The Higher You Fly

by Debra Kayn

  "Mom, I don't get mail delivered to the house. It takes a trip to town to pick up my mail." Jolene kicked off her old sneakers and shimmied out of her dirty jeans.

  "I don't know why you moved so far away from town. You'll be lucky if hunters don't shoot you or a bear tears down your door after your food." Her mom sighed. "Please, let the caterers know about your plan to attend. Call them if that's easier."

  "I will." She carried her jeans to the dirty clothes basket in the corner of her room.

  "When?" asked her mother.

  She removed a clean pair of jeans from her dresser. "I'll go into Federal now. Thanks for calling and reminding me."

  Goodbyes were exchanged. She lowered her arm and groaned. The last thing she wanted to do was fly to Arizona. Without even looking at the ticket, she knew her mom paid for a roundtrip to take place late at night, only to return her to Idaho the next night. No time for her to have family time or her parents to take an interest in her, and instead she'd be paraded around the party only to make an impression on their friends.

  Lord willing, their only daughter not show up to the party as the devoted offspring, representing that her parents had done a respectable job in their roles as Mom and Dad.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on her knee-high brown leather boots. Grabbing a sweater and her purse, she left for town. The fifteen-minute ride put her in a better mood.

  The abundance of yellow, orange, red leaves lining the streets of Federal reminded her of how beautiful Mother Nature changed the scenery and the days she used to kick through the leaves as she strolled through town from the schoolyard to the grocery store to buy the latest Cosmo magazine. She parked and walked into the post office, grabbing the mail out of her box. Sorting through the flyers for the pizza place, free oil changes with a tune-up, satellite television, she found her mother's invitation and a bill from Federal Gas & Propane.

  Knowing what was in the card from her mom, she opened the bill and pulled out the invoice stamped paid in full. She folded the paper and slid it back inside and found another piece of paper in the envelope. She pulled it out and found her check she'd paid her bill with.

  How could the bill be paid if Caiden never cashed her check? Her check was good. She had enough in her bank account to cover the bill and the money he believed she owed him.

  The more she thought about what he'd done, the more irritated she became. It was like when he paid for her lunch at Rail Point Bar, except propane was expensive. This wasn't a twenty-dollar bill he could absorb in his expenses at the gas station.

  There was only one other time she let her emotions control her actions. She was too old, too experienced, too level-headed to lose control.

  Maybe that's why she got into her car and headed straight to the bank and withdrew cash in the amount of the bill, then drove to the gas station and asked to see Caiden.

  She stood by the back door, knowing he'd come from his office. When he entered the store part of the station, she'd hand over the money and be gone.

  The door swung open, and Caiden stood in front of her. She thrust her arm out with the cash. "Please, put this toward my bill."

  His gaze deepened and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the back room of the station. He whirled her around instead of leading her upstairs and pressed her against the wall seizing her lips with his mouth. Taken by surprise, Jolene gasped, only to have Caiden swallow the noise while he held her captive.

  The pressure on her mouth eased, and he softly held her lips with his. He neither urged her on or deepened the kiss. She should've been angry, insulted, afraid, and instead she held her breath waiting.

  He drew back, dipped back in, and brushed his lips against hers. She sucked in air and swallowed. He rubbed his whiskered cheek against her, coming back to her mouth, softly sucking her lower lip lightly before inhaling deeply.

  She lost control of the muscles in her neck, and her head tilted back, and she closed her eyes. It wasn't her mouth he assaulted, it was her senses, his nearness, the past.

  A waft of his scent —Ivory soap, fresh linen, and intoxicating manliness, tickled her nose. Her breath got trapped in her lungs, and her legs weakened, sliding her back down the wall an inch.

  He pressed his hand against her lower back, holding her tighter, and unconsciously she trusted him to keep her safe. She was safe. She'd always been safe with him.

  She arched up. "Caiden?" she whispered.

