by L.H. Cosway
For a second I was taken aback by the harshness of her words, the stark honesty in them. A silence fell between us, and I began to feel self-conscious as she studied me. What she said next almost knocked the wind out of my sails.
“You’re a mother,” she stated.
I sucked in a breath. “What?” How the hell could she know that?
She nodded to my hand, where there was a Disney-themed Band-Aid wrapped around my thumb. I’d cut it chopping vegetables the other day and hadn’t had any other brand in the house. Embarrassed for some reason, I hid my hand behind my back. Marina gave me a soft smile.
“How many do you have?”
“Just one,” I answered.
“What age?”
I didn’t want to tell her, but I had no other choice. “Almost six.”
She gasped, her face growing serious as she mentally added up the years. “King’s?”
I nodded. She looked away, frowning. Beside her, Jay swore under his breath.
“You can’t tell him,” I pleaded. “Not yet. It’s too early. I saw how he was last night. He’s so vulnerable. If you put this on him, he’ll freak.”
“Alexis, nobody’s gonna tell him,” Jay reassured me. “It’s your story to tell.”
Something in his voice, in the way he spoke, calmed me. I shot him a grateful look. “Thank you.”
“Come with us,” said Marina, composing herself. “King spent the night in my camper. Jack washed him and gave him some clean clothes. He hasn’t had a drop to drink since yesterday, so he’s sober, but he’s shaky, taciturn. He’s not going to be in the best mood, love. It’s the withdrawals — they make him sick because his system is used to having alcohol. Just know that if he’s cruel or mean, it’s not because of you or how he feels about you. It’s because he’s in physical pain.” Her kindness surprised me, because up until now I couldn’t quite tell whether or not she was happy to have me there. Now I knew she was; she just worried how my presence was going to affect her brother. “Jack told him you were coming, so he knows. He hasn’t said much, but I can see the change in him. I can tell he wants to see you.”
Her words gave me hope. We came to one of the larger mobile homes, and that’s when I saw him for the second time in so many years. There was a table and two deck chairs set up outside the van. King sat in one of the chairs, a half-finished cup of tea in front of him and what looked to be a bowl of porridge. I instantly noticed the changes from last night. His long golden hair had been washed, and hung over one shoulder. In a way, it was beautiful. He still had the beard, but it was clean. He wore clean clothes, too, a navy work shirt and dark jeans. I stood there, watching as he used a shaky hand to lift the spoon and bring some porridge to his mouth. It looked like he had difficulty swallowing, and it was a hard thing to witness.
His build was the same as before, but a little more filled out, less wiry and athletic. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t fat, just thicker around the neck and shoulders, as seemed to happen when men neared forty. His face had aged somewhat, but I thought that had more to do with the drinking than the years that had passed.
He must have sensed he had an audience, because he glanced up, and I swear air caught in my lungs the moment his eyes landed on me. He got up abruptly from the table, the deck chair falling to the ground behind him. My skin prickled with awareness when he started to move forward, my heart pounding fast the closer he came. His chest bumped mine softly, his eyes glittering in the sunlight just like they used to. I could hardly breathe as his hands rose to my face. His fingers started at my temples, then began to move slowly down to my cheeks. I swallowed harshly, my chest fluttering with butterflies to have him touching me. His fingers were callused, yet so tender, so gentle. I felt like I was holding still and allowing a wild animal to suss me out, realise I wasn’t a threat.
His fingers came to my jaw, and I remained standing there, as still as a statue, my breathing intensifying the longer his inspection continued. His gaze was intent on me, so intense, and I found it difficult to meet his eyes. Finally, I lifted them and they locked with his. His fingers were at my throat now. It was a vulnerable spot, sensitive. His fingers dug in a little, and air whooshed right out of me. Uncomfortably, I became aware of my arousal. He smelled clean, like soap, and he was the only man I’d ever loved. My body was programmed to respond to his, no matter the circumstance. My nipples hardened, a long untended-to ache lingering between my thighs.
