

DOVES AND DEMONS

Taking Flight Series Book 1

S. Marie Rose

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

About S. Marie Rose

Books by S. Marie Rose

SINS AND SAINTS (BOOK TWO TAKING FLIGHT SERIES) SNEAK PEEK

Inside each of us, there is the seed of both good and evil. It's a constant struggle to which one will win. And one cannot exist without the other.

—Eric Burdon

This one's for me. Because you didn't think I could do it and I did.
Prologue

So, here I am. Back at the very place I swore I'd never return. I was baptized here. Confirmed here, even—Geez, it's hard to say out loud—married here.

I gave my grandfather's eulogy right at that very podium, three months later did the same for my closest cousin.

Under the speckled prism of this same stained glass, I've seen life transpire. And, as the years have rolled by, I have seen it end. Some people call it the circle of life. I call it a lesson in creative writing.

At your baptism, you're surrounded by a small group of loved ones, a close knit of family and friends. It's on this day that you've unknowingly opened the book to the first page of your personal story. It's also the day that you're given the chance to decide exactly which words will one day blanket the pages.

Everything in the beginning is always good. You're protected by a safety net that is the people you love, while the choices in life are made on your behalf. For your sake, this cluster of protectors has—for you—rejected Satan, accepted God, and promised a life everlasting.

Someone else has picked up the old-fashioned quill, dipped it in ink and penned the details of the fairytale they hoped you'd one day get to live. It's here, in this moment, where— "Once upon a time..."—actually does exist. Where you innocently trust with all your heart and fiercely love with all your soul. You believe in the good of man. You have faith in the sanctity of humanity.

Then life happens.

No more can you blame your decisions on adolescence, wrong doings on inexperience. Misfortunes are no longer anyone else's fault but your own. The training wheels get ripped off and you've yet to learn to ride. The quill has been passed on and you've yet to master the art of legible penmanship.

You're a chef without an oven. A surgeon without a knife.

You've suddenly become the sole heir to your very own destiny, and no one cares whether you're ready to accept such an important mission or not.

If anything is worthwhile to remember, let it be this—Not one person, at any time, will ask you if you're ready. They won't, at any time, see if you're prepared. Of course, they can try to hold your hand, but they'll never once be able to walk in your shoes. For the town can only pave the streets, it's the driver that must learn to navigate the terrain.

You see, the world never stops spinning. The sun will rise just as sure as it will set, and neither is contingent on whether or not you're prepared to travel the long road ahead. They don't give you a map. They don't scribble down directions.

It's up to you to find your way.

Somewhere down this road, a few pages of your book will become tattered and ripped. Others have been lost all together. You find that there are days where you seemingly have nothing to write, while other days, there doesn't seem to be enough room to jot it all down. Then, there are the days where you're just doodling along the edges of scraps and loose leaf, chasing away uncertainty and cursing away despair. To be lost in the peace that comes from swirling your pen around the page will understandably be your only solace in a life that's often full of chaos and disaster.

Along the way, try to remember that the middle is often the hardest, as it's the part of your book where, "once upon a time," really means, "when shit actually made sense." The part that determines how the end will play out, the prelude to the conclusion of your life. Will you sink? Or, will you swim?

Here, you test your own limits, walk those thin lines and play Russian Roulette with your morals and values. It's the introduction to true temptation, the part they warned you about in the beginning. The part you were too young to remember. It's a coming out of sorts. A true testament to your strength and the basic foundation of your character. When the devils arrive to declare war with the angels. When just one bad decision is all it takes to determine what the future will hold.

Then, like most things in life, it's here before you know it. The end is your future and your time to change the script is gone. If your story was worthwhile, someone will stand at that podium and extract excerpts from your book.

With tear stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, she'll read them to the crowd before her and they too will shed a tear for the one they've lost. The contents of your book will determine who shows up to say farewell. That is, if your story was worth an audience at all.

Some who have traveled to pay their respects will take what they've learned from your book and rewrite their own endings. Others will remain complacent, arrogantly assuming they'll have their own set of mourners regardless.

