It’s no surprise that Ricky would be thrilled with his new windfall, but why would he tell David about Michael’s will? What would he gain by revealing that information?
“Why the hell would he tell you all this?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I guess he knew that I would tell you. Maybe he thought that you would be pissed about not getting anything from Michael. Maybe it was some sort of revenge.”
“I could care less about Michael’s money,” I say. “I wouldn’t want it anyway.”
“Yeah, but Ricky doesn’t know that. As he was telling me about Michael’s will, I was thinking about how convenient it all was for him. Then it dawned on me—it wasn’t convenient. It was planned. From the moment I pointed out that he and Evan would inherit nothing if Michael was found guilty, Ricky’s wheels were turning. Somehow he convinced Evan that getting rid of Michael was the only solution, and Evan did it.”
As David is talking, things grow clearer inside my head. I can see precisely how Ricky planted that seed because I know the suggestive power he has always had over Evan. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen how much Evan looks up to Ricky and how readily he is influenced by him. I can hear Ricky convincing Evan that it would mean the end of his financial troubles and an opportunity to start a new life. I can see Ricky bringing up my mother’s missing jewelry and using it as fuel against Michael. I can see Ricky manipulating Evan, and Evan falling for it headfirst and not even recognizing that he’s being played. Ricky knew that Evan was stupid enough to get caught; hell, maybe somehow he even made sure Evan got caught. At this point, I wouldn’t put it past him. But most importantly, Evan would never rat out Ricky, and Ricky knows it. I feel sick.
“And, to top it all off,” he adds, “Ricky knew that he could still get money from me, simply by threatening to take my offer to the police. He’s clever, Emma.”
“So, did you tell him that you figured it out?” I ask. “What did he do?”
“I took a risk, and I called him on it. I told him straight up that I knew he convinced Evan to kill Michael. The look on his face was priceless, and I knew I was right. He was fucking stunned. I handed him the rest of his money and then I told him we were facing a stalemate.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
David shrugs and raises his brow. “I paid him what he wanted, and I made it very clear that if he tells anyone about my offer, or if he contacts me or you ever again, I will tell the police about his involvement in Michael’s death. And when Evan finds out that Ricky set him up, he’ll sing like a motherfucking bird. It’s plain and simple—as long as we both keep our mouths shut, neither one of us will end up in prison.” He takes a breath and drops his hands down to his sides. “And that’s why I know he isn’t coming back. That’s why you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
Because I don’t know what else to do, I pick up my glass of wine and finish it. Then I walk into the kitchen to pour myself another. I set the glass down and put my hands on the counter, leaning my head forward until it’s resting against a cabinet door. Holy hell.
“Is that all, David?” I ask. My voice is quiet and rife with exhaustion and distress. “Is there anything else I need to know about my fucked-up family?”
“No,” he says. “That’s it.” I hear him push away from the table. His feet brush against the carpet as he walks toward the kitchen, and then he is behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding my back tight against his chest. I pull my head away from the cabinet door and drop it back down, repeatedly banging it against the wood in three firm, successive smacks. “Do you want me to leave?” he says quietly.
“No.”
David doesn’t move a muscle, and we stay together in the kitchen for a long time. I think about how happy I was to have someone who wants to protect me. How happy David made me when he told me how covetous he feels. How many years I have lived with no one to look out for me aside from myself. And here I am now, in the arms of someone who wants to protect me so much that he is willing to risk everything, and I don’t know what the fuck to do. I don’t know how to act. I don’t know how to say thank you and let life roll on.
“Did you really leave the poker game just to make sure we were all right?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says.
“Brad is going to be pissed at you for leaving, you know.”
“No, he isn’t,” he sighs. “He’s the one that told me to come.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
David lets go of my waist and leans back against the door frame. I turn around and rest my rear against the edge of the counter so that we are face-to-face.
