by L. D. Davis
We looked at each other for a long moment before he seemed to deflate a little.
“I am not comfortable with you going back where Larson will have easy access to you,” he admitted.
“Well, it’s my home. I’ll have to go back eventually, but besides that, he seemed to have no problems accessing me when I was a thousand miles away, either.”
“I know.” He nodded slowly. “But the distance still makes me feel better. What if he surprises you on the street again? What if he shows up at your apartment? Hides in your car?”
“I don’t know, Alden,” I admitted, and then remembered something he had said to me what seemed like ages ago. “I can’t not live my life because I fear something, or in this case, someone.”
“Who was the asshole that said that?” Alden growled.
“You,” I said with a small smile. “You were that asshole.”
He groaned and let his head fall back against the couch. “Noa, I am fucking terrified that something will happen to you. It would fucking kill me if I let you go back and he hurt you.”
“I’ll call you every day,” I promised.
“Ten times a day and maybe a few times in between,” he amended.
“And I’ll text you several times a day.”
“Every hour on the hour.”
“How about four hours?” I suggested.
“Every two hours and that’s final.”
“Okay,” I said. I wasn’t going to text him every two hours, but I wanted to appease him.
“And your ass better be in L.A. by next Monday morning.”
“I will do my best.”
“When are you leaving?” he asked, sounding very unhappy.
“I think I’ll go tomorrow morning.”
He dropped his head and looked at me again, and then put a hand possessively on my neck.
“I don’t want you to go,” he whispered.
“I know,” I whispered back.
“Promise me you will be vigilant of your surroundings at all times, and promise me you will get the locks done on your car immediately.”
“I promise and I promise.”
“And you won’t go anywhere alone after dark. You’ll call your brother or Tucker.”
“I promise,” I said.
“Fuck, Noa,” he pressed his lips to mine. “As much as I want to lock you up and never let you go, I know I can’t. Just promise me you’ll stay safe.”
“I promise,” I whispered.
I kept that promise. I stayed safe. But I would lose something else during our separation.
His trust.
Todd F. Canyon was born into a blue-blooded family in North Carolina. He attended school at Princeton, where he met his wife Giordina. After grad school, the couple decided to settle in New Jersey, but after twenty-two years, Todd moved his family back to the state of North Carolina where he ran for and won a seat on the U.S. Senate. Now, he and his wife and their four children and dog and cat live in D.C. in a beautiful home in the neighborhood of Berkley-Foxhall. Although Senator Canyon got a new phone and a new number when he obtained his position, he was a bit of a nostalgic man and still retained his old number as well on a separate phone. It wasn’t a secret phone, like a Hoe-phone or Mistress-phone, but it was the phone that was strictly non-work related. The line would never be tied up with business calls when his family and close friends, like say, his very close friend, the governor of Minnesota, wanted to reach him. The American people loved that about Canyon, that he still put his family first, even before the state of North Carolina or our great nation. Add in his dark hair, bright green eyes, his athletic physique and his fighting spirit for the poor and middle-class, single parents, and women’s rights, and you had the formula for the makings of a future president of the free world.
So, it must have sucked for him to receive a phone call from me that Sunday afternoon while he was enjoying a luncheon in his home with his wife, kids, and a few of his politician buddies.
“This is Todd Canyon,” he said jovially when he answered his phone. In the background, there were many voices, young and old, laughter, and the tinkling of silverware on plates.
I was silent at first, choked up on my wrecked nerves. Other than on the television, I hadn’t heard his voice in years, and it immediately stirred up all sorts of memories and emotions.
“Hello?” Todd said when I didn’t answer.
“Hi, Todd,” I said in rush of breath.
He didn’t speak right away. For a few seconds, I heard only the dinner party in the background and his light breathing. He couldn’t even pretend that I was someone from his office, because this number was just for family and friends, and me. I knew he was startled to hear my voice all of these years later, and I couldn’t even imagine what was going through his mind.
“It’s me, it’s—”
“I know,” he said in a hushed tone. “I can never forget the sound of your voice.”
I felt color rush into my cheeks, but I ignored it.
“I’m sorry to call you like this, but…” I took a breath. “Can I see you?”
“Yes,” he said the word before I could even finish my sentence. “Yes, of course.”
I noted that the party sounds were muted. He must have walked into another room.
“When and where?” Todd asked. “Are you in New Jersey?”
“No, I’m in D.C. So, as soon as you can. Just name the place.”
“Tonight,” he said with readily. “I want to see you tonight. Do you have a pen and paper?”
“Yes, go ahead,” I said in a slightly shaky voice.
He gave me an address and combination number for the key lock box on the door.
“I’ll try to be there by ten-thirty,” Todd said just before we hung up. “You can go in anytime. No one is there.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“See you tonight, Noa,” he whispered and ended the call.
With a shaking hand, I dropped my phone onto the seat of the rental car beside me. Todd Canyon wasn’t just a U.S. senator, but at one time, he was my Ethics Professor. He was also, ironically enough, the man I was caught having sex with in his wife’s car the day of my arrest.
My. Heart. Pounded.