Writing your own story will never seem as important as it is until now. Until of course, it's too late. When you realize this whole time, you were the teacher of the lesson. Those in the crowd—your students.

It's my own story that I'm worried about. In my short life, I've not only danced with the devil, I've slept in his bed. I've allowed his touch to singe my skin, and his presence to devour my soul.

For Eve, he came in the form of a deceitful snake. For me, he came in the form of love.

As I watch the faithful flame pass from stick to candle at the feet of St. Peter, I pray, hoping that I'll live long enough to finish my story myself.

I never planned to be back here.

I never planned for any of this.

Chapter One

The Big Day

Six Years ago

My eyes hurt. Once two large brown orbs of certainty are now narrowed with nerves. The ache comes from scanning along the path before me, up then down, then up some more. I had done it more times than I could physically count and had a throbbing pain in my temple to prove it.

For almost five minutes, I had done nothing but estimate the exact distance from here where I'll start to there where I'll end. Each time coming up with a different number than the one before it.

One hundred feet.

It was a guess but one that seemed to fall somewhere in the middle of my previous assumptions.

Was I nervous? Yes. But mostly excited.

When my father took me by the arm before I had the chance for any additional calculations, I almost fainted. If somewhere there happened to be a technique to curtail the beating of an anxious heart, I wished briefly that I'd researched it beforehand. The steady walk to my future continued. The destination appearing further out of reach than originally predicted.

One hundred feet my ass. It seemed I had signed up for some type of religious pilgrimage. In fact, I'm sure Moses made it to Mount Sinai in less time.

Dad tugged a bit around my arm as if able to read my mind, forcing me to give Moses the benefit of the doubt, secretly reminding me that obtaining the commandments was far more taxing than marrying the man I loved.

It's not just the length of the aisle or the sloth like procession in which I was partaking in that had me on edge. No, it was the extra time it gave my critics in the crowd to concoct the most disreputable philosophies on not only what had brought us to that very moment, but more importantly why we were there.

They thought I didn't notice, but I did. It was practically written all over their faces. All over their tight-lipped smiles and narrowing eyes. The shot heard 'round the world all over again. After all, history does have the tendency to repeat itself, right?

I'm afraid this time however, the devastating blow was blasted straight from the barrel of the sawed-off shotgun. The sound almost deafening as it ping-pinged off the walls of the cathedral.

Logically, when you're four months pregnant, draped in a blinding white wedding gown, one that just so happens to fall perfectly over the tiny bump that is your stomach, it often reaps such a reaction. Still, I wished they would have just stayed home. Stone Throwers!

The elder women of the family clearly had a problem with the entire picture, more so than the rest of the naysayers. The poufy headed flock took one look at the virginal color of my dress through their bifocal lenses and made no attempt to hide their disgust.

Their hands actually shook in a fit of fury, as they white-knuckled whichever medical apparatus they'd chosen to stable their wobbly legs for the day. I smirked as we glacially moved forward, passing the gaggle of blabbermouths with purposeful steps of leisure, grinning brightly in their direction as I did, even despite the potent odor of moth balls and denture glue.

The three women, infamous for their hardened scowls, were all dressed in their finest muumuus as they shook their heads in disapproval.

Miserable old maids.

My soon to be husband stood tall in the distance, patiently awaiting my arrival and very much so, erasing any previous thoughts clear from the hard drive of my brain. With the simple black tux doing wonders to accentuate his fit frame, I couldn't help but press my legs together to stop from going into premature labor.

He wore a slate gray tie that lightened his eyes to a color that reminded me of fine whiskey, caramel and distinct, hypnotically drawing me closer. The glowing beams reflected off me as I continued to remind myself to put one foot in front of the other.

The smell of the fresh cut peonies in various shades of pinks and whites in my hand, swarmed my senses. My mind, suddenly the biggest fan of, "The Little Engine That Could," practically sputtered exhaust fumes in an effort to simply process that this—my wedding—was actually happening.

