Silk

by Heidi McLaughlin

  “I just want you to be safe. I can’t give you shit, nothing. You deserve more than that, so much more. I don’t even deserve what I’ve gotten from you so far, you shouldn’t even want me. You belong with someone like Shaw, someone that can give you everything.”

  “Fuck you! Less than an hour ago you had your dick inside me, giving it to me just as good as you were getting it. You wanted me then, you were practically begging for it. Nothing’s changed, not a damn thing, except you heard one person’s thoughts about us. One person that would say anything—absolutely, fucking anything—to tear us apart, but you know what I do with that doubt? It fucking rolls right off my back. But not you, you hear it once, one goddamn time, and you want to run, want to drop me like I don’t mean a fucking thing.” She slowly moved past my hands, still floating in midair, and laid her hand on the center of my chest and whispered, “I don’t have all the answers, but I know people get confused, especially about themselves. Who they think they are, and what they’ve done, takes hold and squeezes so fucking tight, it won’t let them see what they can be. You’re better than you think, Deacon, you have everything to give me. You just have to let me take it, just focus on me—on us, don’t lose me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Eli Blue

  It’d been weeks since Deacon promised not to focus on Shaw, or Tony, or Angela, or Vito—none of them. But I saw it eating at him; bit-by-bit, I could see it tearing him to shreds. On the surface, he acted like everything was fine, and sometimes it was, but in those moments when he thought I wasn’t looking, he’d falter and the front of perfection he’d constructed would disappear momentarily, and each time, my heart cracked a little more. Those were the times he retreated into his music; the house would fill with his rhythm and despair. I loved it and hated it at the same time. He had the ability to turn his emotions into heart-achingly beautiful music, but at what cost to himself?

  He was practically living with me, only making weekly trips to his apartment to check on things. He kept saying he was staying with me for my safety, but I think he just liked Luci sleeping on his back every night, and of course, I had no complaints about having him around. He woke up early and brought me coffee every morning, in my favorite mug he never tried to steal, not even once. What more could a girl ask for?

  Unforgiven’s popularity had taken off after their past few shows, so they were in high demand. While my nights were spent with Deacon, my days were spent fielding interest in the band; a shit load of interest. I was beyond proud of them, but Deacon and Duke both agreed they still had a ways to go before they’d get too excited. The Elle’s were maintaining a strong fan base, which steadily increased with each show they had with Unforgiven. Things were good. For the most part we were all happy, but I could still feel a looming sense of doom that seeped steadily from Deacon.

  We hadn’t seen Vito, or his men, since Deacon paid them off. I still didn’t know where he’d gotten the cash. All he told me was he’d be eating Ramen Noodles for the next ten years to make up for it then he’d laugh, grimly. I assumed he scraped together every last cent he had to pay off the mistakes of his friends, which Duke confirmed when I forced Willow to ask him. Duke admitted Deacon had been saving every cent he’d ever made so he could get ahead of his past one day, but now, all that money was gone—everything he’d worked so hard for was gone without a single complaint from him. I’d offered to give him the money, but he wouldn’t let me, and I understood his reasons. Ultimately, this wasn’t either of ours to fix, but least of all mine.

  I hadn’t seen Shaw since he’d all but threatened to kidnap me to get me away from Deacon. He didn’t even answer when I called to check on him. He was still having me followed; I knew that from the ever-present black SUV tailing me. Which I should have hated, and been pissed about, but for some reason it made me feel safe knowing an extension of Shaw was within reach, just in case I needed them.

  It was always one of the oversized guys I’d seen with Shaw driving. I almost felt sorry for them because nothing exciting ever happened—home to work, to shows, back to home—that’s all they saw. I’d tried to escape them from time to time and had finally discovered how, and today of all days, I needed to use that knowledge to my advantage.

  Today I was going to visit Tony. I needed to figure out how to make all this go away for Deacon. I wanted him to be happy, I wanted us to be happy. I didn’t know what was stopping him, but something had a grip on his heart and I needed to find the release. Tony was the only person besides Duke that might have an insight into him, and Duke didn’t know anything about the most recent troubles, so I knew he couldn’t help. At this point in time I was willing to ask anyone, even if it meant going back to that prison, alone, to confront Tony.

  It was a bright Saturday morning when I rushed down the stairs, not quite ready to face what I had planned, but I knew I had to get it over with before I let my nervous reluctance stop me.

  Deacon had been up for hours and while I got dressed I could hear his guitar filtering up from the living room. It wasn’t a rhythm I knew, so I assumed he was working on yet another new song.

  As I neared the bottom of the staircase, I smelled coffee followed by the sound of the oven beeping. I loved when Deacon cooked breakfast for me, even if it was a smorgasbord of grease filled goodness. When I met him, I would have never guessed he could fry an egg so perfectly.

  Before I entered the kitchen, I saw him dancing in front of the stove, wearing a light blue apron trimmed in a pale pink. I stopped to lean in the doorway and watch him. I could faintly hear his voice carry across the large room, and a melody I’d never heard before pricked at my ears. His shoulders bounced up and down and he swayed his hips slightly—it was possibly the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. He flipped an egg into the air and it landed half out of the frying pan, grease splattering everywhere.

