Control

by Laura Marie Altom

  He released the headboard slowly, inching his arms down until his hands cupped my ass. The whole time, he never dropped my gaze. He made sure I knew his every move, and in that knowledge, I found the safety needed to curl my body forward, kissing him, angling my head in hopes of somehow getting deeper. I wanted to know all of him. Taste him. Crawl inside of him where his soul could watch over me and forever keep me safe. He was so kind and simple and straightforward. He didn’t lie and he didn’t play games. What I saw was what I got, and I liked all of him very much.

  “Know what I think?” He played his fingertips along the bare strip of belly between my T-shirt and jeans.

  “Don’t have a clue…” His powerful emerald stare tilted my world. “But you could be a gentleman and tell me.”

  He framed my hips, tucking his fingers in my back pockets. “I think you’re not ready for this.”

  “You’re rejecting me?” My eyes instantly stung. I’d been afraid of taking whatever mysterious connection we had further, but the thought of never being with him hurt worse.

  “Hell, no…” He sat higher in the bed, shifting me down, landing me in the safety zone of his lap. “I’m just not sure this is a good idea.” He kissed me. “I mean, it’s a win-win for me, but what’re you getting out of it?”

  I bowed my head. This wasn’t happening. Two failed missions in one night?

  “Think about it.” He kissed me again, deeply, yet with a note of softness that tugged a long-forgotten chord of contentment. He made me feel the way I used to when Blaine and I first met. But was that a good thing, considering where my life with him had ended? “Even though I know nothing about your past, it doesn’t take a NASA scientist to figure out something—or someone—has you scared. You don’t tell your supposed friends and coworkers your real name. You didn’t even want me to know your true apartment. That first night at the bar, you begged me not to hurt you.” He leaned forward, kissing my closed eyes, my cheeks, the tip of my nose. “None of that’s normal. I can’t in good conscience be with you until you at least confide in me enough so that I know what happened to turn you into a scared little mouse.”

  That pissed me off.

  I climbed off of him. “I’m not a mouse. You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to get where I am.”

  “Okay. My bad.” He held up his hands in surrender. “But I’m a hard worker, too. I’m used to getting what I want, and make no mistake…” He leveled that stare on me. “I plan on getting this job done. But on my terms. This little amateur-hour seduction isn’t my thing.”

  I choked on a sob. Job? Amateur hour?

  “Don’t get me wrong, it was all good until I found fear in your eyes. Hell—if I’d kept my own eyes shut, we might be going at it right now, but can you honestly tell me that’s how you want this? A quick fuck in a ratty apartment?”

  I crossed my arms, fighting back tears. “You need to leave.”

  “Gladly.”

  Just like that, he was gone.

  My hands trembled when I turned the deadbolt and hooked the chain lock. Then I turned my back to the door and slid down, down, until I sat on the cold linoleum floor.

  What just happened? What had I done wrong?

  9

  Liam

  I’m an ass.

  My motel was only a mile or so from Ella’s, so I headed across the lot of a tire repair shop in that general direction. The temperature had only grown colder, but I was so burning mad, it could have been below zero and I wouldn’t have given two shits.

  There was no sugarcoating what I’d just done, and no logical excuses held water, but Jesus Christ, the woman made me crazy.

  Clearly, she’d been badly abused, the thought of which made me want to retch, but where did that leave me? What I’d wanted to say to her was that if it was the last thing I did, I’d make her not just want me, but beg for me. I wanted her so wet and ready that she damn near died of frustration. Sounded good in theory, but how was I supposed to accomplish all of that with a woman so terrified of life that where she should have had a sweet pussy stood a brick wall?

  I’d grown accustomed to women coming to me. For at least the last decade, that was how I’d rolled, and I liked it. It was easy. Sex on demand, simple as getting a movie, only for free—emotionally and monetarily, save for the cost of a few bottles of Dom. Sure, the handful of women I’d kept more than a night had cost more, but what was that old saying? You get what you pay for?

