The Hearts Series

by L.H. Cosway

  I spotted Jay, Jack, Matilda, and Lille at a table having dinner, and King was sitting by the end of it, drinking a beer. The sight of him with alcohol did a number on me, and my heart somersaulted in my chest. Why on earth were they letting him drink?

  Eighteen

  I took a few steps forward until I was standing by the table. It was Jack who spotted me first, and he must have seen where my eyes were trained, as he started to explain gruffly, “He can’t go cold turkey. It’ll kill him. The beer is light, good for weaning him off the hard stuff.”

  “Oh,” I whispered, suddenly understanding.

  “Yeah, remember what happened to that Amy Winehouse?” Matilda piped in. “Such a sad story.”

  There was an empty stool beside King, but I hovered, unsure if I was welcome. I locked eyes with Jay, and he shot me a look that said, Stop being an idiot and sit. So I walked around the table and sat. I could feel that King was aware of my presence, but he didn’t say anything. Didn’t look. I wondered what he was thinking, wondered if he was still coming to terms with everything I’d told him earlier. Tendrils of unspoken words hung between us. The others chatted a little, but an awkward atmosphere had descended upon the group, and I knew it was down to my arrival. That was why I did what I often did and tried to fill the silence with my own chatter, faking that I was comfortable when really I was the exact opposite.

  “So, is there going to be a show tonight?” I asked, forcing a casual tone. “I’m sorry, I haven’t even asked what you all do here yet.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Lille, her voice gentle. “You’ve had so much else to think about.” I caught her grimace slightly after she said it, like she thought she might have been a little clumsy with her words. I didn’t mind. Not at all. I much preferred clumsy words to silence.

  “Well,” Jay began explaining, “Jack and I are both performers. I do illusions, and Jack’s a fire-breather.” He waggled his brows and flashed me a grin. “Real dangerous, like.” Jack rolled his eyes at his brother and took a bite of his chicken. “Lille paints faces for the kiddos, and Matilda here designs the show costumes.” He slung an arm around his wife’s shoulder.

  “Well, I’m only really starting out,” Matilda added shyly. “I’ve designed stuff for Jay for a while, so some of the acts are letting me try my hand at creating some designs for them, too.”

  “Oh, that’s cool. I work in the industry myself. Well, not in design, but I run a small modelling agency.”

  Matilda’s eyes lit up with interest. “Yes, that’s right. Lille told me.”

  We chatted for a while about fashion, but the whole time I never really felt at ease. I could sense King watching me intently. I didn’t have the courage to look at him. His fingers were clasped tight around his beer bottle, and I wondered if he felt weird about me being there, trying to fit in with all these strangers who seemed to know him so much better than I did. Well, they knew the man he was now better than I did anyway.

  My participation in the conversation died away as I became more and more aware of his attention and presence.

  “Hey, Watson, did you get around to mending that shirt for tonight? I need it for the second part of my act,” Jay asked his wife.

  “Yep,” Matilda replied. “It’s all done. I left it in the closet for you.”

  “Good, I don’t wanna go giving the ladies in the audience another eyeful,” he said, and shot me a playful smile. “Last night I was doing a costume-change skit, and I had a wardrobe malfunction. Cheeky slip of the nip doesn’t even cover it.”

  “You definitely gave Janet Jackson a run for her money,” Matilda put in, chuckling.

  I laughed and knew Jay had sensed my unease when he sent me a warm expression. That’s why he’d made the joke. I was grateful to him. Lille laughed, too, while Jack smirked and seemed to be supressing another eye roll. I chanced a surreptitious glance at King to find he wasn’t smiling at all. It made my skin prickle. Maybe he didn’t want me there. The thought jolted me, and I suddenly wanted to flee. I picked my bag up off the floor and slung it over my shoulder.

  “Well, it’s getting late. I should probably be going. Maybe I could come visit again tomorrow?” The insecurity in my voice was palpable, and I hated how it sounded.

  The second I made a move to stand, King’s hand clamped on my wrist. It shocked me, since he’d barely registered my presence, and now he was touching me. The feel of his skin on mine sent a tremor through me, and I looked down at him, seeing a hint of desperation in his eyes. “Don’t go yet,” he said, voice low and pleading.

  All of a sudden I realised what had really been going on. He wanted me there; he was just embarrassed and ashamed of how he was, of how I had to leave so quickly earlier so that I wouldn’t witness him throwing up.

  I lowered myself back onto the stool, and he let go of my wrist. “Okay, I can stay for another while,” I said quietly.

  My eyes remained on King as Lille announced, “We should all start getting ready for tonight’s show. It was great seeing you again, Alexis.”

  I nodded to her, smiling, and everybody rose from the table to leave. A few moments later it was just King and me, sitting alone while the circus workers chattered and ate around us. My pores tingled as I felt King’s close attention, his warmth right next to me. All it would take was for me to reach out a few centimetres, and I’d be touching him again. But I didn’t do that because he was still wary, still feral in a way.

  “Does my mother know you’ve found me?” he asked, a vulnerability in his voice.

  My eyes softened as I whispered, “Not yet,” then spoke a little louder as I cleared my throat. “Do you want me to tell her?”

