by Aven Jayce
“Oh, buddy,” I lament. Maybe it’s the age or the way he’s trying to make sense of death, but man, this needy, self-reflective behavior is challenging. I put myself in his shoes, trying to figure out what he wants, how he feels—I know it’s all about isolation and abandonment. Soph and I have discussed the desertion and loneliness we felt growing up. I know how much that empty feeling eats away at you.
“Jack, I’m sorry. Sit on the sofa next to me.” I raise my arm and he looks back, hesitates, and finally slithers to my side. He’s held, setting his head on my chest and feeling comforted, I hope. I caress his hair and kiss the top of his head.
“Don’t think I’m a sissy for crying every night.”
“I don’t. There’s nothing wrong with shedding a few tears, especially for your mother.”
He picks at his fingernails as we talk, smelling of cologne and cranberries. “I’m just trying to fit in. I mean, in your life, except it’s tough because I miss mom’s love and our routine. She used to check in on me every night, asking how my day was and if I needed anything. You don’t.”
“It’s two different worlds, though I can certainly start if you want.”
“I shouldn’t have to ask, it should happen on its own.” He slides a cookie off the plate and turns it front to back, tilting his head inquisitively. “Are these—”
“Rockets.” I stop him.
After two bites, he nods that they’re good, taking another off the plate and putting his feet on the coffee table.
“I love these black Jameson robes. We match,” he says, attempting to change the subject to suppress his pain.
“That we do.”
“Where’s the old lady?” His mouth is full as he drops crumbs everywhere. I shrug and he kicks my foot. “You gotta put that chick on a leash so she doesn’t leave the yard.”
“Not if she’s the one who owns the yard.”
He disapproves with a headshake. “I knew she was the one in control and not the other way around. She’s gonna walk off with all of my inheritance money, isn’t she?”
“There’s plenty for everyone,” I mutter.
He shoves the rest of the cookie in his mouth, chomping away while jerking his feet, clearly in a better mood now that he’s occupied with conversation and no longer alone. “How long has she been gone?”
“All night.”
“Yeah? That’s a long time to go without snatch.” He nudges his elbow into my side and I can tell something’s brewing in his brain. Quick with a quip, that kid. Crumbs tumble from his mouth as he continues chewing the sugary treat, letting out a short laugh—a signal to his looming tease. “Umm... Dad... I’ve got... you want me to buy you some sex toys? I got lube. I could pull Betsy out of the trash for ya,” he snorts.
“Son,” I exhale. “Here’s some fatherly advice... don’t speak when your mouth’s full of dick.”
He laughs harder, choking on the cookie. His face turns red and eyes water, but he keeps taking bites and nodding that he’s fine. Dumbass.
“I have a serious question for you, Jack. No joking this time. Swallow that thing and pay attention.”
He puts the cookie down and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Ready to listen.
“Do you think you could kill a man? If a guy was beating the hell out of you, and you knew it was your life or his, would you stab him? Or if the two of us were in a situation where a man had a gun on me, would you shoot him to save my life?”
“No,” he says with confidence.
“Really? I didn’t expect that answer. How come?”
“Because you haven’t given me any fucking weapons yet, that’s how come.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ. For once, stop being such a literal shit and answer my question.”
“Okay, then yes, without a doubt I would. In fact, the guy would be dead before he even drew his weapon. Mine would be out first, not his.”
“That’s a good answer. So, what if you’re dating a girl and you find out her father hurt one of your cousins decades ago? And be serious, don’t say they wouldn’t be born yet or any of that crap. This is hypothetically speaking.”
“Only dating the chick or do I love her?”
“Love.”
“Hmm. I thought killing was like a defense, something that’s happening right this sec and you have to deal with it quickly. I don’t know.” He ponders, tapping a finger against his lips. “I suppose the woman has nothing to do with it.”
Huh. He gets a gold star for that response. “True, smarty pants.”
“If you really think about it, your answer is at the bottom of Lake Tahoe.” He brushes the crumbs off his robe and walks to the kitchen for a glass of juice. “That fucker,” he hollers back to me, “you took Abram out just for that reason. You killed him because of what happened in the past, not the present.”
“I killed him for many reasons.” A text sounds on my cell and Jack comes back, looking over my shoulder as I read the single word response from Jules.
No.
“No what?”
“I asked her to forgive me,” I whisper.
“Sssshit, she burned your ass.”
Another text sounds...
U weren’t supposed to cuff me.
“Whoa. Is this a sex thing with you two?”
And another...
Now, I’m reconsidering.
I move my cell from his sight and text her back.
Reconsidering what? Our relationship? Get your ass home.
I call, but it goes to voicemail. Call again, same. And again.
“Damn her! Fuck, I don’t want to have to club her over the head and drag her back to my cave like some brute.”
“Gee, that’s the way to win her love.”
“I have her love!”
“Nope. Don’t think so,” he says casually, with his feet on the coffee table and his hands behind his head.