He was still touching me, his fingers exploring the rise and dip of my collarbone. I could feel that his hands were shaking and remembered what Marina had said about the withdrawals. I soaked him in, confused by how he felt so weak and yet so vital at the same time.
I saw his throat move as he swallowed before muttering a timid, “Hello.”
It broke my heart.
“Hi,” I whispered back.
I heard Marina speaking close by, but could hardly concentrate on what she said. “We’ll give you both some privacy. Alexis, if you need anything just call Jay’s phone, okay?”
“Okay,” I replied softly, not taking my eyes off King. They left, and his body leaned closer until I could feel that he was hard inside his pants, just the barest touch against the lower part of my stomach. I must have made some small sound of surprise, because his eyelids began to flutter nervously and he looked away, pulling back. He seemed embarrassed and ashamed.
“I’m sorry, I….”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he grunted, and turned, stalking back to the deck chair and picking it up off the ground. He sat and grabbed the cup, downing the rest of its contents quickly. Letting my bag fall from my shoulder, I approached the table and took the empty seat. King watched my every move warily as I opened my bag and began to remove the chessboard. I didn’t say anything, because everything seemed to have been going fine until we spoke. Sometimes words just overcomplicated things.
Memories flashed in his eyes when he saw what I had. I saw a kaleidoscope of images too, all of our private little games together. I opened up the board so that it lay flat on the table, then began to pull out the pieces. They were made of solid wood, so they were heavy, but they were quality. I’d bought the set just recently, having planned to start teaching Oliver how to play.
Oliver.
How on earth was I going to tell King he had a son? The prospect sent a sharp pang through my chest. He’d missed out on so much, and he didn’t even know the half of it yet. Slowly, I reminded myself. I needed to take this one step at a time.
King’s eyes didn’t leave me, his gaze focused on my hands as I set up the game. Picking up a pawn, I opened the play. He watched me, and a silence followed. It seemed to go on forever, and I wasn’t sure if he was going to join me. Then, almost shyly, he leaned forward and made a move of his own. My heart leapt. It was such a tiny thing, and yet the fact that he was playing meant the world to me.
We sat in quiet for a long while. I kept taking surreptitious glances at him to make sure he was still engaged. Concentrating on the game seemed to be doing him good. His hands were still shaky, of course, but that couldn’t be helped. I hated that he was in pain and there was nothing I could do to ease it. We were silent for so long that I startled when he spoke, staring at the board as though calculating his next move.
“How did you find me?” he asked, voice low.
“Lille,” I answered simply, and his jaw seemed to tighten.
“That girl never stops. Bloody do-gooder.”
“I’m glad of it. I searched for you for years.”
He scratched at his beard and frowned, still not looking at me. “Why would you do that?” He seemed genuinely perplexed.
“Because I….” My words fell off, my throat clogging with emotion. I wanted to say it was because I loved him, but even when we were together, we’d never really told one another properly. We both knew; we just never said it. For some reason, I couldn’t say it now, either. I felt like it might sca
re him off. “Because I care a great deal for you, Oliver.”
He let out a long, pained breath. “You saw what I did.”
I didn’t speak, just waited.
“You saw what I did, and you still care for me. How is that possible?”
Disbelief coloured his every word. In an instant, I could see him that little bit clearer. He’d been so ashamed of what I’d seen him do that he thought he’d destroyed himself in my eyes. He’d thought that any future we might have had together was destroyed, too. It had all happened years ago, and yet, I could see that he was still traumatised. It had simply morphed into something else, something ugly. Self-hate.
“King,” I said, frustration building at how he wouldn’t give me his eyes. “King, would you look at me?”
He lifted his head, and wow, every time he levelled me with his stare, I felt breathless. He was still so beautiful, even changed. “What happened that day, it didn’t turn out how you think. You should have called me, made contact.”
