Chasing Darien (Chasing Series Book 1)

by J. M Stoneback

  “The way the couples look in the drawing is very sad. Shit. I’ve seen sad art before, but yours looks depressing.” I push her thick red hair behind her shoulders and kiss her collarbone. She lets out a sexy-ass moan.

  “You ever heard of Orpheus and Eurydice?” she asks. I begin to lift up her shirt, and she hits my hand like I’m a child.

  “Greek mythology shit?”

  She nods. “They inspired the couple on the wall.” She pauses for a minute. “They remind me of us.”

  “Alana. Their love story was tragic.”

  “Exactly, we would be a tragedy, Darien.”

  “How?” I want to hear this bullshit.

  “When Orpheus went to save Eurydice from the underworld, Hades tried to warn him that she would still choose the darkness. Just like an idiot, Orpheus went anyways. He did all that work to save her, and he still ended up with a broken heart.” She exhales. “No matter what you do, Darien, I’m going to be that broken girl.”

  Tears slip down her face, and I wipe them with the pad of my thumb. Hate what that fucker did to her. “We don’t have to be a tragic love story, Alana.”

  I grab her hair gently, crushing my mouth to hers, claiming those pouty lips. She starts to pull away, but I hold on tighter. For fuck’s sake, she needs to know that I’m serious about us.

  “You’re mine. Every inch of you is mine. Even your soul is mine. Better not catch you selling your soul to the devil, because I’ll beat his ass.”

  She tries not to laugh. Instead she snorts.

  “That’s the thing, I don’t want to be yours,” she says with a straight face.

  “Too fucking bad, Red. So deal with it. The only thing that is gonna keep me from you is death.”

  I remove her ugly shirt, cup her round tits, and slap them like I’m playing ping pong. Gently, I pull on her nipple, and she lets out a moan.

  “I am scared to give you my heart,” she confesses.

  “I won’t break it, Alana.”

  “You sure about that?” She purses her lips.

  Am I sure about it? With this Mia shit hanging over my head, I don’t know if I can completely be with her. But I’m gonna do my best, and when I get Mia to sign the papers, I’ll let Alana know everything. I take my hands from her small tits and rest them on her lower back.

  “Never been so sure in my life.” I kiss her forehead.

  “From artist to artist”—she smiles—“why didn’t you pursue music as a career?”

  “Nope, that’s not how this works.” I grab the controller from the desk and hand it to her. “You want answers, you have to beat me.”

  I am fucking late. Never been late to work in the last four years. Thanks to Red—I mean that in a good way. We stayed up to four in the morning playing video games, talking about our childhoods. She rewarded me with blowjobs after I kicked her ass in a few rounds of Injustice. Best night I’ve had in a long time.

  On my way to the office, Lisa is on my heels with an iPad in her hand, firing off my to-do list. I’m fucking tired and need five cups of coffee. I remove my jacket and place it on the back of the leather chair.

  “Gunner and John are ready to Skype now,” Lisa says.

  I wiggle the mouse, click on the Skype icon and hit the green button. John and Gunner pop up on the flat monitor.

  “I will sell American Banking to you and Gunner for eighty mil,” John says, adjusting his glasses on his nose. His skin is a hue of yellow and liver spots cover the top of his forehead.

  “We will have our lawyers draft papers for you,” Gunner says, leaning back in his chair.

  “It was nice doing business with you,” John says. I take a blunt from the desk and play with it between my fingers, debating if I should smoke it.

  John hits the end button and Gunner is still on the chat line.

  “We need to fucking celebrate,” I say. Fuck it. I tuck the joint behind my right ear for later.

  Gunner looks up, and I hear Red say, “I spit in your coffee.”

  Gunner looks back at the screen. “Don’t ever hire family members to work for you, they are a pain in the ass.”

  “I heard that, asshole,” she says.

  We agree to go bowling tonight, and we both end the call. I send Alana a message saying I won’t be at the hotel until late tonight. She responds saying she will have a girls’ night out with Ron and Crystal.

  My office phone rings and I pick up. “D&D Bank Darien Casey speaking.”

