by Jewel E. Ann
“I’m still Darby.” I hug Susie, the housekeeper who’s known me since I was born.
She smiles, a soft crinkling around her eyes and lips shows the years. “He’s in his office.”
“Thanks.”
I nod and smile at the extra security stationed around the house. The place I called home for two years before college has become a fortress over the past few months. I knock on the solid wood door.
“Not now.”
I roll my eyes and open the door.
“I said not—” My father looks up from his desk, reading glasses low on his nose, gray hair combed over Donald Trump style. “Darby.”
I step in, closing the door behind me.
“Did I know you were coming?”
I chuckle. “No, sorry did I need to make an appointment?”
He removes his reading glasses, tossing them on his desk, and leans back in his chair. “Have a seat.” He nods to the chair opposite him.
“I’m leaving town.” I sit on the edge of the chair, not planning on staying very long.
My father folds his hands and rests them in his lap. “You made the trip here to tell me you’re going on vacation?”
“No, I made the trip here to tell you I’m leaving indefinitely.”
“That thug break your heart?”
I wish there were some compassion in his voice, like a father should have if his daughter did in fact get her heart broken, but my father is devoid of that.
“No, he stole it.”
“You’re too good for him. You were raised better than that.”
“Better than what? Homeless? You don’t even know him.”
“I’ve seen all I need to know.”
“You’ve seen all you need to know. And what is that? His tattoos? His address?”
“You’re not leaving. With two months left before voters go to the polls, the last thing I need is you making a scene.”
I spring from my chair, gripping the edge of his desk, leaning forward. “A scene? Falling in love and living my own goddamn life is not making a scene! Fucking anything with tits and a skirt is making a scene!”
“That’s enough!”
“I don’t know what my mother ever saw in you.”
“I said that’s enough!”
“Fuck you, father!”
Whack!
Stomach acid gurgles up my throat, but I swallow it back down. With my hand cupping my cheek, I taste the salty metallic mix of blood on my tongue as the tip of it traces the gash on my lip.
“Now look at what you made me do.” He grabs a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the blood … my blood from his hand.
I suck in my bloodied, quivering lip as hot tears bleed down my cheeks. “Nana said my mom saw something special in you … but I’ve never ever seen it.” Turning, I make my way to the door with wavering steps.
The biting sound of hate in his voice stops me as I turn the knob. “That’s because it’s gone. It died with her … the day you killed her.”
Swallowing back the sobs, I run straight to my car. Susie’s voice echoes in the distance, but I don’t stop. The wad of tissue sticks to my lip as I blot the blood and wipe my face in the visor mirror. I wasn’t an abused child. I can count on one hand how many times my father has hit me. Tonight was number four. Justified? Absolutely not. Provoked? Always.
The pain he doles out makes it easy to walk away, but it also makes it easy to come back. Four—the number of times I’ve seen the pain … the love he must have had for my mom. Twenty-seven—the number of birthdays I’ve celebrated without my father. He’s always left a gift or money, but I’ve never once seen him on my birthday. That line between love and hate is so fine it’s nearly invisible. I thought it would get better, but as the years progress his “love” for me has been engulfed by pain, and now all I see is his anger.
*
It takes me less than fifteen minutes to pack my suitcase. The moment I pull into Trick’s garage, I feel the heaviness in my heart lift and nearly vanish. He is my home, my safe haven. Before the elevator comes to a complete stop, I see Trick sitting at his kitchen counter eating a sandwich.
“I was going to wait for you to eat, but my stomach overrul—” Trick gets his first unobstructed look at me as I tug my suitcase off the elevator. “What the fuck!” He stands with a jerk, sending the stool crashing over against the concrete. He cradles my face before I can utter a word. I flinch as his thumb grazes my cut lip. “Darby, what the fuck happened?”
With a shaky breath I swallow past the lump in my throat, but my tears don’t get the memo that no more are needed. “We can l-leave in the m-morning…” my lower lip begins to quiver again “…go an-anywhere you w-want to go.”
“Darby! Who did this to you?” The last time I saw this look on Trick’s face, he had a gun pointed at my attacker.
I shake my head and sniffle. “I s-said something I-I shouldn’t have.”
“Who?” he seethes.
“My father.”
He releases me and starts to walk past me.
“Trick!” I grab his arm. “Don’t … let it go. Please, I need you.”
He stops, his bicep steel in my hand.
“I need you.”
When he turns back to me, I place my hands flat on his chest. His heart pounds against the rise and fall of each angry breath. Looking down, I slide my hands to the button of his pants.
“No.” He grabs my hands.
Closing my eyes, the tears spill over. I open them and look up. “If you say no … it will hurt worse than anything he said or did to me.”
His brow furrows. I don’t mean to cause him pain, I just need him to take mine away. I need to feel physically and emotionally loved more than I ever have before.
He releases my hands and shrugs off his shirt. His hand cups the back of my head while his lips press to my cheek. The tip of his tongue grazes my skin, dissolving my tears. He consumes my pain with his touch, one tiny drop at a time.
