by Emma Scott
“If you caught a murderer four years after he committed the crime, would you want to let them go?” I spat. “Go easy on him? Or would you be fucking glad a criminal was caught so he couldn’t do it again?”
The officer gave me a dry look. I knew the system wasn’t going to be fixed overnight with a few choice words. Still, I was shocked when twenty minutes later, the officer unlocked my handcuffs and told me I was free to go.
“They’re not pressing charges?” I asked
The cop gave me another look. “You want them to? No, your boxing partner refused to make a statement. He’s clammed up. You’re free to go.”
I went to the front of the station, rubbing my wrists. Brenda sat in a chair while Marty paced around, running hands through his hair. He stopped when he saw me.
“Jesus, Isaac, what happened? What’s going on?”
Before I could answer, Angie emerged. Eyes bloodshot and swollen, leaning heavily against her mother.
“Where’s Willow?” I asked.
“She’s going home,” Angie said. “She’s dead tired and wants to be alone. Her parents are driving her. They left out the back.”
She took a step toward me. “She told them everything. I don’t know what good it’ll do. The fucker and his parents promised to fight with every weapon they have. But she did it.”
I nodded. I wanted to say I was glad, but the battle wasn’t over yet. It had likely just started.
“Willow told me to tell you something,” Angie said. “I’m supposed to say ‘Act Two, Scene Two.’” She cocked her head. “You know what it means?”
I nodded, relief surging through me. “Yeah, I know exactly what it means.”
It means we still have a chance.
Willow
The ride from Braxton to my cottage was silent. I sat in the back of Dad’s BMW and Mom sat with me, all ten of my fingers twined up in hers. It seemed my hand hadn’t been out of hers for hours now. She hadn’t broken physical contact since we left the Renaissance Hotel and followed Isaac to the station.
Isaac…
He appeared in the ballroom, and at first I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. My worst nightmare, Xavier, followed by the greatest wish of my heart. Isaac’s face had been bloodied and bruised, but in my turbulent chaotic swirl of the emotions, I imagined it was his battle wounds of everything that happened between us.
And like plot twist, the police were there to put handcuffs on Isaac while Xavier’s hands were free. It was then a calmness fell over me, the kind that comes when you know exactly what you need to do. Xavier’s threats about closing the theater had bought a few minutes of my silence, but seeing Isaac had broken me free. If I wanted a chance at happiness, I had to get the poison out. The price for keeping silent was too high, not just for me, but for any other girl Xavier might’ve assaulted, or any he’d target in the future.
With Mom holding my hand the whole time, I told the police my story in my own words. No standing ovation at the end. No rounds of applause. But I felt better. Cleaner. Years of black ink seeping out of my skin and washing away. The darkness lifting, my flame standing tall and bright.
I imagined my grandmother was proud of me.
Exhaustion laced my bones by the time Dad pulled up in front of my little house.
“Are you sure you want to be alone?” my mother asked as they walked me to my front door. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. Daniel, what do you think?”
“She can make her own decisions,” Dad said, his voice gravelly and rough. “Whatever she wants.”
The dim porch light made both of them look weary. Tonight wasn’t so much a bomb dropping as it was a pebble in a pond. Ripples would slowly spread out, farther and farther. Maybe Xavier would feel the impact one day. Maybe not. Right now, my parents stood at the epicenter of the damage.
“Whatever she wants,” Dad said again.
“I’m sorry,” Mom whispered. Her mascara was smeared under her eyes. Dark, dried tear tracks down one cheek, her hair falling out of its twist.
“God, I’m a mess,” she said.
“I think I like you better this way.”
My mother threw her arms around me and held me close. “I think I knew. Or suspected.”
I closed my eyes.
“I was so scared to say anything. Not because of your dad’s job, that was my cover. I was scared of failing you. Because I did. This feeling inside me right now? It’s the worst feeling I’ve ever known. I didn’t protect you, and I’m sorry. I failed you and I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mom.”
“No, it’s not. Nothing is okay.”
“But it will be.”
She released me and Dad stepped forward, clearing his throat.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said. “You’ll probably lose your job.”
“I’m done with them. And you have nothing to be sorry for.” His jaw worked. “Willow…”
I felt the enormity of what happened between us pressing him down now, too. He didn’t know how to cope with it. There was no memo to write or order to send.
“We’ll talk more later, okay?” I said. “Right now it’s late and everyone is tired. Let’s just try to get some sleep.”
Relief sagged his shoulders, but he forced himself to look at me.
“I’m so proud of you,” he said. “And I’m… I hope it’s not too late.”
I smiled and gave him a small peck on the cheek. “It never is.”
Inside my little cottage, I stood for a quiet moment, breathing. The weight I’d been carrying for so long was lighter. Halved. I could breathe again. Still, a hole remained in my heart that had nothing to do with my black and ugly past, and everything to do with my future.
A knock came at the door.
My future.
Isaac stood on the porch, his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He’d washed the blood from his face, but blue and purple colored the skin around his right eye. A little slash tore the corner of his lower lip.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.”
