Time and time and time again.
I’m stupid crazy in love with this girl.
This love should be easy, but it’s not because I want to stretch her further than the elastic will allow. We will rupture, snap, and hurt one another. We are an impossibility.
Her phone rings on the nightstand. I spot the clock at—4:56 AM. And I answer. “Hello?” The woman’s words fire off in a blur. “We’re leaving now. Thank you for calling.”
She sleepily asks, “Who was that?”
“Your sister,” I murmur, stunned, as she quickly sits up.
“Jynx…”
“Your father had a heart attack,” I whisper, watching the landslide of my needs skirt off the cliff to the valley below. I flashback to the wreck, laying on the pavement, unable to move with no one in sight.
I no longer matter; this is all about her—my submissive.
“Is he okay?”
“Daphne doesn’t know,” I say, bracing through the shifting tides threatening to submerge her—my girl. The one beside me in my bed. The one I fantasize about assaulting. The one I dream of marrying but know I never will because I’m nothing more than a trespasser, carrying the burden of her inclinations with my own. But something kicks in, something I don’t expect—I must protect Echo. “We have to go.”
With her hand on my thigh, I drive like a nut job in a race car to Tallahassee. I make the six-hour trip in a little over four and a half hours. I never claimed her escort to the bottomless pits was of sound mind.
We turn into the hospital parking lot, and she whispers, “Thank you, Jeremiah.” I blink several times, holding back the pain of hers that I feel. “If he dies…”
Stopping the car, I glance at her sitting cock-eyed in her seat. “I will take care of you.”
I want nothing more than to be her partner in life, but the facts present with disparity. I’m a monster for her virtue. But I make the promise, signing my death certificate because that is what a gentleman does. I do not doubt that I will push her too far because that is what an asshole does.
She will leave.
And that will be the end of me.
“There’s Daphne,” she announces, laying her hand on the door handle. “I have to go.”
“Wait.”
She listens.
And I hate that she does.
Run away, girl.
I’m the bad guy.
Exiting the car, I sprint around to open her door as the day unfolds, suggesting a kaleidoscope of normal images that I am not sure I want—family and responsibility. Not to her, but to them.
I’m obsessed with caring for Echo.
The next few hours are a haze of lousy coffee, pacing, and running to the car to smoke cigarettes. I can’t stop touching her—holding her hand, rubbing her back, and letting her know I’m accessible to ground the emotional upheavals.
When her dad makes it out of surgery, we breathe a sigh of relief. Her mother shows no reaction, which upsets Echo. I suggest taking a walk. She latches onto my arm, and we stroll the halls for a good half hour before finding ourselves in the chapel.
“Talk to me,” I implore, opening myself up with an availability. “Please, baby.”
“My disdain for her festers at the worst times.”
“Because she isn’t who you want her to be,” I offer, calling her mother out. “You’ve got to give up this vision that you have. The longer the ideal in your mind doesn’t match the reality, the harder this becomes. And believe me, when I say, it doesn’t ever get any easier.”
“Your father hurt you.”
“Yeah, both my parents hurt me,” I confide, trying to bridge the rift. “I would’ve been in jail long before twenty-five if it hadn’t been for my Grandma. She raised me. She saved me.”
“Who is going to save me?”
“I fucking am,” I vow, making the pledge. “I will save you now, tomorrow, and for the rest of your life, but I’ve got shit in my head that needs repairing.”
She grabs my hand. “Don’t we all?”
“I love you, Echo,” I profess, staring into her reddened hazel eyes. “And I’m terrified I will fuck up and lose you.”
“The only way you’re losing me is if you push me away,” she contends. “You’re going to have to break up with me and end this for good.”
“You said in the bathtub that when you left…”
“Because I want to believe, just as much as you do, that we can get out of this and part ways. Neither one of us are cut out for relationships, but fate put us together so we can fight through it or throw in the towel, but it’s a hostile labyrinth where we merge. You say you were a hit it and quit it guy, but what do you think I wanted in that ad?”
“Not this.”
“No,” she says, smiling and shaking her head. “Not this.”
Echo
We spend the next three days with my family. Daphne likes Jynx. Oddly, my mother expresses zero reaction. My father is less than impressed. When he finally moves to a private room, he manages to corner me alone—even in a hospital bed and connected to countless tubes a father’s love knows no bounds. While Jynx is on the phone in the waiting room and Daphne and my mother are getting lunch, I’m alone and left to play Daddy sitter.
“You don’t need to get too involved with that man you’re with,” he says as soon as the nurse leaves. “He’s not good enough for you, Echo.”
I’m not good enough for myself.
I hear his words, but they mean nothing to me anymore. Not after the heartache his actions have put me through.
What right does my philandering biker father have to pass judgement on my actions?
“I love you, Dad,” I properly reply, kissing his cheek. “I’ll be careful.”
“I don’t think you understand. He is the type who presents as the perfect man, but underneath he is a devil in disguise.”
“I should be fine then,” I counter as Daphne and my mother return to the room laughing, carrying on with their doting relationship. “I’m used to that.”
He latches onto my hand. “Ask yourself how much you truly know about him before you get heartbroken.”