  Ella was beyond complicated. She represented the kind of messy backstory I’d left behind. I had plenty of skeletons locked safely in my closet, and that was where they’d stay.

  Marching into the night, I crossed the still bustling Wal-Mart lot, and then a short while later, passed the bar where I’d first learned Ella’s name. By the time I got to my motel, I was so cold my eyes were tearing, but that was okay. A little pain in exchange for breathing room was a small price to pay.

  In my room, I stripped, then ran a tub.

  I thought about Ella, and how she’d lain there just the night before.

  Since setting foot in this burg, time had moved in slow motion. But when I was with her, everything felt revved up and frenetic. I felt like a little kid, desperate for only one toy on Christmas morning. Only that toy was a sold-out special edition that no amount of money in the world could buy.

  I had to have her.

  But how?

  10

  Ella

  I woke.

  I rolled out of bed to go pee.

  I looked in the bathroom mirror to find all of the mascara Willow had so carefully applied streaked in ugly black lines. I still wore my jeans, T-shirt, puffy white coat and Willow’s stupid Hello Kitty snow boots that she’d shamed me into wearing.

  She’d said no girl who wore only scuffed black Converse sneakers would ever get laid.

  When I’d informed her I had no interest in getting laid, she’d called me a liar and had been right. Only, I’d worn her damn ugly boots and where had that gotten me? Rejected with a capital R.

  I had twenty minutes to get to work, so I hopped in the shower, then threw on basically the same outfit—minus the boots. I crammed my wet hair into a ponytail holder and rubbed Suave Aloe and Cucumber moisturizing cream on my face and hands.

  What I didn’t do was think about Liam.

  At least until I found Willow’s car keys where he’d apparently left them on my kitchen counter.

  Since I had a ride to work, that meant I had a spare minute to close my eyes. Were my lips truly still kiss-swollen, or was it just in my head that I still felt his touch as clearly as if he were standing right there?

  I covered my aching breasts with my hands, wishing everything with Liam had turned out different. I’d known better than to let down my guard, but I’d been stupid enough to do it anyway. Now, I needed to get to work, focusing on nothing but making enough money to move at least one more state away from Blaine.

  Outside, gray-bottomed clouds hung low and ominous, looking as if they were itching for a fight. In the night, freezing rain must have fallen, as the windows were coated with ice.

  I turned the car on, switching the defrost button to high. I found an ice scraper on the backseat floorboard, then put up my coat’s hood when my still-wet hair felt heavy—like it might be freezing. My breath came out in short huffs. The cold was so complete that my cheeks and fingertips burned.

  Again, my mind drifted to Liam. How good he’d felt pressed up against me.

  But then his rejection had hurt worse than if I’d taken an ice-water plunge. The things he’d said floated in disjointed thought bubbles. Little amateur-hour seduction. A quick fuck in a ratty apartment.

  Who did he think he was? God’s gift to women? To me?

  Fuck him.

  I didn’t need his pity, games or ultimatums. I was making my own way. I had over a thousand bucks stashed in a bag of frozen peas. I didn’t need him. I didn’t need anyone. By Christmas, I planned on being all the way to Tulsa. By the year
after that, I’d have made it to Denver. That was what truly mattered—getting as far away from Blaine as fast as possible.

  Liam had been a test of my resolve, and since I was still standing without a scratch on me, that meant I’d passed with the proverbial flying colors.

  What about those fresh scratches inside? What about the way he woke you from the dead, making you want all those little things you’d convinced yourself you no longer needed? Things like someone to really talk to. To hold. To kiss you high enough to make you believe you were flying…

  I ignored the questions by banging the wiper blades against the windshield.

  My fingers had gone numb. I only wished I could say the same for the rest of me. My back ached and my stomach cramped. Maybe I was just hungry? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten.

  By the time I’d parked Willow’s car in the employee section of the lot, the heater still wasn’t blowing warm air and according to the clock, I was twelve minutes late.

  My manager gave me the stink eye when I passed. “You’d better hustle, Smith. There’s already a line.”