“It’s late. You must be tired. But I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He raised his eyes to mine. “Are you?”
“I’m okay,” I said. “I am.”
He nodded. “Okay. Good.”
“Do you want to come in?”
“Yeah, I do.”
I opened the door wider and he stepped inside. A waft of expensive clothes and cologne as he passed, instead of gasoline and smoke. I felt a stab of fear that the Isaac I knew was gone. That three years of Hollywood had turned him into someone else.
I closed the door behind me. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“Did you quit smoking?”
He nodded.
“I’m glad. Though I miss the smell a little.” I swallowed. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, Willow. So fucking much.”
We watched each other for a moment. Now that the chaos of the night had died away we were left with only each other and three years of silence.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said finally. “I don’t know where to begin or how to begin again… I don’t know if it’s what you want.”
“What I want…” I said, looking up and out as the tears were already starting. “I want to tell you the truth about what happened.”
“You don’t have to,” Isaac said.
“But I hurt you too. And I’m so sorry, Isaac, but I can’t regret it. It was the only way I knew to protect you.”
“I know. Marty told me what your dad threatened. He told me not to dredge all that shit up for you all over again. Because it would hurt you too much. And he’s right. The last thing I want to do in this world is hurt you.” His eyes were shining, his voice gruff. “Again.”
“I believe you,” I said slowly. “But…”
“But what?” he asked, his face pale.
“But it’s not what scares me,” I said, and the nightmare of t
hat first winter without him came back to me. “The silence, Isaac. The silence scares me. Three years…”
He put his hand over his heart as if my words had stabbed him. He gripped his shirt, the pain constricting his face. “I know,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry, Willow. I swear to fucking God, I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head, my heart aching. “I know it’s how you cope,” I said. “You’ve been hurt too. But if you’re asking me what I want, then I’m telling you. It’s you. Your presence. Your voice. To feel connected to you. To never feel that cut off from you again. Even if things don’t work out between us, I can’t have…nothing. I can’t.”
“You won’t,” he said, his voice thick. “You won’t, ever again. I swear. I’ll never stop being here for you, talking to you, telling you every day how I feel. Because the only fucking thing I feel is how much I love you. And how sorry I am for adding to your pain when you were already carrying so much.” He coughed, his jaw working. “You’re so goddamn brave, Willow. Braver than anyone I know. Braver than me. And what you did tonight…” He shook his head. Then he grew very still. He swallowed hard, and lifted his eyes to mine, bracing himself. “Did I lose you?”
My face crumpled with the strain of holding back the tears. I shook my head until I could speak.
“You can’t lose me, Isaac,” I said in a broken whisper. “You’re my until. The one that makes everything better.”
He held my gaze for a moment, then his head bowed. “Christ…”
I went to him, to hold him in my arms, my tears spilling over now, but he fell to his knees first. Wrapped his arms around my waist, buried his face against my middle, holding tight to me, his shoulders shaking.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, over and over. “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry.”
I cried and reached to touch him. Tentatively at first, my fingers in his hair, remembering the softness. My touch trailed down his back, remembering. His shoulders, remembering. I dropped to my knees, my hands touching his face now, my eyes tracing every part of him, remembering.
His tears were rain in the stormy gray-green of his eyes. A tempest of pain and regret and three years lost. But beneath that, love.
The love was there first.
“I’m sorry, too,” I whispered. “I love you. I will never stop loving you.”
His hands came up to hold my face. His palms spread wide, remembering. His broken voice wrapping around my name.
And he kissed me.
Isaac…
A little sound fell out of me just as he made a noise deep in his chest.
God, it’s him.
My eyes fell shut, remembering the feel of his mouth on mine. A sweet ecstasy. A give and take of himself for me, and me for him. Tasting him—the salt of his tears and a small tinge of blood. The gulf between us finally bridged, letting him come back to me on a flood of sense memories.
Nights in the dim of the theater, speaking centuries’ old lines with modern emotion. The block at the amphitheater and his hands helping me down, touching me for the first time. The scent of the hedge maze in our noses as we kissed. The cemetery where I’d told my story and he took it from me without recoiling or thinking me ruined. And our dance on a hill, Harmony laid out below us in the dark.
We kissed through tears. We kissed though we could hardly breathe, arms wrapped tight, clinging to one another because to let go again was impossible. We kissed until the exhaustion of the night was too much.
Isaac slumped against the side of my couch, taking me with him. He pulled me onto his lap sideways, my head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. His arms held me tight and my hands made fists in the back of his shirt.
“I’m so tired,” I said.
“I know you are, baby. Me too.”
“Let’s go to bed.”
I led him to my bedroom. We parted just long enough for me to change out of my dress and draw on a T-shirt over my underwear. When I came out of the bathroom, Isaac had stripped down to his undershirt and boxers. Same as he had on that night three years ago. Only this time, nothing would wake us in the middle of the night to tear us apart.
We curled our sides, facing each other, our hands entwined and legs tangled. Kissing until fatigue finally took Isaac under, his lips still on mine.
