“You should have left her,” Deena said. “When she harmed the children, maybe even earlier. You could have replaced her with a woman of your choosing and given both boys stable homes. Not all of us had the choice of improving the quality of upbringing.”
Daichi looked at her as if she’d just arrived, and unexpectedly at that.
“Tanakas don’t divorce. Surely, you’ve heard that by now.”
She looked up then. Looked up as Mike entered the room and Tak hit a false note. Her husband, with angle enough to look from his cousin to his wife, flashed a look of annoyance before burying it in a distracted smile. When their song petered to nothingness, Tak rose, put a hand on Mike’s arm, and led him to the hall. Deena and her father-in-law watched them go.
“Tread careful with those two,” Daichi said. “Theirs is a game not even they understand.”
****
In the hallway, Tak whirled on Mike and buried the urge to punch him somewhere deep. Everything he had in him, absolutely everything, bristled at the resistance to this impulse. But he would be cool. He would not be the jealous, raging husband, as easily subject to paranoia as he was the latest strand of the flu.
Tak took a deep breath and exhaled.
“Tell me what happened in the bathroom.”
Distrust chilled Mike’s stare.
“Ask your wife.”
“I’m asking you.”
Mike rubbed absentmindedly at the spot where Tak had grabbed him to yank him into the hall.
“We talked.”
“About?”
Mike dropped his gaze.
“Private stuff.”
“Private stuff?” Tak echoed. “You think you can talk private stuff with another man’s wife?”
Mike shot him a look of ill-contained exasperation. It reminded Tak of their childhood; back when they were almost OK. Back when Tak would fume for a third go at the Nintendo and his big cousin would give in, because, well because he really wasn’t so bad after all.
“We weren’t…doing anything,” Mike said. “You must know that. Otherwise, I never would have made it out the bathroom alive.”
It was true. All true, and yet he couldn’t get past the general unease that always came with Mike. That feeling that since he was the smartest in the room, it was best just to rely on distrust and figure out what the hell he was up to later. He was always up to something.
“Can I go now?” Mike said.
He wore the flat expression of a man expecting undeservedly poor treatment.
Tak exhaled and forced himself to reconsider. Was he overreacting? He just couldn’t say.
Chapter Sixteen
Deena regretted the decision to barbecue for lunch the second she stepped outdoors to a half dozen bickering men cloistered around the grill. At the center was her father-in-law and his brother, unapologetic in their fervor. Arms waved as faces slipped into varying shades of magenta. The words “phony,” “trailer trash,” and “poser,” wafted over to her, before she decided it wasn’t the place she wanted to be. On spotting her cousin, Crystal, by the pool, she journeyed over to speak instead.
They hadn’t seen each other since their days of childhood, when Crystal and her mother Caroline, lived with Deena, Deena’s siblings, Crystal’s siblings, Grandma Emma, and Grandpa Eddie. For a brief time, Deena, Keisha, and Crystal even shared a room, crammed into a hell of their very own design.
Crystal waved her over.
“Sit. Please,”’ she said. “Or else I’ll think I have B.O.”
Deena sat and looked around.
“You came with someone,” she said after a while.
“Tyson.”
The name hung in the air, clinging for recognition. Except, she hadn’t said it as a lover would, as if the very taste of each letter was worthwhile. She’d said it cautiously. Maybe their love was new.
Years stretched between Crystal and Deena, years of silence and distance. Their awkwardness felt doused with uncertainty. But they’d been friends once.
“You’ve done good for yourself,” Crystal said. “Tyson can’t stop talking about all this.”
Deena followed her gaze to the pool, where a dark and rippling man sliced water like an Olympian.
“Oh,” Deena said, surprised. “He’s…athletic.”
“And damned pretty, too. Which happens to be my kryptonite. Judging by the look of your husband, I’d say it’s yours, too.”
Deena flushed.
“No. I—I’m not vain. I—”
How had this conversation happened?
Crystal giggled.
Deep, toasted even skin, smooth as cream and perpetually flawless. Short, with a compact frame and flaring hips, Deena’s cousin was cute in a completely nonthreatening way. The sort of girl whose eye shadow matched her handbag, yet would look up in surprise if a man expressed interest. But she was genuine, with a smile that reminded Deena of winter fires and comfort, of knowing that someone cared.
Yet, they’d grown apart. When Crystal graduated from high school, she’d boarded a Greyhound for Tallahassee, armed with a scholarship to Florida A&M and a determination to never come back.
Deena’s gaze shifted to Caroline, who stood at the pool’s edge in a yellow one piece that had her looking like a lemon on legs. A cigarette dangled from her mouth.
“Five years and Tyson’s never met my mother.” Crystal smiled. “He gets why now.”
“Does he?”
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Crystal’s face.
“How long did it take you?” she said. “Before…you know.”
“Three years,” Deena said. Three years and him almost dying before she found some sense, before she let Tak into the world of her family.
Crystal frowned.
“I can’t marry,” she said. “Marriage brings children and—and the opportunity to…”
Her gaze drifted to the pool.
“To turn into your mother,” Deena said.
Crystal said nothing.
