Another Brush of Love (The Carnal Exhibitions Book 3)

by LW Barefoot

  “Shh, baby. I’ve got you,” Evan’s voice is the last thing I hear before shock takes over and the Sculptor’s loving hand meets me and pulls me in the dark.

  Evan

  It’s impossible to erase something from memory that’s permanently seared into it. Embedded so deeply that even if I become an old man and lose my wits, the display in front of me will be something I wake up to. Even then, it won’t escape me. Even then, I will find no reprieve.

  My life ends when I take in the scene in front of me. That one crash signified the loss of something I can never get back or ever replace.

  I see the kiss. I witness their lips meld together. Their tongues lick and suck and draw each other in. Harper’s thighs grip on either side of him and I know he’s inside of her. Her soft fingertips trace a deep scar across the back of his neck and it pulls my gaze down to see the rest of him.

  They look like two lovers until blood floods across her chest and her high-pitched scream bounces off every surface, every ounce of my awareness. The sound competes with the gurgle of the Sculptor’s slit throat. I create a new name for him, the Destroyer, because that’s exactly what he is.

  I slam the door away from me, covering the distance between us as my pulse pounds for Harper and only her. I take the knife away from her shaking hand as regret, shame, horror, and a million other things shift through the landscapes in her eyes.

  I can’t think about the fact that she was willing to commit the same act against herself. That she would strip me from the only good I have ever known.

  She slips out of my grasp as Grayson and Brad come in the room. The Sculptor struggles to catch his breath and chokes. His eyes never leave Harper. Even now, he has his hold.

  “Shh, baby, I’ve got you.”

  But that’s a lie, because he’s had her all this time.

  I manage to drag her off and away from his body and wrangle her into the shower. I wash his blood off her until I realize that she’s the one bleeding and making it worse.

  Her wails of horror and shock carve into me and leave a scar so deep it could never possibly heal.

  I have to restrain her from her hurting herself further. I yell for help as Harper convulses in my arms.

  She throws up, but nothing’s in her stomach. Yellow bile mixes with pink infused water. The kaleidoscope of what makes us human mixes with water and competes for attention in the floor of the shower.

  When her eyes travel down, she sees the Roman numeral two and she loses her mind.

  Brad pushes the sedative into her skin. Instantly, relief flutters across her features.

  Her head whips up and looks at both Grayson and Brad. She loses it again just before the drugs do what they’re supposed to.

  Evan

  My close knit group of men travel the Gulf in Martin’s boat out to the marina. Anthony Carrera stands on the dock half past midnight with a gun to my father’s head and holds a lit cigar in the other.

  Joe Hawthorne sits dethroned and disheveled tied to a folding chair with duct tape across his mouth. It shines rugged steel when the lights of the boat float over their stance.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Grayson asks with a hand on my shoulder.

  “Without a doubt,” I answer without a second thought.

  “You really don’t care how this plays out?” Brad asks as Seth maneuvers the boat closer to the dock and powers down the engines.

  “I have enough on my plate. You and Anthony have a past and I don’t give a fuck what happens to Joe,” I admit.

  I haven’t called him dad since I realized what kind of man he is. And I never want to be like him. I will not pay for the sins of my father.

  “What if Anthony puts a bullet through his skull tonight?” Seth smirks from behind the captain’s seat and I know he likes that idea.

  “It’s no longer my concern,” I answer and Brad laughs.

  There’s nothing about this that’s funny. I almost feel bad about pushing Grayson into the hot seat and head of my family’s crime organization. I can’t focus on the most important person in my life when I’m worried about someone coming after either one of us. I will do whatever I can to make things right with Harper, no matter how long I have to wait. And I will wait for however long that takes.

  The boat gets tethered to the dock. Joe’s eyes shift over every one of us as we unload. He’s the mirror image of myself and I could witness my own death if we don’t play this right.

  “Evan,” Anthony smirks when he cocks the gun and pushes a bullet into the chamber.

  “Anthony,” I answer him as humble as I can.

  “What am I supposed to do?” he asks pushing the gun against my father’s temple.

  To Joe’s credit, he doesn’t flinch.

  “Do what you must,” I answer. “Grayson is taking over control for Joe. His future is no longer my concern.”

  Anthony wasn’t expecting this. Grayson and Anthony’s friendship will make things easier. I really don’t give a fuck about how this all plays out, other than the concern I have for Grayson. We are all we have left of family. But then I catch Brad’s eyes and Seth’s stiff spine and I know better.

  My chest tightens when I think about Harper struggling through a nightmare and I’m not there to pull her out of it.

  “Grayson,” I say as I pat his back and nod to Anthony.

  Anthony has enough honor to bow out and not push the issue in this change of plans that changes everything.

  “Evan,” his Spanish accent clips and I turn my attention to the man who once stood to destroy me. “Take care of my love.”

  “I intend to,” I mutter as I climb aboard and Brad fires up the motors.

  Seth stays with Grayson. He promised he would. Brad and I leave to head back to the plantation and leave the past behind.

  Enormous weight lifts in the muggy night air as the hull of the boat cuts through dark waves.

