at just who belongs to whom in this little drama.
“See you in the morning,” I say to Promise as I give Poindexter one last stink eye.
I glance over and nod at Bruce, who has a huge smile on his face. He raises one hand and wiggles his fingers at me in a playful goodbye.
I’m out the door, but most of me is still inside that room.
Promise
I don’t know who I hate most right now.
Bruce is smiling and looking amused.
Jeremy has me ready to spit fire, showing up again without a call, like he lives here, then dangling the one thing he knows could hurt me the most in front of me like a carrot.
Beck.
Beckett.
I hate him most of all. Because he’s making me want something else and I don’t want to want.
Mom always said, “Love and hate are two horns on the same goat.” And right now, I have a pretty good idea where I’d stick both of those horns if I could.
I’ve lost my mind—in a week. Less. Five days. I am not even sure who I am anymore.
“What are you doing with him?” Jeremy snaps.
I shake my head and squint as Jeremy tosses that out there like I’ve just come home three hours after curfew, and he’s waiting for me with a shotgun between his legs.
“What am I . . . ?” I’m so exasperated I can’t even finish my sentence, and then I look at Bruce with my hands raised. “What? You can just go eat your popcorn somewhere else.” My finger is an arrow, aiming right between Bruce’s eyes.
“Miss this? Nooooo. This is the most fun I’ve had in a month.” He snorts again then drops his voice to a dramatic whisper. “I like that one.” He exaggerates each word as he points toward the door where Beckett just exited, tipping his head and raising his eyebrows in feigned sympathy at Jeremy.
I sigh because it’s the only thing I can do right now.
Jeremy is picking at his fingernails and looking bored, but I can see the way his lips stay tight.
I muster up some contrite sweetness.
“I’m sorry about that.” But I’m not telling you anything about ‘him’. . “So, what’s going on?” I scoot over and take a seat at the table as I swallow my self-respect and pucker up to kiss some ass.
I lean elbows on the table and clear my throat. It’s hard to imagine that no one else can sense what I’ve been doing for the last couple of hours. My hair is still damp from the shower, and a shiver runs from up the backs of my legs and wraps around all the parts of me that are still thumping.
And I am taking each step slowly trying not to give away the very special discomfort I have going on.
Jeremy stops his disgusting fingernail obsession and stares at me like a disappointed father, then shakes his head, making a little tsk-tsk sound.
“You know I’m here to help you, don’t you?”
I open my mouth to answer, and he starts talking over me.
“You know you do.” His tongue licks his upper teeth, and he stares at me in silence for a second before going on. “I’m the only one that can help you. The only one that has been here for you all these years. I remember when you sat down in front of my desk with your hair chopped off around your ears. You were a handful back then. Knew how to get attention.”
I hear Bruce’s dramatic sigh from the kitchen, and I give him a glare as he raises a glass of wine to me behind Jeremy’s back.
“You need some?” Bruce
silently mouths the words, pointing to his glass, and I look away before my lips betray me with a smile.
“What’s the news?” I force cheerfulness into my voice.
Jeremy lets out another exasperated sound to show just how far out of his way he is going for me, then he looks at his watch far longer than it should take a grown man to determine the time.
“Well, it’s a good thing you got home when you did. I was getting ready to call Lydia and call off the visit.”
“What? Are you kidding me?” I’m on my feet faster than a flea on a hound, and I can feel the tendons in my neck standing up. “Why the hell didn’t you call or text me or something? What if I didn’t come back in time?”
My head is spinning. Everything that has happened to me in the last few hours hits me like a cannonball to the gut.
Now this? Oh my god, how could he not tell me?
“Maybe I was trying to see if you’re sticking to a routine. Showing me how stable you are.”
“It’s like 7:30. How did you convince Lydia—”
“I just did.” He snaps, his pencil-thin lips turning white. “Now, listen for once. You know I’m the one that wants this for you. So, get ready. Jordan will be here in fifteen minutes. I arranged for a visit. Lydia took him to his pre-adoption appointment with the psychologist and said she would stop by on their way home.”
If there is a word I never want to hear again, it’s adoption. My next breath sticks in my chest like it’s covered in thorns.
I ride the emotional slingshot, forcing myself to forget that Jeremy just mentioned that word, and the fact that Jordan is coming here—tonight—hit’s me.
“Here? Fifteen? What—” My head swivels like a pendulum on staccato before I catch a glimpse of Bruce downing three-quarters of a glass of Malbec in one gulp as he showers the back of Jeremy’s head with poison arrows from his eyes.
He glances my way, and I can almost see steam rising from his shiny head.
I don’t have time for his drama. Whatever it is he would like to contribute right now will have to wait. I break our eye contact and muster up my best Pollyanna smile.