“We’re all right,” I say with a small smile. “I get it now, David. Thank you for wanting to protect me. Thank you for caring about me enough to do what you did. But I still think you’re an idiot.”
“I know you do,” he says, completely unfazed. “I guess I’m just a little crazy.”
“Yeah, I kinda noticed.”
“It’s your fault, you know. You turned me crazy,” he says, the playful lilt returning to his voice. “I was normal before I met you.” And then he is smiling again. I can see the same happiness I saw at the tattoo parlor. The same happiness I heard in his laughter when we were overlooking the city and I asked him about his last name. The same happiness I sensed when I agreed to be his girlfriend. It thrills me to know that I can make David happy, to know that he is crazy about me. Because I’m a whole bunch of crazy right back.
“Normal, huh? Well, if that’s the case, then I guess the same could be said for me,” I tease. David’s body straightens, and his chest rises, and then he looks down at the floor. What? His happiness is gone, just like that, and now he looks ashamed. It catches me by surprise, and suddenly, everything seems very serious. I feel as if I should apologize, but I’m not sure what for.
“I’m sorry,” I say as he looks back up at me. “I was just teasing. Look, it’s clear that both of us have very valid reasons for being a few coils short of a Slinky, but I say we embrace it.” I plaster an overly dramatic smile across my face and give him two enthusiastic thumbs up. “I say we run with our crazies, and to hell with everybody else.”
He chuckles softly and sinks his hands into his pockets. He regards me intently for a minute before he replies. All I can do is smile at him and wait.
“I can’t tell you how unbelievably relieved I am to hear you say that we’re all right,” he says at last. “I thought I’d fucked everything up. When you shoved my phone in my face and said that you saw Michael’s number, I swear my heart stopped beating. I thought we were done. I thought the bottom dropped out, and you were gonna walk. That’s what always happens with me. The bottom drops out, and everything that was good ends. Just like that.” His eyes are back on the floor.
“The bottom isn’t going to drop out on us, David,” I say with the compassion and reassurance he so clearly needs, “because I love you. And now that I know what love is, I can see that it makes you willing to do anything to make sure that the bottom stays intact. It makes you forgive the other person for their mistakes. It makes you see past their crazies and their fucked-up past and their underwear fetish and their gun-toting, drug-addicted ex-girlfriends and their complete lack of self-preservation.” He looks up at me, and as his scalp draws back, I can see acceptance spread across his face. “And what you don’t realize, David, is that you already know all that. You know it because what you tried to do to Michael was meant to keep the bottom intact.”
David pulls his hands out of his pockets and steps forward. He holds my cheeks and leans his forehead against mine. His palms feel cool against my warm skin, and a moment later, when his mouth covers mine, I feel as if I am wrapped in a cyclone. Everything is whirling around me, drawing the air out of my lungs and filling me with the best kind of turmoil. Sweet, unpredictable, endorphin-releasing turmoil. Every time his tongue slides against mine, a prickle in my gut tells me how right we are together. How much I need David. How much I need us.
I hope the cyclone never stops.
He picks me up and carries me back to the bedroom, kissing my neck and shoulders as he walks and then dropping me down on to the bed. I watch as he tugs off my clothes, and all I can think about is how his actions have served to tether my heart to his, to fasten me to him with a braided rope of protection and covetousness and insanity. Everything he did was for me. To keep a secure grip on what we have. To keep the bottom intact.
I unbutton his jeans and slide them down over his hips and then lie back on to the bed. David climbs up over me so that we are face-to-face, and the length of his body is pressing down over mine. His mouth is on me again, our lips full of promises.
David moves slowly down my torso, spreading kisses across my breasts and my stomach, heating me. He slides off me and sits on the edge of the bed, turned in my direction. His hands move over my skin, inciting a ticklish giggle when he streaks them up my inner thighs. But I stop laughing when his fingers hit their mark, when they start their skillful torture, when they move into me. A melody of emotions sweep over me. It’s a heady mix of lust and appreciation and elation and love. It makes me want to reach into myself and hand him my heart, beating with devotion and tethered to his.