I nod as the tears form in my eyes. I was hoping for more, but no man will ever be enough for Daddy’s Little Girl.
“We bought you a salad, Abigail,” my mother says. She didn’t care enough to feed Jynx.
That’s okay.
I will.
I rush out of the hospital room, not bothering to say goodbye to my family, and run into Jynx walking toward the room. He has a concerned look in his eyes, and I ask, “Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine, but you’re not okay. What is wrong?”
“Please take me home,” I beg.
“To?” he whispers, uncertain.
I lace my fingers with his. “South Carolina, Jynx.”
22
A Rival Worth Remembering
Echo
With my newfound freedom in myself, I dance in the truck bed in my boots, cut-offs, and a hot pink macramé swimsuit top. “Be careful up there,” he laughs, tending the bonfire burning a reasonable distance away. “No broken bones.”
“Says the bad boy with a bike crashing problem.”
“Do you need a reminder of who I am?”
After the adverse reaction of my parents towards Jynx, I accepted his care. I didn’t leave with him to rebel, but I needed to breathe, and he offered silent empowerment.
With his maturity, he proved to have the magic elixir—the ideal antidote to heal the wounds their words and time carelessly inflicted. He was the oxygen in my smoke-filled lungs.
“No, Sir.” I watch the flickering flames dancing in the early evening. “No need for any overt shows of testosterone-induced power plays.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t do this on the Fourth of July.”
“It’s okay, Jynx,” I reply lightheartedly. “I’m not expecting perfection.”
“That’s a joke if I ever heard one.”
&n
bsp; “If I set my bar that high, it leads to striving for the impossible and the sour fake flavor you hate.”
“Well,” he replies. “At least you learned real and fake.”
“Life bends. We sway. We can choose to flow through the obstacles or fight against one another in the challenges. But I’m tired of battles. With your hand locked in mine, there isn’t anything I can’t do. I trust you. And we will get through whatever life throws at us.”
“You’re such a beautiful soul, Echo, but you need to stop lying to yourself,” he mutters, climbing onto the tailgate. His arms wrap tightly around me. “You say all of this shit like you’re reciting it from a textbook, but you don’t mean a damn word of it. You are a perfectionist.”
“Hardly,” I dismiss, knowing he’s right.
A few minutes later, he says, “We should’ve brought a blanket and a bottle of wine.”
I swoon at the romantic notion as effervescent energy erupts in me. “Run and grab some. I’ll be fine to tend your little blaze.”
He glances back at the roaring fire. “Are you sure?”
“I am positive.”
He kisses my lips and jumps onto the grass. Hoisting my body into his arms, he sets my feet on the ground. “I’ll be right back.”
“I know,” I reassure as he hastily departs in the truck.
I meander near the flames as years of growth turns into ash. When it’s all burned and cooled, he plans to scoop the remains and put them into the garden. The charred limbs will help the soil surrounding the tomatoes and beans that we will consume.
The revolution of a life cycle—birth to death—and back again.
I fear I won’t ever get the chance to complete my evolution with Jynx Monroe.
I spot his tail lights in the distance as he stops to chat with the Ag boys—Tommy and Jake. They’re doing a fine job at helping the farm return to a sustainable place. Not only did they clear branches, but they’re working on repairing the old barn and hauling off debris collected over the years.
Clementine had little help around the estate, as was evident by her massive piles of junk stashed in the barn, garage, and attic.
With Jynx working so much at Peacock, his time is limited, and the two young men have proven more than capable.
Jynx drives to the house, and I expect the boys will return to the route down the drive, but they veer toward me. No doubt, entranced by the enormous fire.
They park the truck and walk toward me. I smile and say, “Just couldn’t stay away from the fun?”
Tommy grins. “Couldn’t stay away from you.”
I blink with unease as they stalk closer. I don’t bother to look for Jynx because I know he’s conveniently disappeared and left me to deal with the two football players. “Motherfucker!” I whisper under my breath. “Don’t put this test in front of me!”
I take off running as Jake rallies, “Damn, he called that.”
“Let’s get her!”
The games we play.
He’s paying for this one.
I make a mad dash for the tree line where I can vanish in the woods. I’ve walked the property enough to know it. I pick up my pace as their footsteps and ragged breaths draw closer.
My boots splash into the creek on the other side where the house resides, and my hair falls from the clip as I leap over the short fence. One of the boys thuds to the ground with a groan.
Yeah, there are trees out here, dumbasses.
Why are you running, Abs?
Suddenly, I stop. I spot the lights on in the house as I detour to the gate of the backyard. I question—why I ran? After all, I was the girl who wanted an assault.
Jynx is testing me.
And winning by a wide margin.
The aroma of blooming honeysuckle fills my nostrils as I open the gate with the two hot on my tail. Jynx can see me from the house. And I know he is watching when I pull off my top and drop it in a lounge chair by the pool.
The boys wait just inside the gate as I spot Jynx in the kitchen. I kick off my boots and undo my shorts, letting them fall. Pulling my panties down, I bend, taunting their reckless youth with what lies between my thighs.
