by Aven Jayce
“Oh, darling,” my mother reaches out to my father’s face. “Did you run into him too?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what happened,” my father winks at me, adding another lie to the pile. Eventually that mountain of lies is going to topple over and crush us all. “Let’s go upstairs so I can wash-up and check-in one last time with the hospital, before we go to bed.”
The four of us form a line along the back wall of the elevator and I rest my hand on Sophia’s back, guiding her closer to me. As we turn, a woman enters the building and calls out for us to hold the door. My mother keeps it open as she runs through the lobby.
“Mom,” I shake my head and whisper. “Are you nuts?”
I’ve seen this woman before. She’s attractive and dresses well, and if I had to guess, a lawyer or an executive of a company. And here we are, four crazy loons who look like they just stepped out of a horror movie, giving her the fright of her life.
“It’s okay, we won’t hurt you,” my mother says. She means well, but hasn’t a clue as she motions the woman inside, or she knows exactly what she’s doing and she’s acting quirky on purpose. My mother’s an oddity who I can’t always explain.
“Mother, close the door,” I whisper. She lowers her arm and Sophia waves as the door closes. “Jesus, you’re holding a butcher’s knife.”
“Well, you have a gun in your hand and your father’s covered in blood, I’m not the one who appears dangerous, now do I?”
“Yeah,” Sophia smiles.
“Soph, your chest is practically hanging out of that tank and your nipples are erect.”
“So, she has breasts, she knows what they look like.”
“Yup,” I sigh. “That’s exactly what was running through that woman’s head a second ago. I’m sure she thought, ‘it’s okay, I’ve got breasts too,’ and not, ‘oh shit, it’s that fucked up Everton family from the top floor.’”
My mother and Sophia laugh and I can’t help but smile as my father shakes his head, trying to hide a grin.
“We’re so white trash,” Sophia says.
“Speak for yourself,” the rest of us say in unison, and we laugh again.
“That woman is one of the most gorgeous and high-class black women in our building, and she’s probably calling all of her friends right now, telling them what a bunch of dumbass white people live up in the penthouse suites.”
We reach the top floor and I walk with Sophia to our place. “I’ll be right in,” I whisper. She nods before disappearing inside; it’s an unspoken understanding that I have unfinished business with my father.
“Dad, can I talk to you for a second?” I grab his arm before he gets too far away. “Please,” I request. My mother walks ahead, closes their door, and we’re given a moment alone.
I want to tell him how sorry I am for my accusations, and how disgusted I feel for treating him so poorly over the past week, but an apology seems inadequate; too little, too late. My outpourings of emotion, along with the way I’ve been acting have been a constant roller coaster ride; for myself and for the people I love.
And here we stand, face-to-face, eye-to-eye, and I stretch my arm out to his, finally, hand-in-hand. He bows his head and runs his fingers over mine, showing his love without having to speak. There’s my answer, the act of love. I could say I’m sorry or tell him that I love him, but those words carry no great weight unless I actually show him how I feel.
I’m devastated that he stepped away from me in the lobby, but after getting a fist in the face I can’t blame him. Our bodies and minds are worn out, our passion for life robbed, and some of that’s our own fault. This distance between us ends here.
I grip his hand firmly and pull him into my arms. No words... just a long, warm, tear-filled embrace. Any day could be our last, and we can’t leave this world with such anger for the other. His hand rests on the back of my head as I lean on his shoulder. I love my father with all my heart, and for the first time since I was a child, I feel protected.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
My father and I nearly fell asleep in one another’s arms and then I crashed on our sofa with the gun by my side. I never made it to our bedroom. That was the longest fucking day of my life, and now, here I am roused by the smell of coffee brewing, and my wife sucking on my morning wood. God, she’s good to me.
“Will you swallow it?” I ask in a soft voice while moving her hair to the side so I can see her face.
“Mmm,” she nods with her wet mouth cased over my dick. That tongue of hers is... oh fuck... here we go.
“I’m proud to say my wife has an impressive array of skills. You never suck me off the same way twice.”
