Fuck, I know this all too well. I hear her breathing, so I wait in silence. She actually has to think this over? I sweeten the deal just in case.
“CeCe, I understand your sister had a life insurance policy. If Levi’s father is convicted, it should be handed to Levi. Right now he’s underage and would need a guardian to help him with his financial needs.”
I feel like I just sold a child.
“Well, ain’t that interesting. I know that would really help us out with another mouth to feed.”
“Exactly. I’ll need you to sign a letter of commitment.”
I don’t know if this even exists. I’ll let think she’s contractually committed. Next, I’ll be calling Levi’s principal. I need to bounce some ideas off him.
“That’s no problem, doctor. We’ll take in the poor child.”
“Thank you, CeCe. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
I hang up feeling as if I just bargained with the devil, lesser of the two evils. Levi’s own father was not an option. It was all too Infuriating.
***
Needing to expel the destructive energy of my conversation with CeCe, I call my gym, the one where I played tennis with Matt. A wretched feeling claims me knowing I’ll never witness him kicking my ass again.
“This is Dr. Grant. I’m looking for a tennis partner. Can you put me on the list?”
“Of course I can, Dr. Grant. And my deepest condolences in regards to Dr. Barnett.”
“Thank you. The sooner the better,” I add, directing the conversation back to my original reason for calling.
“We have a doubles opening today.”
“Doubles? What level?”
It’s not my first choice, but it might do.
“It’s 3.0 for this group. They seem to have an opening. Should I put you in? It’s at four o’clock today.”
“Yes, confirmed.”
My erratic thoughts are escalating and deviating my focus may be exactly what I need.
I show up to court six and walk down the stairs to the large indoor space. I set my bag down. Being the first one to arrive, I open the can of tennis balls. The whoosh sound triggers back great memories of game after game with Matt as I see another guy arrive.
“Hey, I’m Joe. I’ll be your doubles partner today.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Theo. Do you want forehand or backhand?”
I notice the one other man arrive in the distance. A tall blond dressed in white is carrying a pink tennis bag and heading in our direction. Her curls bounce in rhythm with her large fake tits. I feel her check me out as she greets her partner across the net.
“I’m Heather, and you are?” She’s intentionally emphasizing her assets as she offers her hand to mine.
“Theo. You must be a regular here?”
“You could say that. You any good, Theo?” Her bright smile is subliminally speaking loud and clear.
“I’m better at singles, but doubles were open, and I needed a good workout.”
“If that’s a challenge, I accept.” She winks and walks away as we all get into position.
“I’ll take back-hand so you can serve.”
Joe walks to the net and yells, “Up or down?”
“Up” Heather replies.
Joe spins his Wilson racket and the bottom of the handle, where the W is shown to our opponents. It’s down.
“You serve first,” Joes states.
“Okay, that’s me.”
I go to the right corner, remembering the different rules between singles and doubles. My toss is high and fierce, hitting the ball with great force. It flies just over the net, staying within the lines. The other side quickly runs, and then it’s returned to me. They’re good. We both move up, working the net as Joe takes a lob, and they miss it.
“Fifteen love.”
And I serve again. At one point, I realize this is what it means to be living in the moment; not the past or the future, but now. And living in the now isn’t stressful at all. How many times have I used this on my patients?
We have the court for ninety minutes, and I come out looking as if I just walked out of a shower. I’m drenched in sweat, but so are all my teammates. All but Heather. At some point, she lifted her hair in a messy bun. Now strands of her blonde locks are flowing down, wet from perspiration.
“Let’s do this again sometime,” she offers. “Soon.”
She brushes her shoulder against mine as we make our way to the showers. “Hey, wait for me after you’re done. I want to get your number.”
I nod, pacifying myself as I acknowledge that this is my old pattern. Same type of woman, same rules, same distance. But there is still some comfort in the trivial encounter.
I let the water cascade down on me in the shower, and the physical exertion along with the natural endorphins do their job. I didn’t think of my work or my duties while I was out there playing. And most importantly, I didn’t think of her.
As I expected, Heather is ready and waiting when I’m done, looking just as fresh, as if she never played. Her painted-on jeans and low-cut top are a sight to behold. Should I surrender to meaningless sex? I maintain eye contact as her gaze becomes heated, pretending interest when, in reality, there is none.
She hesitates. “Coffee?”
“Is that what you really want, Heather?” I lean one arm over her head, pressing it against the wall. I can’t help but wonder if she has the power to dull this ache that consumes me. As I hover over her with authority, my mind races to test out my theory with a quick fix.
“Whatever do you mean?” she asks in a hushed tone, her hand landing on my chest. Licking her lips, I’m confident we are on the same page. Then she bites her lip and glances away, toward the door marked private. She pulls a key out from her bra and gives me a sinful smile.
“What are we waiting for?”
