Let Me Know

by Stina Lindenblatt

  He gently guides my knees apart and plants feathery kisses on the inside of my thigh, first by my knee. Then he moves inch by slow inch along my skin, testing to make sure I’m all right.

  The sweet smell of roses caresses me as Marcus’s tongue finds the spot with the power to finally send me over the edge. All I can think about is if I fall, this is the perfect way to go.

  Marcus’s tongue teases me, offers promises of what’s to come as he swirls and strokes the ache between my legs. I’ve never done this before. Never realized it could be this good.

  Moaning, I reach for his head and wrap my fingers around the soft strands. Oh. God. Everything he’s doing to me and everything about him is proving to be too much, but as I’m about to take the plunge, he pulls back.

  He moves up the length of my body and his lips find mine. The taste of him startles me, because it’s my taste and…and it’s not so bad.

  With a recently discovered confidence, I wrap my hand around the base of him and ease my way to the tip, lovingly tormenting him as I go.

  Knowing I’m pushing him to the edge gives me the same power I’ve enjoyed since the first time we made love. Marcus is all about making sure I’m in control, that I’m comfortable with everything we do. He shifts his body and in one easy move he’s in, ready to push us both over the edge. It doesn’t take us long to get there, first me then him. I cry out as my body clenches around him and he does the same.

  He withdraws, but instead of curling up with me like I expect, he gathers an armful of crushed rose petals. “I’ll be right back.”

  He heads for the bathroom. Seconds later, the sound of running water sparks my curiosity. Marcus usually doesn’t shower right after we make love. We usually lie in bed first, then have a shower together.

  I scoot off the bed and throw back the covers, sending the petals everywhere. Silently, I thank Emma for the roses and the new memories. While I’m at it, I thank Chase and Jordan for manipulating Marcus and me back together again.

  I want him back in my life.

  I need him back in my life.

  Marcus returns a few minutes later. The water is no longer running, but his hair isn’t wet like it would be if he’d been showering. Without a word, he takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom.

  He’s been busy. The Jacuzzi tub is filled with water and rose petals float on top. He pulls me to the tub. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispers.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” I whisper back.

  “And we’re good, right?” His teeth bite into his lower lip, a gesture I rarely see him do. Before I can answer, he adds, “When we leave this hotel tomorrow, you’re my girlfriend, again, right?”

  “Yes, I’m your girlfriend again if you promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re honest with me next time. You’re not going to do what you think is best for me without talking to me first. And you’re not going to let my mom persuade you to keep away from me.”

  He chuckles. “I thought you said only one thing.”

  “Okay, three things. Do you promise?”

  “I do. I promise you all of that, and I promise I won’t hurt you again.” He kisses me deeply, his relief that we’re together again bleeding into my heart. Then he steps into the Jacuzzi and sits down against the back before indicating for me to join him.

  I step in. The hot water swirls around my legs, sending petals crashing into me. I smile at everything he’s done since we entered the bedroom, and how he’s helped me avoid a flashback. With the smile on my face, I settle between his legs and lean back against him.

  “Can we stay here and not leave the room until the trial is over?” I ask softly, half meaning it.

  Marcus kisses the top of my head. “I have no problem with that. Better yet, how about we never leave the room again.”

  I could definitely live with that option. “Deal.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Marcus

  The following Monday, Emma and Liam are deep in conversation when Amber and I approach them in the Sports and Fitness Center. Emma is leaning back against the wall. Liam has her caged, his palms pressed against the wall on either side of her head.

  Emma spots us and says something to him. He drops his hands away from the wall and turns around. Both smile at us. Their curiosity at what Amber wants to talk about is stamped on their faces.

  Saturday morning in the hotel, after we talked about the deal I had made with Amber’s mom—which is now null and void—we talked about Ryan’s gravestone. Or rather, we talked about an idea Amber had dreamed up to raise money for it.

  Even though classes are finished for the day, the building is busy with athletes and people wanting to use the fitness facilities. We find a quiet spot where no one can overhear us.

  “So what’s up?” Liam asks.

  “We’re hoping you can help us with a fundraiser we want to do,” Amber explains.

  “What kind of fundraiser?”

  “We want to organize a basketball tournament. Something entertaining. I thought maybe we could get players from the different teams to participate, and everyone wears a costume. The more cumbersome the better.”

  “The money will partly go towards my brother’s gravestone,” I say, since they already know why I was tutoring Amber. I have some money saved but nowhere near enough. “The rest will go to the Chicago Little Heroes Center. It’s an organization that helps kids who’ve dealt with sexual and physical abuse.” I wasn’t sure about Amber’s plan at first, until I realized how much she wants to do it, needs to do it. It’s like her ray of hope in all the darkness that currently shadows her.

  Liam and Emma exchange looks and nod. “I can think of a few players on the women’s team who would love to help out,” Emma says.

  Liam looks at his watch and asks Emma if she can round up some of her teammates. “Give us five minutes,” he says, and before Amber and I can reply, they jog toward the team locker rooms.