  “Oh, shit.” He gasped.

  I tried to hold it in, but the laugh built in my chest and exploded from my mouth as his head whipped to me.

  “No, no. You’re not supposed to be up, yet.” He said, as he flopped the egg back into the frying pan. “I was doing breakfast in bed, damnit. I was the dessert; I had it all planned out.”

  I swear his bottom lip even stuck out in perfect time with his pout.

  “Aw, that’s very sweet, honey. But I have to go to the office for a while today.” I lied, hoping he’d believe me since I never went in on Saturdays.

  “What?” He groaned. “Why? There can’t be anything so important it can’t wait ‘til Monday. We have a show tonight, and I wanted to see you before it.”

  I walked across the room and wrapped my arms around his waist, laying my head on the center of his back while he continued to fight with the eggs.

  “It’s all your fault. If you weren’t so damn talented, I wouldn’t be so freaking busy.” I teased.

  “Well, if that’s the case, then I can easily solve that problem.” He said, matter-of-factly.

  “Don’t you dare!” I gasped, squeezing my arms tighter around his waist in protest.

  He laughed, “I don’t know…we’ll have to see how many Saturdays you have to work, instead of hanging out with me.”

  “This should be the only one.” I said, knowing it would be true. I never went to the office on Saturdays because anything that needed to be done I could do from my house with my phone and computer. But this was the best excuse I could come up with today.

  “Have a seat, this is almost done.” He said and then paused. “Did you, umm, did you see all that?”

  I smiled. “Yup, I saw it all, and now I know you’ve been hiding some dance moves from me.” I winked at him as he groaned.

  We both moved to the table, sitting across from each other at our usual places. I dug into my food, but he sat watching me intently for minutes, not picking up his fork.

  “What?” I finally asked. “Why are you staring at me?”

  “How long did it go on before your dad found out?” He asked calmly with
no expression on his face.

  “What? How long did what go on?” I asked before stuffing another slice of bacon into my mouth.

  “How long did your mom hit you?” He asked with a flat, even tone that didn’t settle well in my ears.

  I took my time answering, slowly chewing the bacon still in my mouth stalling as long as possible. No one knew about what my mom had done to me for all those years. Willow knew bits and pieces, but only the small stuff, and my dad had known about some of it before he died, but I’d never told another soul, and I didn’t want to.

  “How do you know about that?” I asked, swiftly scooting my chair away from the table and standing.

  “Sit down.” He commanded, but I didn’t move.

  “How?” I asked again, softer.

  “You dream very vividly, and sometimes you talk in your sleep. It’s usually nothing bad or revealing, but last night it was. I tried to wake you, but you just started fighting me. Luci was the only thing that calmed you; she always calms you.” His eyes turned blurry as they filled with moisture, further revealing how bad it had been for him to see me like that.

  I sank down into my chair. “I know I have bad dreams and I sometimes talk, but I didn’t know it would actually wake you up. I guess I’ve never really thought about it much, the older I’ve gotten, the less it’s happened.”

  “I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about you. I think you need to talk about these kinds of things so they don’t haunt your dreams.”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t like talking about it. It’s over and done with, I don’t even remember a lot of it, I just get flashes of things sometimes. I don’t even know if some of the things really happened.”

  “Did your dad know about it all that time?” He asked timidly, afraid my answer would be yes.

  “Hell no! The moment he found out he kicked her ass out.” I inhaled deeply. “It really wasn’t that bad. She’d get drunk and be mean, honestly the things she said to me were a million times worse than anything she physically did.”

  It was true. The physical part was never fun, but being slapped a couple times here and there was nothing compared to the degrading things she’d say to me when I was too young to know they weren’t true.

  “Princess, you know you can tell me anything, right?” He asked, his eyes soft with emotions. “I went through some of those same things, I want you to talk to me, if you think you can.”

  I nodded. “Maybe some day, but not today. Okay? Just not today.”

  He agreed and we continued our meal in heavy silence. The fork that had been left sitting next to his plate finally found its way to his hand, and he ate all the food he’d made for himself. I didn’t take another bite. Instead, I stared out the window behind him and watched a bird hopping around in the shallow birdbath on the patio.

  I finally excused myself back to our bedroom to find my shoes before I left. Stopping to lean against the wall, I heard him roughly clanging dishes around, softly cussing to himself for even bringing up my mother. My heart swelled with how much he cared for me.

  When I came back down, Deacon was at the bottom of the staircase staring at my dad’s office door—the door that was never opened by anyone, ever.

  “Whacha doin’?” I asked reluctantly. He’d mentioned wanting me to finally go into my dad’s office, but I kept refusing, not sure I could handle seeing what was in there.

  “It’s a beautiful day.” He declared. “I think we should take it as a sign it’s time, don’t you?”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”

  “C’mon princess, what better day will there be to overcome the last bit of your dad that hangs over your head?”

  “Nothing about my dad hangs over my head. You’re the only one that seems oddly obsessed with what’s behind that door. What the fuck is wrong with you today, why are you trying to cause me pain?” I asked, a little too harshly.