  “Mia is here to see you,” Lisa says.

  What. The. Fuck.

  I guess her drug-dealer boyfriend had a little chitchat with her.

  The five-foot-four hell on heels barges into my office with her hands on her hips. I slam the phone down on the desk and the table shakes. Gonna fire the whole fucking security team if they don’t get their shit together. I have a list of guests who are allowed past the lobby—Alana and my dad. Two fucking people. How hard can their job be?

  No, fuck that. I’m going to fire them as soon as I get little Mrs. Crackhead out of here.

  “You fucking asshole. You thought you could use Luke to get me to sign the papers?”

  “It’s a pleasure to see you, wife. Drugs and prostitution look good on you.”

  Her dull black hair stops at her shoulders and her black eyes cut me like daggers. She is thin—too fucking thin. All that coke is making her thin as Olive from Popeye. She could use a burger or three. I gloat at the fact that she is pissed off and that I got her attention.

  “Don’t patronize me. You locked me out of my condo, now you pull this BS.” She starts pacing back and forth. “I’m not signing those papers! You need to give me some cash. I have no home to go to, and I can’t stay with Luke for long. The Feds are calling him in for questioning.” She stabs her bony finger at my chest. I don’t condone hitting a woman, but I’m two seconds from losing my shit if she doesn’t back the fuck up.

  “I don’t give two shits about you or your drug-dealing boyfriend.” People stare at us through the glass windows. Thank fuck the glass is soundproof.

  “Please, Darien. I can’t walk away from this marriage with nothing.” She plays with the ends of her hair.

  “Tell your lawyer to get with my lawyer and we can work something out.”

  “Thank you. I knew you still had a heart.” She sighs.

  Only for Alana.

  She turns on her heels and leaves the office, and I walk to the middle of the work area where the workers are looking through the glass doors.

  “Got enough of the shit show? Get your asses back to work before I fire each and every last one of you.” I stomp back to my office, slam the glass door and sag into my chair. Had enough of Mia’s shit. Don’t want to be bitter and angry towards her. But, goddammit, she makes me want to wring her neck.

  We weren’t always at each other’s throats. We were in a long-distance relationship when we first started dating. She lived in New York City to pursue modeling, and I lived here in Newark. I met her at Starbucks on Mansion Ave. I was having a shitty day, lost a deal with a bank that I was trying to buy out for a while. She came up to me with the prettiest smile and said, “You’re too cute to look angry. Who pissed on your day?”

  She slid in the seat across from me, removing her hat, placing it on the brown table. With her black hair falling to her shoulders, I thought she was a fucking angel.

  The first year of our relationship was hard because she had to travel a lot. Two years after our marriage, she started smoking weed, which wasn’t a problem with me because I smoked weed. Then she started hanging with other models and started snorting heavy shit. Before I knew it, my wife was slipping through my fingers. I used to search the bad side of New York City to find her in crack houses, so high she didn’t know where she was and how she got there. Mia started cheating on me once I cut her off from my money. Wasn’t going to let her bleed me dry. Then I told her she had a choice—me or drugs. She chose drugs so, over time, we drifted apart and began to live our own l
ives. Couldn’t save our marriage.

  I check my email on my computer and print out the legal paperwork for American Banking.

  “Trish is pregnant again,” Logan says, peeling the paper from his beer bottle. Logan has been with Trish on and off since college. Pins clatter together; the bowling alley is quiet on a Tuesday night. I take out a joint from behind my ear, pop it in my mouth, and light it like I own the place. Technically, I do—got a few shares in this place.

  “Congratulations,” I say. He shakes his head and frowns.

  “I don’t want another fucking kid.”

  “How does Trish feel about that?”

  “She is excited, hoping it’s another girl. I asked her to get an abortion, but that earned me a slap across the face.” He takes a swig of his beer. Trish and Logan have a boy and a girl together.

  “I’m gonna break up with her. Haven’t been happy in a long time. Thank fuck I didn’t marry her.”

  Gunner comes back, and it’s my turn. Putting the joint out in the ashtray, I get up from the table, grab my brown ball from the machine and roll it down the aisle. I hit a strike. My red and black shoes squeak against the polished wooden floors as I sit back at the table.