  His body stiffened, and he pulled his mouth away. The haze from his arousal faded from his gaze and his mouth hardened before he said, "Run."

  She dropped to her heels. "Wh-what?"

  He lowered his hands to his sides and stepped back. "Run."

  She shook her head, confused by the abrupt end to his kiss. "No."

  "You don't know what you're doing." He stepped back, distancing himself.

  She walked forward. "You're so angry at me, but that kiss. Caiden, that kiss wasn't anything but sweet."

  "My name and sweet have never gone together."

  "That's not true." She raked her teeth over her bottom lip. "How you're treating me and looking at me...you've never acted this way with me. Tell me what's going on with you."

  He stared at her. Frustrated with him shutting her out, she looked down at the wad of hundred dollar bills in her hand. There was a time when she had no problem waiting until he felt like talking. She no longer had the time or the patience.

  "I never stole your money, Caiden," she said.

  He turned away from her. She grabbed his sleeve. He had to believe her.

  "I had the money. Then, my parents had arrived at the apartment. I guess the police had called them. I tried—"

  "Out." He jerked away from her.

  "Caiden, you have to listen."

  He opened the door. She stepped in front of him and held out the cash she clutched. "Take it."

  "It was never the money I wanted," he said.

  Her pulse pounded and she lowered her gaze to his chest, unable to look at him. The pain was no less than the night she'd lost him for good.

  She walked away from him, stopped at the cashier, and counted out six hundred and forty dollars, pocketing the three thousand dollars. "Please, give this to Caiden and tell him it's to pay my propane bill."

  "I'll get you a receipt," said the cashier.

  She shook her head. "I don't want one."

  The walk to her car took every ounce of strength she possessed. She slid behind the steering wheel and drove away. For the first time since coming back, she doubted her decision to buy the cabin.

  CHAPTER 8

  We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone. — Orson Welles

  The last of the pre-selected spectators for the underground Friday boxing event left the property of Bantorus Motorcycle Club, and the members stomped and cheered, raising their bottles in the air. Caiden continued to sit at the table in the main room of the clubhouse, nursing his third beer and keeping Ink, a club member, company.

  He was not a participant in the matches nor gambled his money away.

  "Man, I miss the old days when a fight lasted longer than three rounds." Ink toed a nearby chair with his foot, pulling it closer, and kicked his boots up on the seat. "The young punks now only concentrate on skill. Back when I put my money on you, there was a rawness. Natural talent barely constrained."

  While he understood the excitement Ink reminisced about, he wouldn't wish the consequences of being a loose cannon in the ring on anyone or the penalties if something went wrong. Kurt had made the necessary adjustments to the events to make sure nobody else died in the ring after what had happened with Chapman.

  Caiden had spent a lot of time going over what he could've done differently. He'd known when his fist hit Chapman's head the punch was deadly. Young and stupid, he'd hoped leaving the clubhouse would let him outrun the consequences. The only thought in his head at t
he time was to protect Jolene.

  But, Chapman's older brother had attended the match and watched his brother never wake up. The authorities were called. The warrant for his arrest issued.

  Going to prison was never a worry. Leaving his mom never entered his head. Keeping Jolene through what was to come was the only thing that mattered.

  A teenage girl jogged through the room. Ink's boots hit the floor. "Tawny. Stop."

  The girl's body came to a sudden halt, and she turned her head. "Shoot."

  "Go home. You have ten minutes to get out of here, run up to the house, and get in bed, or I shoot the boy standing outside the fence," said Ink.

  "Dad, I'm only going to talk to—"

  "Nine minutes."

  Tawny pivoted and stomped off, throwing glares over her shoulder. Ink waited until she was out of the room and turned to Caiden. "I need another beer or six."

  Caiden chuckled. "Is she one of yours?"

  "Our youngest. She's like her mom. Sweet as pie and sneakier than the devil." Ink raised his tattooed arms and latched his hands behind his head. "I'm not going to give the boys a chance with her."

