by Arell Rivers
My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. Swallowing to try to dislodge it, I shake my head.
“Let us find them.”
She propels me forward next to her, making her way toward the family room. The kitchen is to the left. Mom will be in there. She always is.
Before we even make it all the way into the family room, Mayor Larsen pops back in front of us, leading FPU. “I told you he was here,” the jovial mayor spouts, beer in hand.
When he spies me, he pulls up to his full height and addresses his “illustrious” guest. “Thanks, Mayor. I appreciate you letting me know.”
My hand closes ever harder around Emilie’s. FPU looks my girlfriend up and down. When he cannot find fault with her—who could?—his eyes lock on our intertwined hands. I loosen my grip. Can’t let him see how he affects me.
“Hi. I’m Brent.” He extends his hand toward Emilie, causing her to let go of my hand.
I should be doing the introductions. Before she opens her lips, I jump in, “This is Emilie.” No need to give her last name or her status. He doesn’t deserve it. She shakes his hand and returns hers to mine. No European double kiss. While I’m processing this fact, she squeezes my hand as if to give me strength.
He dips his head once. “William.”
I mirror his head bob in greeting, but don’t utter a word.
He returns his attention to Emilie. “So, what do you do? Help around the gym?” Although the words seem innocent enough, the sneer with which they’re delivered is unmistakable. He thinks she’s a dumb blonde. And my newest career choice is unworthy of the Sumner name, even if Three did start it.
My mind is a blank and going a mile a minute, all at once. Ems squeezes my hand again. “Monsieur Sumner, I can only wish to work with Wills at Complete someday. It is a lovely gym, filled with great people. But, for right now, my job takes me away from LA so I cannot commit.”
FPU snorts. I close my eyes, feeling the pressure build within my body. I don’t have to defend myself from this asshole, but he can’t cross the line and look down his pointy nose at Ems. “Emilie is a—”
Before I can put him in his place by announcing he’s in the presence of a true supermodel, not some minor, wannabe “celebrity” politician like the mayor, Mom interrupts. “Wills! I heard you came. We’re so happy you made it, aren’t we Brent?”
Mom gives me an open-armed hug, and I pat her back. She turns and looks at my date, blinks once, then puts her hand in front of her mouth. Eyes wide, she turns to FPU, then back to Ems. “Mom, may I introduce Emilie. Emilie, my mother, Molly.”
“Enchanté.”
Mom mouths the French word. FPU clears his throat and she startles as if remembering her manners. Extending her hand, she says, “How nice to meet you. Are you really dating my son? I mean, I saw a magazine photo of the two of you together, but I thought it was just,” she waves her hand, “you know.”
Can this be any more uncomfortable? “We’re dating, Mom.” Why did I confess this to her like I’m a teenager?
Next to me, Ems beams. Despite this situation, my gut—or somewhere slightly south—tightens.
“My son is dating a supermodel. How amazing.” She looks at Emilie. “You need a drink, dear. Come with me and I’ll show you what we have.” She takes Ems by the arm and drags her away from me, making sure to stop by everyone between here and the kitchen to show off her latest social trophy.
“You’re really dating a supermodel?”
I force my fist to open. “Yes.”
“Does she know how to read?”
I close my eyes and count backward from ten. “She’s literate and fluent in at least four languages. Three more than you.”
He shrugs. “Better enjoy her while you can, then. Women like that don’t stay tied down to gym rats for long.”
My teeth grind together but I concentrate on keeping my hands open. I can’t let loose on him. No matter how much he deserves it. Too many people are around. Besides, I promised Ems I’d try.
“So I heard you bought out David. He’s heading out of town in a couple of weeks, and you’ll be running Addie’s gym.”
Having nothing to add, I nod.
“Addie created a real positive environment over there. Like everything she did, she put her whole heart into it. Think you can do her justice?”