  Swell.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said to my three, grizzled regulars. Every morning, they sat in a corner booth, just watching the shoppers go by. They drank two coffees each—always black—then they exited, usually around nine. The one who wore a red golf cap religiously left me a five, neatly tucked under the napkin holder. The man didn’t know it, but he’d paid me enough in tips to have bought my bus ticket out of here. I’d be forever in his debt. “If you all promise not to tell, I’ll throw in a few free donuts with your caffeine.”

  This perked them up.

  “Thank you, Julie.” My red-capped friend whom I liked to think of as my secret grandpa winked, then patted my hand. “You’re a peach.”

  While the coffee brewed, the trio retired to their booth with me promising to bring their coffee as soon as it was done. The rich scent fortified me for my long day. I just had to keep reminding myself that everything would be okay. My brief time with Liam might have felt like it was changing everything, but in reality, all was the same. Regardless, today was his last day in town. Maybe I’d see him, maybe I wouldn’t. Either way, I’d proven I was a survivor. I didn’t need him—or any man—to be okay. On my own, I did just fine.

  After making my delivery to the corner booth, I followed the comforting routine that made my work satisfying. I counted out exactly twelve hot dogs to place on the roller grill, then made popcorn and checked that all the napkin holders were filled. I put nacho cheese and chili in their respective Crock-Pots and brought out plenty of packages of chips.

  My job might not have been flashy, but I found solace in the fact that when people stopped by my little corner of the world, they were in need of immediate comfort, which I delivered in junk-food form.

  While I changed out the Pepsi, Nathan skated up for a visit. “Did you hear about the flowers?”

  “Nope.” Finished, I rubbed my hand on the damp dishrag I used for wiping down the counter.

  “Some guy came in here twenty minutes ago and bought every single one. The loose ones in plastic wrap. The ones in vases. Even all the poinsettias. We don’t have another shipment scheduled for two days, and Cliff’s pissed.”

  Cliff was the store’s general manager. He didn’t just have a stick up his ass, but a log. “Why? At least they’re off his hands.”

  Nathan shrugged. “Can I bum an ICEE off of you?”

  “Not unless you have your own cup. You know mine are inventoried.” I couldn’t afford to be fired. I’d even paid for my regulars’ “free” donuts.

  “Julie, girl, you worry too much.”

  “Is there really such a thing?” If you asked me, considering the crazy way I’d fallen for Liam, I hadn’t worried enough about what kind of man he might really be. I’d been stupid to let my guard down, thinking him so kind. Just like every other man, he had a mean streak I didn’t want aimed at me.

  —

  At eleven, Willow strolled in. She wore last night’s makeup and was missing the right half of her hair extensions.

  “What happened to you?” I asked, while adding more tortilla chips to the warming drawer.

  “Don’t ask. Travis turned out to be a whore. He tried talking me into a threesome, but I’m just not down with that kinky shit. I threw a beer bottle at him, and we spent the rest of the night in the ER—can you believe it? One measly beer bottle across the forehead and he needed seven stitches. Couldn’t even take it like a man. Cried like a big, drunk baby.”

  “Sounds fun.” Not that my night was much better.

  At the drink station, she held her hand under the ice dispenser. Once her palm was full, she clamped it over her forehead. “Please, tell me you finally got laid?”

  A young mother who’d been in line with her toddler and a baby looked at Willow and wrinkled her nose. “This used to be a nice, family-friendly store.”

  “We are a great, big family,” Willow said with a wink and a cheesy smile. “A family who enjoys getting laid—just like you, judging by those rug rats.”

  After a startled shake of her head, the woman turned her stroller around and jogged to the Customer Service Center.

  “What’d you do that for?” I asked. “Are you trying to get us fired?”

  “Relax. You didn’t do anything, and I’ll just get written up. It’s not a big deal.”

  I wished I could be so sure.

  —

  I got off at two.