  Music turned on. Caiden tipped back his head and drank the last swallow of beer. He'd been to enough parties since walking out of prison to know which direction everyone headed as soon as the drinks grew deeper and the women became looser. During the first two years of his freedom after moving out of Moroad's motel, he'd bunked with the prospects because he had nowhere to live. He boxed on Fridays, partied every night, and sought comfort from nameless women he couldn't remember in the morning. He'd become accustomed to outrunning his nightmares and his need to make Jolene pay for leaving him.

  "I better get home before another beer temps me to stay." Caiden stood and clasped hands with Ink. "Enjoy the night."

  "Plan to." Ink raised his beer. "Drive safe."

  Caiden walked across the room, lifted his hand to Kurt in goodbye, and pushed out the door. He slowed his walk down the long staircase, letting the chilled night air seep in his skin. Everyone his age had already settled down and had children of their own. He and Jolene should be struggling to raise teenagers and adding on to the cabin.

  At one time, Jolene had planned their whole life together. Even down to how many children they'd have together—a boy and a girl. She'd wanted to name them Chandler and Rachel after some television show she loved, but declared she might change her mind. They'd have a dog they'd adopt from the pound. They both agreed on a mutt, but a bigger dog, because little dogs were crazy. He stopped at the end of the stairs and waited for the prospect to unlock the gate. If everything had worked out as they'd planned, he'd be home with Jolene and not going back to his house alone.

  The prospect dipped his chin. "Have a good night."

  "Thanks, man," said Caiden, walking out of the fenced-in area to his truck.

  He drove away in no hurry to go home to his bed. His thoughts on a continual loop reminding him of the kiss between him and Jolene. She'd smelled beautiful, his heart still ached.

  Surviving his first month in prison had been easier than making her leave the gas station after kissing her. He hated her, and he loved her. He wanted her, and he wanted to punish her.

  His whole body ached from being tense all day long, making breathing and moving a painful reminder how he'd lost her. He'd thought his heartache had eased over the years, living alone without her, but he still hurt. His hurt was a hundred times worse knowing she was so close and he couldn't have her.

  He turned off the county road and onto Black Bear Road.

  Letting her go wasn't an option. There were a thousand times when he tried, thought he'd be better off forgetting about her. He never could.

  He pulled up in front of her cabin and shut off the headlights. Sitting in the truck, he stared out into the darkness. Not a single light illuminated the life he was supposed to have with Jolene.

  He glanced to both sides of his truck. Thinking of her when he drove up, he never noticed her car was gone.

  His head hit the back of the headrest. The last time he'd seen her, he'd told her to go. Had he finally pushed her too far? Was she with that asshole she'd claimed was her boyfriend?

  He should never have stayed away after he kissed her. Afraid he'd be unable to stop at a kiss the next time because of how willingly she'd let him touch her, he'd purposely backed off.

  Not wanting to stick around and pine away at an empty house, he turned the truck around and went home. He parked out on the street, climbed the stairs, and walked into his house. A minimalist, putting all his cash into realty and the gas station, he walked straight to his bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.

  He unbuttoned his flannel shirt. Paralyzed to do anything more, he continued to sit. Used to long days and even longer nights in a prison cell, he fell back on what he needed to do to survive alone.

  He closed his eyes and lost himself in memories of his past.

  Jolene laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Her sweet laughter filled his ears. Amused, he hooked his arm around her, pulling her closer, sharing her happiness.

  There was no one around them. Just the two of them in a world that was their playground. He leaned his head forward, inhaling her innocent scent.

  Unlike him, Jolene had enough hope for both of them. Without her, he would've ended up in prison anyways or getting himself killed. He rubbed his hands over his face. He'd been going nowhere when he'd first spotted her walking along the sidewalk. From that day forward, she was his.

  Life was full of inconstant changes, always challenging him. Jolene was the only constant in his life, even when he was separated from her.

  Loving her forever still wouldn't be enough time with her.