Our eyes meet and she slowly, gently, pulls my skin with her constricted lips until I’m released with a big smacking sound. “Cosmo, Babe. Love that magazine,” she replies while stroking it.
I put my hand behind my head and let her have control. I’m sure she knows by the grin on my face how relaxed I am. Pure pleasure. I close my eyes and place my head on one of our throw pillows while she lowers that sweet wet mouth of hers back to my tip.
“That’s absolute torture, and you know it.”
She laughs as my hips jerk in an attempt to conquer an entrance, any orifice, I don’t fucking care, I just want inside. Her tongue hovers, torments my cock with short licks, and twists itself on my shaft.
“Come on, beautiful. Suck it. Let me in.”
“Are you begging?”
“Are you gonna make me beg?”
She will, I just know it. It turns her on when I beg and I’m so pussy-whipped that I don’t give a shit. “Please,” I moan.
She expels a playful laugh and grabs my shaft in the palm of her hand. I smile, expecting a hard jerk, only to be deceived with a gentle caress and then a surprising slap across my balls.
“Ah fuck,” I call out.
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not,” I laugh. “Is that from the magazine as well? Do those Cosmo writers tell women to smack their men in the nuts? Jesus.”
“Some men like it.”
“Well, it’s a weird mix between pleasure and pain, but I don’t think I could cum with you beating my nut sac.”
“No problem, how about this?” She winds her tongue around my dick until it’s flooded and dripping with saliva, then licks my balls as her hand slides over my shaft. I fantasize about her, and no one else... my fingers rest on her legs, slowly parting them, running my dick over her shaved pussy, and then dividing those slick lips as I push inside. Victory.
“You’re about to open up for me,” she whispers while running her tongue along one of my engorged veins.
Shit, I hope she swallows, just thinking about cumming in her mouth brings me closer to shooting my load... and her mouth, man, look at her. She can barely fit me inside... ahh, her tits... her tongue. “Soph, I’m gonna cum. I’m cumming.”
I hold her head on my dick and fire off a deep shot. She gags and I release immediately, but she doesn’t move, taking the next one, and the next. My heart pounds in sync with my dick, while my lungs heave for air.
“Damn,” I pant and watch my stomach rise and fall under her head. She swallows and wipes her mouth with the back of her wrist, then dries her hands on her leggings and fixes her hair. She’s phenomenal.
“I love you.”
“I know you do,” she smirks with a slap to my thigh before heading to the kitchen to pour two cups of coffee. She brings them over, puts one on the coffee table next to me, and takes a seat with hers on the facing sofa.
“I can’t believe how often that can happen. What time is it anyway?”
“Ten, which means you had a good ten or eleven hours to recharge from when you arrived home last night. So, you gonna lie there all day with your dick hanging out of your jeans, or you gonna tuck that bad boy away so we can talk?”
“I’d rather return the favor and begin the day with you. Who wants to step backward into hell?” I mumble, hole up, and zip. “Let me kiss you.
I need to give you some sort of satisfaction this morning.”
“Take a sip of coffee first, it’ll wash away the morning breath.”
“You just sucked me off. Your mouth was on my cock, but you can’t kiss me?”
“That’s different. Ask any woman, she’ll tell you that morning breath is far worse than...”
“Alright.” I raise my hand to cut her off and do as I’m told. It’s clear who’ll be in charge today. She’s in one of those moods. After a few sips of coffee I’m ready, and I pucker my lips playfully toward her.
“I’ll kiss you after we talk.”
“Of course, duped again.”
“No, not duped, I just don’t want to spend our morning making out when there’s another lunatic after us. Give me details.”
“I don’t have much to tell you. The guy was one of Paul’s porn stars, popular like myself, good-humored, and we were friends back in the day.”
“No way, then why’d you take the gun downstairs last night? You must’ve felt threatened or you wouldn’t have done such a thing.”
Our door intercom buzzes and Sophia looks at me with utter annoyance by the interruption.