“You comfortable?”
“Yep. Could use some popcorn for the show... and you just got another text.”
“I know I did!”
Come home? Why, Mark? More punishment?
“Ehh,” I groan. I overreacted. I love you. Sorry.
No response.
Jack swings his feet and starts to hum, amused by my irritated strut in front of the fireplace. His head turns back and forth, following my march.
I message her, Let’s fuck. You’ll feel better.
No response.
Please?
No response.
“Why don’t you just go talk to her?” he asks.
“Because I’ll end up killing the person she’s with.”
“Who? Sam?” He leans forward. “Why? Is this that shit you were talking about? Your hypomanic question?”
“Hypothetical... yes.”
“Ahh. Then I take back what I said. The girl is part of the problem. You can’t kill her dad. She loves him.”
“The best case scenario is she’s so furious tonight that she kills him.”
“Or, I do.”
I shake my head at his ridiculous response while another text lights up my cell.
U wanted to take JAB! My engagement blade! A frown appears on my screen. U R a piece of shit! I should flush U! Only U’d get stuck and come back, flooding my world!
I am your world. I respond, wishing I had hit delete instead of send. Big mistake. Yep... my cell’s ringing. Here we go.
“I gave it back,” I say, answering the call. “I gave the blade back.”
“I took it back! And how dare you treat me like I’m one of your targets. I was going to be your wife, Mark. Your wife!”
“Going to be? Stop it. I made a mistake, alright? I’m not proud of what I did, but think about how I felt after hearing our dads knew one another.”
“No! For once, get it through your smelly asshole that everything I’ve done has been for you and your family. You need to think about how I feel and stop calling me
a liar!”
“Jules—”
“You’re so fucking lucky my dad’s in bigger trouble than you, considering what he put Cove through. But when I’m finished with him, you’re going to get a fat lip for thinking my love for you was fake. What the fuck?”
“What are you doing right now? Where are you?”
“I’m doing nothing and I’m nowhere.”
“Come home so we can talk.”
“We are talking.”
“Face-to-face.”
“I don’t want to see your irksome face.”
“Irksome? Cut the shit, Jules.”
“Irksome! Irksome! Irksome!”
“Mark Jameson finds you exasperating.”
Jack laughs, and I’m sure he can hear both sides of the conversation.
“I’ll be home in the morning,” she says. “Get some sleep.”
“It is morning!”
“I’m not coming home to argue with you. We’re both a couple of hotheads who need to mellow out, besides, I’m not finished!”
“With what? Hello? Fuck, she hung up.”
“I’d dump her,” he says.
“Well, you’re sixteen and not engaged or in love.”
“That did not sound like love.”
“This is exactly what love sounds like! You wait and see.”
I sigh and pace, then decide to message her my defense. What the hell can it hurt?
Cut me some slack... under a lot of stress... Jack, Sam, Abram, you, work, the holidays, Cove and Soph... need to keep watch on everything and everyone...
And I add an excuse...
You’re engaged to a former porn star turned hotel owner who’s a bit f’d in the head. Expect nothing less than irksome.
There’s no reply, not that I want one... yes, yes I do. Goddammit, I do. Pay attention to me, princess.
I wait a few more minutes before sending a final apology in my usual, self-entertaining tone...
Sorry I thought about killing you, used our handcuffs for non-sexual play, and ate all the cock cookies before you got home. Please, forgive me.
WRETCHED MORNING
“WE’RE TOO MUCH ALIKE for me to stay angry. I can picture myself doing the same bullshit... in fact, put your hands behind your back for me.” She gives orders while we’re in bed. “Give me your hands and you have my word I won’t kill you or beat your ass.”
I’m barely awake, listening to her steady voice as I lie on my side and face the wall. When did she come home? How long have I been asleep?
She smells of strawberry shampoo and soap, and I feel the cold wet strands of her hair on my shoulder, a distinct contrast to the firm fingers running down my side. No, not fingers. That’s a blade.
“Do you trust me, Mark?”
“What did you do last night?”
“Hushhh. Your hands... place yourself in a vulnerable position... prove our relationship can move forward and that you trust me. I refuse to be engaged to a man who doesn’t have faith in my love.”
“It’s not all about what I’ve done wrong. You shouldn’t have kept so much from me.”
“Oh.” She uses a soft, seductive voice, persuading me to follow her commands. “My handsome man’s being difficult. Why? I did something for you last night that no other woman would ever do, and you can’t place your strong hands behind your back in return?”
What the fuck did she do this time? And that blade’s moving down my back, making its way to my ass. “I could have that knife in your neck in less than a second.”
“It would’ve been in my neck two minutes ago if you were truly worried, but you haven’t moved an inch.” She flaunts the weapon in front of my face; the shiny metal edge flickers, displaying her initials.
“Julia Alison Barringer,” I say her full name so she’s aware I’m paying close attention, not worried or nervous, just listening and contemplating her words as I examine her hand. “Your knuckle’s busted up. What the fuck did you do?”