  CHAPTER 9

  Success isn't measured by money or power or social rank. Success is measured by your discipline and inner peace. — Mike Ditka

  Fake laughter buzzed around the entertainment room of Jolene's parents' house like an irritating bug in her ear. Jolene picked another chocolate dipped strawberry off the table and bit into the sweetness. Only a half hour more at her dad's birthday party and the taxi would pick her up and take her to the airport.

  "Your mom says you make little trinkets at craft shows around the United States." Dwayne Melburn, Arizona's Governor, slipped a flute of champagne into Jolene's hand. His hand lingered too long. "Sounds interesting."

  Trinkets? Craft shows? Jolene took a drink to escape the senator's touch and held out her arm where she wore the bracelet from last year's Golden Sun Drop Line. "This is one of the trinkets I make."

  "Lovely." Governor Melburn's gaze wandered up her arm without looking at the jewelry and settled on the base of her neck. He leaned closer. "Just like your mother."

  Jolene hid her shudder. The governor pushed seventy years old and she'd already ran into him and his free-ranging hands when she'd slipped into the kitchen to escape the crowd earlier.

  "If you'll excuse me, I must mingle." She strolled across the room, dodging the guests who would question her, trying to get the latest scoop about the Shayne family.

  Her dad stood in the center of a group of men, entertaining them with golfing stories. His hair more silver than brown this year, he looked fit and healthy, except for the flushed red nose from his years of drinking.

  Out of her parents, he was the easiest to deal with. He never judged her because he'd never taken the time to get to know her. He let parenting fall to her mom. His greatest strength was also his weakness. Her mom dictated her father's life until he never had an opinion of his own. He was a yes-man, through and through.

  She stepped into the circle, leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Happy birthday, Dad."

  "Thanks, sweetheart." Her dad turned back to his friends.

  The years of being Linda and Michael Shayne's obedient daughter taught her the art of socializing and keeping up appearances of having a close, well-to-do family. Once a year, she played the part of an involved daughter. No one was aware tha
t the rest of the year, the only contact she had with her parents was the rare phone calls from her mother.

  Near the retractable wall leading to the patio, her mother showcased the mayor's wife among her friends, while standing back and feeling important. Jolene approached the group, smiled at the other women until the conversation came to a halt.

  "Mom, I just wanted to say how proud I am of you, pulling off the surprise party for dad on such short notice." She leaned in and touched cheeks with her mother.

  The aroma of roses lingered in her nose, and she'd probably get whiffs of her mother's perfume for the next two days even though she would be states away.

  "Oh, you know me, dear. Anything for you father," said her mom, playing the part of party planner extraordinaire.

  Nobody would find out that Linda Shayne had yelled at the caterers that morning and panicked over her father's tie as he entered the room to the shouts of surprise. Jolene touched the arm of a woman near her. "Enjoy the party."

  The woman grabbed Jolene's hand. "What a beautiful bracelet."

  "Thank you." Jolene smiled for real.

  "How rude of me not to introduce myself. I'm Cora Heimburger. Who is the designer of that gorgeous bracelet?" The woman removed her phone out of her clutch. "I would love to drop a name to my golfing ladies."

  Jolene relaxed and smiled. "That would be —"

  "Oh, Cora," interrupted her mother, fluttering her fingers on her cleavage. "My daughter has such eccentric tastes in jewelry. She takes after her father. The man couldn't pick out his tie without me pairing up his clothes. Isn't that right, dear?"

  "Absolutely. It's just a trinket I picked up in my travels." Jolene pressed her lips together and smiled. "If you'll excuse me, everyone. I need to gather my luggage. My ride will be here soon. Please, go enjoy the food and drinks. I know my mother wants you to enjoy yourself and my father is in seventh heaven having you here to help him celebrate."

  She turned to walk away and Dr. Virann, the therapist her parents had her go to after Caiden went to prison, looped her arm through hers. Guided to the middle of the room, Jolene swung around until she faced the doctor.