Gravity

by Liz Crowe

  “Any word?”

  He shook his head and glared down at his device. Deciding that adding her panic to his wasn’t a good use of either of their time right now, she smiled at him and turned away, keeping her worries to herself.

  Guests began arriving about an hour later, guided from vans by the staff equipped with giant umbrellas around to the tent that now encompassed the entire back yard. Over a hundred people were expected, including the Governor and First Lady, so parking arrangements had been made with a couple of hotels, and shuttles scheduled, even before the weather had turned to absolute shit.

  Thankful she and Brock had decided to get the extra lighting, heaters and seating, Kayla watched from an upstairs window, willing him to materialize from one of the vans, smile up at her and head indoors, forgoing the umbrellas for the sake of haste. But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t conjure him.

  “Hey, Earth to Kayla, time to dress the bride.” Evelyn’s voice was high and bright which gave her stress away.

  “You bitches are being weird, now,” Melody insisted as she sat pulling a brush through her long, silky hair. “Come clean. What’s wrong? I mean, other than the obvious.” She held up a hand as the wind howled around the corners of the house.

  They exchanged a look which Kayla realized was a mistake, given the guilty nature of it. Melody rose, smoothed her hands over her dressing gown and marched past them to the door. Evelyn moved fast, blocking her way. “Oh no you don’t. We have to put your dress on you and get you downstairs. Your guests and future hubby await.” Her smile was huge and fake.

  “Move out of my way,” Melody insisted, her voice a low, almost-growl. “There’s something wrong with Trent and I want to see him. Now.”

  Kayla put a hand on Melody’s arm, but she threw her off, still glaring at Evelyn who hadn’t budged from her spot blocking the door. “I mean it. Move.”

  The women managed a few more seconds of stare-down, then Evelyn slumped and shifted to one side. Melody yanked the door open and bolted out into the hall. Kayla remained where she was, between the bed which was draped with the dress and veil, and the window which revealed the tent flapping in the wind that had only gotten stronger in the last hour. She was frozen in place, horrified by this whole mess and convinced it was all her fault. She’d ruined Melody’s weekend with her silly behavior that had forced Trent to do something he shouldn’t have.

  A loud shriek of surprise from somewhere in the long hallway unfroze her. She rushed out behind Evelyn, heart in her throat, skidding to a stop on the hardwood floor when she nearly ran smack into Melody’s back. The woman was babbling in Spanish, hands on her hips, glaring at someone Kayla couldn’t see at first. But of course, it was her brother, with his cage-fighter face.

  “Come on, honey. It’s nothing. He’s fine,” Evelyn was saying, trying to tug Melody away. “You need to watch your blood pressure.”

  “Get off me,” Melody cried, holding out her arms. “What did you do? You…” More Spanish that she assumed Trent understood. He’d gone out of his way to learn it, she knew, once he’d figured out he was head over heels for Melody Rodriguez. “That’s it,” she finished in English. “This marriage is doomed.” She whirled to face Evelyn and Kayla, her eyes wild, her face sweaty. “Call it off. Call it all off!”

  Kayla glanced around the woman at her brother, who stood looking amazing in his dark suit with a single deep red rose in his lapel. Well, perfect but for his face, which was now swollen up so much he was almost unrecognizable. “Jesus, T,” she muttered, turning to try to help Evelyn calm the bride.

  “I mean it,” Melody screeched at Trent. “This is just another God damned sign.”

  “But…” He walked toward her but she backed away, both hands held up in front of her.

  “Stay away from me. You go down there and tell all those people to fucking leave!”

  “Hey, what’s with all the noise?” Taylor joined their little party, stepping out of her bedroom dressed in the light-blue sundress she’d chosen for her maid-of-honor duties. She was beautiful, Kayla couldn’t help but note, with upswept hair and tan skin. “Dad?” She moved to her father, who was standing with his hands jammed into his trouser pockets. When he met her gaze, she gave a little gasp but, to her credit, didn’t add to the general freak-out. “Wow, so…” She turned to Melody who was spitting out Spanish a mile a minute as she backed toward her bedroom door. “Mel, hang on a minute.”