“You fell asleep on me,” I murmured against his mouth. “In the middle of kissing.”
I drank him in a few moments more, then rolled over to tuck my back against his chest.
“Willow,” he said, against my neck.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I was resting my eyes.”
I laughed in my throat, too tired to do anything else.
“Have to tell you something,” he said. “Very important.”
“Hm?”
“I’ll never love anyone but you.”
I opened my eyes and sunlight flooded my room. The clock read ten in the morning. I’d never slept so late in my life.
I was still tangled with Isaac, his body pressed to mine, holding me tight. I snuggled deeper against him, letting my fingers trail down his arms, skimming the words tattooed on his left forearm:
I burn, I pine, I perish.
My fingers kept going, down over his bruised knuckles. I told him once that beating up Xavier wouldn’t help me. Looking at the wounds now, I couldn’t help feel they were physical proof Isaac would hurt anyone that hurt me, including himself.
“No more hurt,” I whispered, and kissed his knuckles.
He stirred and his lips brushed against my neck.
“I like your house,” he said. “I love you in it. You belong here.”
I rolled over to face him. “What about you? Where do you belong?”
“With you. If you want me.”
“So much.” I kissed his lips, the cut on the corner, his chin. “But can you be happy here? What about your career? What about Hollywood?”
“I’m done with Hollywood. It gave me what I needed and I got the hell out. I’m not going back.”
“Broadway?”
“For me or for you?”
I covered my face. “Oh my God, not me.”
He pulled my hands away. “Yes, you. You’re brilliant, baby. The world should know it. But there’s no rush. I can stay here. I want to stay here. I’ve seen Harmony through your eyes and…” He shrugged. “It’s home. I want to build a life here with you.”
“You do?”
“Promise.” He smiled. “Marty’s already cast us in the next Shakespeare.”
I dropped my gaze. “There might not be a theater, Isaac. Xavier told me he’d buy it and have it razed.”
Isaac’s eyes darkened. “I’ll buy it.”
My eyes widened. “You can do that?”
He pulled me close. “I can. I will. I’ll buy it and give it to Marty. Or set it up with the city so that Marty can run it for as long as he wants.”
“Oh my God, he’ll be so happy.”
“What about you? I want you to be happy, too. That’s all I’ll ever want for the rest of my life.”
I slid my palm over his cheek. “I’m happy. Right now, I don’t think I could be happier.”
He inclined his head to kiss me, deeply, and I felt his body come awake against mine.
“Sorry,” he started to say but I shook my head.
“Don’t be.” I kissed him again, harder. “Isaac, I don’t want to stop this time.”
He pulled back to look at me. “You sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
He kissed me again, pulling me closer. My body let go of old fear, leaving only the intense desire to have Isaac in every way. To be enveloped by him completely, skin to skin. Not smothered and choking but holding him and being held. Letting him inside me because I wanted him everywhere.
His kiss was slow and deep, telling me we were going to take our time. His hands slid up my back and into my hair. He groaned softly, making fists in the thick waves. I loved how he touche
d me. As if he couldn’t get enough but would wait forever if I needed him to.
No more waiting.
My hands slipped around his neck, down over his chest and back up again, greedy for all of him. I didn’t want to stop kissing him but I needed to see him.
“Take this off,” I said, pulling at his shirt.
He yanked it over his head, tossed it aside, then lay back on the pillows, pulling me on top of him. A shiver shot up my spine at the sheer masculine beauty of his body. He was mine to touch and explore, however I wanted. My hands skimmed over the smooth planes of him, down to the contours of his abdomen. Muscle and power thrumming under my fingers. An energy that drew me toward him, falling forward on my hands and kissing him hard.
His fists in my hair tightened and then slipped down my back to my waist, curved around my ass, then glided up under my shirt. The sensation of his hands on me filled me with need. To touch and be touched. To give him more. Our mouths took back all the kisses we’d missed. Our hands sought to reclaim every lost touch. Our bodies craved the other, starving and desperate and needing to be satiated.
I sat up on his lap, stripped off my T-shirt, letting my hair fall down around my shoulders and breasts. Isaac stared, his pulse jumping in his throat. I waited, trembling, not with fear but anticipation of his hands on me. Or his mouth.
Or both.
He sat up and lifted the mass of hair off my neck. Strands stuck to my sweat dampened skin as the heat of the day intensified in my little house.
“Willow,” he whispered, drinking me in, his eyes leaving trails of heat wherever they landed on me. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
“Touch me,” I said.
His hands skimmed up my sides, then covered my breasts. Calloused skin over my sensitive nipples. I bit my lip and arched into his touch.
“Come here,” he said.
He lay back and gently pulled me toward him so he could take one nipple in his mouth. I cried out, a hand braced on the headboard as he sucked and licked. His teeth bit just hard enough to make me gasp, then his mouth moved to the other breast. His tongue swirling over my nipple, sending a slow heat down my back where it settled between my legs. A heavy ache of want growing more dire with every passing moment. My hips rolled against his erection, only the thin material of his boxers and my panties between us.