I take him into my hand, pushing and pulling his hardness. We are there together, each of us using our hands to lift the other closer. Each of us with coarse breath and singing blood. A few moments later, my body bows up with gratification, curling into itself as I grunt and fold with pleasure. His fingers don’t stop until my body stills.
David gets up and pulls me up off the bed. My muscles are still reverberating as I stand next to him. I’m afraid that I might fall, but David wraps himself around me, holding me steady. We kiss again, and I stroke him, feeling the warmth of his skin. His breath is weighted, and he turns me around, lifting my leg on to the edge of the bed. He presses on the middle of my back until I bend forward and brace myself on the bed. David grips my waist and then I feel the delightful pressure of him entering me. He pulls me on to him over and over, my rear smacking into him with each pull and my arms pushing down on the mattress. His hand dips down between my legs, rubbing me in all the right ways. I force my behind out against him until once again, I topple over the edge. My loud, rough groan hits the air, and David pulls out of me.
“Goddamn, I love to hear that,” he says, his voice dredged in desire. “One more, Emma. Let’s go.”
I turn over and lie down on my back, the melody of emotions still singeing my skin. He lifts my legs up on to his shoulders, raising my rear up off the bed and sliding himself into me. I look at his face and see the power rising there, burning behind his eyes. His eyes meet mine, and a wisp of a smirk touches the corners of his mouth. He wants to watch this time, and the idea of it chokes me with desire. I reach down and touch myself, sliding my fingers across my own wetness, closing my eyes, feeling him move in and out of me. It feels really fucking good. We feel really fucking good. I can’t stop myself, and I come again, shouting a loud string of happy obscenities. Making my mind shimmer.
David runs his hands across my flesh. My skin is burning, and when I open my eyes, he is looking right at me and smiling a beautiful smile. I smile back at him. He drops my legs off his shoulders and pulls out of me. And then he is touching himself, his hand slipping tightly up and down as he leans over me. The smile is now gone from his face. It is replaced by heavy breaths and small sighs. I see David’s eyes close and his body stiffen, and then I feel the warmth of his satisfaction fall on to my stomach.
I am still smiling, and when David’s eyes open, his lips part and his teeth shine down on me. He looks absolutely vibrant. I wish I could read his mind. I wish I knew what he was thinking and feeling and seeing. Is my face awash with the same kind of happiness I see in his? The same light? I hope so. I hope he sees it, too.
He kisses my forehead and lies down on the bed next to me for a moment or two before he moves to get up.
“Wanna go get some Indian food?” he says, sitting up and looking down at me. His face is still beaming with energy. It is not what I was expecting him to say.
“What?” I say, shaking my head in surprise. “No.” My answer causes his face to lose a bit of its glow. “I mean, I’d love to, but I have to go to work in the morning. Plus, I already ate dinner.”
“Okay,” he says quietly.
“But, if you’re hungry, I can make you a sandwich or something,” I say, trying to salvage what’s left of his glow.
“No. I’m not really hungry either,” he says. His eyes are still bright, but now he looks a little embarrassed.
“Then, why did you ask?”
“Because I don’t want you to make me leave again. I was just trying to come up with an excuse to be with you.” He looks both adorable and electric when he says it. He dresses and heads toward the bathroom. Once his back is to me, he adds, “Come to think of it, ever since the day I saw you carrying boxes into the front door, everything I’ve done has been an excuse to be with you.” A flurry of cyclonic wind is filling me again.
“I won’t make you leave, David,” I say when he returns with a washcloth for me, “and you don’t need an excuse to be with me. You need to realize that the bottom is solid on this one—it is not going to drop out.”
“Promise?”
