by Ally Sky
"Now you see why I had such a hard time coming back?"
"It's not because of you." I sob on the sofa and pray that Viv doesn't wake up. "I'm just . . . My mom is perishing before my eyes, my father is a shadow of himself, and I can't do anything, I can't turn back the clock and cancel what was done. Why didn't he think about the price we were all going to pay?"
"I'm sure he just wanted the best for you." Colin is defending the man for whom he left, and my crying is getting louder.
"Don't defend him."
"I'm not," his voice is soft, "I'm protecting you, and you love him."
"I hate him, he ruined my life."
"Then fix it," he won't give up. "We'll fix them together, but they won't be whole if you keep hating him."
"Do you expect me to forgive him?"
"Yes, but for you, not for him. If I could forgive my father . . ." he stops abruptly.
"You really forgave him?" How could he?
"I forgave him enough to be willing to give him a part of my body, so I guess the answer is yes. I forgave as much as I could, so he wouldn't die because of me."
"My father is not dying."
"His heart is dying, and your mom's soul is dying, and she won't get over it if you don't take the first step." He seems to understand my mom well. "She’s showing solidarity, and she won't do anything that might hurt you, but I'm guessing she is not in good shape."
"She locked herself in her bedroom." She must have cried and looked like a very unhappy version of herself.
"I love you, and you're strong." His words are a breath of fresh air. "You are stronger than all of us, Lizzie. Find a way to forgive him, as I think you forgave me."
"It's really not the same. You were thrown into the situation he created." I pull my nose and curl up on the couch, my knees to my chest. I didn't think I could forgive Colin, but as soon as I understood the sequence of events, something fundamental changed in the way I saw him and everything that had happened. Something essential changed in my feelings for him. They woke up, and from that moment they refused to sleep.
"I was thrown into the situation my father created," he corrects me. "Your father saw two thugs beating me and threatening my family, and he had already lost one child, he didn't think clearly."
"Stop justifying his actions!" I release another burst of uncontrollable crying.
"I'm not justifying what he did," his quiet voice tries to calm the storm that has a hold on me. "I'm trying to understand the circumstances that led him to this, because this hatred will eat us all alive, it will hurt us and Vivian, who loves both her grandfather and her grandmother. I'm trying to find a solution to a bad situation, and that is not at all simple in the middle of the night."
We won't solve it tonight, and probably not even tomorrow. I don't think the situation will ever be resolved. All I have to do is stop trying to fix the past and look forward to the future, to what might be waiting for me and the guy on the other side of the phone.
"I miss you," I release my love for him. "I haven't missed you like this in five and a half years. You are so close, and I can feel you, I can touch you, you are not a hallucination. My head is urging me to move slowly, but my heart, Colin, wants to jump and fall right into your arms."
"Elizabeth," his voice goes rough, "I might call every night if those are the words that come out of your mouth."
"My mouth misses your lips." I blame the late hour for the confessions he hears from me today. "I'm so pathetic."
"Your mouth should rejoice that you are unemployed," he clears his throat, "because if you come tomorrow after you put our daughter in daycare, I'll give you a substantial dose of my lips."
"There's a chance that's what I'll do." There's a really good chance that's exactly what I'll do. I will lock myself in his house and kiss him for hours. It's something I can look forward to.
"I'll make us breakfast."
"I'll make breakfast." He makes me smile for the first time in hours. "You'll just rest on the couch. Between the two of us, Colin, if you're the one in charge of the food we'll have to make do with toast with jam."
"Oh…" he yawns, "how little you know me."
"I need to go to sleep." I close my eyes tiredly. They burn and will look terrible tomorrow.
"I have to go back to sleep."
"Sorry I woke you up."
"You can wake me up any time," he answers in his quiet voice. "You know that, Elizabeth, you know I'll come whenever you ask."
"Not tonight." There's no point in him coming, I'm on my way to bed and I'll probably fall asleep in thirty seconds. "Go back to sleep, I'll see you in the morning."
"Good night, love."
