Yesterday had been my first fun day in a long time. After making that list, calling Colt and handing it off to Mom suddenly I felt carefree. This was weird considering a psycho was on the loose, but it was true.
I had a bounce in my step and everyone could see it. Mom and Dad were obvious about being pleased as punch. Morrie eyed me all day, smiling slow and shaking his head knowing we didn’t have to have that talk about Colt and glad of it. Even Joe-Bob took one look at me and grinned huge.
I called Jessie before I did my yoga and sent her on a mall trawl but gave her specific directions. It had to be an outfit February Owens would wear, not Jessie Rourke. It had to look like I cared, but wasn’t trying too hard. And it had to be fit for a first date.
Jessie was beside herself with glee and called from practically every store she visited at the Fashion Mall at Keystone at the Crossing to tell me how her crusade was going. Then she came in the bar carrying a million bags and Mimi in tow and we went to the office and I tried them all on. Most of them were Jessie Rourke outfits (which meant she took them home with her). But she hit the nail on the head with the jeans skirt, boots and tight shirt. Perfect.
As we were doing this we giggled and gabbed and at the end I made up my face with makeup that I brought to work with me. It was like we were back in high school and didn’t have a care in the world except getting that Shakespeare play read for English class or writing the report for Psych.
Until then I had no idea how much I was holding back, even with my friends, and letting go again felt so good, it was beautiful.
I also shared. Not much but I did. I had to. For some reason, it was bubbling up inside of me and I had to get it out.
The thing was, when I did and with how everyone was acting around me, I didn’t feel like I was being stupid and I didn’t feel scared. I felt like I was doing right, not by them, by me, by Colt but, in the end, letting them off the hook because they were worried about the both of us and wanted us to be happy.
And I had been right and Colt was right last night. We couldn’t turn back the clock, go back and change things. We had life ahead of us; we needed to focus on that.
I just dropped the first slice of egged-up bread in the skillet when Colt hit the kitchen.
He didn’t go directly to the coffeepot. Instead, he came directly to me and put a hand at my hip and his mouth to my neck. He kissed me there and I felt his head come up.
“French toast?” he asked, sounding surprised.
“Stuffed French toast,” I corrected.
“You cook like this every morning?”
“No,” I answered, “only after I’ve had three orgasms I didn’t have to give myself.”
His arm shot around my belly to hold me tight to his long length at the same time he burst out laughing.
I dropped another slice of bread next to the first one and smiled but didn’t laugh with him. If I laughed with him, I wouldn’t be able to hear him doing it and it might take my mind off the feel of his body shaking with humor against mine.
I was unnecessarily scooting the bread around in the skillet when he stopped laughing and his arm gave me a squeeze.
“That happen a lot?” he asked, there was still humor in his voice, also a hint of curiosity and definitely an edge.
He shouldn’t have asked, men shouldn’t ask that shit. Still, I’d been gone a long time and although we weren’t living in the past anymore that didn’t mean we didn’t have catching up to do.
“Hmm, let me see,” I kept scooting the bread around, “that’s happened zero times. The big goose egg.”
His hand got tight on my waist and I twisted my neck to look at him.
His brows were raised. “Seriously?”
I tried not to get pissed. He was succeeding in both casually insulting me and being full of himself.
“Seriously,” I replied. “Firstly, because there weren’t that many guys I gave a shot. Secondly, because the ones I did either didn’t have the talent or they didn’t have the stamina.”
He grinned. “Shoulda picked better, baby.”
“I did all right in the end.”
He burst out laughing again, gave my neck another kiss and let me go.
Then he went to the coffeepot.
I flipped the toast while he poured.
“I’ll have to pull back,” he said, shoving the pot back in and turning to lean a hip on the counter beside the stove, “I don’t, I’ll put on fifty pounds.”
I turned to look at him. “You don’t get it, darlin’. I’m givin’ you the energy so you can work it off.”
He laughed again and moved away. I slid a piece of toast on a plate and started slathering it with cream cheese I’d beat up with powdered sugar, vanilla, slivered almonds and the zest of an orange.
“For the record February,” Colt said to my back, “I’ve had bad. I’ve had good. A couple who were great.” I slid the second piece of toast on top and turned to him, curious myself even though I didn’t want to be. He was sitting on the counter behind me and when my eyes hit his, he finished in a soft voice. “Now, I’ve had the best.”
I turned away quickly when I felt the heat rush my cheeks, ignoring the curl in my belly at his words that indicated what they meant to me. I dumped a pat of butter on top of the toast, slid it around while it melted and covered the whole thing with maple syrup that I’d nuked with a bit of orange juice mixed in. Then I turned to Colt again and handed him the plate.
“Now that we’ve established we’re sexually compatible –” I started, reaching to the side to pull out the cutlery drawer and grab him a fork.
“Sexually compatible?” he asked.
I shoved the drawer back in and handed him his fork.
“Extremely sexually compatible,” I amended.
He smiled and forked into his toast, muttering, “That’s better.”
I moved to lean a hip against his knee and asked, “What now?”
He took a huge, man-bite of toast and said around it, “What now?”
“This.”