“Can’t we have an hour alone without being bullied by the outside world?” she mumbles walking to the door. If my wife were an egg, she’d be the one with the crack. “What?” she shouts into the intercom.
“I’m coming up. If you’re naked, get dressed.”
“Goddammit, Haverty. Can you at least say good morning to me?” There’s silence on the other end and I think my wife’s head’s about to pop. “I didn’t even buzz him in,” she calls back to the living room. “I know he has a key, but he could be polite and wait for the buzzer.”
I nod and take another sip of coffee, listening to her powerful voice echo about the room. “I can’t believe I slept this late,” I yawn and look for my phone. “Something must be up if Haverty’s here without calling.”
“Ya think?” she says sarcastically. “When the hell isn’t something up? And your phone’s upstairs on the dresser. You must’ve left it there last night... don’t change the subject, okay?”
“I’m not, but Haverty’s gonna knock any second. There’s no point in talking about this guy when we’re about to be interrupted.”
She exaggerates a sigh and waits in the kitchen for his arrival. Pacing. Clearing crumbs off the counter with her hands. Watching the clock. Pacing again. Taking a sip of coffee. Sniffing a candle, once, twice, a third time. She’s obsessed with the way things smell. When we go grocery shopping I have to wait patiently as she sniffs every brand of deodorant, laundry detergent, shampoo, and soap. She’s the same way with perfume in the department stores. It’s one of the few things she does that annoys the hell out of me. I just don’t get it.
“Is that candle even scented?” I ask.
“Cologne-cigar-woods.”
“What?”
“That’s what it’s called. Cologne-cigar-woods.”
She puts it down in irritation upon hearing Haverty’s footsteps in the hall. He doesn’t knock; he pounds on the door demanding entry. Soph marches over and takes control of the situation, which is fine by me, I’m still trying to wake my brain and body this morning.
“You’ve got cum in the corner of your mouth,” Haverty declares walking past her and into our entry.
“Hey, nutwad, that was rude,” I call out before Sophia detonates. “He’s not serious, Soph,” I say as I notice she’s wiping her lips. “He’s just being an ass, and speaking of asses, James Robert Haverty, yours is about to get fired. Don’t treat my wife like a whore.”
“Well, Cove Ambrose Everton the third,” he struts in and tosses the St. Louis Tribune on the coffee table, right next to my gun. He stares at it for a moment then shakes his head. “We need to talk.”
I reach for the paper as he reaches for the gun. We pause and look one another in the eye before taking the objects in hand and placing them on our laps. He’s across from me, taking Sophia’s spot on the sofa while she makes a surprisingly diplomatic gesture and pours him a cup of coffee.
“You think your wife could give us a moment alone?”
“His wife, once again, is right here and can hear you. That’s like the third time this week I’ve been ignored by everyone. What the fuck?”
I grin at the mug she hands him. It has the word ‘dickhead’ printed on the side that faces me, with an arrow pointing upward. As Haverty sips, the arrow points to him.
“Clever, Soph.” I pat the sofa and she sits next to me.
“Yeah, clever,” he says, after seeing the word. “I guess we all have the correct mugs for our personalities. I’m a dickhead, she’s got a photo of that Grumpy Cat creature on hers, and yours is solid black. Fitting.”
“She’s not a creature, she’s a cat, and she’s awesome. Her name’s Tardar Sauce and I love her,” Sophia explains.
“How can you love a fictional character, that’s bullshit.”
“She’s not fictional! Grumpy Cat’s real! Back off Haverty or I’ll kick you out of our place. Don’t pick on my love for all things cute and fuzzy. Now, what do you want?”
“You think that creature’s...”
“Haverty, knock it off,” I jump in and stop their bickering. “Sophia’s right, what’s up this morning?” I flip through the paper in search of news about David and Ivy, but come up empty-handed.