Those whippersnappers ain’t ever met a vixen like me.
More than capable young, adult males.
More than capable of initiating and fornicating with me in my captor’s backyard.
I catch a glimpse of Jynx smirking in the window as I sashay around the pool, and with a whip of my long hair, I toss a seductive smile over my shoulder to the man full of deviant delight. If he thinks I cannot play his games due to my age and naivety, he has another thing coming.
“You want to party?” I flirt as drool froths out of their mouths. My kinky minx is out for blood. “Filthy fucking boys.”
“Okay, fun is over!” Jynx informs, slamming the back door.
And there is my filthy fucking gentleman.
“Aww, too bad,” I pout. “Maybe another time.”
He tosses a robe at me and thumbs over a few hundred to them. “Thanks, boys. See you on Tuesday. Don’t get any bright ideas. There will never be another time.”
“But we could have a good time,” I purr, seething inside, as the boys scamper off, rejected. “Problem, J?”
“You’re something else.”
“… Me? You sent those two clowns to rough me up in the woods,” I counter, raising a finger. “Just to prove your point that I’m not cut out for what I’m begging for…groveling like a starving kitten at your feet…feed me your cock, Jynx. Just give it to me already!”
“I have to get back to the fire.”
“Don’t mess with me again,” I warn, crossing my arms. “If you’re pulling up to the table, you bring your best because I won’t settle for less. And you better stay to play.”
“Spitfire.”
With a scowl, I brush past him. “Your Cuz nailed that one.”
I almost make it to the door when he says, “Abigail.”
Spinning on my heel, I reply, “Yes, Master?”
“Get your ass to the shed.”
“Son of a bitch,” I mumble, marching into the shed. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”
I flop on the bed and stare at the ceiling as the tears puddle in my eyes. His ultimate goal will always be to challenge me—test my resolve, pushing my determination to spur on growth.
Pruning lanky limbs, he sucks the burdens of undergrowth away, encouraging new life from me. I want to believe that there is an end to all of it. That this is just a phase, but I fear this is permanent.
He will forever be preening me.
His Sweet Pea. His Brat. His Girl.
I must accept his terms and conditions or default on the agreement. There is no further negotiation necessary. The deal is signed, sealed, and secured away someplace secret—in our hearts as a silent love affair blossoms.
The intimacy levels are incredible, but the switchbacks are cumbersome. His roller coaster isn’t only up and down and loopy-loops, but the track dips below the surface to a pitch blackness. The questions manifest—Is this love worth this much trouble? Are we worth that much pain? Is the pleasure good enough to not renege on my heart?
The door kicks back as he stands in the darkness. “Get up.” I slide out of the robe, striding over to him naked. “Touch your nose.”
I do it, but he shows no reaction.
“Squat.”
Again, I do it without question. He extends his hand to assist me up. “What are we doing?”
“Hands above your head.”
I raise them high. From his back pocket, he pulls out a pair of handcuffs, locking them onto my wrists. “Babe?” I say with slight apprehension. “You’re scaring me.”
“And you still scare me,” he rebukes with disdain. “Put your arms down.”
Holding onto what remaining composure I have, I ask, “How?”
“With your behavior.”
“What was the right answer?” I implore, struggling to comprehend the less
on. “Tell me because I don’t know. What was I supposed to do? Let Tommy and Jake rape me? Scream for you to play the hero? What was the right thing to do?”
“Not what you did,” he reprimands as we practice the intricate problem again. He’ll go over it again and again and again until I finally get it right. And the worst part of it all, he never loses his patience. He never breaks. His resilience to my strategy is off the charts, unyielding, and damn infuriating. “There are no heroes here. Your only job is to execute.”
“What am I executing?”
“Dependency. Need. Wants. Desires. Lust. Love. All of it is fucked up in your head. You’re in love with the man who abducted you. You’re willing to succumb to whatever anyone has in mind as long as you feel like you have the final say in the outcome.”
“I don’t,” I mutter, crying. “You do.”
“You want me to be everything for you, but how can I do that when your agenda is constantly conflicting with whatever I set forth. You’re too independent. Too set in your ways of safeguarding one—yourself. You must give up.”
“I can’t!” I scream. “I don’t know how!”
“Because you’re not paying attention!”
“I didn’t have a choice when I was young,” I fiercely argue. “There was Brandon and me. Mom was always catering to Daphne’s latest extracurricular activities—swimming, ballet, art, and piano lessons.”
“You did those things too.”
“Only as a bandage. Dad was at the club with the latest floozy of the month while my mother was cheering on her only daughter—Daphne. I was making boxed macaroni and cheese at six years old because we were hungry, starving.”
“You’re still starving!” He roars in my face as I curl inward and collapse at his feet. “We won’t ever work if you keep fighting.”
On the ground, I sob. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Fall.”
I cannot control the laugh emerging from deep inside. “… Fall?”
“Fall. Fail. Fuck it up for once in your life.”
“You make that sound so easy,” I whisper, slobbering. “Like I can give up twenty-two years of independent thinking for one man. You’re right—I’m a perfectionist!”
Beautiful Things Evil People Do Page 19