Ready to fuck, I pull her by the hand toward the door. I watch her unlock the office, where a small lamp sits on the desk. It’s the only light in the room. I lock the door behind me and pull her closer, touching every curve as desperate breaths escape her.
“Do you like the way that feels?”
As I unbutton her blouse and let it slide down her arms, her pink bra falls with one easy snap, and my hands frantically move over her exposed breasts.
“Use your mouth, Heather.”
Feeling empowered, I push her to her knees and quickly discard my pants, lowering my Calvins to my thighs. My firm cock is eager for her to sample my awaiting shaft.
Her mouth barely touches me as her tongue skims over the most sensitive areas, stirring a primal need in me as I watch her take me to unbearable heights.
“Jesus, Heather.”
It turns me on to watch her, and I’m breathing hard as I fuck her mouth.
“What I really want is to fuck you over this desk.”
She pulls out a condom from her bag and hands it to me. She sure comes prepared.
I position her body and slide her jeans and in one quick sweep. I feel her slick and ready before I enter her, picking up the rhythm as I reach around to stroke her clit. Her fevered skin flushes as I’m filling her.
“God, Theo, don’t stop! I’m going to come.”
Once I hear her final surrender, I want it harder and deeper than before. My fingers tangle in her blonde curls and I grip her clit tightly as I fly apart, flooding her with all I have to give.
“Fuck me” is all I say as guilt crashes like a tidal wave with violet eyes. I ache for a much deeper feeling, but it never comes.
What have I done? The darkness of betrayal overshadows me in such a way that I know I will never allow myself this empty pleasure again.
As we are saying our goodbyes, I hand Heather my card, which does not have my number on it.
I know. What a prick.
Chapter Seven
Theo
“Dr. Grant, your two o’clock is here.” Miss Knight doesn’t have to say her name.
“I’ll be right there, thank
you.”
I’ve beaten myself up over my behavior at the gym, as well as my unprofessional feelings toward Eden. Guilt mixed with desire is a treacherous cocktail, so I try to focus on anything else.
“Eden,” I say as I stand in the doorway. “Come in.” With a small head nod, I direct her to her usual place, but I can sense something is off. She seems anxious.
“Doctor.” She passes me and walks straight to the chair.
I follow robotically behind, finding my file. I pretend to be put together, but insideI’m anything but. I’m unable to decipher if they’re good or bad. Probably bad.
She takes a deep breath, as if preparing herself for what’s about to occur.
“You know I’m adopted, right?” she asks, barely making eye contact.
“I have some recollection of that, yes.”
“I was five. I have a few blurred memories that I struggle to remember about a family other than the one that raised me. I have always wanted to find them, but I never wanted to hurt my adopted family.”
I see the anguish and watch her body tremble. I reach over, squeezing her hand. “Did you ask your parents for information?”
“They refused on the grounds that my biological family would be a bad influence, or might be on drugs, or have a history of crime. The story often changed over the years, but the answer was always no. But now I need to know for myself, because my fleeting memories are filled with happiness. This has haunted me my entire life, and I know that’s why I chose a few criminology classes. To give me the tools I need to find them. I’m graduating in six weeks.”
The similarities are something startling. I had also chosen a profession that would help me comprehend the loss of my family. To understand basic emotion and behavior. But it never has eased the demons. What happened that night would stay buried deep within me, forever.
“Eden, they must have had their reasons.”
We both ignore the electricity as my hand leaves hers, breaking the connection. Her frown tells me that she felt it, too.
Her touch and her words are pulling me in as if a tug of war is being played my emotions on one end, my logic on the other. The question is, who will win?
“I understand that, but don’t I have the right to know?” she asks. “Especially now, with my family gone.”
A single tear falls down her face. I hold back the desire to rock her in my arms, run my fingers through her hair, and wipe that tear away.
“Yes, you have that right, Eden. There are many variables, though. What type of research have you done so far? How was the adoption arranged? Closed? Or open? Was it with a private agency? Is there any trail for you to follow?”
I watch as she rises and paces the floor. Her silence disturbing, but I patiently wait. Suddenly she stops and turns to me. Something unknown has shifted between us, and I prepare myself for what’s to come.
“Have you ever done something really bad, something you knew was wrong, but you had to do it to get what you want?”
She’s looking at me with the utmost trust. Words escape me as I let her go on.
“Something you would never do unless the end result was worth it?”
She’s slowly walking closer to me now, her words echoing in my ears.
“Eden.” My voice is unrecognizable.
“Something that society may deem inappropriate, something that tests your morals, and your values? Would you do it all for that one moment of truth?”
Her voice is rising, her breath increasing, her body trembling.
I shake off the spell and stand, meeting her eye to eye. Taking back some control, as my authority returns.
“Eden, sit.”
She obeys without question, and her eyes never leave mine. That haunted look, like a punch to the chest.
“Explain.” I reign in my natural dominance as my jaw grinds out the word.