  Everyone, Melody included, stared at her. She’d never once called her future stepmother anything but “step monster” as a half-joke that they’d all let slide to avoid acknowledging it. Melody’s mouth gaped open as she stopped the invectives mid-stream. The wind howled. Rose kept up her ongoing whining. Kitchen staff clattered around downstairs.

  Melody closed her mouth and straightened, crossing her arms and glaring down the hall at Trent. “Your father…”

  “Is so madly in love with you it’s sickening,” Taylor finished for her.

  “But look at him!” She pointed at Trent’s face, which had gotten even more gross in the last few minutes. “He’s…ruined this, as if it weren’t ruined already.”

  Taylor moved toward her but Melody backed away. “Don’t even pretend you like me. I know you don’t. Dios Mio…this just isn’t meant to be.” She hit the wall next to her door and slid down.

  Evelyn started for her, but Kayla held out a hand, keeping her gaze on the teenager, who moved fast and was crouched in front of Melody in a flash.

  “T, go out there and tell everyone we’ve had a slight delay of game,” she said, while Taylor spoke quietly to Melody. He walked up to her and was headed for his daughter and fiancée but Kayla stopped him, too. “No. Go do what I told you. Christ, you’re like a monster. But I still love you. And so does she. Now go.” She shoved at his shoulder. He glanced at the women muttering to each other on the floor, then back at Kayla. “It’s all right. We’ve got this. We’ll be down in…” She checked her watch. “Forty-five minutes. Open up the bar. Since it’s all under one tent now, everyone can have a drink while they wait.”

  Rose let out another loud howl. Evelyn winced. “I really need to spell Ross. Austin’s out in the tent already, schmoozing.”

  “Okay, Taylor and I will handle Melody. You go on.” Kayla felt calm and in control, even happy for the distracting chaos. Evelyn nodded. “Make sure he gets out to the tent,” she said, indicating Trent who was still lurking around looking helpless. As Evelyn marched him to the stairway, Rose let out another cry, this one of pure delight.

  “Boooooock! Bock! Bock!”

  Kayla’s face blazed hot. Evelyn dragged Trent with her as Taylor pulled a crying Melody to her feet. She was torn, wanting so desperately to see Brock while at the same time knowing she had to stay here, to keep this positive momentum going.

  When his voice rose up the stairs and hit her ears, relief coated her nerves, calming her enough so she could help Taylor guide the bride back into her room.

  “There’s the most beautiful little girl ever,” were the words filling her brain as she closed the bedroom door and helped Taylor put Melody back together.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The wedding, once underway, was beautiful, despite the howling winds and off-and-on blinking of the lights inside the tent. It had been helped along by alcohol lubrication during the near hour and a half it took to coax Melody back into bride mode and get her own dress—a pale yellow version of the blue one worn by Taylor and the light green one worn by Evelyn—on and her face made up for the occasion.

  Even Trent looked a little better, aided no doubt by the dim lighting in the tent. And when he saw her—the gorgeous Melody in her perfect dress, her hair flowing like an inky waterfall down her back—he lit up in a way that almost made everyone forget the condition of his face.

  Brock had elected to keep the restless toddler up at the house for the ceremony, which disappointed her since she hadn’t laid eyes on him once and her need to do that was becoming visce
ral, like a taste in the back of her throat she wanted to experience. But for now, she was beyond thrilled that this damn wedding was almost over. As her brother and Melody spoke their brief vows, she saw Taylor’s eyes fill with tears, which set her off—something she’d sworn not to do. But the girl had been incredible earlier, convincing Melody that if she didn’t marry her dad, the man would jump off the Mackinac Bridge or something just as dire.

  When it came time for the kiss, even Kayla got embarrassed by the enthusiasm of it but joined the crowd cheering for the couple, whose lip-lock was something out of a fairy tale as far as she could tell. Finally, they parted and only had eyes for each other for a few seconds, before turning to the crowd, their faces alight, both sets of eyes bright with emotion. The jolt of jealousy Kayla experienced was eclipsed when Taylor, who’d been standing between her and Melody, gave first her father, then her new stepmother a huge hug and kiss.