"Good night, Colin." I let the word reverberate. I let him love me, let him save me from the loneliness that awaited his return, waited for him to defy it as no one else could. I let him be the only one I'll ever want, because he's always been and surely will always be the one I love.
Facing the carved wooden door, I stand and try to soothe my rapid breathing. It's just breakfast with Colin, but I'm still suffering from a serious lack of oxygen to the brain when it comes to him. I don't even know what ingredients he has at home. Why didn't I stop for groceries?
Vivian wrinkled her pretty face not understanding what the big deal was, as I stood in front of the mirror in our bedroom and studied my appearance. That's how it is when you're seventeen again, I thought. You stand in front of the mirror in jeans and a shirt, that long ago should have been thrown in the trash, and wonder if you’re showing too much cleavage. Oh, it's quite exaggerated.
My thoughts are threatening to get a life of their own and have a conversation with the guy I'm about to see. I let my breath stop in frustration and ring the bell. Moments later, the door opens, and I experience a total malfunction between my brain, which turns into a useless tool, and my body, which feels struck by lightning.
Oh. Mighty. God. Oh mighty God of all gyms, protein shakes, and utterly illegal muscles. He is not human. I stare at his bare chest, unable to say a word. His hair is wet, and he smells like no man has ever smelled. His skin shines and the tattoos on his arms are a sight for my sore eyes.
"Good morning." An amused male voice comes to my ears. I manage to look up at his smile, with supreme effort. His face is still bruised, but I just absorbed the sight of the muscles he has hidden under his shirt.
"Good morning," I mutter, engaged in a relentless war with the fire taking place between my thighs.
Don't let him get dressed! Ever!
"Hungry?" He raises an eyebrow as I swallow. Yes, I'm hungry, but not for any breakfast he might have prepared.
"Elizabeth?" He laughs aloud at my catatonic state.
"No," I shake my head, "you're not . . . real."
"Love what you see?" He bounces his chest.
"Hate it," I manage to complete one sentence without stammering.
"Toast with jam?" He laughs again and opens the door. I stagger through the threshold and go inside, the smell of pastries hitting my nose at once.
"Eating in the living room," he gestures toward the sofa. I put my handbag on the wooden table at the entrance and head toward Colin. What is revealed behind the sofa, on the carpet, makes my heart flutter.
"Please don't tell me you made it yourself." I stare at the tray at our feet, the jug of orange juice, the plates laden with granola yogurt.
"Sit." He laughs once more and doesn't wait, his enormous body sliding down to the rug. He straightens his long legs to the side of the tray.
"Don't you think you should wear a shirt?" I send a silent prayer to God to dress the man before I lose my mind.
"Should I wear one?" he teases me and pours the juice into glasses.
"Well, if you're comfortable like this . . ." I lean slowly and sit down opposite him, fully aware of the fact that I'm in trouble, and the morning has just begun.
"So, you wanna know what's on the menu?" He hands me the orange juice, from which I take a quick sip, and nod.
"We have cheese Danishes," he picks up the basket, and the smell of the pastries makes my belly growl, "Spanish omelette, and yogurt with granola."
"Where did you get everything?" I examine the Danishes, which look as though they have come straight out of the bakery.
"I told you, lady, I know how to bake." He seems unconcerned with my skepticism.
"It's nine in the morning, sir," I reply with a smile. "You can tell the truth."
"I am telling you the truth."
"You woke up at seven in the morning and worked in the kitchen to make breakfast?" I stare at him closely.
"I woke up at five-thirty," he smiles, "trained, and then I went into the kitchen and made breakfast."
"And you took a shower," I blurt out.
"You noticed that did you?" He lifts a glass of orange juice to his mouth, and when it approaches his lips I want to push it away and replace the glass with my lips.
"Did you really bake by yourself?"
"You havn't tasted anything yet," he hands me the basket of pastries. Fuck the pastries and the granola and yogurt and the whole breakfast. I put my glass on the tray, lean forward, and with slow motion make my way, on my knees, towards Colin and his bare chest.