“I found a lead.”
“A lead? Go on.”
I’m imagining the worse.
“My mother worked in a club many years ago. Everything I’ve found out so far says she wasn’t a drug user. She just needed the money. She had friends that I have been talking to in my attempt to get answers.”
“A club?”
Alarms are going off inside my head, because I know I’m not going to like the answer. I see the pain in her eyes, as well as the fear in telling someone. Telling me.
“I made a deal with the owner.” She looks at her hands and takes a breath. “I can work there, as a private dancer, and get to know the staff.”
“It’s a strip club?”
A fucking strip club? Nothing could have prepared me for this. Don’t judge, I remind myself. Hide your shock, your jealously, your outrage. I repeat this mantra over and over in my head until it starts to sink in.
“I perform privately.” She says this quietly, as if she hasn’t just shattered my world. But there’s no fucking comfort in those words. None. Stripper, private dancer. It’s the same thing.
“Just so I understand,” I say, taking a deep breath and attempting to slow my heart rate. “You are taking your clothes off for strangers in a back room in exchange for information about your biological mother?” I say slow and methodically absorbing each word spoken.
“Yes.”
“Eden, that’s wrong. And it’s not just wrong. It’s unsafe and demeaning, and I can’t let you continue. You have to stop.”
“Stop? I won’t stop. I’m too close.” Her voice is rising again, as if I have no right to tell her what to do. And fuck, I don’t.
How could I have missed the mark so badly? How could she have blindsided me this way? I read people every day; it’s my job. I reach in and pull out their secrets. I shouldn’t be this blown apart when the secret, she has entrusted in me is finally revealed.
“What’s the name of this place?” I ask, before my brain explodes.
“Foreplay,” she answers. She’s keeping eye contact, but her gaze is vulnerable.
A hiss escapes me in utter shock. I feel my watch vibrate, telling me our time is up.
I quickly press my intercom. “Miss Knight, do I have anyone scheduled after Miss Bennett?”
“No, sir. You’re clear for the next hour, and then you have a conference call.”
I don’t reply, just turn to Eden. I realize that my personal feelings are conflicting with my professional duties. I’m certain of it now; there’s no denying it any longer.
“How long, Eden?”
I’m met with silence.
“How long?” My voice goes slightly deeper, preparing myself for the gruesome news.
“Almost three months.”
I nod my head up and down aimlessly. Anger soars through my blood as if actual fire is spreading through my body. I purposely calm myself before speaking.
“What about a private investigator?”
“I tried that a year ago. My parents found out and put a stop to it.”
My eyes fly to hers, questioning why they were so opposed.
“He didn’t find much, anyway.”
“Eden, if your mother was working in a place like that, realistically, you know, she may not be the mother you think she is. You know that, right?”
Say you know that. Jesus, I am so not prepared for this.
“She may have had her reasons. And I’m going to find her.” Her body becomes rigid as she answers, as if she is defending her right.
“Who knows about this?”
“Besides the club?”
“Besides the club, Eden. Who knows?
“You.”
Now I’m officially fucked. I lean over, my elbows resting on my knees, my fingers grip my hair, knowing I’m about to do something unforgivable. She is forcing me down a dark path, but it’s one that I am willing to follow.
“We need to meet again soon. What’s your schedule?”
“I have school Monday morning, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I work at the club Thursday and Friday.”
“Let’s have you back here
Wednesday then. We have much more to discuss.”
This will give me one more session to convince her to stop. I don’t want her to go back to that fucking club.
I walk her out to schedule the next appointment, and when she leaves, I watch her every move.
Black or white, I always knew I was living in the gray.
Then I do something I swore I’d never do. I stalk her. I google her name. Her social media accounts comes up in several areas. Thank God there’s nothing about the club.
Chapter Eight
Theo
She’s twenty-two, thirteen years younger than I am—another reason this is all wrong. Is it the off-limits aspect that’s fueling my thoughts? I’m all for living fast and hard, but dangerously? I should know better. It’s extremely high risk, and I can’t deny it.
I find some pictures of her and her boyfriend as I search online. He’s an athlete, good-looking, all-American. You’d think that this would deflate some of my feelings, but it doesn’t. All I know is that he’s not good enough for her.
She’s on the dean’s list, and also has special accolades, including awards in art, and some commendations. She’ll graduate in the top one percent in her class and has standing jobs offers awaiting her. It’s all very impressive.
I learn that she volunteered at an orphanage for older children, who are much harder to place. I make a mental note to include this in my speech, and it suddenly occurs to me that she should go to Alex’s event. She should listen to all of the people in her community, the ones who actually care. The people who want to make it better for the children who need help—just as she did.
Then there’s her art. I glance at each and every piece she has posted. They’re bold, flowing, dramatic. She’s talented. The pieces speak to me as if each one has a particular story to tell.
Surviving Eden Page 6