  Some kind of turmoil passed over his features, and he shook his head fervently. “No. I…I don’t want her to see me. Not like this.”

  And there it was again, the shame. I hated it so much.

  Out of instinct, I reached forward and tried to take his hand in mine, but he flinched away. He’s feral, Alexis, try to remember. I had to keep reminding myself to treat him with care, like he was a wild animal not used to touch. It was hard, because I was so tactile these days, especially at home with Oliver. We were always cuddling or play fighting, or just generally goofing around.

  “I have to tell her eventually,” I said gently.

  He just stared at me then, and it was too much. I had to look away.

  “Am I so awful to you now?” he asked with chagrin.

  Immediately, I brought my gaze back his. “Never. You’ve always been beautiful to me.” I let my eyes wander over his features, older, kind of distinguished. His mane of golden hair and his full beard. No, he wasn’t awful at all. In fact, he might have been more beautiful now that he was flawed, more human. He seemed to grimace in something close to discomfort, or maybe it was embarrassment. It was obvious he wasn’t comfortable with people looking at him. It was also clear that it had been a long time since anyone had used the word “beautiful” to describe him.

  “Why did you never contact me?” I whispered. I thought I knew the answer already, but I wanted to hear him say it.

  It took him a long time to speak, and when he did, the ferocity in his voice startled me. “After you saw what I’d done, the violence I was capable of, I thought you wouldn’t want me. And I didn’t want to know anything about my old life because it wasn’t mine anymore. I’d destroyed it with my own two hands. All of that potential, gone in an instant. Mum was dead, and to you I was a killer. There was nothing left for me in that world.” He held his hands up as though in pain.

  “But what about Marina?” I went on. “Why had she never looked into Bruce or your mother?”

  “Marina doesn’t live like most people. This circus is her everything. The nomadic lifestyle is what makes her happy. She’s never really embraced technology, doesn’t use the Internet, doesn’t even really read the papers. It’s how she lives.”

  “I don’t understand….”

  King rubbed a hand over his mouth,
like he didn’t really want to talk, but was forcing himself for me. So that I wouldn’t leave yet. I tried my hardest not to lose the run of my emotions. Every time I looked at him, I didn’t know whether I wanted to cry and kiss every inch of him, or shake him in anger for mistreating himself so badly. It was a strange sensation to love somebody so completely yet fiercely hate their actions. His words broke me out of my thoughts.

  “Marina was our father’s first child, born when he was still a teenager. She bore the brunt of his cruelty because he was in her life more than he’d been in mine. And he was a brutish, violent parent. She wanted to get away from him, and she made it happen by disappearing. The circus was the perfect escape, the perfect way to vanish.

  “It was only through the small contact she had with her mother, who was still married to Bruce, that she found out about me and how he’d been blackmailing me. So she got in touch. She wanted to help me because she’d never had a sibling, but also because she knew how awful Bruce’s treatment could be. We became friends. She’d visit me whenever she was near London. I even helped her out with money when the circus wasn’t doing so well. And then, when I thought I’d” — he stopped, his voice growing strained — “when I thought I’d killed Bruce, when I thought I’d lost everything, this was where I went. If Marina had managed to fashion a life of obscurity here, then maybe I could, too. I neglected to foresee that it didn’t matter where I went. My own mind would become a prison.”

  I sat there, absorbing his words, for some reason feeling like this was the most he’d spoken to anybody in a really long time. I wanted to touch him, but again reminded myself that I shouldn’t.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, frowning.

  He started to cough and it sounded terrible, heavy and wheezing. “The mind becomes a prison as it replays its images, and all you want to do is drown them out. Dull the repetition. Alcohol is such an easy way to do it, to quiet everything down. It becomes a basic need, like water or air. Suddenly, you can barely go an hour without having it in your system.”

  He rubbed at his eyes and then his temples, as though to soothe an ache. “I feel fucking awful when I don’t have it. Right now it’s like there are these purple ants on my skin, crawling all over me, and I can feel every single one of them as they itch.”

  I tried not to let my fear show as he expressed what he was feeling out loud. It was so easy to just accept that he was weaning himself off alcohol without thinking of how it felt. I wasn’t the one inside his body, having to feel every second of the agony.

  “Do you think you can quit completely?” I asked before amending my question. “I mean, do you want to?”

  He looked at me then, his eyes full of pain and regret. “I really don’t know.”

  I swallowed, trying not to let his answer hurt me. It would be ridiculous to think that just because I was there, just because I’d found him, that he’d suddenly make a miraculous recovery. That his addiction would simply be forgotten because the woman who loved him had come to find him. Yes, I was upset, angry, even, but I wasn’t offended. It was unrealistic to think he could get better in the blink of an eye. I wasn’t an angel or a magical princess. I was just a person, and he was just a person, and together we were scrambling in the dark to try to understand each other.

  King began to fidget, peeling the label from his now empty beer bottle. I wasn’t sure if it was a sign that he was antsy for more or if the conversation was making him irritable. I didn’t have it in me to offer to buy him a drink. A subject change was all I could manage.

  “Do you know that your apartment is still there? Your mother has been taking care of its upkeep. All of your things are still there, too, and your piano. Have you played….”