The feel of hundreds of eyes penetrating my skin continued to unnerve me some. Being the center of attention was high up on the list of my dislikes, coming in third, just under raisins and green peas.

Only this was different. Certainly, I wasn't going to be eating peas or raisins anytime soon. But everyone looking at me? That was something I wasn't sure I knew how to handle.

Surprisingly, as I continued, the expected feeling of panic was missing. Sure, there were heavy stares from some and gasps of admiration of my beauty from others, but I mostly chose to ignore the crowd. In the moment, I was only thinking about the future that stood before me and the past that had paved its way for this exact moment.

So much had happened in such a short time. Hard to believe the worst of it was just two months ago. Sixty-three and a half days to be exact. Lying to the grand jury and committing perjury made it easy to remember these particulars.

The things we do for love, right?

As if tuning into the horror that I've tried so hard to bury, my father gave another slight squeeze where our arms connected. The sensation only serving to remind me of the cross I bore.

Suddenly, the squeeze turned into a chokehold and I was suffocated by his presence. So often the guilt made it difficult to breathe. Many times, it crept up unannounced, almost plague-like, willing and prepared to cause enormous amounts of damage.

I may have been able to keep the horrid details of the arrest from everyone, but it didn't mean that I had come to terms with it. The burden of dishonesty and betrayal sat like bricks on my shoulders as I walked down the aisle, arm in arm, with the man that had provided, loved and protected me unconditionally since the day I was born.

I could never let him know the truth. Never let him know what I've gone through. What I've done.

Nobody could know that I deliberately put my career in jeopardy. Or, that I almost threw my entire education right down the dirty, hair-clogged drain.

What If they knew that I actually risked birthing a baby behind bars without as much as a second thought? What would they say then? Why not just hand over the, "Mother of the Year" award before my water breaks?

If the plan had gone sideways, I could have very well been another burden for the taxpayers, a mere statistic in the Department of Correction's annual review.

In the event it had backfired, I—Charlotte Cole, would have been locked away in a dingy looking jail cell for five to ten years, participating in some sort of scavenger hunt where I spent all my time looking for Jesus and coming up with the most creative ways to eat ramen noodles.

Worst of all would've been the ungodly colored orange jumpsuits, the definition of cruel and unusual if I do say so myself. They were all likely scenarios had anyone found out that I committed a felony to save the man I loved.

Imagining the disappointment in Dad's face was so unbearable my eyes filled with tears just thinking about it. And when he looked down at me, tears streaming from his own eyes, I had no choice but to look away for the sake of keeping my composure.

Two hours, twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

That's how much time was spent in the wee hours of the morning, preparing for this very moment. Having body parts pulled, plastered and placed in convoluted formations just to look as glamorous as possible, wasn't going to be for nothing. Strange people fondling my boobs, waxing my legs and discussing the appropriate shape of my pubic hair, was not going to be for nothing.

I will not ruin my makeup.

Besides, I told myself. What they don't know won't hurt them, right?

Johnny promised he wouldn't ever go down that path again. A path, I'm embarrassed to admit, I never knew existed until that infamous night. He promised to be the father he had always dreamed of, the one he never had. He vowed he would take care of me. Take care of us.

There's nothing to worry about.

With the final few steps behind me, I came face to face with the man I was ready and willing to pledge my life to.

My father gave my hand to Johnny, patting him on the back in a show of approval, telling the man that I was about to marry that even though I'd soon be his wife, first and foremost, I would always be daddy's little girl and that it would do him well to remember it.

Before God, our family and friends we said, "I do" and in the moment, everything felt perfect.

"You may now kiss the bride!" The priest proclaimed to a sea full of supporters and gossip chasers who were all visibly excited to lap up the free alcohol waiting for them at the reception.

Like a sprinter at the sound of a starting pistol, Johnny all but jumped at the opportunity to follow the pastor's orders. Pulling me close and kissing me hard, he claimed my mouth twenty feet away from the bloodied replica of Jesus.