I can’t let his nasty innuendos go. Keeping my voice low, I bristle, “Just because I didn’t go into the military doesn’t mean that I can’t run Complete. I was a personal trainer, you know.”
He shrugs. “Right. But there’s a huge difference between being a foot soldier and an officer. Addie earned her stripes. And you just picked up a check from some rock star who let you follow him around.”
“I was Cole’s security detail. I saved his life.”
“And I’m sure the world is a much better place for it.”
Like a teenager, my belligerence explodes. “If you were half the father as the hotshot military man you claim to be, maybe some of that loyalty would’ve been channeled to your own goddamn family.”
A noticeable hush falls over the living room as guests give us space yet lend their ears. FPU’s face turns red. In an exaggerated whisper, he utters, “Maybe if you were half the man your sister was, she would be standing here today.”
Promise be damned. “I don’t need to stay here and listen to this. I came because Mom asked. And Emilie wanted to meet you both, even though I told her you weren’t worth it. And I’d say you just confirmed that truth.”
A gasp—complete with a French accent—reaches my ears. Fuck.
The noose around my neck, otherwise known as a tie, constricts to the point where my breathing becomes shallow. I’m so done with this farce. I turn to Emilie. “We’re leaving.”
Deep green eyes, swimming in unshed tears, meet mine. She doesn’t say a word, just nods.
“Mom.” I offer her a half-hearted hug and stride out of the room, not bothering to glance at the other partygoers. I presume Emilie’s right behind me.
When I reach the front walkway, I take a huge gulp of air, which feels condescending. Leave it to my father to figure out how to bend Mother Nature to his will, too. Nothing like being the General’s biggest, living disappointment.
My legs eat up the distance between the house and my Jeep. Soon, I’m ensconced in the driver’s side, the comforting steering wheel underneath my hands. I start the engine and classic rock immediately fills the vehicle. FPU always hated hearing “that noise,” so I lower the windows and turn it up all the way.
The passenger door opens and Emilie slides in next to me. Crap. I didn’t even help her into the Jeep. My fucking father screwed with my head, but that doesn’t give me the right to treat her the way he treats my mother.
“Ems. I’m so sorry. I tried to keep my promise.” She turns her face to me, her cheeks wet.
My heart breaks at how small she looks. I touch her delicate skin with my thumbs and swipe the tears away.
She’s managed to do the impossible—make me agree with my father. I’m not worth it. I’m not worth her, and I never will be.
21
Emilie
We drive back to my house in silence, the sky going from dusk to darkness. I stifle my sobs. How could a father say such awful words to his son? My heart breaks for Wills all over again. The man I love is hurting so badly, and he refuses to acknowledge his feelings. How can our relationship grow if he refuses to work on his problems? I need to get through to him. But how?
Finally, my exit is next. Once we are off the freeway, Wills turns into my neighborhood. We need to talk. He puts the blinker on at the traffic light. “Wills, I would like it if you would spend the night.”
He turns his head to mine, his cheek hollow like he is biting it from the inside. I have noticed he does that when he is anxious or worried. Tonight, I hope to ease his pain.
“I don’t,” he clears his throat. “I’m not good company right now.”
“Which is exactly why
you need to stay.” I refuse to let him wallow in the words his father said.
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He took off his blazer, loosened his tie and opened the top button of his shirt, such that his silver chain glints off one of the passing streetlights. He honors his sister by wearing her dog tags every day, and his tattoo across his heart. If only his father understood what an amazing man his son is. But, I cannot care about his father—it is Wills who needs my comfort.
“Please.”
“Okay.” The word comes out as a strangled bunch of syllables.
He pulls into my driveway, my Spanish bungalow well-lit by the landscape architects I hired. His family’s home seemed welcoming from the outside, but inside it was all about the awful man who sired Wills. I am out of my depth in trying to help him, but I will try my best.
After he puts the Jeep into park, he shuts the engine but does not make another move. My heart hurts for how much pain he is in. This is much worse than when Starr shot him in the shoulder. There is no blood, yet the injury goes much deeper.