Scooping me up in his strong arms, he carries me to the bed and sets me on the edge. A final shaky breath ricochets through my body. He undresses me with love. Every touch, every look takes away a little more pain.
Then he finishes undressing himself and lets me just look at him. It’s not arrogant, or cocky—no lip twitch. He’s giving me what I need. I need to take all of him in—let him flow into all the cracks and crevices of my heart, replacing all the missing pieces. His love stitches me up … holds me together.
Kneeling on the floor, he wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head on my legs. “My BFF texted me today. She’s getting married. OMG, like … WTF can you believe that? Heart Emoji, kiss Emoji, smiley Emoji, ring Emoji, thumbs up Emoji, and applause Emoji.”
A laughing sob escapes from my chest. More tears, but now they’re tears of joy and love … my God, so much love. I run my fingers through his hair and he lifts his head giving me a breathtaking smile. My palms press to his stubbly face. “Your BFF sounds like the luckiest woman in the entire world.”
His gaze slips and he nods. “God, I hope so.”
I scoot back on the bed. “Come.”
He smirks, and we both know I can use his command, but the control will always be his. “You first.” He presses his hands to my inner thighs, spreading me open. When the heat of his mouth and the brush of his stubble find my sensitive flesh, I moan, letting my heavy eyelids drift shut.
“Trick …” With one hand fisting the sheet and my other clenching his hair, I let him take me to that other world—a world where light and darkness collide, emotions vanish, and all that’s left is the most incredible out of body experience.
After I melt into a pool of bliss in the middle of his bed, he still doesn’t take … he continues to give. His hands glide over every curve with such patience it feels like he’s sculpting me. Lips breathe love over my skin, eliciting a chilling shiver as I arch my back into his touch. His hands slide up, drawing mine above my head. Our fingers intertwine; I cry out as his to
ngue teases my sensitive nipple.
“Darby …” he whispers over my skin while sinking into me, filling every last physical and emotional void.
Our hands clench together like they’re holding on to something greater than this moment. He rocks into me; hovering over my face, we just stare until … the world makes sense again.
*
The eight-hundred milligrams of Ibuprofen I took before going to bed numbed the pain and allowed me to collapse into a coma-like state. I don’t think I moved an inch the entire night. I wake feeling rested, but my face is sore again.
“Trick?” my croaky morning voice calls out.
He walks around the corner in black boxer briefs, rubbing a towel through his wet hair. “Good morning.” He smiles and leans down, pressing a feathery kiss to my swollen lip. “You were out.”
I nod. “Yeah, I must have been exhausted.”
He sits on the edge of the bed with one leg propped up. His gaze focuses across the room at my suitcase. “I scheduled us flights this morning.” He looks at me. “Are you sure about this?”
I nod, tracing the script under his arm. Don’t look back in anger. “I’m sure.”
Trick rests his hand on my thigh. “Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”
Sitting up, I climb out of bed, loving the way he unapologetically stares at my naked figure when the sheet falls from my body. “I’ll go anywhere with you,” I say, walking to the bathroom.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Arriving at O’Hare three hours before our flight, a jittery mix of nerves and excitement churn in my belly. What are we doing? Running away? Starting over?
“I assume you have your passport?” Trick glances over at me as we get out of the cab.
“Yes.” I grin because he still hasn’t told me where we’re going, and I haven’t asked.
We check in and snake our way through the snail-paced security line. I’ve now discovered we’re headed to Los Cabos, but Trick assures me it’s not our final destination.
“Lunch?”
I nod as we walk to a bar and grill down from our terminal. It’s now after noon so the place is packed. We opt to eat at the bar to save time.
“Two lemonades.” Trick orders for us while we look over the menu.
As I glance from the cob salad on one page to the grilled portobello sandwich on the next page, something familiar catches my attention on the TV behind the bar. My eyes flit side to side over the words of the closed caption.
My father.
I grip Trick’s arm and he follows my gaze. My father’s being escorted from the hospital through a crowd of reporters and photographers, arm in a sling and his face banged up. It’s hard to tell to what extent because of the bandages and his sunglasses.
The words on the screen flash across too fast. I can’t make sense of it all.
“… home invasion … Senator Carmichael was assaulted in his sleep … suspicious malfunction in the security recordings … no one knows how the intruder made it past the guards …”
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
Trick looks back at his menu. “I think I’m going to get the turkey club. What are you getting?”
My breath catches in my throat as I inch my head to the side, eyes wide. His gaze eases from the menu to me. He knows the question, and the longer he stares at me, emotionless, I know the answer. My eyes slip to his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs with a deep swallow, then my eyes go back to his.
“I’m only going to say this once.” He pauses as if to make sure I hear the serious depth of his voice, or maybe to make sure I hear the unwavering tone of it.
I nod once with slow apprehension.
“No one will ever get away with hurting you. Understood?”
My blood turns to ice; my mind reels. I was so out of it last night. That’s how he managed to sneak away without me knowing. My God, he thinks this is tit for tat. He broke into the home of a U.S. senator and assaulted him in his sleep and—
“Darby?”
My eyes focus again. Trick gestures to the bartender waiting to take my order.