Shocked, the urgency of his embrace had me expelling a series of nervous giggles.

Let's be real here, being pregnant in a white dress was show stopping enough, we certainly did not need to start dry humping each other in the House of God.

Though, I must confess, I'd be lying if I didn't imagine Great Aunt Mildred passing out from having to witness the very public display of affection. The image had me smiling briefly against Johnny's kiss of desperation.

The smile was short lived.

Johnny's tongue plunged deeper into my mouth, leaving me with no choice but to push away from the man I had just married, careful to do it in a way that wouldn't draw unwanted attention to what appeared to be our first disagreement as a married couple.

Caring little about the hedonistic display, he tugged back at my hands. A move that forced me to take a quick step forward as to not fall flat on my face. Convincing myself he was acting nothing more than playful, overly excited even, to be united as man and wife, I looked up into his eyes and grinned.

That's when I noticed it. Something was wrong. Off.

Even the air of the church seemed to have cooled to an almost unbearable temperature

The look in Johnny's eyes sent the fun-loving upturn of my mouth running for cover. They had changed. The two hazel iris's that I had agreed to give my life to darkened and dilated a little. Frosted and narrowed a bit. A horrifying gleam sat deep within his pupils. Bone chilling mischief sat confidently within his grin. If I hadn't known better, I'd swear we were all standing witness to a real-life demonic possession. A cold chill ran through my body. An intense feeling of unease radiated my core.

What just happened?

He moved in once more, lightly kissing me on the lips, then adding another gentle peck to my cheek. The heat from his clean-shaven face warmed my suddenly frozen body, in a way only the Devil could warm the tundra. I smiled warily as the crowd gazed onward, approving of what—to them—was nothing more than a mutual display of affection.

Stuck in the unfamiliar embrace with Johnny, my eyes fell to my parents. Sitting proudly in the crowd, Mom clasped a tissue in her hand, holding it to her chest, while Dad nodded admiringly at the sight before him. Disappointing them could never be an option which is why I found myself pleased that their seats weren't up closer.

Working his way from my neck, Johnny grazed his nose along the side of my face. The pressure of his cheekbone fell firmly against my temple, setting his mouth just inches away from my ear.

"You're mine now, Charlie. You belong to me." He crooned callously, careful to be sure that only I was the one that received the message.

The opportunity to think about what was going on in that moment dissipated when he grabbed my hand and turned me to our audience for the announcement of all announcements.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Juan Maxwell Cruz!"

The church erupted in echoing applause, a diversion that served only to block the sound of my breaking heart.

Chapter Two

A Devil in Sheep's Clothing

Champagne bottles popped in the limo like fireworks on the Fourth of July. One after another, the sound of the cork leaving the confines of the bottle neck blasted through my rattled nerves, making it almost unbearable to withstand.

Those privileged enough to ride with the newlyweds, roared with congratulatory exclamations and sentimental speeches. I was only able to smile politely in acknowledgement of their kind words.

Everyone looked so happy. My parents looked as if they a were on cloud nine. My brother Nick, the quintessential middle child and renowned Playboy, was actually sitting with his current flavor of the week, showing her something that closely resembled affection in a public setting. I hadn't caught the name of the lucky guest as introductions to my brother's newest conquests were never necessary. She'd be gone soon. They were always gone soon. Wasting my breath wasn't on the agenda for the day.

The cool bubbles of the non-caffeinated diet soda tried hard to please yet failed miserably at the task. Maybe it was the lack of caffeine, or the fact that it wasn't champagne that filled my fluted glass the way it did for everyone else. Either way, I still couldn't find that feeling of serenity that should've been present in the moment.

A quick glance around and I realized there was someone else in attendance that hadn't quite found what they were looking for out of the day.

When I boldly alluded that everyone looked happy, I'd forgotten someone.

Forgotten or purposely omitted? I suppose that's the real question.