“Of course,” I answer. As I dress, it occurs to me that David may have heard these words before. That maybe Lucia or Jenny or Anna once said the same thing to him—but then another man, or drugs, or schizophrenia, changed everything and caused their relationship to spin out of control. How do I make him see that I am not them? “It’s pretty clear to me now what you meant when you said that your ex-girlfriends have played a huge role in who you are. Lucia and Jenny—and whoever else there was—failed you, David. They let the bottom drop out. Or maybe they even caused it. But I am not them. I said it before and I’ll say it again, the only way we fail is if you lie. I’m not going to fuck it up like they did, and I trust that you won’t fuck it up either.”
He gives me a small smile, reaching for me and rubbing his hand up and down my spine, being careful to avoid the still-sore skin around the tree branch. But a moment later, his smile fades, and a look of sadness spreads across his face. “It happened six times, Emma.”
“What happened six times?” I ask in a state of genuine confusion caused by both his statement and his expression.
“The bottom dropped out.”
“Oh.” I want to ask him about all of them. To find out what they did to make David feel so lost. To find out how things ended with each of them. But I don’t ask. Because I don’t want to hear about Anna Spaight. I don’t want to hear what I already know.
“I told you before about Lucia and Jenny and Elizabeth, but there were three other women.”
“Elizabeth?” I ask. Who is Elizabeth?
“My dad’s secretary.” Ah, yes. Elizabeth was his first lover. “We were together for a couple of months,” he says, his voice trailing off to a near whisper, “but then I found out that she was fucking my father, too.”
“Jesus,” I say as we both sit down on the edge of the bed. “That’s horrible.”
“Yes. It was.” I wonder if he’s going to continue. My heart is in my throat, and I am begging his mouth to keep quiet about Anna. “But Kelsey was worse than her,” he says. Worse?
“Who was Kelsey?” I ask gently, trying to keep my voice steady and calm.
“She was from my hometown, and we were together for a long time. My dad used to tell me I wasn’t good enough for Kelsey, but that just pissed me off and made me want to be with her even more.”
“Determination is one of your best traits,” I say, trying to force a small smile and lighten the mood. Please, don’t mention Anna. Please. Please. Please.
“And Sarah—she was my girlfriend in high school,” he continues. He doesn’t offer me any more information about Sarah, but from the look on his face, I can see that the end of that relationship hurt, too.<
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He wraps his arms around his middle. He is protecting himself again, from another imaginary shot to the gut. I feel Anna’s story in the air between us, and I know he is going to tell me about her now. I know the words are about to come out.
“And the sixth bottom to drop out was named Anna. She sent me into utter ruin, and after I moved here and was finally beginning to piece myself back together, I met Lucia.” The words rush out of him, making my head feel dizzy and thick. He looks away from me but keeps talking. “Anna was...Anna. She was good and kind and beautiful. But she was also a paranoid schizophrenic. We lived together for a while, and I tried to help her. I really tried. But I couldn’t.” He moves his eyes back to mine, and he raises his shoulders in a small shrug. His arms are still wrapped around his waist, and he is regarding me very carefully. Waiting to see if I will ask him what happened. But he must see that I don’t want him to continue, I’m going to pretend I don’t want to know any more about her. I’m going to pretend that it doesn’t matter. I let my face tell him as much because I am afraid that if I open my mouth, it will say all the wrong things, and I will start to cry.
I drop off the edge of the bed and down on to my knees in front of him, working my way in between his legs. He releases his waist as I lean in against his chest. My arms slide around him, squeezing his rib cage, and I feel his hands move through my hair and brush against my scalp. My face is pressed into him so that he can’t see me cry. I can’t help it. The tears pour from my eyes, and I have to try hard to keep the sobs from shaking through me. I sniff and his body tenses. He lifts my head away from his body and looks down at me, his brow wrinkling at the sight of my tears.
“Why are you crying?” he asks. He looks so confused.
“Because I’m sad for you, David. I’m sad that you were hurt so many times.” The amount of surprise on his face startles me.
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