Alden
You ever get a feeling like shit just isn’t right? Like you can feel it in your chest, squeezing the fuck out of your lungs and your heart, and it makes you all jumpy and shit? That’s exactly how I felt when I let Noa get out of the car at the airport a few days ago, and the feeling just intensified every day that she was gone.
I shouldn’t have let her go, or maybe I should have gone with her. She didn’t think that her ex asshole Larson would do anything drastic, but obviously, my Little One never saw Sleeping With the Enemy.
As much as I wanted to keep her with me, I couldn’t. I often had the illusion that I was the one in charge in our relationship, but it was just that, an illusion. Noa did what she wanted to do, and sometimes, it just happened to be what I wanted her to do, too.
I started to fall in love with the little beauty when she defiantly refused to smile or acknowledge my fucking awesomeness and the awesomeness of my band while in the front row of my concert weeks ago in San Francisco. I was having all kinds of fantasies of putting my tongue in her sweet little scowling mouth at the end of my third encore, and maybe pulling her backstage to get to know her a little better and find out why someone who hates my band so much was at a Friction concert.
I had no intentions of taking her backstage unconscious and with both of us just escaping with our lives. Fucking horny skanks stomped all over my little scowling beauty! I’m pretty sure she had put her claws in my heart after she regained consciousness, saw me, and unleashed her wicked little tongue. I was so tempted to just lay down on top of her and shut her up, but then I wouldn’t have heard the funny little shit she had to say about me in her sweet, melodic voice.
When I ran into her at the airport, it was purely by accident. As I was adding my cont
act information and getting hers, a reminder flashed on her phone. Seeing that had nothing to do with me switching from the private jet I was going to take with the guys to a commercial flight that left way earlier in the morning than I’d liked. When Kristina mentioned that Noa was a writer, I really had no intentions of using her books as props. Maybe I wanted to catch up on some reading and read my first ever romance novel, though I seriously never expected to get that drawn in that quickly, and certainly never expected that some parts of the book were so pornographic that maybe my cheeks may have turned a soft shade of pink. When I convinced her to go to dinner, I especially never thought I’d hang on to every damn word that came out of her mouth.
This woman who was comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt, didn’t do anything fancy to her hair, had no funky designs on her nails, and who seemed to be offended by the idea of wearing makeup on a daily basis was the complete opposite of any woman that I ever even considered spending time with, and she was fucking perfect. Her beauty was in her brain, but it was also in her simplicity. I was a goner long before I saw her in her gown the night of that first gala. I just couldn’t admit it to myself, and sometimes, I’m pissed off that I lost all of those days with her, pretending that my heart was unaffected by her.
Sliding into her for the first time was unlike anything I’ve ever had before. Like I said, I have been with a lot of women – young, old, skinny, curvy, big, and beautiful, and even a few ugly ones because they had nice tits or a nice ass. I have had actresses, other musicians, and even a couple of porn stars, but not one of them could come close to what Noa’s snug, warm pussy did to my cock. None of the beautiful faces I’ve seen at the height of climax looked anything like the heavenly, perfectly resplendent face of one N.H. Eddington in the throes of passion. I have always appreciated the delicate curves of a woman’s body, but not as minutely as I enjoyed hers; the slender column of her neck, her shoulders, her chest, her full, rounded breasts, and even the depth of her sexy navel. I loved the way her smooth thighs felt pressed against my legs, the way she inhaled whenever my fingers caressed the backs of her pretty little knees, and the little giggles she couldn’t help but to release when I stroked her dainty little toes. I loved the sighs she made and the adoration in her eyes when I reverently kissed each finger and the soft flesh where her arms bent at the elbow. I loved running my hands down her smooth back, down to the tiny dip just above her lush ass, and I loved the soft moans she made when I pulled her cute little earlobes between my teeth and flicked them with my tongue. There was not another woman in the universe that had a body like my Little One.
Even if she had never let me touch her, make her moan and writhe and come so explosively, I would have fallen in love with Noa. She was everything I didn’t know I ever wanted or needed. In a matter of weeks, she had become a part of me, sewn into the very fabric of my soul.
And now she was gone, not for good, but for too damn long. Gone off into enemy territory. Her brother and her friend Tucker promised to keep an eye on her, but my confidence in them was shaken on her first day back in Philly when they lost her. Seriously fucking lost her. Tucker had gone to pick her up at the airport, but he said either she walked past him out the door or she was never on the plane. That was bullshit. I bought her ticket. I put it in her hands. I dropped her off at the correct terminal and watched her walk inside.
Later, when she was supposed to be home, Warren didn’t find her there. Noa said she must have just missed the guys both times. When Warren went over there the following morning before he went to work, he found her sleeping soundly in her bed, but I wasn’t able to shake the uneasiness that was knocking around in my chest. Especially since I had fucking lost her, too.
We had agreed upon a reasonable schedule for phone calls and text messages. I wasn’t trying to be a controlling bastard like Larson had been to her. I was trying to be sure she was safe from him. Yeah, I am possessive, but I didn’t want her to feel like she was on a leash, but on that first day, I wished I had put her on a leash, so that I could have given it a good yank to get her back. She was in the wind for hours, and when I did get a hold of her, she blamed it on poor reception and just being busy. I made myself believe her, even though my gut told me she was lying.