  “Cheating bastard,” Gunner yells. I flip him the bird. It’s Logan’s turn, so he stands up from the table, grabs his red ball from the machine and rolls it down the aisle. The waitress sets my two hot dogs in front of me. I eat the fuck out of them; I am hungry.

  Gunner leans back in the chair, placing both hands on the back of his head. The fucker needs to cut his auburn hair. “You’re fucking my sister?”

  Cocking my eyebrow at him, I say, “Yeah.”

  Why lie? He is gonna find out sooner or later, especially after I went caveman on her and told her that she’s mine. His jaw ticks and he balls his fist, banging it on the table. Like I fucking care? I’ll fuck him up. He might be two times my size, but that won’t stop me from kicking his ass all the way to the other side of the planet.

  “That explains why she is walking around the office singing and happy like she is starring in a damn Disney movie. You planning to make her your girl?”

  “What the fuck you think, Gunner? What kind of bullshit question is that?”

  “Had to ask. Did she tell you what I did to her ex-husband?”

  I shake my head.

  “I gave him stitches.”

  “You’re fucking threatening me?” I say, through gritted teeth.

  “No, but if I have to pick between you and my sister, I will choose Alana. Just fucking warning you,” he says. The screen on the monitor says game over. Logan comes back to the table.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here; I want to see some ass,” Logan says.

  Alana

  I TELL CRYSTAL that I’ll wait in the waiting room because it’s too painful for me to watch her baby on the ultrasound. Selfish, I know. Grabbing a WebMD magazine, I flip through it. This is the same place Charles and I had our ultrasound for Cole. My mom came with me because I was sixteen years old and needed parental consent. I had a bad case of butterflies, and my arms broke out in stress hives.

  He pushes a few strands from my face as I look down at the black and white tiles. My heart hammers in my chest. So many questions race through my mind.

  Is the baby going to be normal? Am I going to be a good mom? Is it too late to get an abortion?

  “I hope the baby is a boy.” Charles’ hazel eyes narrow. “We can name him after my grandpa.”

  I look at him, and he purses his thin lips. His calm gives me little hope that everything will be all right.

  “If we have a girl, I’m naming her after my mom, Ava.”

  A smile stretches across her face. Worry lines sprout at the corners of her eyes. “It doesn’t matter what you’re having, as long as she or he is healthy,” Mom says.

  We both nod.

  The medical assistant ushers us to a small room. The woman has on blue scrubs, and her high ponytail sways back and forth as she walks. With the room painted pink and baby pictures hanging on the wall, the room is supposed to make you feel calm and excited, but it doesn’t. My palms are sweating, and the room is spinning, and I don’t know if I want to puke or faint.

  “It’s gonna be okay, sweet pea,” Charles says, squeezing my hand.

  That’s a nickname Charles gave me because he always says that I am the sweetest person he ever met.

  The lady ushers me to the bed, tells me to pull up my shirt above my belly, and I feel flutters in my belly. The baby kicks me and my whole stomach shifts, giving me the urge to pee. The gynecologist says it’s normal, though. I’m on the brink of tears because this is real. I’m carrying a baby. Have to grow up and be an adult. I envisioned going to art school, but that dream doesn’t look promising. Everyone is quiet, and the A/C pumps out cool air, causing my skin to break out in goose bumps. Charles grips my hands tight. The lady squirts gel on a stick.

  “The gel is going to be cool against your abdomen.”

  She glides the stick to different angles on my stomach, and I hear a rapid heartbeat. I break into tears—don’t know what kind of tears. Charles wipes my face, and I can’t read his expression. My mom leaves the room. She’s disappointed with me, and I let her down. I’m disappointed in myself. Hate myself for ruining my life, for thinking that it was okay to have sex without condoms. The baby is coming in four months, and our lives are gonna change. Reality hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m going to be a mom, going to be responsible for someone else. No more staying up at night playing video games, no more having freedom. Maybe I should have listened to my mom and got an abortion. Charles didn’t want one, but he told me he would support me no matter what I chose.