She snubs my question, continuing on like it was never asked. “I’m aware this doesn’t frighten you, not like it does when other people see a blade, but I do know you’re terrified that I’ll leave you.”
“It’s called being marginally on edge, not terrified.”
“It’s called you better fucking listen to your fiancé.”
Speaking in this calm, gentle tone must be killing her. Although, she’s not fully tranquil... I can hear gnashing teeth, other than that, she’s managed to keep her emotions in check. No shouting or slaps to the face... she just wants my hands. Why not give in to her request in order to fix this? Besides, being cuffed is a simple punishment.
“This is about me proving my love, you proving yours, and our commitment to one another. Put your hands behind your back, please.”
“You don’t need to do this. I was wrong and I apologized.”
“You apologize time after time for the same thing, and I’m tired of always going through this with you. I don’t want you to question my love any longer.”
My hands drift slowly behind my back and she whispers, “good husband.” I love it when she calls me that. And I adore the way she manages to bring a thrill to even our most difficult times together.
The cold metal closes around my wrists and I’m detained. I hear the desk chair moved and her melodic voice telling me to sit. I do as she says, turning to see her gorgeous face and nude body for the first time today.
“I want you,” I beg.
“Sit. We’re talking, not fucking.”
“I meant forever.”
My morning wood creates a massive bulge in my briefs, and when I ease into the chair, the cold leather against my back triggers my bladder—a pressuring command that I need to take a piss.
She sits before me, on top of the desk with her feet to either side of my thighs. Her legs spread wide with the blade held steadily between us.
“In your heart, you know everything I’ve withheld was to protect you or to help your family in some way. Don’t turn me into a malicious beast.”
The blade parts the front exit pocket of my briefs, allowing my cock to spring free. Fuck. Oh, shit... the dull metal edge travels along my shaft, stopping at the base of my dick.
“It’s time to deal with the consequences of treating me poorly.”
Her head tilts and I inhale, swallowing hard before declaring my trust, “I’d never willingly put myself in this position with anyone else. I’m lost when you’re not by my side; you know that. If you don’t stay, then go ahead and cut it off. I won’t need it without you.”
She grins. “Good answer.”
The knife slides across my stomach, making its way to my heart—the spot where she first cut me on the night I gifted her the blade.
“It’s a small fucking world,” she mutters. “I’m sorry about Cove. And believe me, my father is too. More than you could ever imagine.” She sets JAB on the table and leans forward, brushing my hair to the side and caressing the back of my ear. “When I was a kid, he’d always be waiting for me when I got home from school. We’d sit at the dining room table and talk about my day, each of us with two cookies and a cup of tea. He smiled a lot, listening to what I had learned and the crazy activities that took place with my friends—normal kid stuff... but he listened. He wanted to hear about everything. And each day, around dinnertime, he left for Reno. Traveling an hour to and from work. During those years and because of his line of work, not once did I ask him about his job or what he was doing. Not how he felt or what he was thinking. The conversation was always one-sided, everything about me, never about him. To my dad, I was more important than what he was going through. I always came first. That’s why he hired someone to dig into your past. That wasn’t some concocted story. I’m his daughter and he knows nothing about the man I’m going to marry. He wasn’t even aware you were related to Paul until he received the information from the detective. According to my mom, he went nuts when he
found out.”
“She knows about all of this?”
“They discuss everything. It was her idea for him to quit his job to get away from Paul.”
“I doubt that happened, no one could hide from him.”
“He wasn’t hiding. If he wasn’t working at the funeral home, he couldn’t do what Paul wanted. He worked as a UPS driver for a year until he thought it was safe to go back to being an embalmer, except he found a job in our hometown, not Reno.”
“He’s lying.”
“No, Mark.” She peers at me like I’m acting paranoid. “My dad isn’t lying to me. He’s not out to get us.”
“You can be close to someone and never truly know anything about him.”
Her hand brushes along my cheek and sadness clouds her features. “Not us,” she assures. “And heads up, I’ve asked him to speak to Cove. He owes him an apology.”
“Cove and Sam? What?”
“They’re having breakfast together this morning so my dad can clarify a few things, and more importantly, express regret and offer an apology.”
“That’s not a good—”
“Hey, it is a good idea.” She lifts my chin and nods that it’s fine.
I had high hopes she killed him last night. There goes that wonderful thought. “An apology’s not enough.”
“It’s a start. And I understand how you must feel, but let me make something clear—no violence against my dad unless it’s my decision and I do it myself. He’s my father. You’re not killing him over something he had no control over. Period.”
“I have to find out more about him, then I’ll decide whether or not he deserves to live.”
“No. Look at me. Look. At. Me!”
She holds my chin tightly and I start to feel anxious, wanting out of the cuffs... and her blade... my throat... the blade’s now against my throat. Damn her.