His chair legs scraped at the ground as he shifted in place, agitated. When he spoke, his words were stilted and gruff. “What do you mean, it didn’t turn out how I think?”
I reached forward and took his hand in mine, but he pulled away sharply from my touch. “I mean that you never killed Bruce. He survived. He was sent to prison and was killed by another inmate. Your mother survived, too. She gained consciousness right after you fled.”
The air all around us seemed to still as I comprehended the stupidity of just blurting all that out. King stood angrily, shaking his head in disbelief as he pushed up violently from the table, almost knocking over the board. “No,” he said harshly. “No.”
Fuck. I was bombarding him with too much too quickly. What the hell was I thinking? King turned and stalked away, his gait slightly unsteady, like he might collapse at any moment. I wasn’t sure if it was from the withdrawals or the shock of what I’d just told him. I ran after him and caught his arm. He reared back from my touch, so I threw my body in front of his. He stopped walking, barely an inch between us.
“I’m sorry,” I said, breathless. “I shouldn’t have told you all that. Not yet. You’re not ready.”
“I’m not an invalid,” he hissed.
“I know that.”
“Well, then, don’t fucking treat me like one,” he ground out, his voice choking up as his eyes grew watery with tears. He tried blinking them away, but it was no use. Agony marked his every feature.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
His emotion didn’t surprise me so much as it made me feel about two inches tall. How bloody tactless could I be? I watched his face, seeing all the realisations fall on him like a tonne of bricks. I knew exactly what he was thinking about. He was imagining all the time he’d lost because he thought he was a murderer. He’d hidden himself away, drinking himself half to death, thinking the only other option was prison. If only he’d reached out, gotten in touch. But no, he’d been too lost, too buried under a mountain of alcohol and guilt. I could see that I was losing him, and I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t let him get lost in regrets and what-ifs.
“Come back and play with me, please. We don’t have to talk, just play,” I said, desperate.
His face grew intense, and my skin prickled.
“No. You should go,” he said irritably, moving away from me.
I stepped forward, closing the distance between us once more, and stared at him openly, not hiding any of the vulnerability I felt inside. “Please, King,” I whispered.
A shudder went through him as I said his name, and we stood there, locked in a staring contest that felt like it might never end. After a long time, his distress seemed to die down as he realised I wasn’t going to give up and leave.
Finally, he ground out, “Fine. Let’s play, then.”
Relief flooded me. I gestured for him to lead the way back. He turned. I followed him until we were at the table, sitting down to continue our game. It was mid-July, and the weather was warm. It was a bit too hot for a jacket, so I shrugged out of mine and hung it over the back of my chair. A couple of the buttons on my blouse had come undone, revealing the edge of my black lacy bra. I hurried to button it back up, feeling his attention on me. If anything, my boobs had gotten slightly bigger over the years, probably because I’d put on a few pounds after I had Oliver. King wore no expression, but his eyes practically scorched me, and I was already too hot from the sun. I was a little glad, though. At least this way he might be thinking of something other than how fucked up the past was.
We continued playing in silence, but I could feel his need now like a physical touch. I wasn’t sure which one of us was more desperate for human comfort, him or me. Perhaps we were on an equal footing. However, I knew that, unlike me, King didn’t want to acknowledge he felt it.
I was winning the game, which was out of the ordinary, because he always used to win more than I did. I glanced at him to see his brow was furrowed and his upper lip was sweaty. Without even thinking, I knew he was in pain. His head must have been thumping with alcohol withdrawals, not to mention the ugly truth of everything I’d just told him.
“Is this Marina’s camper?” I asked, hesitantly gesturing to the van. He nodded. “Shall we go inside? It’s getting too hot out here. I need some shade.”
Without a word, King stood and opened the door to the camper van. He stepped back and let me go in first. By the décor, you could tell the place belonged to an older woman. The couch was made of a flower print material, and there were doilies on the coffee table and old-fashioned ornaments everywhere. The moment King closed the door behind us, I regretted suggesting coming in here. It felt too small, too close. But I knew the sun was taking its toll on him, and he looked like he needed to lie down.