  “I think it does bother you; if it doesn’t, why can’t you just open the door and go in?” He asked, his steady eyes piercing into me.

  “I guess if any of us would know what it’s like to have something hanging over you and pretend otherwise, it would be you.” I snapped, bringing up whatever bug had been up his ass lately.

  His forehead creased. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Not a damn thing!” I said. “But maybe you should start worrying more about the skeletons in your closet, and less about the ones that may, or may not, be in mine.”

  His lips turned down as sadness spread across his face. He took two steps toward me and reached for my hands.

  “We have to start somewhere, princess. I feel like I’m living in this house, with all the demons of your past you refuse to acknowledge; it’s starting to suffocate me. I see it on your face; I know when a memory is attacking you because it takes you away from me. I need you to help me, we need to conquer them together, so we can both move forward.”

  Fuck, he was right. We’d been living here, co-existing in a harmonious façade. But we both had shit we needed to tackle in order to move forward.

  “And what demon from your past will we conquer next?” I raised my eyebrows at him.

  The side of his mouth turned up. “Whichever one you pick, we’ll spend our Sunday doing nothing but battling my skeletons…but first, you have to at least open the door. I’m not saying you have to go in, I’m just saying you need to turn the damn doorknob.”

  The closer I drew to the door, the stronger the sensation to bolt grew within me. He was right, I didn’t want to go in there, but I didn’t think it was something that haunted me every day. I just didn’t want the memories that would come along with the room—my dad’s favorite room. Nothing in there had been touched since he died, I don’t think the door had even been opened. He was the last person to breathe the air in that room, the last person who existed in that room. I wanted, more than anything, to know there was something left in this world that was exactly how he’d left it; that’s what the room represented to me.

  But Deacon wasn’t going to leave me alone until I opened the fucking door; letting those unwanted emotions torment me. For whatever reason, it was important to him, more important to him that I opened the door than leaving it closed was to me. So I could do it, for Deacon, I would. But I’d expect the same thing in return from him.

  I closed my eyes, placed my hand on the cold doorknob, and felt a warm, strong hand encircle mine. Together we turned the knob. Humid, musty air rushed over my face, assaulting my senses. I didn’t move, for minutes, I just stood with the door cracked open and took in the smell: a mix of musty air, leather, and my dad. The room still smelled like my memories of him, and it squeezed so tight around my heart I knew it would stop thumping in my chest.

  “Eli, you —”

  “No,” I cut him off. “I can go in, I can.”

  I turned to look up into his regretful eyes. He’d had no idea how hard this could possibly be on me, until this moment.

  I pushed the door all the way open and the first thing I saw was the huge painting over the fireplace: a painting of my dad and me. I smiled as I thought back to the day we’d done a photo shoot for some magazine. It was the only photos my dad had ever allowed of me in any sort of publicity. I was four and looked so small next to him. He was wearing black jeans and a black shirt, and I was wearing a white lacy sundress. I was standing and he was crouched down in front of me, the picture was of our profiles as we leaned in to kiss. Our lips weren’t touching, but they were puckered and ready.

  I turned to look at Deacon, his face blurred by my tears. He smiled at me, and I felt my lips turn up in return.

  “I’m so proud of you.” He whispered and squeezed my hand tight.

  I broke our stare, took two steps into the room as his hand slipped from mine. I slowly made my way around the room touching and remembering as much as I could. Deacon leaned against the doorframe, his eyes watching me intently.

  Some things brought back memories, like
the old leather books lining the shelves to the left of his desk. I remember him sitting on the plush couch in front of the fire, flipping the pages as I watched him absorb the words he read. A table tucked in the corner under a huge picture window was covered with all the crafts I’d made for him over the years. “I love you, Daddy” pictures made from colored macaroni, handprints made from plaster, and drawing after drawing of Cinderella and all her merry friends. I felt the tears rushing down my face as the memories vividly flashed through my vision. He’d loved and kept everything I ever made for him.

  I continued to wander through the room, stopping every so often to run my fingers across his belongings, and let my thoughts return to a different time and place, when this room had been filled with my dad’s larger-than-life presence.

  Other things, like his many awards and achievements, I barely recognized, but I knew how proud he was of them. They were crowded on the fireplace mantel, stretching from one end to the other, with no space left for a new one. Scanning the room one last time, I saw my dad’s blue guitar hanging on the farthest wall, near his desk. I’d always figured it was in this room, since no one had found it anywhere else, so I’d never really searched for it.

  I moved to it and pulled it down from its resting place, the cool wood smooth against my fingers. The last time I’d seen him with this guitar was two days before he died, sitting in this room on the couch. He was replacing the strings for his time in the studio that weekend. His mood had been somber and quiet, which was out of character for him. When I’d asked why he was sad, he told me he was just ready to get his record done. I wish for nothing more than to go back to that day, and try to put a smile on his face.

  I lifted the guitar to put it back on the wall, and halted. This was my dad’s, a symbol of his passion for music to so many that loved. It didn’t feel right to leave it locked away, robbing it of his usefulness.