“Um … cob salad, Italian dressing.”
He smiles then turns to put our order into the computer.
“Hey,” Trick calls to the bartender. “Can you change the channel?”
The bartender grabs a remote under the counter and flips the channel to some daytime talk show.
“Thanks,” Trick says. Turning toward me, he scoots my stool closer to his and cups the back of my head, bringing my face a breath away from his. “What he did to you is not okay. I don’t even want to know if it was the first time he laid his fucking hands on you. But I can promise you, it was the last.” He presses his lips to my forehead.
“But you could go to jail,” I whisper with a shaky voice.
Trick releases my head and sits back, chuckling. “Did you see my picture on the TV?”
“He probably doesn’t know who did it.”
Trick takes a drink and crushes a piece of ice between his teeth. “Oh, he knows, but he also received a photo of you sleeping last night, with your face looking the way it does.” He looks at my face. “Well, before I covered it up for you this morning.”
“You’re blackmailing my father,” I whisper, looking around us.
Trick rubs the back of his fingers under his chin. “Absolutely not. I just sent him the photo. Whatever conclusions he makes are all his own.”
I pull my phone out of my handbag. The battery went dead last night and I don’t remember turning it back on after charging it. There has to be a message from my father or Nana. But when I turn it on and check, there’s nothing.
“I should call him.”
Trick shakes his head and laughs. “And say what? That you’re sorry someone hit him?”
“He’s my father.”
“He’s a sperm donor.”
I flinch. His comment stings … the truth can do that.
Trick leans in, squeezing my leg with his hand. “If you want to stay, just say so.”
As my tongue brushes my lip, I rest my hand on his. This isn’t a question that should have to be answered. “I want to be with you.”
“You can be with me if we stay.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to stay.”
Trick skims my cheek with his thumb, an ease to his facial expression. “Me neither.”
*
We land in Los Cabos and Trick informs me we’re renting a car to drive to Todos Santos, our final destination. Then he informs me we’ll only use the rental until he arranges to have his motorcycle shipped down here. In this moment the reality of what we’re doing hits me. I told Nana I didn’t know how long I’d be gone, but I told my work I needed an extended leave for personal reasons—I didn’t actually quit. But … I’m still in. Wherever Trick goes, I go.
“Let’s get a cab to the nearest car dealership.”
Trick takes our luggage from the carousel. “We’re not buying a car.”
“Well maybe we’re not, but I am. It rains in Mexico too.”
“That’s why we either stay in or wear our rain gear for the bike. Come.” He takes off toward the doors.
“We can’t have sex on the back of your motorcycle.”
He stops, allowing me to catch up. Pursing his lips, his eyes trail down my body. “I beg to differ, but if that’s why you want a car, then…” he turns and continues through the doors “…suit yourself.”
“Typical guy.”
“What’s that?” he asks, hoisting our luggage into the back of the taxi.
I smile. “Nothing.”
*
Trick stares at my new purchase with his hands resting on his hips. “It’s a chick mobile and a bait and switch. There’s no way we’ll be having sex in the back of that thing. You should have bought the Escalade.”
I hand him the keys to my little red Saab. “Yeah, well we’ll give it a go once we get out of town a ways.”
He snatches the keys and slip
s on his sunglasses. “If we’re out of town, no need to cram in the back. I’ll just fuck you on the hood.”
I open the passenger door and look at him over the frames of my sunglasses. “The hood will be too hot from the engine.”
We both say “trunk” in unison and hop in the car.
He starts the car and puts his hand on the gear shift. I put my hand over his. He looks at me.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
I lean over and kiss him. It’s slow, our tongues making lazy strokes together. His hand moves from the gear shift to my face and when I start to pull away he holds me to him, dropping the softest kiss ever to the corner of my fat lip. “For wanting to make memories with me.” I smile.
“I love you, Darby Roth.”
My brows peak. “I’m not your wife, yet.”
He puts the car in gear and pulls out. “You will be … soon.”
My initial grin snaps into a grimace as my enthusiasm grows so big it pulls at my lip. Every ounce of my being does a happy dance. If this is karma for all the years I tried to find friends, tried to fit in with no avail, then I love her. Karma and I are BFFs … well, after Trick of course.
We roll down the windows and let in the warm breeze. I’m in paradise and it has nothing to do with Mexico.
“Why Todos Santos?”
“Have you been?” He gives me a quick sidelong glance.
“Nope, have you?”
He shakes his head with a mega-watt-just-for-Darby grin. “My parents met in Todos Santos.”
“Seriously?”
He nods, eyes on the road ahead. “Christmas break their senior year of high school. Their parents rented places next door to each other on the beach. His family was from Utah, her family lived in Minnesota. They both told the story the same way … love at first sight.” He chuckles. “I hated hearing it over and over again. Now I’d give anything to see their eyes light up as they narrate every word, both sharing parts of the story like lines of a play.”
“So how’d they end up …” I hate even saying the word. The thought of Trick and his family homeless cuts so deep, especially after seeing that picture he drew of them. It was them having everything and nothing at the same time.