***
I spent the first couple of days after Noa left with Peyton. We played video games, watched movies, and even built a snowman in his foster parents’ backyard (because there’s a shitload of snow in Minnesota in the month of March). Of course, we made some incredible music, too. Even though he was still learning, Peyton definitely had talent. I wasn’t too surprised; he is my brother.
Sometimes we just sat back and chilled, and talked about everything and nothing. He was such a cool kid. He had a good head on his shoulders, was smart as hell, and stayed out of trouble. He was the exact opposite of what I was at his age. It was hard to believe we came from the same womb, and very similar backgrounds.
When I first realized I had a brother, another kid that Tammy threw away into the foster care system, I was mad as hell, but I was also so damn scared. I went through terrible things at her hands, shit that had scarred me for life, shit I’ll never talk about. I was so scared that she messed the kid up, or let someone else mess him up, and I was worried about what kind of foster families he was stuck with. I guess most mean well, but there are always those fuckers that slide under the radar, the ones that use the state’s money to buy drugs and other shit and do nothing for the kids; or the fuckers that beat the shit out of the kids, or worse. Fortunately, Peyton has only moved around twice, and the latest family was very good to him. Plus, they weren’t star struck, babbling idiots when I was around.
I had to make sure that Peyton continued to be treated right, and he would be treated the best if he were with me. The kid would never have to live the way I lived when I was with Tammy. He would never have to live in a flea and roach infested filthy apartment, he’d never be hungry, he would always have clean, nice clothes and shoes, and I would never beat the piss out of him or let anyone else hurt him.
It wasn’t fair that the people at child services used whatever they read about me in the gossip magazines, or saw about me on TV against me. Half the shit wasn’t true, and what was true, certainly wasn’t bad enough to warrant me not having the rights to my little brother. There were kids out there being abused and neglected by parents that did far worse things than I did, but their lives weren’t broadcasted for all to see. They often got a free pass while I had to fight my ass off just to get a few minutes with him at first. Things had gotten better, but not enough. It had been months and I was still fighting for him. I would fight for him forever if necessary, but as it turned out, I didn’t have to…
Thursday morning, four days after Noa left, I got a phone call from my attorney, Rick the Dick, aptly named because the man was ruthless with legal matters. He couldn’t directly represent me in Minnesota since he was out of California, but he worked very closely with the law firm in Minneapolis that was handling my case.
“What’s up, Rick?”
“I don’t know whose prostate you massaged, Breck, but I got some incredifuckable news for you.”
“I’m not getting any younger, so maybe you should tell me already.”
“I just got off the phone with Stan. Yesterday, there was a meeting with Peyton’s caseworker, his child advocate, and a few others. They’re going to let you take Peyton, Alden. It’s going to take about a week for all of the paperwork to be done, so you can’t leave the state with him yet, but as of today, he will be in your care. You have a few less steps to take since you’re his brother and not some random person, but the actual adoption process will still take several months.”
I dropped down onto the couch like a pile of rocks, in a complete state of shock.
“How?” It was the only word I could manage to say.
“Not exactly sure. Stan says it came from high up. Who cares how? Peyton’s yours.”
Peyton is mine. That was all that ma
ttered. I was so fucking thrilled that I could barely stop and listen to all of the shit I needed to know.
As soon as I hung up with Rick, I called Noa to tell her the news. She had reacted the way I imagined she would – she squealed and fired off ten thousand questions. She was genuinely happy and excited for Peyton and me.
And still… There was something not right.
I figured things would feel right again when I saw her in L.A. Maybe the only thing wrong was me. I wasn’t used to all of those heavy ass emotions. Before Noa, I never got emotionally involved with women, except maybe Trish. Even then, it was more of a mutual respect than anything else. I cared about her and I liked spending time with her, but I didn’t love her.
I didn’t leave myself much time to think about what was going on with Noa. I had a lot to do to prepare for Peyton. I had to hire a tutor and maybe a nanny to keep an eye on him while I was performing or even just immersed in the business side of things. I had to make sure the bedroom I had allocated as his in L.A. was clean and ready. I had to make appointments to meet with the child welfare people in California and a dozen other things.
When Peyton arrived later that afternoon with all of his belongings – most of which I had given him – the kid had launched himself at me, wrapped his small arms around my neck, and cried. It fucking killed me. Literally fucking killed me. I don’t cry. I don’t ever fucking cry, but I had to fight tears away and swallow repeatedly until the lump that had formed in my throat became manageable.
When he pulled away, wiping his eyes and snot with his sleeve, he puffed out his chest and announced, “I wasn’t crying or anything. I had something in my eyes.”
I knelt before him with my hands on his arms. “Peyton, it’s okay to cry. I’m not her, okay? I’m not Tammy. I won’t hit you or yell at you for crying, especially when you’re crying because you’re happy.”
His chin wobbled as he nodded. Seconds later, more tears streamed out of the kid’s eyes that were just like mine. “I wasn’t allowed to cry after my dad died,” he whispered. “She would get so mad and…and…”