  The event flipped into a different mode, while half a dozen staff dismantled the chairs and altar, and transformed the now double-sized tent into a spectacular party space. Kayla hugged her brother and Melody then left them to their guests. She’d agreed to help Elle supervise the food table setup, while Ross managed the bar, which kept herself distracted for the next hour and half that she barely noticed Brock’s continued absence.

  But once the buffet tables had been cleared of their tapas-style offerings and it was time for the cake-cutting and other silly rituals, Kayla decided she needed a break and headed inside. Half hoping she’d run into Brock and half wanting to lie down and sleep for a few days straight, she trudged up the steps and into the mudroom where they’d had their first moment a few days ago. Now, the room served as a staging area for all the empty wine and beer bottles, and the aroma hit her like a wall of alcohol.

  She staggered backward, thinking she might be better off back down in the basement. There were also a couple of bedrooms she could hide in while the party got serious. She heard laughter and music over the still-howling wind and pounding rain. The basement was deserted but for a few of the hired help, cleaning off dishes and stacking them in their cases for return to the rental company. The laughter ramped up, took on a raucous edge, before she heard feminine squeals and various other sounds.

  It all made her exhausted. She’d had her fill of family togetherness this last week. She couldn’t wait to get home to her quiet, small space and back to her calm life. As she wandered around the massive space that opened out onto the lawn under the deck and leading to the back of the tent, she even felt a kernel of anticipation over what might happen next with Brock.

  As uneasy—as downright terrified—as she was at the thought of taking their incredible kiss to the next level or stage or whatever you called it, she also had to admit that she looked forward to it. Even if it meant awkwardness at first. She was ready to tell him everything. There would be no secrets between them. She would reveal her past as abuse victim, as survivor, and maybe, just maybe, they could craft some kind of an adult relationship out of the ashes of their pasts.

  The thought made her grin widen. She touched her fingertips to her lips, reliving last night’s encounter.

  A flicker of movement at the tent flap caught her eye. The rain had let up in the last few minutes she’d spent in some weird la-la-land of romantic fantasy so she ducked out from under the deck and walked across the sodden grass, eager to catch up with him. The DJ was getting cranked up. The bouquet had been thrown. The cake had been smashed into faces and now lay cut into dozens of pieces on a side table.

  Kayla craned her neck around trying to catch sight of him in the crowd. Finally, she saw little Rose up high, sitting on Brock’s shoulders. She had hold of his hair with one hand and the other thumb jammed into her mouth. She didn’t look like she wanted to party.

  “Hey! Brock!” she called out, waving at him. But he must not have heard her because he turned away and headed to a soft seating area in one corner, where Melody perched on Trent’s lap, holding court with friends and family and other guests. Cursing under her breath, she shouldered her way over there, determined to speak to him, to ask if he’d like to get away from this scene for a bit, take a walk or something now that the rain had stopped.

  He kept his back to her, talking to Austin and a few other brewery types, while Rose kept a death grip on his hair. Kayla glanced up at her in time to see that her eyes were drooping closed. She reached out and caught the child as she was sliding off Brock’s shoulders.

  “Hey,” he said, spinning around.

  Kayla held Rose close and smiled at him, until she saw that his face looked even worse than Trent’s. He smiled. Then, as if flipping a switch, he frowned and faced away from her again, as if she weren’t even standing there. Reality rushed back in, filling in all the silly, empty spaces she’d been inhabiting, thinking she’d be allowed to have anything like a normal life, or a normal, healthy adult relationship.

  Unable to speak, she backed away, holding the toddler, shaking her head until she headed inside, tears blurring her vision. She heard him calling her as she headed into the basement, but she ignored him, intent on escape, on her own room, her bed, her own solitary life.

  Chapter Twenty

  Brock’s entire body felt encased in concrete. His mind was sluggish. Even his heartbeat seemed slow as he watched Kayla run into the house with Rose. The sight of her had lifted his spirits, as it always did. But then, before he could say or do anything, he remembered Trent’s words. The brutal description of her God-awful life, abused by countless men, which had no doubt led to her various addictions.

