“Disgusting creatures,” I murmured.
My heels spun in the other direction, running straight into an iron blockade. I opened my mouth to scream. An arm snaked around my waist, pulling me against his chest and he smacked his hand against my lips. Fear collided with my survivor instinct. I jerked my leg backwards and up, aiming for a crotch shot.
My captor doubled over in two. “What the hell, Haven?”
At the sound of my name, I faced the man who sounded a lot like Big Ted. Indeed it was. He was thinner, almost thirty pounds lighter. Tufts of dark hair stood up on his scalp. An ill-fitting suit hung off his new and improved body. As he turned his head skyward, gasping for breath, I noticed black and blue rings underneath his eyes. To put it mildly, Big Ted was just as much of a baby gangsta as he was fifteen years ago.
A sadistic smile tugged at my lips. “Are you enjoying eating the cement? Because that’s where you belong.”
“Are you on your period? Because you’re being particularly bitchy this afternoon.”
I wanted to kick him in the nuts all over again. “You got Sumiko hooked on drugs and then had the tenacity to send her over to my apartment like some messenger pigeon.”
He lifted himself off the ground. Five-foot-eleven of an empty soul loomed over me. “She got hooked on drugs herself. I merely provided the supply.”
“And threatened to cut it off if I don’t pay my mom’s stupid non-existent debt. Do you know how dangerous that is? Sumiko could have died from withdrawal.” I raised my chin and met his gaze. If my hatred were a lit match, Big Ted would have burned to death. “You killed my mom. I’ll be damned if I stand by and watch you kill Sumiko as well.”
Big Ted’s finger closed around my wrist. Desperation swirled in his eyes, which was far scarier than hatred. A desperate man would do just about anything to get what he wanted, murder included.
“I will kill anybody and everybody you’re close to if you don’t get me that remaining seven hundred dollars.” His rancid breath tickled my cheek. “Your whore of a mother’s blow jobs is no longer a option. Unless….” Big Ted pushed my head toward his crotch area.
Revulsion choked the air from lungs as I struggled.
Laughing, he let go and I stumbled backwards against the dumpster. “Get me that money.”
With that threat, he was gone.
The contents of my stomach emptied onto the cement. Salty tears leaked from eyes into my mouth. Inhaling garbage-tainted air, I choked back the sob rising out my throat. Get it together, Haven. I shakily straightened but my legs were nonexistent. Bracing myself, I counted to ten backwards.
“10, 9, 8, 7, 6….” Big Ted’s voice rang in my ears. The world tilted and I fought against a fresh wave of nausea. I started again. “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1….”
Better.
My mom had stooped to the lowest levels to get the next fix. Stealing, lying, cheating, but she never used her body. Right? Doubt crept in like a virus. Images hidden in the recesses of my mind appeared like a bad dream. My mom at Big Ted’s house, leaving me to play in the living room while she went to do grown up stuff. Emerging an hour later, clothes rumpled, lipstick smeared and eyes glossy. I bit my fist to muffle the scream that wanted to tear free. The shred of respect I had for my mom dissolved. She brought her demons into my childhood for which they stayed long after her death.
“Haven?”
Mallory’s voice was the glue that haphazardly pieced me back together. Slapping a smile on my face, I wiped away my tears and faced her.
“Hey, sorry. The stupid dumpster was overfilled.”
She saw straight through my lie but like a true friend pretended to believe me. “No problem. As soon as you wash the floors you can leave.”
“Great.”
The floors were spotless in record time and I quickly changed out of my uniform. A walk around along the riverfront was badly needed. The rain had turned into a downpour. Throwing my hood over my head, I battled the wind and made my way east. The poor weather chased away the usual mommy joggers with the strollers and hundred-dollar workout clothes. Alone with my thoughts, they turned to the last mother-daughter date my mom and I had.