  “Here are the legs.” She presses a button on the keyboard, turns the screen to me, and moves the stick on my belly to the left. “The arms.”

  “What is the sex?” Charles asks, his eyes gleaming.

  Why is he so excited? Doesn’t he understand the mistake we made, that we can’t undo what happened?

  “Congrats, it’s a boy.” The screen shows a penis.

  Charles runs his hands through his hair and smiles. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes. “Baby Cole,” he whispers, and kisses my lips. Charles wants to name the baby after his grandfather who raised him. His grandfather died last year from a rare brain tumor.

  “I love you, sweet pea.”

  “I love you too.”

  Crystal sashays to the lobby, her eyebrows knitted together, and I place the magazine down on the white table. She hands me a black-and-white picture.

  “I’m fifteen weeks pregnant. The baby is healthy.” Tears fill her eyes. I don’t know if they’re tears of joy, but I don’t ask.

  On our way to play golf, Crystal is so excited about being pregnant, she rambles on about how she can’t wait until she finds out the sex so we can decorate the room.

  We cruise downtown Newark to an arcade that has mini-golf and other outdoor games. At the cashier, we order three rounds of games. I hit my club against the white ball, but I miss the tiny hole. Don’t know why I agreed to play this boring game.

  “Your turn, preggo,” I tell Crystal. She hits the ball, and it rolls into the tiny hole.

  “I’ve been depressed, Alana.” Her chin trembles. Crystal has suffered from clinical depression since we were teenagers. She used to get depressed about her mom’s sickness. The last time she was depressed, four years ago, she had to check into a psychiatric ward because she tried to commit suicide. I hope that she doesn’t do that again because I can’t lose her as a friend. With me not having a sister, I love her like one, and I will do anything for her.

  “Have you thought about suicide?” The words are out faster than I intend.

  “No. Had to stop my antidepressants when I got pregnant. I swear I won’t have a repeat of what happened.” Her shoulders droop as she says, “With Clarence leaving, I never thought I would be a single mom.” Her eyes glisten with tears. “I’m going to ge
t that son of a bitch back for leaving me. Mark my words, Alana.”

  A bunch of teenagers speak loud and skateboard on the wood ramps. I pull her into a hug and let her cry. This has been an emotional day for both of us. “How about we go home, look up hot guys on Pinterest, and make some hot chocolate?”

  “And watch Magic Mike,” she adds, smiling and wiping the tears from her eyes.

  Autumn is the most beautiful time of the year. Brown, orange, and red leaves coat the ground that you want to dive into. The air is crisp and dry, and you get to decorate your house for Thanksgiving and Christmas. But it can be one of the most depressing times of the year, especially since I lost Cole. When Cole was a baby, I dressed him up in the cutest Thanksgiving onesies that said, “Gobble, I’m a cute turkey.” I missed the way he used to call me “sweet pea” because his dad used to do it. Most of the time, I miss being a mother—it was one of the hardest and sweetest jobs I ever had to do. Can’t imagine doing it again. Don’t want to feel like I’m trying to replace Cole.

  Darien and I jog through the park together. My calves burn as my feet hit the pavement. Darien wants to race me, but little does he know that I’m a natural runner. I stop as we pass a giant blossom tree with pale-pink petals scattered on the green grass. I sag down on the black metal bench, and Darien stops and sits next to me, breathing heavy.

  He kisses my forehead. “We’re having Thanksgiving dinner at your folks’ house or mine?”

  “What?” I ask, grabbing my water bottle from my Justice League backpack, unscrewing the lid and gulping it down. Man, my throat is dry. Hope I’m not getting sick.

  “Thanksgiving, Red.”

  “Oh, yeah. At your folks’,” I say.

  A lady and her white poodle jog past us. The sun is out, but the cold wind is cooling off my skin, and it feels nice. I’m burning up in my long-sleeved fleece and my pink sweatpants, despite the cold weather.

  “I’m taking you to the movies. We are going on another date.”

  “Dating is not our thing, Darien.” He hasn’t taken me out since the gala, and I’m okay with that. Never been the type to date.