"I see," he snarls and puts his glass on the table beside us.
When I reach him, he leans back until he is lying on the rug. I lean my weight against my hands on the sides of his head and look into his eyes. He reaches for my hair band and pulls it until my mane is free to fall on either side of my face.
He holds my nape and pulls my head down toward his lips. I close the distance slowly, his eyes burn and my skin shivers. I smash my mouth over his mouth with a demanding kiss that keeps me spinning until I forget how to breathe. Until it seems we both need this kiss as much as the other. Colin's lips match mine, as no other lips will ever fit, and his taste is the most wonderful thing that will ever meet my tongue. The air becomes superfluous, neither of us is willing to stop, unwilling to give our thoughts an opportunity to sneak in and disturb the thin balance. I lift my hands off the floor and flutter around his neck, all the way to his chest, with a touch that caresses his smooth skin. His breathing turns strenuous, and I feel his heart beating wildly. I gently pull my lips from his, raise my head and open my eyes, looking into his gaze, his blue eyes storming.
"Maybe I should have worn a shirt after all," he murmurs between quick breaths.
"Maybe."
"You have to move back." His trembling voice makes me regret my initiative.
"Sorry," I sit up, my cheeks turning red, "I didn't mean to force myself on you."
He grabs my arm and stops me.
"We had an understanding," he clears his throat. "Something about making out like teenagers, it's just harder than I thought. We're lying on the rug, and I remember how amazing your body feels."
"Oh." I look down.
"You're not ready, and I respect that, but I'm a twenty-six-year-old man with a pretty brutal erection right now." He ends the sentence with a weak laugh that reveals a rather serious distress.
"Oh." My vocabulary is lacking again.
"So…breakfast?" he raises an eyebrow with amusement.
"Yeah, sure." I feel stupid, just as I felt the first evening we met.
"My pastries are waiting to hear your opinion."
"You really baked them, didn't you?" I slide back and sit cross-legged at a safe distance from him, though I doubt any distance will be safe enough. As long as we're both in the same house, and he's not fully dressed, I can't say what I will do.
"Yes, Elizabeth, I really baked them." He laughs again and sits up. I pick one of the Danishes up with trembling fingers and bite. He didn't lie, he did learn to cook, to bake, whatever you call it.
"Tasty?" His look is curious.
"Yes," I nod modestly, in an attempt not to inflate his ego anymore. I have a feeling that if I tell him exactly what I think, he will never let it go.
"Can we talk about going to the beach?" He takes another sip of orange juice.
"Yes," I take a deep breath, before getting into the explosive subject, "let's talk about it."
"I didn't think my proposal was excessive." His voice is steady.
"It's not the trip to the beach," I walk around the subject gently, "please don't be offended by what I'm about to say."
"I won't be offended." He leans back on his hands.
"You're learning to become a parent for the first time in your life," I put the pastry on my plate, fold my knees and embrace them defensively, "and I'm learning to share my responsibilities and parent with someone else for the first time in my life. We have to talk about things between us before we offer Viv ideas that excite her."
"Again, I didn't think it was a big deal." He doesn't seem to understand what I mean.
"You've just come back," my voice cracks, "and you're worry-free, cool, and taking everything lightly. If Vivian thinks she can get whatever she wants from you, and I'm the one who always refuses, I'll be—"
"The bad mom," he completes my sentence in a quiet voice.
"Talk to me, before you talk to her, that's all I ask."
"Definitely," he nods, "I'm sorry I put you in that position."
"It's okay, we're adjusting." I manage to smile at him.
"You're so beautiful," he whispers, his chest rising and falling.
"You're not ugly yourself," I reply awkwardly, "when your face is not puffed up with blows."
"It'll be fine in a few days," he laughs quietly.
His phone rings from the dining table. He stands up slowly, walks toward it, peers at the screen and looks at me as if asking permission to answer. I nod, and he answers in a confident voice.
