by Sadie Grubor
Thinking back to that time, a chill runs over my skin. I shove the memories down and remember the gift she had given me before I left campus for good. Wendy didn't judge or condemn me. Instead, she gave me a basket full of homemade organic soap in a multitude of scents.
Not only did I fall in love with the honeysuckle soap, but eventually her shampoo and conditioner—in the same scent, of course—became my go-to products. They seem to be the only products able to tame my hair.
After removing the top of the lotion tube and rolling the body to squeeze out the last bit, I toss it into a trashcan.
I slip into my cotton shorts with red lips printed all over and dark gray shirt that says I shaved my balls for this, brush my hair, and exit the bathroom. I'm surprised to find the room empty, and that relief is followed by disappointment as I slip into bed alone.
It's still dark when I pull the messy bun tighter against my scalp and lift my bags onto my shoulder. I grip the last bag and pull it along behind me as quietly as possible.
When my cell phone alarm woke me this morning, I immediately knew I was still the only person in the bed. I wasn't sweating or drowning in the heat of the oversized man who had wrapped himself around me the past couple nights.
It was oddly unnerving to be alone, without him there for me to shove off.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts, lift my bag, and quietly descend the stairs. Clearly, I need to get out of here without seeing him. Things have gotten out of hand being here with him. It's time for us to push a reset button.
Using an elbow, I guide myself slowly down each step.
I reach the first floor and readjust my bags before moving toward the front door for my shoes and coat. At such an early time, the cabin is silent and dark.
"Sneaking out?"
His question startles a screech out of me and I drop my bags. Spinning around, I squint into the shadows lining the living room. "You scared the shit out of me," I whisper yell.
Still unable to see him, I continue to peer into the darkness.
He doesn't speak again and I have a flight to catch.
"Uh, thanks for letting me use the cabin," I rush out in a hush before turning and slipping my boots on my feet.
"You're just going to sneak out?" A humorless laugh follows his question. Keeping my eyes on the wall of coats, I take a deep breath.
"I'm not sneaking," I declare.
"Tiptoeing down the stairs to the door isn't—"
I spin around and find him standing a couple feet behind me. "I was trying not to wake anyone." It's partly true.
"Anyone meaning me?" He crosses his arms over his chest.
"Anyone meaning everyone in the house." I mimic his stance.
"You don't have to leave today. You know you can take a flight tomorrow," he whispers harshly.
I square my shoulders and keep silent while mentally telling myself to stay strong and not fall for his hot and cold bullshit again.
Dropping his arms, he runs a hand through his shoulder length hair.
"Sid…" he starts, saying my name like a plea.
In the dim light, I can see the lines around his pained eyes.
My heart thumps as heat climbs from the pit of my stomach over my chest.
Space. Distance.
Releasing my crossed arms, I grab my coat, then reach down and gather my bags. "Thanks for letting me use your cabin," I rush out before quickly exiting through the front door.
The sound of a thud against the glass door jolts my body, but doesn't stop me. Instead, I take quicker steps to the rental car. Bags loaded, I slip into the driver's seat and start the car.
I give in to the urge and look up at the door.
Through the wooden slats of the porch, I can see the outline of his body, his forehead to the glass.
Gripping the steering wheel tight, I keep myself from exiting the car. But I sit there too long because the door opens and he emerges. His steps are long and quick.
Run. It's the challenge he wants—not you. Go now before you get drawn in again, before you actually believe he wants you.
Panic widens my eyes and pushes me into motion.
Shifting into reverse, I slam on the gas and the car jolts back. My feet stomp on the brakes, giving my body a hard jerk.
I slant my eyes to the right, finding Xavier standing at the bottom of the steps, his hands fisted at each of his sides.
"Sidra, wait," he yells.
Throwing the car into drive, I hurry away from the cabin and Xavier.
I glance in the rearview mirror, catching Xavier jogging to the space I just pulled away from. His arms come up and he plants his hands on the top of his head, watching me drive away.