  “No,” King answered abruptly. “I don’t play anymore.”

  I nodded, not pushing the matter, but simply told him, “You used to play so beautifully.”

  “All of those things…they might be there, but they don’t feel like mine anymore. You should tell Mum to sell them, sell the penthouse, just, I don’t know, get rid of it. I don’t deserve any of it.”

  “Of course you do. You worked your arse off to pay for everything.”

  “There’s no point if no one else believes it.”

  I didn’t get what he was talking about at first, but then it hit me. “You mean Bruce’s smear campaign? Oh, Oliver, all of that was exposed years ago. It came out during his trial. Your name has been completely cleared.”

  His mouth moved in an odd way as he comprehended what I was telling him. He looked distressed, and again I felt like an idiot for so unceremoniously laying the facts on him. I just didn’t feel like there was any proper way to do it. No matter how careful or sensitive I was, the truth was going to be a difficult pill to swallow. King rose from his seat, standing in place for a second. I thought he was about to leave, distraught by the news that he’d been cleared of any misconduct. But then he started coughing again and sat down abruptly, his hand going to his chest like he was in serious pain. This time the wheezing sounded even worse, and my stomach tightened with worry.

  “When was the last time you saw a doctor?” I asked, concerned. His look was all the answer I needed. He hadn’t seen a doctor in years. I was suddenly desperate to take him to the hospital and have him looked over, afraid he might have some awful illness caused by his alcohol abuse. Once his coughing fit died down, I suggested quietly, “You should let me take you.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

  His abrupt answer rose my hackles, and before I had the chance to censor myself, I told it to him straight. “You used to be the smartest man I knew. So don’t give me that.”

  I expected him to get angry or to fight me, which was why I got a surprise when a pained smile shaped his lips. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

  I returned his smile, the tiny expression practically lighting me up from the inside out. I wanted to keep that smile, box it up as proof that happiness was still possible for him. “Nah, if anything, I’ve only gotten better with age.”

  His intense eyes practically bored a hole in me. “I don’t doubt it.”

  I shivered, and it was clear that he saw. “Cold?”

  I shook my head. His eyes heated, and his chest rose and fell slowly as he took a deep breath. “What, then?”

  “Just….” I sighed. “Memories.”

  He raised a questioning brow. I kept staring at him until he finally understood, and then something in his posture shifted. He was less of the sick, vulnerable man and more of the old, confident King I once knew. It was only a glimpse, yet it affected me right down to the tips of my toes. A shudder ran through me, and King shifted closer, gaze alight, his words barely a whisper. “Tell me.”

  “Do you remember the photo shoot?”

  King smiled again, and my heart thudded. More, it urged, I need more of those to place in the sacred box of smiles. “The one where I figured out you were a dirty little liar? Why, yes, I believe I do.”

  He was teasing me now, and my stomach did a somersault of glee. I needed to keep this going, keep him from thinking about the pain he was in.

  “Well, I was just thinking of you in those jeans and how you didn’t even care that you were half-naked in a room full of people. You were so at ease with yourself.”

  He shrugged and glanced down at the table, then back at me. “Nudity never bothered me.”

  “I could tell. It was so fucking sexy. I was like, kill me now because there’s no way I’m gonna be able to keep pretending I’m a lesbo with this perfect male specimen.” I loved the sound of his soft answering chuckle and watched his reaction to my words carefully. I was delighted that they’d had the desired effect. They made him feel complimented, proud, to have once been worthy of female admiration. It meant he could feel that way again. I wanted him to see that there were things worth living for, and sometimes the small things were the best ones. Like when a woman notices you walking down the street, or when someone flirts with
you and signals their attraction.

  “I had started to become suspicious,” King admitted. “The way you looked at me sometimes….”

  “What?” I prompted, eager to know what he’d been about to say.

  He levelled me with his eyes. “Sometimes you’d look at me like you wanted me.”

  I grew hot suddenly, and laughed to try to defuse the moment. “Well, your suspicions were spot on.”

  He turned to face me fully then, his head tilting to the side in curiosity as his gaze drifted down my body acutely. “How long has it been for you?”

  His question both surprised and took me off guard. Oh, how he could read me so well, even after all these years. It made my pores tingle to think he’d been paying attention. Yes, I knew exactly what he was asking, but the honest answer embarrassed me. In truth, it had been years since I’d last had sex.

  King had been gone for months, disappeared without a trace. I’d just found out I was pregnant and was feeling terribly sorry for myself. Lee was still sniffing around Karla as they played their old I hate you, but I want to fuck you head games with each other. We were at a pub one night when the brothers had shown up. I wasn’t drinking, of course, but I wasn’t in my right mind, either. And when Stu came over and started laying on the moves, I succumbed to them. Admittedly, not my finest hour, but I was lonely and depressed and just wanted to feel the comfort of another human being. That was six years ago, and also the very last time I’d had sex.

  I decided immediately that I wasn’t going to tell King about that night with Stu, because it would be counterproductive and pointless. However, I also wasn’t going to mislead him into believing I’d been with no one since him, either.

  “Too many years,” I answered finally.