She was living in a crummy studio apartment. Her latest fling had been a year before that and she hadn’t been able to get another one since then. The drug abuse had taken its toll, smudging her beauty into a watercolor painting. My mom’s settlement money from Sumiko’s dad was running short and she had grown depressed. I knew all of this, yet, was shocked at her state when we met for breakfast at a diner near Cadillac Square. She slid into the booth opposite me and flashed a weak smile.
“Hey.” Her voice was like sandpaper. “How are you?”
“I’m good. Working.”
“Yeah? Where are you working?”
“A couple of places.”
My mom reached for the sugar packets. She stacked them on top of each other and grimaced. “Sorry for not reaching out sooner. It’s been a crazy month.”
A sarcastic retort was at the tip of my tongue but I bit my cheek. “No worries. Is there a reason you wanted to meet?”
“Can’t a mother see her baby girl without a reason?”
Years of regret and bad choices hung between us. My mother sighed, dipping her chin forward. “I need help.”
“With what? I don’t have any money.”
“I only need a hundred dollars.”
I barked out a laugh. A hundred dollars wasn’t chump change. The fifty I’d lent her two months before could’ve gone toward groceries.
My mom flagged down a waitress and ordered a cup of coffee, black. She could have used some food as well. The clothes she wore were two sizes too big.
“She will also have a stack of pancakes and scrambled eggs.” I injected.
My mom slid me a look, which said she wouldn’t eat any of that but I couldn’t help it. Our roles had been reversed since I could talk. The waitress came back a minute later with my mom’s coffee. She added four packets of sugar, enough for a diabetes coma.
My hands folded on the table. “So you need money.”
“Yes.”
“For drugs?”
My mom looked around anxiously, as if the police were going to bust into the diner. She lowered her voice into a harsh whisper. “Jesus, Haven, do you have to be so blunt?”
“I don’t believe in beating around the bush.”
“Obviously.” A beat passed. “My supply is running low.”
“And? Haven’t you ever thought to quit?”
“I’m not an addict.”
This was the same conversation we had whenever we saw each other. My mom believed her pain pills were needed due to a long ago back injury. Her hands shook as she lifted the cup to her lips. The sleeve of her t-shirt lifted, revealing track marks on her milky white skin.
Anger burst hot and quick through my veins. “Then explain why your arm looks like it has been stuck with a needle?”
My mom tugged at her sleeve. “I got my blood drawn.”
“Bullshit.” I had enabled my mom’s addiction for too long. I was done. Throwing my money on the table, I slid out of the booth and faced the woman who didn’t deserved to be called a mother. “You wont find happiness in a syringe. I hope you come to find that out sooner than later.”
My mom’s tiny pinprick pupils met mine. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t.”
The next time I saw my mom she was dead by the very thing she wouldn’t give up and months later, I still didn’t understand.
Water dripped down my forehead as I stared up at Andrew’s loft. His blinds were pulled back and the floor to ceiling windows offered little privacy. Night had descended since my walk to the lakefront. I debated returning to my apartment, but my legs had a mind of their own and went in the opposite direction.
A couple spilled out of the bar next-door, giggling. Their hands interlocked as they swayed together like a unit. The man whispered something in his girlfriend’
s ear and playfully slapped her butt. She squealed in delight. A weird pang of longing hit me square in the gut. Usually a drunken couple shoving their love in my face would be the bane of my existence. Tonight though, I found it sweet. It’s not easy to find somebody to slog through life with. My mouth tipped into a scowl. God, I was starting to sound like a romantic. The couple slinked into an alleyway where a couple of seconds of later¸ moans shattered the silence.
Gross.
Tightening my belt on my jacket, I walked into Andrew’s building and rode the elevator to the fifth floor. As the doors opened, Andrew’s handsome face came into view. I took in his strained features. It looked like I wasn’t the only one who had a tough day.
His gaze locked with mine and relief shined brightly. “You’re here.”
“Where else would I be?”
He tugged me out the elevator and into his arms. Taken aback, my muscles stiffened but it didn’t take long before my arms wrapped around his shoulders.
Concern lined his mouth as he pulled back. “You weren’t at work.”