Focusing on the road before me, I ignore the sadness creeping over me and how wrong it feels to drive away from the cabin, his family…and him.
"Oh my God," I shout at myself, "this is fucking ridiculous.
You don't even like him.
I stab the radio button with my fingers and let the music drown out every stupid thought I have about Xavier. The feelings aren't as easily deterred, but I know how to bury those—just give me some time and space.
Xavier
"It's a bit early for whiskey. Don't you think?" Em says to my back before grabbing the bottle from the island in front of me.
Placing the bottle near the sink, she turns and leans back against it. Her eyes roam over me.
I fist my tumbler glass, stare directly into her eyes, and drink.
"I know today is a bad day for you, Xavier, but don't forget your daughters are here." She pushes away from the counter, comes to stand across the island from me, and snatches the glass from my hand. "Plus, you have a guest here, who—"
I snort at the mention of Sid and Em furrows her brow. "What's that about?" she asks.
"My guest left hours ago," I inform, trying to reclaim my glass.
She pulls it out of my reach.
"Damn it, Ember, give me the glass," I growl.
Ignoring me, she asks, "Did you ask her to stay?"
I rub my palms over my face and groan.
"Did you?" she presses.
Dropping my hands, I level a look at her.
"I told her she could stay and fly out tomorrow."
"So, you were a pussy and didn't ask her." It's not a question.
"Leave your brother alone," Mom says, breezing into the kitchen.
Great, now she's going to get involved.
"He's a grown man," Em states, turning toward our mother, "even though he's acting like a brooding teenager at the moment."
"Ember," our mother warns.
Em gives an exasperated sigh before pushing away from the island and moving to the coffee machine. She presses the button and the scent of coffee begins to fill the air.
"Sid's gone?" my mother asks.
I nod and she sighs.
"Xavier, I like Sid. I really do, but—"
"Jesus, Mom, I don't need a fucking lecture about women, okay?" I sit back roughly and the wooden chair creaks under my weight.
"I'm not lecturing you about women," she snaps, narrowing her eyes and planting her hands on the counter between us. "Both of you are going through some things right now. That girl has a lot on her plate at the moment and jumping into whatever you think you want is probably a horrible idea."
I open my mouth, preparing to tell my own mother to shut up, which will probably end my life, but she points one long perfectly manicured finger at me.
"Just wait a minute. You have your daughters and the seriously delicate situation with your ex-wife on your shoulders right now, and then today, of all days, you have the anniversary of Ethan's death lingering over you. Baby boy, I love you, but you have no idea what you really want right now, and Sid sure as hell isn't in a place for an unsure man."
My chest aches and eyes widen. She's right about the girls, Maria, and Ethan, but she's so fucking wrong about me being unsure.
"She talk to you?" I clip out the questio
n. Mom shakes her head.
"Not really, but I can put shit together. She slipped up enough for me to figure some things out. There's a lot going on there, Xavier, and, as your sister stated, a broody teenager isn't going to be any good for her right now."
"Neither of you know what the fuck you're talking about," I shout, pushing to my feet. "Yeah, I've got shit going on, but that doesn't change the fact that I care about that woman." I plant my hands into the counter and lean forward. "There's nothing unsure about how I feel when it comes to Sid."
"Hello, Xavier, nice to have you back." Em places a mug of coffee in front of me, a wide grin on her face.
"There's the man I raised," my mother concurs, taking another coffee from Em and bringing it to her lips.
"You both…" I growl, shaking my head.
"We both love you enough to kick you in the ass when you need it," Em says, pressing a hip into the counter.
"Now, drink your coffee and then go wash away the alcohol smell." My mother waves her hand over me. "We have four kids to plan a day with before we start closing up the cabin so we can return home."
"I already made a call to the cleaning crew. They should be here tomorrow to go over everything and collect any perishable items from the kitchen," Em adds.