  He returns a few minutes later without Emma and waves for us to join him. He leads us to a small classroom. At least twenty individuals from the various athletic teams are sitting at the desks, chatting. Half look as though they were in the middle of a workout when they were dragged here. Their clothes are damp with sweat.

  Emma’s standing at the front of the room and indicates for us to join her. There’s a murmur of voices as people recognize Amber.

  “As Liam already explained,” Emma says, gaining everyone’s attention, “our friends want to tell you about an event they’re planning that we thought you might be interested in participating in. Amber?” She nods at her best friend.

  Amber’s eyes widen and she looks back at me. I nod for her to go on. It was her idea. I want her to get the credit for it, and after watching her presentation, I know she can do this.

  “H-hi. Thanks for coming. Marcus—” she points at me “—and I are planning a fundraiser. First, we want to raise money for a gravestone for Marcus’s brother.” She inhales deeply, her fingertips tapping against her thigh. She catches herself and curls her fingers to her palms without clenching them. I’m probably the only one who notices.

  She looks at me and I nod for her to continue, knowing what she’s going to say, knowing what we agreed to share with the group.

  “Ryan and Marcus spent most of their childhood being physically abused by their stepfather,” she explains. “Ryan was a hero who protected his brother at all costs, but was recently killed by the very man who was supposed to…to love them, not harm them.” Her words falter. “No one ever knew what they were going through. Just like it is for so many kids who are victims of abuse. These kids, society’s most vulnerable victims, often don’t know where to turn. Their trust has been shattered and they need the love and support of those who can help them through the trauma. This is why we want to donate part of the proceeds to the Chicago Little Heroes Center. They help our youngest victims on their long road to recovery.”

  It’
s like during the presentation in class. She starts off unsure of herself and the power of her words, but then something clicks inside her and her passion and confidence builds. As she continues explaining her plan, the change in her seems to be felt by everyone in the room. They’re all leaning forward in their seats, interested in what she has to say, thinking about those children she described. The children who feel lost and abandoned.

  And like during her presentation, when she moved the class to near tears, I have to turn and blink away my own tears from the memory of what Ryan and I endured—and what Amber endured.

  “What we’re looking for are volunteers who can help make this event happen,” she says. “And we’re especially looking for athletes, whether you can play basketball or not, to participate. You don’t have to decide now, but if you could let Emma or Liam know in the next few days, that would be great. Thanks.” She looks at me. “Is there anything you want to add?”

  You mean other than I’m terribly turned on from watching you talk? “No, that’s everything for now.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Amber

  As I start toward the bedroom door, to hang out in the common area with Jordan, my cell phone plays the latest Bon Jovi song. I glance at the number and recognize it. Part of me doesn’t want to answer, but the other part realizes I can’t keep escaping this. I’ve spent my life wanting answers and now I’ll finally get them.

  “Hello?” I say into the phone.

  “Hello, Amber, it’s Lily. I wanted to see if you’ve made a decision yet.”

  I don’t say anything at first, the arguments wrestling in my head over the past few days start up again.

  “Your father wants to be there for you,” she says, as if sensing the reason for my silence.

  “I’m not ready yet. He abandoned his family. The last thing I need to deal with is him as well as the trial. Please understand.”

  She sighs, “All right.”

  I hang up and stare at the phone for a minute, as if that can take everything back. I never should have contacted her after my father sent me the letter. But at the time, I had no idea she would want to reconnect me with him. Though what did I expect? She’s my grandmother, the one I don’t remember too well. Of course she’ll try to patch things up between my father and me if that’s want the jerk wants—regardless of what I want.

  “What’s up?” Brittany says, startling me out of my anger fest.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Doesn’t look like nothing to me.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe talking to me might help. It’s not like I’m not gonna try and fix you.”

  I laugh once. “You’re the one person I can trust not to try.”

  “And I won’t go blabbing your secrets. I’ve got plenty of my own.”

  She’s got a point there. “I told you that my father walked out on my family. Well, he sent me a letter a few weeks ago. I ignored it at first, but I guess I wanted to find out why he abandoned us. I thought my grandmother, his mother, might know. Michael and Trent left me.” I swallow back the pain at their names and how I still feel their loss every day. “I was scared that losing every man I’ve ever loved would become my life—and my future with Marcus.” And it almost was, thanks to Mom.

  “That’s crazy. Your brother and old boyfriend didn’t leave you like your father did. They were murdered.”

  I cringe.

  “Sorry, but it’s true.”

  “I know, and maybe that’s why I changed my mind after my grandmother left me the voice message. I didn’t want to talk about him anymore. I need to trust Marcus, and trust he’ll be here for me, and that he won’t do what my father did.” And that he won’t make the same mistake as before and not fight for me. Though after the long talk we had at the hotel over a week ago, I do trust he won’t do that again. Next time, he will fight to keep me in his life.