His brows went up as he chewed.
“Us. Now. You and me,” I explained.
He swallowed and asked, “We gotta plan this shit out?”
“Well… no, not exactly,” I said as he forked in another bite.
I said that but I meant, yes, definitely.
Colt chewed, eyeing me like he knew what I meant wasn’t what I said then swallowed again. “How ‘bout we take this a day at a time, fix it so you don’t have some whack-job on the loose wreaking havoc for you and then we’ll see. Deal?”
That sounded like a plan.
I smiled at him. “Deal.” I watched him fork up another piece and asked, “You gonna want another?”
“Yeah.”
I made him more toast and then cleaned up after as he ate, liking his kitchen and moving around it while he was sitting on the counter eating food I cooked for him.
He finished, rinsed his dish and put it in the dishwasher while I was wiping down the counters. I tossed the sponge into the sink and dried my hands thinking he needed new dishtowels. Something yellow, bright and cheery.
“Feb, baby, got somethin’ to tell you.”
I turned to him and he moved into me. His face was serious and something about it made me brace. Bad news was coming and there were no longer thoughts of cheery, yellow dishtowels in my head even as he pulled the one I had out of my hands and threw it on the counter beside me.
He put both his hands to my neck, settling them where it met my shoulders and he gave me a squeeze.
“Suicide last night,” he said and stopped talking.
“Yeah?”
“It was someone you know.”
Oh no. No. Nonononono.
“Who?” I whispered.
His hands gave me another squeeze before he pulled the earth right out from under me.
“Amy Harris.”
For a second that lasted an hour, I couldn’t think.
Then I asked, “What?”
&nb
sp; “Amy Harris. She hanged herself Monday. Her friend found her yesterday.”
Amy Harris. Shy, pretty, sweet Amy Harris. Shy, pretty, sweet Amy Harris who had, twenty-two years ago, taken everything from me.
Now I had it back and she hung herself.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
“Feb –”
My eyes lifted to Colt’s. “It’s because of me.”
His brows snapped together just as his face grew strangely dark. “What?”
“Because of me,” I repeated then lifted a hand and pointed at myself then at him then back at me while saying, “because of me, you and me.”
“Why would you say that?”
I felt my own brows snap together. “And why would you ask that?”
His hands gave me another squeeze. “Fuck, Feb, we’re not goin’ there again.”
Then it dawned on me. Post-coital talk. Put the past behind us. Move forward. The whole while he knew Amy had offed herself.
I lifted my other hand and used both, pulling them up and separating them to rip his hands off my neck and I took a quick step back.
“You prick!” I screeched then turned on a foot and stomped out of the room.
He caught me in the living room with a hand on my arm, swinging me around to face him.
“Don’t walk away from me,” he clipped, edging toward angry.
“Fuck you!” I shouted, already beyond angry, twisting my arm from his grasp.
“What the fuck’s the matter with you?”
I felt my eyes get wide. “Now?” I asked. “Now, Colt? Are you still gonna play this game now? Now that Amy’s dead, dead because of you and me?”
“I don’t know how you figure that, honey, maybe you’d like to share.”
Sarcasm.
I felt my head explode and it exploded by me screaming, “You take the cake, Alexander Colton! You take it and eat it and go about your merry fucking way! A woman is dead!”
“I know that,” he shouted back, “I saw ‘em cuttin’ her down!”
“And you’re still playin’ this game?”
“Gotta know the game before I can play it, Feb.”
That’s when I let it loose. “Sherry and Sheila Eisenhower’s party, Colt. Cast your mind back. That was the night I caught you fucking Amy Harris!”
And after I said that, that’s when I watched a change come over Colt. A change that was terrifying to witness. A change that froze every centimeter of his body. A change that told me I still had earth under my feet, it had to be there because my world was about to rock.
* * * * *
Colt stared at Feb, even heard her call his name, but his mind was somewhere else.
It was at Sherry and Sheila Eisenhower’s party. A party he remembered clearly and at the same time didn’t remember at all.
It was like a lot of parties he’d been to in high school, in college and, before Feb grew out of them or, more precisely, broke up with him, a little while after college.
Sherry and Sheila’s folks were away. The girls got a couple six packs and asked their friends around. Their friends asked their friends who asked their friends. It was out of control within hours. A couple of people brought kegs. Some scored hard liquor. Others brought weed. Necking, fighting, laughing, puking, passing out, everything happened.
Colt remembered it because he woke up the day after alone in Sheila and Sherry’s parent’s bed. He didn’t remember getting there. He’d been drunker than he’d ever been in his life, before or since. So drunk, he didn’t remember a thing. He felt like an ass. It wasn’t a high school party but he’d been one of the few who was of age and waking up in someone’s parent’s bed was high school shit.
He’d been clothed when he woke up though, he remembered that, and hungover. Nasty hangover, again the worst he’d had in his life, before or since.
He remembered it too because the next day, Feb, cold as ice, broke up with him. She didn’t say why, she just said it was over. He felt such shit he remembered getting angry but not much. She could get in a snit, though she’d never broken up with him. He knew he’d talk her around.