I get out of the vehicle and walk over to his side. Opening the driver’s side door, I do what he has done for me so many times—unbuckle his seat belt. “Let us go inside.”
Dull blue eyes meet mine. “Okay.”
More tears escape my eyes. This time it is I who runs my palms over my own cheeks to wipe the moisture away. Since he refuses to cry, I am doing it for him.
He shakes his head and catapults out of the Jeep. Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, he escorts me up the stone path to the front door. After digging in my Kate Spade tote, I find my keys and unlock the door.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Thanks.”
I make him a vodka martini and pour a glass of wine for myself. I think we have both earned it after the “party.” I bring the glasses into the salon, where Wills sits on the sofa staring at the blank television screen.
“Listen, Ems, I’m so sorry you had to witness that.” He takes a large swallow, then lifts his glass to me. “I warned you, though.”
I curl up next to him. “Oui, you did. I am so sorry that you had to grow up in such an environment. I do not know how to help you. What can I do?”
He half smiles. “Don’t worry about me. I’m only a gym owner.”
I rear back. “Seriously? You cannot believe that? I know—first hand—how important the service you offer is. Like being a bodyguard, owning a gym is a very dignified profession. You have the power to change peoples’ lives.” I take a sip of my wine, then grimace—not at the wine but at myself. “Not like being a model. All I do is show up and put on whatever clothes they give me and smile.”
He blinks. “Ems. No. You do so much more. You’re not only selling clothes,” he bobs his head, “Or lingerie or bathing suits. You bring beauty into this very depressing world and give millions of people something to aspire to.”
I take another sip. “Honestly, I prefer touching people directly. Like what you do. And what I do on Instagram.”
“You can do both.”
I file this thought away. Now I need to focus on him. “Wills, the military is an honorable profession. Patriotic. But helping people become healthier and happier is just as honorable. Please do not forget that.”
He knocks back the rest of his martini. “FPU would disagree.”
I wave my hand. “He does not matter.” I suck in my breath. “I mean—”
Wills smiles. “I know what you mean. And I appreciate what you’re doing.” He kisses my forehead, placing his hand on the back of my head so that I am against his right pec. Directly above the scar from the crazy stalker’s bullet.
I inhale his scent and my thoughts scatter to the only way I know how to make him feel better. Disengaging from his warm body, I grab the remote and turn on some music. It picks up the last tune on my playlist, a song in French about passion. I slide a sideways look at Wills, knowing he does not understand the lyrics.
“Let it play.”
I guess some themes are universal.
Retuning to my spot next to him, I undo his tie and start to ease the buttons from their holes. When his shirt is opened from his waistband upward, I slide my fingers underneath the white dress shirt. They gravitate to his sister’s dog tags, and my fingers play with them.
His head falls back on the sofa. Emboldened, I pull the material of his shirt up and out of his dress slacks and finish opening it. Wills made an effort for his father. Swallowing my anger on his behalf, I make quick work of his belt, slipping it through the loops and letting it drop to the floor with a clunk. When my fingers land on the button at the top of his pants, above his impressive bulge, he places his hand over mine.
“Wait.”
My eyes search his, silently asking what he needs from me. Offering all of myself to him.
“Stand up.” I scramble to my feet. “Turn around.” I present my back to him.
The sofa rustles as he gets to his feet, but I do not turn my head. Another sexy French song plays as he unzips the back of my dress, which falls to my feet. “You looked so fucking hot at the party in this dress. I was so proud you were on my arm, even if that meant we had to be in my parents’ house. But it wasn’t just how you were packaged. It’s who you are in here.”
He comes around and stands in front of me and places his hand over my heart. “I’ve never met anyone as sweet, supportive and positive as you are, Emilie. Never change. Don’t let me change you into a hard person, like me.”