  She tilts her head to the side, but not in a way that tells me she’s analyzing me. “Does he know about your father?”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t know about the letter or that my grandmother’s been trying to contact me. No one knows, including my mom. And I want to keep it that way.” I give her a pointed look.

  “Okay, got it, but what are you gonna do about him? Pretend he doesn’t exist?”

  I reach out and my hand pauses on the doorknob. “Why not? He’s been doing that to my family for years. The only reason he wants to see me is the same reason everyone is suddenly interested in me. He’s seen my story on the news.”

  The news is on TV when Jordan and I join the small group of poli sci students in the common room. None of these guys are the ones who verbally harassed me. Those guys avoid me now after the university threatened to expel them.

  “Chicago Police are warning the public to watch out for a thirty—to forty-year-old male who is impersonating a police officer,” the male anchor reports. “He has been pulling motorists over and robbing them at gunpoint. The vehicle is reported to be a white four-door sedan. If you are pulled over and have any doubts about your safety, call nine-one-one and the dispatcher will confirm if it’s safe.”

  There’s a murmur of reactions from people in the room, ranging from outrage to stunned silence.

  A voice inside my head whispers that I should tell them the other danger. The danger they’re clueless about. The danger the cops kept from the media when it came to my kidnapping. A stalker could cause a slow leak in your tire and follow you, hoping you’ll be stranded in a secluded area so he can attack and possibly kill you.

  I wish I could warn them, but unlike the people who’ve been spreading lies about me and about Marcus, I’m required to keep quiet about the very thing that could save lives.

  At least until the case against Paul is over.

  “…you may remember two months ago we reported that students at Lake Wood High School were planning to raise money so they could paint murals inside a local children’s emergency shelter.” The reporter is on location. Behind her is a cheery wall-sized painting of a rainbow and an assortment of animals. It’s the same woman who tried to get an interview from me the other day, when I was playing basketball with Emma. The reporter who told me about the sex video staring Marcus.

  The screen flashes to two teenage girls, not much younger than me, smiling nervously at the camera. Behind them is the rest of the mural, showing Noah’s Ark and more happy animals.

  “I was doing a school project about the shelter and the director gave me a tour,” the shorter girl says. “I love murals and how they can make a huge difference. After I explained my vision for the walls, the director told me she loved the idea, but the shelter didn’t have money for a project like that. Thanks to the support of our school—including the teachers, administration and students—my friends and I were able to organize a bake sale, and we raised enough money to paint murals on every wall.”

  “The outpouring of support from the surrounding community when they heard about what we were doing helped too,” the taller girl says, a little too fast. “Once they found out about the bake sale, we had all kinds of offers to help, including money for paint and supplies. And many of the people who showed up to buy the baked goods weren’t from the school.”

  The reporter then shows the viewers around the building, but I don’t see beyond the first two rooms. Telling Jordan I’ll be right back, I scramble off the couch and head to my room. I know what I have to do. What I should have done when Marcus and I first started planning the charity event.

  I just hope I’m not too late.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Marcus

  I stare at the fucking math problem, but the numbers that usually come easily are nothing but a mess. I can’t concentrate as memories of the night with Amber roll around in my head. Thank God my grades have improved now that we’re together again, or I’d be in serious trouble.

  From the other room, voices on the news permeate the thin wall. I try not to listen to if they are talking about Amber or me. My assignme
nt is due tomorrow and the problem isn’t going to solve itself. And it definitely won’t be finished if I keep thinking about Amber—naked or not.

  As I’m contemplating having a cold shower so I can focus on my math, Chase calls from the living room, “Hey, Marcus, come here quick! You have to see this.”

  Figuring he’s talking about something on the news, I get my ass into the other room as fast as humanly possible. He wouldn’t be calling me if it weren’t something important about Amber or me. But all I see is Tammara on the screen for a second, before the picture flicks back to the male anchor. He then moves on to another story.

  My insides crumble like stone statues during an earthquake. “What the fuck did she do?”

  “She might have just saved your ass.”

  My gaze darts from the TV to him. “What do you mean?”

  “She told the reporter you were never into S-and-M. She said she was into it, but you refused to do it. She gave you an out, dude, when it comes to what the girl with the bogus video is claiming.”

  I hope he’s right and it doesn’t end up costing Tammara. I can’t imagine her straight-laced father will be too thrilled with what she did, not when it’s a black smudge against him and the family values he supports. Then again, she was tired of how her family determines who she can and cannot date. Hence why she was obsessed about me and my bad-boy image. Maybe this is her way of breaking free, and gaining control of her own life.

  I call Amber from my room and ask if she’s heard the news.

  “I just got off the phone with my mom,” she says in a hurried voice, her excitement unmistakable. “What Tammara is saying supports your story that you’re not the one in the video because you’ve never engaged in S-and-M.” She pauses. “Is she really into that stuff?”

  “Well, for her sake I hope no one treats her like they’ve been treating me,” Amber says.

  I hope so, too. No matter what Tammara did to us in the fall, no one deserves what Amber’s been through because of those damn forged letters.