Deena gave Tyson a second, closer look as he made strong, smooth scissor movements from one end of the pool to the other. He had stamina and strength.
He’d need it for their family.
Once done swimming, Tyson erupted from the pool with a flood of water, pulling up and over the side before extending to his full height. Crystal was right. He had a sculpted beauty. Tall, dark, and broad shouldered, every inch of him boasted definition, every stretch implied strength. He turned to the women and smiled.
It felt like being laughed at.
“He’s sweet. And I adore him. But he knows what he looks like and takes pride in it.” Crystal paused. “What happened to your hand?”
Deena looked up.
“Nothing. Really. Just a kitchen accident.” She tucked her hand into her lap and smiled too brightly. “Tell me about you. What have you been doing all these years?”
“I’m a social worker,” she said and snorted out a laugh. “Ironic, I suppose. Me telling others how their families should be.”
It’s your need for order, Deena wanted to say. We all have it.
“Tyson’s in the Marines,” Crystal went on. “He did a tour in Iraq and another in Afghanistan before getting discharged.”
Deena looked at him with new eyes.
“Well. Let him know that I thank him for his service.”
“I will. Only, he doesn’t like to talk about it much.”
No. Deena imagined he wouldn’t.
Chapter Seventeen
Tyson Klein padded into the Aruban mansion on Malmok Beach, trailing pool water along as he went. Two tours of duty in the Middle East would never get him something half as gorgeous—two hundred tours would never do it. Still, he could hardly begrudge strangers who’d given him an all-inclusive Caribbean vacation.
He’d never seen a house so big and he loved beautiful things. Treasured them, as it turned out.
A piano played something forlorn, a complicated symphony that mocked his limited understan
ding of music. Tyson slipped into the entrance hall and watched, as long, slender fingers shared weighty emotion with every note.
“Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata,” Tak supplied.
Mournfulness whispered what words could not say; each meter weighing in a hopeless mankind couldn’t hope to articulate. “My version’s good,” Tak said. “But my son’s can make the walls weep.”
Tyson said nothing, content with the beautiful despair he drowned in. He closed his eyes and felt the span of his emptiness, the insurmountable weight of his own shortcomings. He could never create a sound, a look, any anything as heartfelt as this. Forever, it seemed, he stood shackled to the floor by Beethoven. When notes reverberated long after the last had been played, Tyson knew, he wanted to know Tak better.
“It’s not that I mind an audience,” Tak said. “But my wife would kill you for dripping chlorine everywhere.”
“Chlo—”
Tyson looked down at himself and cursed, before Tak came over and clapped him on the back.
“Tyson, right?”
A subtle smirk illuminated the other man’s smile. Tyson knew guys like him, had served with them. Easy joy, bottomless humor, charm that rained by the bucket. Lesser knowing people took it as a defense mechanism, a mask for fear made plain on the battlefield. But men like that stood loyal, fought fierce, and found a smile even as they died. He knew. He’d seen it.
“I was about to make a drink,” Tak said. “Clean up and join me.”
They met in the billiards room fifteen minutes later. Tak stood behind the bar, changed from a blue t-shirt to a white one. He ran a hand through damp ebony hair and shook off the moisture. When their eyes met, Tyson looked away.
“What are you having?” Tak asked.
“Whatever you’re having.”
Tak fiddled behind the bar before emerging with two glasses of amber liquid.
“Scotch,” he said and slid it over.
Good. No pretense behind it.
They went on to small talk the way men do, about alcohol, college days, and sports. Tyson had been awestruck to see Kenji among the guests, but he buried that in a shrug of indifference. He talked instead about a stint on the wrestling team at the University of Southern California.
“Oh hey,” Tak said. “You were down the street from me. I was at UCLA.”
Which plummeted them to mortal enemies, bickering about every meeting in every sport, right down to men’s water polo. Tak shouted about UCLA being the greatest sports juggernaut to ever grace the planet, while Tyson insisted that they hadn’t a chance in hell of beating anyone in football. They shouted themselves into laughter and then another round of drinks. When the mania died down, a smile still plastered Tyson’s lips.
“What?” Tak said and slid a scotch his way.
“I was thinking,” Tyson admitted. “About my time in Afghanistan.”
“And that made you smile?”
Tyson looked up at him.
“There was a guy I served with named Ash. Coolest person you’d ever meet. Only thing we ever disagreed on was sports.”
Tak smiled. But it was a knowing smile, one anticipating its fall.
“He died,” Tyson said. “The wrong way.”
The scotch sat staring at him. For awhile, there was only it and his hands around the glass.
“He did two tours, like me. Only to get mugged after returning.”
Tyson threw back his liquor and winced.
“It’s a shit world we live in,” he said, feeling the heat spread through his belly. “It’s a world where the people you care about—the ones you let get close…”
He shook his head. There was no point in saying more.
“You can’t think like that,” Tak said, cutting in as Ash Kobayashi would have. “You can’t…not let people in. It’s not living. It’s not life.”
Tyson snorted.
“That’s what Ash would have said.”
Tak studied him with wide brown eyes, indecision painted his face.