I pick up my mug and leave them without a word. "You're welcome, you ungrateful brat!" Em yells after me.
The shower smells like Sid; her scent infused in the walls and curtain.
Palms to the wall, I close my eyes and let the hot water beat on my back. I inhale through my nose, savoring the memory of her fragrance.
Stepping out of the shower, I notice a light yellow tube in the trash. It's wrapped in a white sticker labeled with W.O.E. and Honey, I'm Home Organic Body Lotion printed below it. I turn the bottle over and read the description of the organic lotion created by Wendy's Organic Emporium in Pittsburgh, PA.
"Honeysuckle," I rumble victoriously.
Flipping the top, I bring it to my nose and squeeze. I close my eyes and Sid assaults my senses—her face, her smile, her furrowed brow and pursed lips. The mischievous gleam she gets in her eye when she's up to something. Or the way she curls her lips into her mouth when she's trying to filter herself.
My dick hardens, protruding from between my legs. For a brief moment, I'm tempted to unscrew the lotion lid to see if there's enough to jerk off with. Just the thought causes my dick to pulse and jump. My tip bumps the side of the sink counter, snapping me out of the fantasy.
Fuck, I want her.
I open my eyes, set the empty tube on the vanity near the sink, grab a towel, and wrap it around my hips. With a second towel, I dry myself off.
Dropping the towel to the floor, I lean against the sink and stare at myself in the mirror, grinning.
She may have run away today, but I'm not known for giving up so easily.
I straighten and run my fingers through my wet hair.
Ah, Sid, you can run and you can try to hide, but I can assure you, I'm a persistent bastard—especially when there's something I want within my grasp. Baby, you have no idea what's coming.
Chapter Thirteen
Sidra
After getting in so late the night before, I only sent a quick text to my mother letting her know I'm home, so the fact that my phone is going crazy on the bedside table shouldn't be a surprise.
Pulling the covers off my head, I'm assaulted by sunlight and my mother's ringtone.
Christ, why did I think this ringtone was a good idea?
I stretch an arm out of my cotton cocoon of warmth and grab the phone just as it silences.
"One, two, thr—" The ringtone begins again. "Hello," I yawn into the phone.
"Did I wake you?"
"No, a yawn is my new way to answer the phone."
"Don't get smart," she scorns.
"You would rather I get stupid?" I counter, and glance at the alarm clock on my side table. "Geesh, Mom, did you ignore the time I sent the text message?"
Huffing, I arrange my pillows behind me.
"You need to get back on your own time zone or your sleep will be messed up for days," she says.
"How long did it take you to come up with that excuse to call me at eight-thirty in the morning?"
I run my free hand through my hair and my fingers get caught in the knots.
"Never mind that," she quips. "Your father and I are taking you out to breakfast, so get up and meet us in an hour."
"Mom, I really need to—"
"No excuses," she interrupts. "Your father has his heart set on breakfast with you. Meet us in an hour."
"You mean he wants to make sure I'm going to the police station to follow up on the break in and restraining order," I say, deadpan.
"He loves you," is her response.
"Fine," I surrender, "but you'll be lucky if I don't show up in pajamas. Love you, bye." I hang up before she can protest my clothing threat and hold my phone to my chest, closing my eyes.
Silence. It's so quiet, and, good lord, why is the bed so cold?
With a deep breath, I shove the covers from my body and drag my ass to the bathroom for a hot shower.
Dressed in an oversized black tunic, a pair of purple leggings with large white daisies, my black winter boots, dark purple wool hat, and black puffy coat, I climb into my car.
I wiggle my ass into my Darth Maul seat cover and run my hands up the Darth Vader steering wheel cover before wrapping my fingers at ten and two.
"Did you miss me, Vada?"
Yes, I talk to my car, and, yes, I named her after Darth Vader. Just because cars are referred to like women, doesn't mean she can't have the name of a badass. So, Darth Vada was born the day my father, a car salesman, brought us together.