"Good morning, Bryson," he keeps his eyes on me. "I'm not used to hearing from you before noon."
I try not to stare lustily at his body, but fail miserably. His sculpted muscles tease me, calling for my fingers to feel them.
"You know I won't pay you that," Colin laughs. "I'll send someone in a few minutes." He hangs up the phone and hurries to dial, turning to me. "It'll take a second, okay?"
I nod again. He may be hiding at home, but he has a business to run, and I don't want to stand in his way.
"Dammit," he hangs up and dials again. "Where is she?"
"Danielle?"
"Yes," his jaw locks. "Where the hell is she?"
"Do you want to share?"
"Furniture," he hangs up and dials a third time. "If she doesn't get in her car now, I don't know what I'll do."
"Colin, talk to me." I stand up slowly, move over to him and put a hand on his arm. His troubled eyes lock on mine as he sets the phone down on the table.
"Bryson is a vendor." He raises his hand to his hair and pulls it back abruptly. "He is clearing a huge warehouse and I know him, I want his merchandise, but I can't appear in my condition."
"And Danielle isn’t answering." I wander my fingers gently along his arm.
"He won't wait. If I don't send someone, he'll call someone else, and it's a great deal. The warehouse needs to be empty in two days and Bryson doesn't care who does it." His frustration is evident.
"She'll probably get back to you in a few minutes." I really don't know what to say.
"I don't have a few minutes," he shakes his head. "Bryson's stuff is hot, and he knows it. I can make twenty thousand on it, maybe thirty." The look in his eyes changes, as if he’s had an idea, something that makes me step back.
"No," I shake my head, understanding what he's going to ask. "Colin, no."
"He's a good guy. I'll wait in the car, you just have to go in and take the price down a notch."
"I said no!" I raise my voice in alarm. The last thing I need is to mess up Colin's deal. Where is Danielle when she's needed?
"Lizzie, you can do it." He takes a step in my direction, but I raise my hand in refusal.
"I don't know how to bargain."
"It's not as hard as you think, Bryson expects that, it's how it work
s."
"I don't understand the business!" I feel the anxiety climbing, clinging to my throat, making my breathing difficult. "Don't ask me."
He closes the distance between us in one second, puts his hand in my hair and gently pulls it back so that my head rises to him.
"You've raised our child for five years, Liz," he doesn't let me move my head in order to escape his piercing eyes. "Bryson is child's play. Do you trust me?"
"No." I try to shake my head, without success.
"It's just a show."
"I didn't take drama classes," I insist.
"You just have to pretend." He doesn't seem willing to accept my refusal, but what do I know about pretending? What do I know about dealing with tens of thousands of dollars? What do I understand about the warehouses that need to be cleared?
"I can't do it," I mutter.
"You can, and I believe in you even if you don't."
"I'll fuck up the deal for sure," my voice shakes.
"The deal will disappear anyway if we don't go."
I know I'm screwed, there is a limit to how much I can resist. He's in trouble and I can help, or at least try to help, and hope that I won't ruin everything.
"Please don't blame me if it doesn't work," I whisper in surrender. "Promise me you won't blame me."
He presses his mouth against mine, pushing me back with his enormous body until my back hits the wall behind me. His huge chest covers mine and he kisses me. He doesn't stop kissing me with lust, which in a second will make me forget the desire to move slowly. I sigh into his mouth. This is definitely an answer I didn't expect.
I'll close the damn deal for him, and he'll be grateful. So help me God, he'll be grateful, and he'll show me how much. The thought dissolves when his mouth breaks away from mine.
"We have to move."
"You better get dressed." I swallow, hold my hips and pray that the sweet feeling will disappear for a few minutes so I can concentrate.
"Get your bag, I'll explain everything in the car." He steps back and stops, looking at me with his burning eyes.
"Hurry up," I mutter, "we don't want to be late."
He gives me a last, passionate look, turns his back on me and hustles into one of the rooms, putting on something that might help my brain return to partial function. Screw this. I'll nail it, and everything will be perfect.