“It’s not the paper, Cove. I came to talk to you about something else... in private,” he turns to Sophia, wanting her to leave, but instead she wraps her arm around mine and ignores his request. He disregards the discussion for now, and focuses on the paper. “The Tribune has a small article on David, only mentioning a body was found in a parking lot at the Scarlett’s cross streets, without using the bar’s name. It mentions the investigation is ongoing, and the article is so short you probably glanced right past it. I’m sure Kaitlyn had something to do with its placement in the paper, and the edit. Plus, there’s no mention of Ivy.”
“I’m not surprised, but I am relieved. I bet if you pick up one of the smaller newspapers or one outside the city, you’ll find more information.” I toss it on the table and sigh. “So what else? What’s the issue?”
He rubs the barrel of my gun and looks at Sophia, then at me, then to her, and back at me. I’m slow this morning, but after a few minutes I finally catch on. He wants to talk about the guns.
“Soph, go get my phone, would you?”
“Seriously?”
“Please? I want to make sure everything’s still okay with Ivy.”
“Yeah, and get him a shirt too. He needs to cover those ugly nips,” Haverty smirks and takes another drink from the ‘dickhead’ mug.
“No,” she says.
Wow. I’d expect her to slam her mug on the table and stomp off, but she’s not gonna cave to our requests. I turn back to Hav and shrug. “She’ll find out eventually. Go ahead and take the thing. I don’t want it in our place anyway.”
“Wait, take what thing, our gun? No way, not after last night. What if the crazy guy comes back?”
“Soph, trust me. It’s better if he holds onto them for a while.”
“Them? The one from the Scarlett too? Nooo, we need to discuss this first,” she shakes her head with a slight twinge of anxiety in her voice. “I don’t feel safe without a gun in the house. I want it for protection, especially after everything we’ve been through.”
“Who’s this crazy guy?” Haverty cuts in. “And, we’re not having a pussy chat about the guns, I’m taking them, no debate, end of discussion. Your husband doesn’t need to have them in his hands until he gets his head screwed on straight and his alcohol dependence under control.” He checks to make sure the gun isn’t loaded and the safety’s on. “What guy?”
“The newbie asshole that wants...”
I stop her by placing my hand in the air for silence. She doesn’t know enough about him to give an accurate explanation of what’s going on.
“There�
��s always a next in line,” I clarify. “He’s someone who filled Paul’s shoes in the company, and now that David’s dead, he wants the money that David was after. It’s nothing to worry about.” Setting my leg on my thigh I lean back and finish my coffee. Haverty’s eyes are glued on mine, and I can tell by his silence that he’s not satisfied with my answer. I’ll have to provide more details. “I don’t know his real name, only his porn name. We met years ago in Vegas when... he was a... I actually considered him to be a friend, but for a moment last night he reminded me a lot of Paul; and David for that matter. But now that I’ve had some time to think about our interaction, I don’t think he’s as vicious as either one of them. He’s definitely not abusive like Paul, I know that for sure, and if he were as violent as David, he would’ve tried something last night. I overreacted. He’s a creepy fuck, but nothing more, and he really just wants the money. After that he’ll be gone. David and Ivy are on my mind more than him.” I try to dismiss the event, unsure why, and by the look on Haverty’s face and now my wife’s, I haven’t done a very convincing job.
“You’re lying,” Sophia whispers. “He’s lying,” she repeats louder in case Haverty didn’t hear. “He came upstairs last night and got our gun. It hasn’t been touched since the first week when we learned to shoot it at the range; that was months ago,” she turns to me. “Something he said got under your skin. I can tell.”
“No. The gun wasn’t loaded, Soph. It was just a crutch, nothing more.”
Haverty continues to sit in silence, picking his nails, listening. He’s dressed in a black polo shirt tucked into a pair of jeans, with his phone clipped to his front pocket and a pair of shiny black oxfords on his giant feet. Casual, yet authoritative. And, I know he’s being quiet because he’s pissed I didn’t call him when Marcus was here. I tried to take care of things myself.
“Look, it was late, I was going to give him the check, but he took off. He’s just trying to get into my head like Paul and David used to, only they did it when I was a teenager. This guy’s good, but we’re the same age, height, and build. He’s not gonna take me down. It’s a different situation.”