“I went for a walk.”
“For eight hours?”
“You disappeared for longer than that last night,” I said defensively.
“A drug dealer isn’t after me.”
“So? That just means you can leave without letting me know where and I can’t. To my knowledge, you invited me into your home as a guest, not as a prisoner.”
Andrew ran his fingers through his hair as an exasperated sigh left his lips. “I thought you had gotten kidnapped or worse, killed.”
“Those sound equally bad.”
His arms flew into the air. “I know!”
Andrew’s clear concern for my well-being confounded me. My whole existence I didn’t have to report to anybody. I came and went as I pleased. A luxury as a teenager, but as I grew older the fear of slipping in the shower and not being found manifested into a worry of mine. So much so, Monica gave me a Life Alert button for Christmas.
I touched his elbow. “Hey….”
Andrew’s brown eyes lifted and a rush of affection swallowed me.
“I’m sorry for worrying you. Here’s a crazy idea: We should exchange numbers.”
His gaze twinkled with laughter. “I don’t know. That is a huge step for us.”
“I know but I think we can handle it. Be warned of my overuse of emojis though.”
“What are emojis?”
Thinking he was joking, I burst out laughing until confusion on his face confirmed otherwise. Andrew was a brilliant artist, business aficionado, and jack-of-all-trades, yet didn’t know what emojis were.
“You know? Those smiley faces people put into their text messages,” I explained.
“I don’t text.”
My mouth hung open, dumbfounded. “You don’t text?”
“No. It’s not a proper form of communication. I believe in actually hearing the person speak instead of reading a string of meaningless words.” As if gearing up for a speech, Andrew cleared his throat. “My grandmother has a chest filled to the brim with old love letters sent to her by my grandfather when he was at war. He took the time to remind my grandmother that she was on his mind and that he still loved her and couldn’t wait to hold her again. A text message isn’t the same. It’s flippant.”
Andrew sounded like a man well beyond twenty something. “How old are you?”
“If I told you I was seventy five, would you believe me?”
“Yes. However….” My eyes racked over his body with obvious approval. “You don’t appear to be a day over twenty-six.”
He tipped an imaginary hat and bowed deeply. A bad fake southern accent tainted his words. “Why thank you, Ms. Haven. I do appreciate your generosity.”
The veil shrouding my happiness lifted and lightness shined through. Andrew had a gift for making me temporarily forget about the ugliness.
Smiling, I slapped him playfully. “You are ridiculous.”
Andrew gripped my hand where it landed below his sleeve. His bare skin was warm underneath my touch. The joking atmosphere dissipated as his gaze turned earnest. “I am really glad you are ok, Haven. When Mallory told me she had no idea where you went, I almost had a heart attack. You’re more important to me than you realize.” He examined my expression and whatever he saw caused him to let out a short laugh. “I know you don’t believe me especially after last night but I ran not because of an ex, but because I don’t want to ruin this.”
The blood rushed to my ears. I wanted to hear him say it. “Ruin what?”
Andrew linked together our fingers and brought them up between us like a barrier. “Ruin this.” He glanced at our hands. “Whenever anybody talked about an instant connection, I thought it was bullshit until I met you. We have something rare that shouldn’t be rushed. I want to get to know you. The real Haven….” He scrunched up his eyebrows when he realized he didn’t know my last name.
“McClain.” I supplied.
“Haven McClain.” He repeated it softly, testing my full name on his tongue. “Pretty.”
When Andrew said it, it did sound pretty. Beautiful even. “What’s yours?”
“Foster.” A low chuckle softened his face. “I can’t believe we are now just finding out each other’s last name’s. Then again our courtship has been anything but slow.”
Andrew, a rare romantic, believed in the power of the written word and used words like courtship. While I loved that side of him, he had wooed me enough. I was ready to get naked with him. Nonetheless, for better or worse, Andrew stood by his convictions. A trait both admirable and incredibly frustrating rolled into a neat package. After that steamy preview of what I was in for this morning, I could practically taste him on my lips and feel his hard thickness between my thighs, pushing me to the edge of nirvana.