  Nausea rose in his gut but as he hadn’t managed to eat anything since puking the night before, nothing happened, other than saliva filling his mouth for a few seconds. After a quick check to make sure Trent wasn’t watching, he ran after her, calling her name, unsure what he’d do or say if she stopped and faced him but unable not to do it.

  He’d lain awake the entire night once he’d made it back to the Inn. The place smelled mildewy and gross, convincing him that he’d either talk his mother into selling it or commit some of her vast funds to improve it. The old sounds he and Austin had labeled as ghosts during some of their summer nights spent there followed him as he’d paced through the cavernous living and dining rooms, the empty kitchen, the old parlor.

  By six a.m. he’d been in his car and determined to head back to Grand Rapids. As he’d pondered his various, viable excuses, all of them hinging on Austin backing him up about a “problem at the brewery,” he’d played the memory loop of their kiss through his mind over and over again.

  It had been, in a word, perfection. It had been beyond that, were there a word for such a thing. He’d never in his entire almost forty years of life felt so at ease kissing a woman. In one or more of his many sex addict anonymous meetings, he’d heard about this. Stories of men and women cured by the love of a soulmate. As a dyed-in-the-wool cynic when it came to love and all its attendant bullshit, he’d always scoffed, convinced that while it may be a stopgap, once he was addicted to sex the way he’d been, he’d always be that way, soulmate or no.

  But last night, he thought he comprehended the concept. Kayla brought out something in him he’d never believed he possessed—a kind, gentle, loving, normal demeanor. He could be the guy who, while he wouldn’t argue with the opportunity to hop in the sack and enjoy a tumble with Kayla, was not a raving lunatic of testosterone-driven ugliness. He was no rapist, of course. He’d never, ever had sex with a woman without her consent. The problem was, consent had sometimes gotten a little slippery when all the drugs he’d used to get high and stay that way for hours had taken hold of his brain.

  No. He was hands-down a monster. No better than Kayla’s stepfather or the men after him. He had to let her go. He’d only hurt her, and she didn’t deserve any more hurt.

  He leaned against the open sliding glass door, listening to the happy sounds of the wedding turning into a dance party. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and felt Kayla in hi
s arms again.

  “Fuck.” He headed out onto the wet grass, not even hearing the distant warning rumbles of thunder or feeling the initial pinpricks of more rain on his face. Space. He needed it like he needed oxygen. His skin burned. His heart was pounding so fast it almost deafened him. Shame filled every corner of his being. Mortification at everything he’d done or said in the pursuit of pussy for almost twenty-three years of his useless life made his chest ache as he stumbled on the sand on his way to the dock. Seeking distance, space, breathing room.

  The ants were joined by an army of mosquitoes, treating him to repeated tiny stings on his exposed skin as he remained on his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath. He’d taken his meds on time, as usual. Done his checkin with Austin at four-thirty to confirm it.

  But the fact remained that he did not want to be here at all. Had not planned to be, but for a phone call he’d made as he’d sat, shivering in the heat of his car, attempting to man up and get his ass where it belonged, no matter his horror at seeing Kayla again. He’d called the number on autopilot, not sure why and not even aware he’d done it until he’d heard her familiar voice in his ear.

  “Hello? Brock? You there?”

  He’d sat, breathing heavily like the perv he was, trying to formulate coherence.

  “Brock? Are you okay?” Caroline’s voice sounded concerned.

  “No,” he’d managed as he’d wiped a hand down his sweaty face. “No. I’m not.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In Petoskey. I’m supposed to be going to Trent and Melody’s wedding, but I’m thinking about ditching it.”

  “Why?”

  “I… It’s complicated.”

  “Are you taking your meds? Going to meetings still?”

  “Yeah, I am.” He’d run his hands along the expensive leather steering wheel, feeling himself rev up at the sound of her voice. It had been sickening in its familiarity but at least he’d understood it. His dick had been so hard he’d had to unzip to relieve the pressure as he’d leaned his head back against the headrest.