  When Cliff asked Willow into his office, she gave him a revised version of what had actually happened, plus unbuttoned the blouse beneath her blue uniform vest to show plenty of cleavage. In short, she’d added a whole new meaning to the phrase stamped across the back—How may I help you today? I hoped she hadn’t given Cliff a hand job, but with Willow, pretty much anything was possible.

  The walk to my apartment sucked.

  A messy snow-and-sleet mix fell, but the snow just melted into big, goopy puddles that soaked my sneakers and socks and the bottoms of my jeans. I couldn’t get home fast enough to change into sweats.

  At my apartment, I knew right away something wasn’t right. If the ambulance and fire truck hadn’t been enough to tip me off, a crowd had gathered on my second-story landing. By the time I reached the top of my stairs, paramedics were wheeling out someone on a gurney. A powder-blue sheet had been drawn over the slight person’s head.

  Mrs. Lincoln?

  A fireman emerged from her apartment.

  Her two yellow pots of impatiens had been knocked over and the gurney’s left rear tire crushed the fragile flowers. Loss didn’t begin to cover what I was feeling. I hadn’t truly known the woman, but she’d meant something to me. I saw in her the kindness I used to carry. The hope that everyone was good on the inside, and that second chances were a right, not a privilege.

  “What happened?” I asked the Hispanic woman who lived across the breezeway from me.

  She shook her head. “No hablo ingles.”

  A black boy who didn’t look old enough to be witnessing this kind of scene said, “Miz Lincoln got shot. I bet I know who did it, too.”

  No…

  Deep, profound sadness welled inside me. This was supposed to have been a haven. Sweet Mrs. Lincoln had never hurt anyone. Why would someone hurt her? It didn’t make sense. Suddenly nothing made sense.

  While the paramedics passed with the gurney, I flattened myself to the wood-paneled wall. The cold, rough texture bit into my palms. I didn’t care. Tears fell that I didn’t even remember crying.

  I walked to my apartment in a daze, only to find the entire end of the landing covered in flowers. Tulips and roses and poinsettias, like me, drooping from the cold. From the misery of sheer existence. Were these the Wal-Mart flowers Nathan had talked about? Could Liam have placed them all there? The gesture was grand—a classic Blaine move, designed to impress.

  Only Liam didn’t have Blaine’s money, which made the gift all the more sa
d. I’d initially been wowed by my husband’s decadent gifts and lavish lifestyle, but in the end, all his wealth represented was his power to control me. The morning after he’d inflicted the most unspeakable of my scars, he’d had four dozen red roses delivered—one dozen, he’d explained on the card, for each precious letter of my name. I’d cut the heads off with scissors and flushed all forty-eight. The stems, I’d ground in the kitchen sink disposal.

  The little boy had followed me. “Who got you all those flowers? They dead now. Your boyfriend?”

  His words made no sense. “I-I don’t know.”

  “My momma got a boyfriend. She says he ain’t no good.”

  “I-I’m sorry. I have to go.” I slipped my key in the lock.

  “You got mail.” He knelt to pick up a red envelope. It had Ella written across the front. It had been a while since I’d seen my true name in print, and that fact made me cry all over again—if I’d ever stopped. “Want me to open it? Maybe somebody sent you a check?”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the envelope, “but I can handle it.”

  “Okay, well, can I take your dead flowers to my momma?”

  “Sure. Once they’re warm, maybe some of them will come back to life.” Unlike me and poor Mrs. Lincoln.

  11

  Liam

  Had Ella found her flowers?

  I didn’t want to leave them in the cold, but my delivery options weren’t exactly plentiful, and I needed her to be wowed. A girl like her probably didn’t get many fresh blooms, but after what I could only guess she’d been through, she deserved them.

  I’d gotten word from my people that my ride was good to go, but I wasn’t ready just yet. They’d never understand—hell, I didn’t understand, but I had unfinished business.

  It was snowing again, so I called a cab to drive me to her apartment.

  On the way, we stopped off at a Pizza Hut to pick up the order I’d already called in.