Worry lined his mouth. “Shit, did I say too much? Sometimes, I get overly passionate and scare girls off.”
If only Andrew knew where my mind had wandered. “Not at all. I like how passionate you are.”
He beamed, capturing another piece of my heart. Andrew broke the chain of our linked hands and dropped his arms to his sides. “Come on, I have a piece of cake with your name on it.”
“Why do you have cake?”
“I bake when I’m stressed.”
Another trait to add to his growing list of skills. At this rate, I would be shocked if he wasn’t talented at something. In all likelihood, Andrew spoke French and read textbook-sized novels straight out of the womb. I felt smarter just being in his presence.
He held open his apartment door. “Did I mention there is thick fudge frosting as well?”
I sat at Andrew’s marble slab kitchen island, drinking a cold glass of almond milk. The cake had put me into a glorious sugar coma. Andrew was on his second slice. It was unfair how much he ate without compromising his godlike physique.
He licked frosting off the fork. “My mom was given this recipe from her grandmother. It has been in my family for generations.”
“Wow. I don’t have anything that resembles an heirloom in my family.”
“Really?”
“My mom wasn’t the sentimental type.”
“How ‘bout your grandmother?”
My mom had left home when she was sixteen and never looked back. I had no idea where my extended family lived or if they knew I existed. Whenever I asked, my mom had told me they weren’t worth my breath. Picking up our dirty dishes off the island, his question went un-answered.
I could feel his weighty stare through the thin cotton of my t-shirt. “When did your mom marry Sumiko’s dad the first time?”
Wincing, her name was like a paper cut. Nonetheless, their wedding was one of my greatest memories. I had finally gotten the sister I’d always wanted. “They married when I was five. It lasted for about six years.”
“And the second time?”
“The second time was when I was twelve. That lasted for three but by then Sumiko and I were blood sisters. On our e
ighteenth birthdays we got matching tattoos.”
Andrew appeared beside me and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher. “What did you two get?”
“The symbol for forever.”
My hand instinctively moved to the side of my rib cage, where the two interlocking circles with three swallows were inked. Sumiko had drawn the design herself.
His eyes followed my hand. “Is that where it is?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Can I see it?”
I hesitated. Underneath my clothes was a map of my childhood scars. Whenever, a guy and I had sex, there were three rules they had to abide by: lights off, no touching, and shirt stays on. They were usually more than happy to oblige. While cold and meaningless, it worked until it didn’t anymore. Andrew glanced away and turned on the dishwasher. I could tell he perceived my silence as mistrust. Upset, his shoulders tensed. If anybody could cut away the barbed wire fence around my heart, it would be Andrew. Might as well start now.
I lifted my t-shirt, exposing the bottom half of my chest. “Sumiko and I wanted to add beauty and hope to an otherwise ugly reminder.”
Andrew’s gaze landed on my rib cage. I turned my head away unable to witness his reaction. Light as a butterfly’s kiss, his fingers brushed over the puckered red scar that the tattoo was inked over and I jolted.
“What happened?” he whispered.
“When I was four, I got in the middle of a fight between my mom and her boyfriend at the time.”
“It looks like it was done by a knife.”
“Yeah.”
Murderous rage raided off of Andrew. “Where is he? I’ll chop his balls off.”
Titling my chin, his gaze pinned me to the wall. There was no doubt in my mind if Andrew saw Doug on the street, he would have cut his balls off.
“He’s dead,” I said. “Hit by a truck on his motorcycle.”
“Good.”
“I don’t blame him.” When he tilted his head as if to question me, I explained. “My mom brought out the worst in people. Her favorite past time was pushing buttons until she got the reaction she sought. I don’t remember much of the fight but I do remember Doug’s remorse and my mother’s indifference.” His attention on the story, I let go of my shirt and obscured the rest of my scars.
Jagged Love Page 6