I open my mouth to tell him how wrong he is, but his fingers land on my lips. “Shhh.” He steps back and rakes me from head to toe, his eyes ending at my Jimmy Choo slingbacks. “Off.”
While I make quick work of my shoes, he shrugs out of the dress shirt and unzips his pants. My mouth waters at how sexy he is. And so in charge. Without another word, his arms come around my body and I am stripped of my bra and panties. He steps back, his index finger doing a “come here” motion. I follow him as he walks backward toward my bedroom.
He stops. I stop. He takes two steps to me and kisses me so that the only point of contact between our bodies is our lips. His hand lands in my hair, scattering bobby pins in all directions. When my hair is loose, his fingers go through it and he pulls me into his body, his lips crashing down on mine.
“Je t’aime.” The words slip out of my mouth. I need him to know how I feel about him. I repeat in English. “I love you.” I say them in Portuguese and Spanish, just to be sure he knows I mean it. I rain kisses all over his face.
He shakes his head. “Oh, Ems, you can’t.” Yet he crushes my body to his.
Sometime later, we fall into my bed. Wills pulls the sheet over us and wraps me in his arms. I tangle my legs with his and lay my cheek over his Gemini tattoo. He never talks about his sister, the one person in his family he holds any affection for. “I saw a photo of your sister at your parents’ house. She looked like you.” I trace my finger down his nose. “Tell me a bedtime story about her.”
His hand stills in my hair for a moment, then continues stroking. “When we were in middle school, I got my hands on a copy of ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street,’ a horror flick. After our parents went to bed, I snuck into Three’s room and we watched it together. Scared ourselves to death.”
While he is talking, I interlace my fingers with his. “Then what happened?”
“The movie was about a serial killer that murdered people in their dreams, which made them die in reality. Three slept with me for a week afterwards. I never admitted it to her, but I liked having her there.” A chuckle rumbles from his throat.
“You had to keep your place as her older brother.”
Wills kisses my shoulder. “Yeah.” He goes on to share two more stories about his twin. “Thank you.”
I lift my head, keeping my chin on his chest. “For what?”
He tucks my hair behind my ear. “For letting me talk about my sister. It feels good to remember the fun times we had.”
> “I love hearing about when you were younger.” I cannot stifle my yawn. “And that you got scared of a movie.”
“Yeah, well, that was a long time ago. And now it’s time for us to get some shut eye.” Our lips meet in a gentle kiss. “Good night, Angel.”
Even though he did not say the words, I know he loves me. Still sprawled against him, my eyes drift shut.
Until I am jarred awake by Wills tossing me to the side of the bed. He cries out, his arms and legs thrashing. Not again.
“Wills. Wake up.” I hold my breath. His eyes pop open, darting around the dark room. When they land on me, I say softly, “You had another nightmare.”
He runs his hands through his hair. “Huh? Sorry.” He blinks awake and gets out of bed with sluggish movements. Putting his dress slacks back on, he silently pads out of my bedroom without looking back. The French doors open and shut.
This cannot continue—Wills needs to discuss everything he is carrying inside. Sighing, I understand deep down that am not qualified to help him. I grab a robe and pad onto the patio, taking a seat next to him on the lounger.
“I really think you should talk to a professional about your nightmares. There is nothing wrong with doing that.” When he does not respond, I continue, “I told you I saw someone. I can give you her—.”
“No.” He turns his head away from me. “I’ll be fine. It was all my talking about Three that brought it on.” He runs his fingers through his hair.
Trying to lighten the mood, I play with some of the hair at the bottom of his neck. “You need a haircut.”
His half-smile tells me I have succeeded. If only for tonight. I only wish I could really help him exorcise his demons.
The next time I wake, the sun is up. Birds chirp outside my window. I turn my head on my pillow, but I already know I am alone. Last night, Wills sent me back to bed after I fell asleep outside. At some point, I felt him join me.
The heady scent of a morning brew precedes his re-entering my room. “I made us some coffee.” He places a steaming mug on my side table.