  The gunshot in the distance is almost quiet against the sound of the ocean.

  The lights of the estate are bright in the distance and the pulse that I’m tethered to beats for me and calls me home.

  Harper

  Fat Tuesday…

  Winter welcomes the first signs of spring with a warm pleasant breeze. The air whispers through my hair, tickles across my skin and causes my eyes to water behind my sunglasses.

  Brad’s shadow is with me and Jamie holds my left hand. The urn I hold in my arms is my one and only victim.

  I forgive him. As much as I’ve tried to hold back, there’s no other way to live. There’s no other choice I have if I want to move forward.

  The sparkling Mardi Gras decorations and masks remain faceless to me. The massive throng of partiers no longer intimidates me.

  We walk with the throbbing mob to watch the Krewe of Rex parade down Canal Street. I hold the urn tight in my grip and refuse the multiple offers of libations on this festive day. This last day of celebration before Ash Wednesday. I’ve been waiting for the forgiveness and a fresh start I’ve learned is freely given with my confessions. The vessel and evidence of my sins, I hold tight in my arms.

  This is my final step. This is allowing myself to let go of the past. I can’t carry this burden any longer.

  I don’t know what strings Tom had to pull off to make this possible, but he knows how important this is to me.

  I’ve struggled since the night I fell apart and became something I’m not. This last step is crucial and deeply personal.

  Mardi Gras represents a time of celebration. As we’re crammed and jostled through the crowd, a calm peace settles through me. We walk with the revelers of the Krewe of Sainte Anne down to the river.

  The costumes and tradition of releasing ashes in the Mississippi represent grief and acknowledging loved ones. I hold the Sculptor’s ashes, the famous painter with scars that altered him inside and out, the man who changed me irrevocably. The boy I never really knew. My greatest fear and my saddest victory and I hold him secure. I pray for the soul o
f someone so broken who was capable of such awful things. I have to do this for so many reasons and some I don’t understand myself.

  When the procession reaches the edge of the water and it’s my turn, I do it alone. I mean no disrespect to the others represented and remembered today or any past farewells. But if I believe in souls then I know the Sculptor had one, despite what I once thought.

  I say a silent prayer as his remains float over cloudy water and I hope he finds peace. As the wind picks up, I release all the anger and hatred I’ve carried for so long.

  The secret of whose ashes I release will stay with us. I turn around to Brad and Jamie waiting for me patiently. They don’t understand my need to do this, but it’s not for them to. Brad clasps my hand and helps me walk back across the rocky shoreline.

  We’re silent as the noise and revelry booms from every direction. Crazy costumes, inebriated spectators, and true lovers of life congregate on the ancient streets of the city that is the most original in existence.

  We wade through the masses toward Jamie and I’s house that’s really become his and Kate’s.

  When I walk around the corner and see the entrance in sight, my heart flutters up in my throat. I try to swallow past the lump, but it thickens and restricts. Those ancient butterflies flutter and swoop around in my stomach. I wipe a bead of sweat away from the back of my neck. I straighten my blouse and make sure none of the ashes of the past taint this beautiful future.

  Evan looks up from leaning against a classic car. The last time I saw it, the engine was sitting on blocks and it looked like a rusted heap of metal. While therapists spent months with me, Evan refurbished the helpless piece of equipment.

  As the world rushes past us, I see it for what it is. He’s perfect in every way that matters.

  His smile is sexy as hell as Brad slips the empty urn from my hands. I don’t look back as I push my way to Evan. I weave past characters from every genre imaginable.

  Beads get thrown down off balconies into the crowd. In all the mess and beautiful chaos, my eyes are for Evan alone. His shock of black hair and chiseled face stand out in stark beauty and a well of depth as his emerald eyes hold mine.

  He saved me, brought me back from the brink, and waited longer than I deserve.

  My heart jumps before I do. He catches me and slams me deliciously against the sparkling car that’s gotten a second lease on life. His full lips crash against mine. I take and pull. I grasp his hair and his heart in my hands. I give and relent. I melt into the bliss and squirm for more. More of him. More of us. Most definitely more of this.

  Cheers and applause sound around us as I try to keep myself in check because we’re still in public. But what the hell? Women are flashing their tits for pitiful pieces of plastic. So I rip my heart out and place it in Evan’s possession. As his hands cradle my head and his arms cage me in, I have hope for us.

  The past will always be there, but the future looks so bright it’s almost blinding.

  Evan

  Fat Tuesday

  I didn’t know what to expect and I damn sure wasn’t going down to the river with the ashes of someone who hurt Harper.

  Grayson hands me a cold bottle of beer from the ice chest in the back of the car.

  “You didn’t need to go down to the river to say your goodbyes?” he asks.

  “He doesn’t deserve them. You never told me what happened with Anthony or who actually pulled the trigger,” I say taking a pull off the beer.

  “Did you hear the gun go off?” he asks.

  “Yes, but I was too focused on getting back to Harper and I knew you and Seth were safe with Anthony.”

  “I did it, for my mom and for yours. For Harper and for everyone else Joe has harmed. It also served to gain Anthony’s complete trust. So as far as business goes, things have never been better,” Grayson replies masking his emotions completely.