Meet Christopher. The oldest of the three Cole siblings. How I'd ever overlook the brawny beast that sat across from me was anyone's guess.

His demeanor was predictable. Rolling his eyes and staring at his phone. His two favorite pastimes.

My big brother was a dateless, grumpy and giant overprotective pain in the ass. Worst of all, he hated Johnny, despised him really and his distaste for all things joyful had grown significantly over time as his job added more stress than required for his thirty-two years. To me it was clear, the side effects that often stemmed from increased pressure and added responsibility were taking their toll on this man that had once been so carefree and happy. I felt for my brother. I really did. But why should I care what he thought?

Because you do. You always do. My subconscious reminded me.

The thick beard growing on his usually mildly stubbled face, was all the proof needed to figure out that he was onto another case. It was my brother after all. The master of disguise. The man of many faces. The Frank Abagnale of the new generation—well, the legal version anyway. He may not have been a criminal, but he was a very large thorn that had been impaled in my ass since birth.

"So, who are you today, Chris? Other than a massive buzzkill of course." My question pulled him from his cloud of misery.

His eyes shifted from his phone, glaring at me with the brotherly annoyance I'd come to know so well. The neon lighting of the limo turned his complexion a variety of rainbow-like colors. Normally, I'd poke fun of the way his head resembled some sort of strobe light straight from a 1970's disco club but the queasiness of my stomach, combined with the no-nonsense glower in his eyes, dissuaded me from any form of levity.

"The goal of being undercover Pip, is to keep the fact that I'm undercover a secret. He sat back then, trying to ignore the buzzing of his phone in his right hand and failing at the task. "Plus, you know I don't mix work and family."

When his phone finally stopped vibrating, he brought his attention back to me and for a second, he just stared as if he were committing the moment to memory. As he soaked in the image of his baby sister in her wedding dress, something that looked a lot like emotion flickered in his eyes but just as fast as it appeared it was gone. The glimmer of humanity faded, and I wondered quickly if shape shifting was a real thing.

"Looks like you don't mix family with anything lately. I'm surprised you even recognized us honestly." That got his attention. It was a low blow, sure, but it was true just the same. I tossed the frustrated words in his direction, fully knowledgeable that they would sting and hopeful that the aftershocks would last a while.

My oldest brother leaned back against the seat, brought one ankle up to rest on the opposite knee while slinging his left arm on top of the leather padded limo bench. To anyone else, he looked relaxed. To me? I knew he was anything but.

"You know I love you, Pip. Always have. Always will." Christopher chanced a glance at Johnny then, doing his best for my sake, to keep his unpleasant thoughts to himself.

I rolled my eyes at his petty behavior. "And I love you, big brother. Always did. Always do."

The look on his face worried me. It was a look that told me there was a lot more going on in my brother's life than I'd ever be able to imagine. The sympathetic smile that sat along his bearded chin did nothing to ease my concern.

Then I watched in awe as it happened again, the eyes of the toughest, roughest man I knew glistened momentarily with a moisture that would never be released and a feeling of complete sorrow took over my body. His troubled grin lingered longer than usual, and regret etched itself deeply into the corners of his deep brown eyes. I knew then that something definitely wasn't right.

The urge to ask questions sat there on the tip of my tongue but I would've been a fool to think he'd ever tell me anything, so I swallowed the inquiry down, hoping that the fog of dread that seemed to be hanging over his head was merely just a passing cloud and not a precursor for disaster.

Unsure how to offer the support I knew he needed but would never request, I placed my hand on his leg. Eventually he covered my hand with his own, squeezing lightly, but saying nothing.

If only I knew that this intimate moment, would have been one of the last moments, I probably would've squeezed back.

My brother, the rugged, overprotective introvert that he was, returned his gaze to his phone and just like that I lost him.