He never did and, shortly after, she went wild.
With sudden clarity he remembered Amy Harris was at that party standing removed at wall and talking to her friend, Colt couldn’t recall the friend’s name. He remembered seeing Amy there, being vaguely surprised, smiling at her and she smiled back.
He’d always smiled at her, he remembered and even as shy as she was she always smiled back. Until after that party, now he was realizing, the rare times he’d see her, he’d smile but she didn’t smile back, she just hurried away. He never thought a thing of it considering her disposition but now he feared he knew why she’d changed.
That night though, that was it. As far as he remembered, he didn’t even speak to her.
And Denny Lowe was at that party too.
And Denny Lowe’s father was a pharmacist.
He felt Feb’s hand tug his and she called urgently, “Colt!”
His eyes focused on her.
His chest wasn’t cold and his gut wasn’t heavy. His whole body was frozen and he felt like he weighed a ton, as if he tried to move a leg, he’d put his foot down and the earth would shake.
“I didn’t fuck Amy Harris at that party,” he said softly.
Feb was watching him. He saw distractedly that she wasn’t angry anymore, she was something else.
“You did,” she said softly back. “I saw you.”
Christ. No.
Please, God, no.
“I didn’t,” he said.
“Colt, I saw you, you were moving on top of her and you were kissing.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head, stepping away, pulling his hand from hers.
He thought back to the party.
It’d be easy to slip someone a mickey. So many people, so much booze, pot, it was a crush, a daze. He had no doubt he’d set his drink somewhere and went back to it later. Or handed his glass to someone who was offering to get him a refill.
Date rape drugs weren’t prevalent back then but people had been finding ways to slip a mickey for over a hundred years, probably longer.
“Colt?”
He opened his eyes again. “You didn’t see that, Feb.”
“I did,” she whispered.
“You’re sure?”
“Colt, why are you acting this –?”
“Answer me,” he clipped.
She nodded. “I was looking for you, asking around. Craig Lansdon told me –”
Colt’s muscles got so tight he thought they’d snap.
“Craig Lansdon?”
He watched the color leak from her face. She remembered.
Craig Lansdon was Denny Lowe’s best friend.
“No.” She reeled back, her arm out, searching for purchase. Finding none, she kept going until her legs hit the couch and she stopped.
The whole time, her eyes stayed locked with his.
“I don’t remember anything that night,” Colt told her.
“You said that before,” she whispered, the weight of understanding heavy in her voice.
“Because it’s true.”
She was still whispering and tears were shimmering in her eyes when she said, “They slipped you something.”
“Amy too.”
He watched as she visibly started shaking.
“Amy too,” she nodded, “Amy too. Oh my God,” her hands went to her head, her fingers ripping into her hair, her palms resting against her forehead, “Amy,” her eyes were glued to him, “I thought it was weird, even then, thinking…” She stopped. “You looked at me like you could see through me. Amy looked…”
She stopped talking, pulled her hands out of her hair and started running. He bolted after her and caught her in the hall but she fought him and he had to pin her against the wall to get her under control, his hands at her wrists, her hands pressed to the wall at the side of her head.
“I asked Craig,” she
shouted in his face, “where you were! He said he saw you upstairs, I should go upstairs. I’ll never forget it, he said to me, ‘He’s upstairs, Feb, saw Colt upstairs. Didn’t look right, you should check on him.’ He seemed concerned. That dick!”
“Feb –”
She struggled against his hold. “Sent me up after you. Him and Denny. Those fucking dicks!” She stopped struggling and stared at him. “Ruined my life. Broke my heart. Tore me apart,” she shrieked. “And you! And Amy!”
Amy.
Colt let her go and took a step away, a big one. He felt his shoulders hit the opposite wall.
Amy had had a child. She’d had his child.
“Holy fuck,” he whispered.
“What?” Feb snapped.
“Holy fuck.”
“Colt.”
He lifted his head and looked at her. “Amy had a kid, put him up for adoption.”
He watched Feb’s head jerked back with such force, her hair flew about her shoulders at the same time he saw her body jolt.
“What?” she whispered but he didn’t hear her because that’s when he lost control.
* * * * *
I watched as Colt stalked into the living room, straight to his gun holster on the dining room table.
I ran after him shouting, “Colt!”
“Call your father, get him to come over, lock up after me.”
Frantic, I got between him and the door. I’d seen his face in the second before he headed to the living room and I’d seen that look on his face before.
He’d just figured out he’d been drugged against his will, violated someone at the same time he’d been violated and apparently had a child. No way was I letting him out of the house.
“Colt, stay with me,” I begged, as he shrugged on the holster and reached for his jacket, “let’s talk this through.”
“Outta my way Feb.”
I was jockeying in front of him, hands up, eyes glued to him, trying to gauge which way he’d go to dodge me as he went toward the door.
He didn’t try to dodge me, he came straight at me, my hands hit his chest and he pushed me back as he kept moving.
“Colt, where you goin’?” I asked.
“Craig Lansdon.”
“No! Colt, no.”
My back hit the door, he reached around me, put his hand to the lock and I heard it click. “Call your Dad.”
For You Page 27