  “How did you get the ashes of our father in Harper’s hands?”

  “Tom was more than willing to turn the other cheek and sign for them from the morgue this morning. Don’t worry. He wants Harper to think that’s the Sculptor floating away on the breeze and dirty water as well.”

  “I find it appropriate those ashes are of one of the men who hurt her,” I mutter.

  “Good riddance,” Grayson says clinking the neck on his bottle to mine in a mock salute.

  It’s hard to focus with all the nonsense that takes place this day of the year. But growing up with it also allows you to grow past the shock and see it for what it is.

  The trio of nonparticipants of Mardi Gras become noticeable when they make their way around the corner. Harper’s hair shines with a mix of her past and her present. She’s added back in subtle shades of amber with her glowing honeyed tones.

  As I study her closer with glimpses of her grace, there’s something different about her. Something I’ve never seen as she covers the distance that separate us.

  Weaving through the buzzing crowd, my gaze searches for her mercilessly. A peace about her features and it’s not long before our eyes find each other’s.

  My resolve shatters when she rushes to me. Through hazy ridiculousness and stupid celebrations, I reach for her as she reaches for me. There’s no holding back. There are no more barriers between us. There’s a mountain of hurt and heartache, but as her lips meet mine I’m saved. I’m saved by her earnest kiss, by the weight that’s lifted off her shoulders, and the absence of guilt.

  Harper

  This last year has been the hardest of my life, but as I accept the proffered beer that Grayson twists the cap off for me, I kiss him square on the lips and hug him tight. Evan growls next to me and Grayson sets me back on my feet.

  “Don’t worry that was like kissing my sister,” Grayson says and I laugh.

  “I had to do that. I’m not sure why,” I grin.

  “What an absolute let down,” Grayson grumbles and Evan’s relieved.

  “Come dance with me, Harper,” Kate yells in her costume dripping in glitter she’ll never get out of her hair.

  “She doesn’t know you that well,” Jamie smirks.

  “Maybe it’s time we change that,” I grin and move to the woman I should have spent more time getting to know.

  Her damn costume rains the herpes of the craft world all over the place. They spread and shine and coat us in shimmery sparkles.

  We dance and drink and have the time of our lives. We stay tucked in the courtyard I once considered a part of my home. Jamie cooks a feast fit for a king and curses when he can’t get some of Kate’s glitter off the island in the kitchen. I catch him smile at her and kiss her despite his annoyance.

  I take shots of tequila with Seth and lose my mind when Brad finally reveals his hot pink boa and matching mask I never got to see last year.

  Evan and I make love in my old room with the French doors wide open to the cool night air. He swears that he loves me exactly as I am and I fall even more in love with him.

  I drunkenly drift to sleep in the arms of the man that saved me from my past and myself. Evan wakes me up before dawn to fuck me again before we get out of bed.

  We get ready and dressed before we head downstairs. Everyone is up and in the kitchen, crowded around the breakfast spread Jamie prepared.

  “Are you ready for this?” Evan asks and I nod my head.

  The morning after the craziest day in New Orleans is a test on your senses. The street crews do an amazing job on the cleanup but the evidence is littered everywhere.

  The locals in our group weave us through side streets. We stay as far away from Bourbon Street as we can manage. We dodge empty cups and plastic beads as we walk as a group to Saint Louis Cathedral.

  The blind gypsy taps her cane up the steps of the church when I reach for her arm. Brad and Evan bristle beside me.

  “Ma’am,” I whisper as her blind eyes move over my face but for the first time since I collided with her over a year ago, she doesn’t see me at all.

  “My darling, yo
u made it,” she exclaims with twitching eyes and I wrap her in a hug.

  I squeeze her and lose it when she starts to cry.

  “How can I ever thank you?” I plead when she pulls away.

  “I’m nothing more than a rambling old woman who can no longer see you,” she murmurs under her breath.

  Brad mumbles a verse about entertaining angels unaware.

  The woman’s head whips to Evan and I swear she stares right at him.

  “Don’t let the wolf out,” she hisses on a coarse growl.

  Evan shifts uncomfortably and thanks the woman who was responsible for him finding me.

  She shuffles ahead of us with her tapping cane, marking an invisible crucifix over her chest.

  The service delivers messages of sin and repentance, of love and redemption.

  “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return,” the priest speaks and paints a cross on my forehead.

  The procession precedes as I’m filled with awe and a faith so deep it weaves miracles through me and fills all those cracks deep within me.

  The same ashes that mark my face were burned during the hardest time of my life.

  I witness Evan relax. The same relief that offered me sanctuary coats him in blessed relief.

  Evan

  As I cover the distance to my garage, I stop moving when I hear someone come up behind me.

  “What are you doing, Mae?”

  “Let me see what’s behind those doors,” she insists stepping out from behind a tree.

  “There’s nothing but a collection of classic cars in various stages of restoration. You should know because you drive every single one that runs,” I tell her.

  “That’s not the only thing. I’ve been sending three square meals a day with Martin out here for months and yet, Martin still eats every meal with me,” she murmurs.