Johnny clanked his glass of champagne with his groomsmen, a handful of men that I had never met until that morning. The congratulatory sound pulled me out of my moment with Christopher and brought my attention back to the rowdy festivities that were transpiring all around me. Luckily, I was able to shake away the nerves I felt from earlier at the church by repeatedly convincing myself that I was simply reading too far into Johnny's change of behavior on the altar. It certainly wouldn't be the first time, the declaration looped in my head until I had no choice but to agree. After all, making mountains out of mole hills had always been a well-known habit of mine.

By the time we arrived at THE COVE, the area's most elite oceanfront banquet venue, I had already forced myself to forget about the incident altogether.

For five hours we sat and listened to one drunken family member after another toast to our future. I watched with glinted eyes as my parents danced to their own wedding song, then laughed uncontrollably at my brother Nicholas' attempt at the Cha-Cha slide.

The day had been more than I could ever have dreamed of. I had mentioned cloud nine earlier, only right then I had surpassed the clouds and taken on the moon. My happiness had me floating aimlessly among the celestial bodies of the Milky Way, bouncing weightlessly from one part of our solar system to the other, until I was more than eager to finally get home to be with my husband.

Husband? My inner voice gleamed. I can get used to saying that.

Anxiety to be all alone with Johnny gobbled me whole. Even more ready was I to surprise him with the incredibly see-through lingerie I had purchased for tonight, with him in mind, as dressing myself in something so scandalous was a first for me.

A subtle blush dabbed the apples of my cheeks, all while a swarm of bats fervently flapped their stealthy wings throughout the cave that was my chest.

Never much of an over-dramatic romantic, I couldn't help but imagine what the night had in store. I closed my eyes and pictured candles lit throughout the house. The soft flicker of flames casting shadows of our bodies onto the freshly painted walls. I could see rose petals—smooth and silky to the touch—placed strategically in a trail that led to our bedroom while I envisioned myself lying on the soft satin of our sheets in nothing but my new lingerie, sated and peaceful.

And there he was—my husband. Hovering above me like a protective shield, careful not to add too much pressure.

Goosebumps exploded onto my skin at the image of Johnny spending extra time placing chaste, loving kisses, to the lowest part of my growing belly. I could see the discipline required to have me as tenderly as I deserved caught deep within the muscles of his neck.

Lost in the image of him making love to me until the morning light shined through the windows, my skin practically burned with need. Over and over again, we'd christen every room with love in our new home and make memories that would last a lifetime.

I could almost hear his voice. I listened quietly as he told me how much he loved me, how badly he wanted me and how good I made him feel. My core temperature skyrocketed as the pictures of the immediate future flashed before me, the limbs of my body weakened by a love I had never known.

Every extremity tingled with the curiosity to roam the depths and divots of the lean muscle that adorned him, and I didn't know how much longer I could wait.

We barely made it through the front door before I was trembling with expectancy. Closing my eyes as we crossed the threshold, the time had come to be swept off my feet. When the door shut and the sound of the latch clicking into place bounced off the walls, it meant one thing and one thing only...

It was only us.

Two people in love, ready for the new life that lie ahead. My eyes popped open in anticipation, prepared for all my dreams to come true.

Only it was dark.

No candles or petal-soaked trails in sight.

I forced myself to hide my disappointment, repeating the same mantra in my head, the one that told me none of that mattered. That this moment was solely about us and the love we had for each other. Soft candlelight and fresh cut roses could never top that.

So, I turned to Johnny, needing to look into the eyes of the man I loved, ready to begin this incredible journey.

But Johnny was gone. Replaced by an evil doppelganger that I was certain existed only in my imagination earlier in the day at the altar. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, he managed to successfully knock the wind completely out of my chest with merely a look. One glance from his soulless eyes and the hot blood that once filled my body was abruptly frozen. I could almost hear it crackle as it ceased in its routine passing though my veins.

My heart pleaded for the ability to beat, but the winter wonderland that had become my insides refused to allow such a process.

In seconds he was ravenous and forcefully pulling me into his torso. The hand in which I had placed his wedding band just hours before ripped at the bodice of my wedding dress. Moonlight streamed through the window, bouncing off the platinum band in quick and abrupt flashes. The universes' S.O.S., a warning of impending doom.