“Is it okay if I get a glass of water?” I asked.
King shrugged.
“Would you like one?”
Another shrug. If the way he was sweating was anything to go by, though, he must have been thirsty. I filled two glasses and walked over to where he was sitting on the couch before handing him one. He took it and downed a long gulp. There was nowhere else to sit, so I took the place beside him, a few inches between us.
“Alexis, do you…do you know how my mother is, where she is?” he asked, and he sounded so vulnerable right then it made my heart squeeze.
“Yes, of course,” I hurried to answer. “She lives close to me now. I have a house in Waltham Forest. Your mum sold her place in Bloomsbury and bought a small cottage nearby. We grew close after what happened, became friends. You should see her these days, King. She goes out for walks all by herself, shops for her own groceries, she even….” I caught myself just in time. I’d been about to tell him, She even takes care of Oliver when I’m working. I needed to be better at censoring myself around him, at least for a while.
When I looked at him, he seemed conflicted, yet hopeful. The world suddenly wasn’t as shrouded in black clouds as he’d thought. “So she’s doing well, doing better?”
“She had a lot of help, Oliver. Me and my parents, we sort of took her in after…I mean, she still misses you every day, mourns for you, wonders where you are. We both do…we both did.”
He went quiet, like he was dealing with some kind of inner turmoil. I cleared my throat and did my best to change the subject. “I started my own business a couple of years ago. It’s a plus-size modelling agency. Only a small one, but it’s doing well so far. I have a tiny two-room office space in Finsbury Park,” I said, a little self-deprecatingly. “It was like, I saw how all these agencies worked and kept thinking to myself, I can do this with my eyes closed. And I always remembered you telling me I could do anything, go anywhere, that I had the ability. Your faith in me was where my confidence to go it alone came from.”
I could see that my words meant a lot to him. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for saying that.”
“Thank you for showing me I could be more than just an East End barmaid,” I sa
id with a tiny smile, feeling more emotional all of a sudden. “If I hadn’t met you, I’m not sure I ever would have gotten out of that shithole tower block.”
“You would have.” He stared at the glass in his hands, now empty.
“Want another?” I asked, gesturing to it.
He didn’t answer, just handed it to me.
I went to the sink to refill it, then walked back to the couch. King had grown even paler, and he looked like he might want to get sick. He also seemed uncomfortable, like he didn’t want me there to witness it. I set the glass down on the table and picked up my bag, making a show of looking at my watch.
“Well, I have a few errands to run while I’m in the city, but I’d like to come back later, if it’s all right with you?” I said quietly.
It took him a second to respond as he swallowed thickly. “Yes, yes, it’s all right.”
“Good,” I said, feeling awkward. “I’ll see you later, then.”
He didn’t reply, only nodded. I hitched my bag up on my shoulder and made my way out of the camper. The sun beat down on me, making me feel a little woozy. I walked out of the circus and down a side street to where I’d parked my car. Once I was safely inside, I let my head fall back and exhaled. I hated this. I hated that I had to leave him there to suffer all alone, but I didn’t want him to feel weak in front of me. I knew he’d be humiliated if I saw him being sick.
Once I’d calmed down, I picked up my phone and dialled the house. Karla answered after a couple of rings, and I spent a few minutes talking to her, asking how Oliver was doing. She was good at not prying into how my day had been, and that’s what I needed right then. I needed to not talk about King, because if I did, I’d just end up having another crying jag.
We hung up, and I got out of the car. Taking a walk to a nearby café, I got something to eat, barely even noticing what I ordered since my mind was so elsewhere. I sat outside for a long time, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee and wondering how on earth this was all going to pan out. I’d been gone about three hours when I finally made my way back to the circus. I went to Marina’s camper first, but there was no one there, so I headed in the direction of the gazebo from last night. There were a whole bunch of people milling about, some eating meals, some chatting.