A few years back, my Dad made me trade in my Chevy Cavalier for a great deal he had on a 2006 Nissan Xterra. The gas mileage isn't the best, the miles on the engine aren't superb, but she is all black with tinted windows and was in my price range. And she was a pivotal part in the first year of Toy BoXXXTM —fold down the back seats and I could fit so many boxes it wasn't even funny.
The moment I sat my big ass behind the wheel, it was love. Darth Vada now rocks an amazing white Rancor eating stick figures decal on the back window, Boba Fett floor mats, and Storm Trooper seat covers on the back bench seat because shotgun Yoda rides.
I start her up, tap the Death Star dangling from my review mirror, and back my car out of the small garage. I pay one hundred extra dollars for the space each month and at the moment, not having to scrape snow or ice from my car makes it all worth it. Especially when the hot shower and blow dryer weren't able to warm me all the way up.
It only takes me ten minutes to reach the small waffle house my parents and I regularly meet. Sure, I could've walked, but it's colder than the tip of the Snow Miser's dick outside.
Inside the small restaurant, I see my parents, my mom sitting on the same side of the booth with my father, before they see me.
Mom's hand fidgets with the silverware on the table as she speaks to my father. My father, an average sized man with salt and pepper hair, keeps his crystal blue eyes on his newspaper while nodding.
Now, if you didn't know my father, you would think he's ignoring her. In truth, he's heard everything she's said and could probably repeat it all back to her, in a Cliffs Notes version of course. Dad says years working, and now co-owning, a car dealership taught him to multi-task.
A brief flash of guilt assaults me, knowing he'd be the sole owner of the dealership if it weren't for me. I shake off the emotion and focus back on my parents.
He's definitely where I get my try-to-do-all-things-in-the-same-day tendencies. My mother would call it a lack of patience. My father prefers to call it being efficient. Since we share this trait, I side with Dad.
When Mom catches sight of me, she slips out of the booth and opens her arms.
I enter without hesitation and she cocoons me in the warmth only a mom can give. It starts in my chest and chases aw
ay the lingering chill in my body.
Stepping back, she moves aside and lets Dad hug me next. Where Mom's embrace is all warmth, Dad is all safety. In my darkest times, it was my dad who held me until all the insecurities melted away. The feeling of well-being slides over me as if he's magically locking all the doors and windows inside me.
"Baby, you look so tired," Mom says as Dad pulls away.
He slips back into the booth and folds his paper onto the table.
"Gee, I wonder why?" I grumble, removing my coat.
"Really?" Mom snaps, her eyes focused on the words stretched over my chest.
"What?" I look down, reading, Hi! I'm THAT Girl from the Bathroom Wall.
"At least she doesn't have fuck on it this time," my father mumbles, hiding a small grin.
"Marc," my mother hisses, looking around to see if any other patrons heard him. Shaking her head, she slips into the booth as I slide in across from them.
"You two," she complains, "I can't take you anywhere."
"Says the woman who went apeshit over not getting her coupon doubled last week at the grocery store," Dad teases.
Mom gasps and twists her head toward him.
"They shouldn't advertise double coupons if their system can't handle it," she counters. "Then I have to go stand in their customer service line and wait to get my refund for the overcharge?" She scoffs. "The consumer having to stand in another long line to reconcile something that's their fault to begin with is ridiculous." In a huff, she crosses her arms over her chest.
"I know, sweetheart," Dad says, rubbing Mom's arm before turning his attention to me.
"We need to talk about Paul." His voice has gone deeper, angrier. I stiffen at his name.
"I'm going to handle it," I assure him as I pick up my menu and look it over like I don't always get the same thing.
"You always get the farmer's breakfast with bacon and white toast, so put the menu down."
Scrunching up my face, I drop the menu and meet my father's eyes.
"He picked your lock and went through your things," he growls. "We cleaned up what we could after the police came. Well, we did the best we could with your computer area, but we can't be sure what he took from there."