It was the same hand, the very one he gave to me as a symbol of devotion, that angrily slashed the delicate material into pieces, leaving me bare to him from the waist up.

Johnny took over my existence, stealing my thoughts and shredding my dignity. Hungry and unapologetic. Cruel and merciless.

Stunned and so completely taken aback by the animalistic possessiveness over my body, I shivered in fear. The predatory growls and grumbles of demonic desire stifled my breathing. My head spun into a whirlwind until I was unsure if I was awake or stuck in some kind of nightmarish hell. I could feel him as his grip dug into my flesh, hear him as the carnal sounds of domination sat like smog within the air. Within the man I thought I knew, sat the uncontrollable inclination to own, the insurmountable need to control. It was all there in that very room, the reality becoming clearer by the second—we were never alone.

The lack of oxygen had me lightheaded. A small gasp left my lungs, bringing me back to the detestable reality that in a matter of minutes I had come to know as married life.

I couldn't seem to muster up the proper emotions. No words, because there weren't any. No feelings, because right then I was numb. My mind was scrambling to put the reality of what was happening into perspective. A difficult task considering I needed to concentrate so hard on the basic skill that was to simply breathe in and then out.

Why is he doing this? My inner voice asked in a tone as shaky as the rest of my body.

Johnny bit my ear, seeming to know how to stop my thoughts while silently giving me the answer I feared the most...

"Because I can!"

He repeated the cannibalistic behavior, sinking his teeth into the meat of my shoulder then dragging his nose along the reddened mark before skirting his face along the length of my collarbone. He then pressed his cheekbone into my bare and lifeless skin before breathing me in through flaring nostrils as he continued to inhale the scent of my flesh, becoming increasingly more aroused when he could smell the fear that seeped out from my pores.

"Tonight Mrs. Cruz, I am going to show you what it feels like to be a possession. To be owned. Because for the rest of your life—I. OWN. YOU."

Words I'd never forget. Words that would haunt me for years to come.

Another nip to the lobe of my ear brought me back to the here and now against my will. This time he drew blood. I barely felt the sting of the intrusion as he marked me.

Panic and confusion warped my thought processes as he ripped and tore at my wedding dress until it was lying in a pile of chiffon and beaded lace. Shredded into jagged pieces. Bunched into heaps of scraps.

Forgotten in the corner.

Shocked into silence, a single tear made its way down my cheek as the love of my life made good on his promise to possess my body with unabated aggression. And in that moment, Johnny's plans became apparent...

That day, I didn't agree to be his wife. No. That day—unbeknownst to me—I had agreed to just be his.

Never did I get the chance to wear my lingerie.

Chapter Three

Adonis

Present Day

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

The shower makes an annoying squeak as I turn off the water to deal with the unnecessary pounding on my door

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

"What the hell? Give me a minute, would ya?" The robe that hangs loosely on the hook by the bathroom door is yanked violently until it's in my grip. The silver locket, a gift from my brother Christopher, snags on the robe's silky material. A regular annoyance but I hardly take the pendant off, so I deal with it.

I really hate unexpected visitors!

The wild mane of hair on my head is saturated, dripping down the length of my back in a cascade of uncomfortable lukewarm droplets. What's even more frustrating is that I have no time to dry it, thanks to the impatience of whoever is playing the bongos on my front door.

The sash ties tightly around my waist, closing the lavender robe across my naked front as my body scampers through my home, prancing swiftly about like an angry fairy, in a rush to sprinkle poisonous pixie dust on the unwanted visitor.

Wet imprints from my footsteps appear on the hardwood in a frenzied patter. They trail close behind, mocking me and my inherited clumsiness as if they know I'll likely face plant on my way back in.

With my hand gripped tightly on the door's handle, I fling it wide open. My frustrations fly free in the breeze that is created by the vicious swing of the composted wood before connecting with the inside of the wall.