“I should go check on the family. But if you ever need to talk—about Ash or your trashy alma mater,” he rose and gave Tyson’s shoulder a squeeze. “Come find me. I’ll make sure I’m available.”
Tyson promised he would before watching him go. How long he sat there afterward, he couldn’t say.
Chapter Eighteen
Deena closed herself in the study the second she saw the incoming call screen on her cell. Briefly, she considered rejecting it as she had a few others, but she knew that eventually they’d have to talk.
She answered.
“Collect call from Homestead Correctional Institution. Do you accept the charges?”
Deena took a deep breath.
“Yes.”
The call chimed through.
“Deena? It’s Keisha.”
She found a chair and sat.
“What’s happened? Did something happen to my mom?”
A muffled shout distorted whatever her cousin meant to say. In it, Deena felt a stab of fear.
“No. Only, she needs you to get back with her. She says you told her never to call the house, but when she calls your cell, you never answer.”
“Keisha—”
Another shout was followed by a rumble of commotion. Deena’s cousin spat a rude retort.
“Listen. I’m only calling because your mother asked. She’s looked out for me since I’ve got here. Protected me. Helped me to adjust. I told her I’d get an answer from you.”
“Well you told her wrong, didn’t you?” Deena snapped. “Because I haven’t made up my mind yet. Now excuse me.”
She disconnected the call, stood, and faced her husband.
It was like the steep drop of a rollercoaster.
“Who was that?” he said.
“No one. Just business.”
“It sounded personal.”
“Fine. Then, it was personal.”
He watched her as she sauntered for the door.
“Tell me what’s going on, Dee.”
Going on, she thought. Her mother was going on. Wasn’t that always the case?
She opened her mouth.
“Don’t,” he said. “If it’s gonna be a lie.”
She hesitated and his eyes went black with anger.
“Fine,” he said. “Keep your goddamned secrets,” before turning and heading for the door.
“Tak!”
She grabbed his arm without knowing what she’d say. He pulled away just enough to give her a polluted once over.
“Going after someone only works when you mean it, Dee.”
“I do mean it!” She flung her hands in exasperation. Everything was always so clear to her husband, right and wrong, black and white, neat as the lines on paper. Hadn’t he ever felt conflicted before? Uncertain? Even his love for her, he swears, he’d known from the start. She’d never been instantly sure about anything, ever.
“Look at me,” Deena said. “Look at my face.” She felt the desperation creeping in, the nasty voice that said no good things, especially not this man, were truly meant for her. Funny, that the voice should sound like her grandfather.
“I love you. And I will talk to you. I’m just…sorting feelings out for myself.”
He stared at her, the hardness of his features seeping into softness.
“I could help you.”
She shook her head, then drew up to him, pressing her lips to his. But instead of the familiar warmth she craved, a cold voice crept in instead. Here is where he slips away. Here is where you lose him, because you can’t love without controlling.
He kissed her back.
A brush of butterfly wings was what it was. A whiff of fallen snowflakes just there. A whisper of a kiss, swept away by winds of a weak current.
She pressed closer and he swept her into his arms. Solid against her, steady, he was lips and touch and certainty all over.
She had words trapped in her head and oxygen didn’t matter. Her hands raked under his shirt, traili
ng the hardness of his back.
“Upstairs,” Tak groaned and snatched her by the hand.
They scurried up, shut the door and locked it behind them.
Tak pulled her in by the waist and kissed, open mouthed, fierce, devouring.
She knew his strength, felt it as he lifted her, and experienced crushing weight when they dropped to the bed . Chest to chest, heart beating against hers.
He dominated her with his kisses, each harder, deeper, and hungrier than the last. They could tangle no more, press one to the other no more, already they were all heat and roaming hands, a single knot of pulsing need.
Clothes came away in hurried snatches, both aiding the other in the need for skin against skin. When Tak pulled away to discard his jeans, it was her who pulled him back, body shaking.
He clamored on top, grabbed her hips and thrust, arching her back violently with the force of his entry. He’d pierced her to the core and kept going, going roughshod till she moaned pitifully.
Words won’t come, only air, air that her hands couldn’t clench. Deena groped at the bed, wild, bunching sheets in her fist and quivering as her husband rammed tidal waves of pleasure right through her.
Every thrust came with a grunt, every pound a measure of punishment, as he dug fingers into her hips and drilled wrath to her core.
She flooded in spastic pleasure, mouthing his name, hissing nonsense, far beyond the point of done. He lifted her legs and pinned each back, so that knee touched shoulder on each side.
Impaled, she gave up on not screaming.
He burrowed in punctuated fashion, strokes ragged and hammering to a finish.
She couldn’t hold on, couldn’t hope to hold on, not when he bucked like a bronco off a cliff. Harder and more emphatic he grew, as if to core her out, till he slammed with a groan of surrender. Liquid heat flooded her, earning a gasp of pleasure from Deena.
Her gaze drifted skyward, ever conscious of the strumming of Tak’s heart. In the rawest, most torturous moment of her life, that heart had stopped beating, ceasing hers right along with it. She knew but one thing at the time: that after finding his love, she couldn’t bare being without it.
Crimson Footprints lll: The Finale Page 6