There stands the neighborhood's slightly awkward and incredibly persistent postman, trembling on the stoop, a handful of mail shaking ferociously in his gloved hands. Frustrated, I wait as patiently as possible as he musters up the courage to speak.

"H-Hi, Mrs. Cruz." He says in a bewildered trance. The words combined with the cold air send puffs of clouds in my direction.

"U-um, your mailbox, umm—well, it's not there..."

Two petrified eyes scan the length of my recently showered body as the words catch in his throat like flies to a spider web. From one foot to another, he shifts uncomfortably, clearly unsure of what to do with my attire.

It's just a robe for God's sake. Surely, he has seen a woman in a robe before.

Quick to disprove my theory is the slowly rising bulge in his tightly fitted navy blue postal boy pants. The—almost too young to be working—kid before me, holds a stack of parcels forward, a task I imagine was the sole purpose of this midmorning feat.

The nervous tremors of his extremities only seem to increase in conjunction with the plummeting temperatures whereby the shaky exchange sends my mail flying directly into the winter air.

"Please, it's fine. I'll get them." Fed up and freezing, I hold my hand up to stop him from fumbling around my yard like a decapitated chicken and take on the task of collecting the scattered correspondence myself.

Bending forward, I begin to snatch up each fallen envelope one by one, in hopes that this part of my day can finally be over. The cold smacks against my bare chest with a force that almost knocks me off my feet. It has the lapels of the silk gown shifting drastically and sending a taut pink nipple straight into the frozen atmosphere.

Really, I don't have to look at this guy's face to know that his eyes are wide open in shock. It's not hard to imagine the crimson hue creeping up the freckled flesh of his neck.

Yep, seems the poor little post-boy has just gotten a glimpse of the girls. The sight of his ever more present package (no pun intended), is all the proof needed to verify his minimal exposure to the female anatomy. I can't help but grin impishly, though I know I shouldn't. I guess the idea of having any man—barely legal or not—nervous around me is comical even to my own mind.

"Thanks for bringing these for me." I hold up the stack and offer a reassuring smile. It seems like the fair thing to do when you consider I've less than formally introduced him to Thing One and Thing Two.

For several uncomfortable seconds, Boner Boy stands motionless, eyes gleaming like an antiquated movie projector, a triple-X feature blasted in high definition straight onto the screen. Eww! My hands work diligently on their own accord, pulling my robe more securely around my body.

"Okay. Well um, have a good day." I take a step back to the doorway; my feet void of feeling from prolonged exposure to the frigid air.

As if the credits to his mind-porn have started to roll, he does this weird gulp-y thing with his throat, turns, then heads back down the walkway, without as much as a word.

The image of what is about to go down in that mail truck does not settle well. Then again, the possibility of store ads and utility bills all stuck together in old Mr. Stevenson's mailbox kind of makes the perverse picture jump from repulsive to highly entertaining.

The time to think about sperm-coated mail is long gone when I take in the deep-seated indents and crushed snow rocks that have magically erupted across my yard.

Seriously? Where the hell is my mailbox?

Seeking the warmth of my home, I make my way back into my house when the answer to my previous question smacks me in the face.

"Son of a bitch!"

At the breakfast bar, I pick up my cell, my anger evident by the grip that's now blanched my knuckles white. Tossing the pile of mail down to where my cell phone had just been, I find the letter P in my contact list and press send.

The persistent ringing drives me out of my mind. It's especially aggravating because I know this guy is home and likely avoiding the call on purpose, per his usual song and dance.

Well, times up buddy. Time to pay the piper. Doesn't he know that I will ring his phone until it spontaneously combusts if I have to?

Finally, after much longer than necessary, there are signs of life.

"Hello? Shit..."

Yea, shit is right because that's what this man is in as far as I'm concerned and he's in it deep at that. Chaotic sounds continue to clack and bluster for several seconds after the call's reception. Pure pandemonium speaks volumes in its travels from his end of the line to mine. It's such a frequent occurrence, it's not hard to picture the phone falling right out of his highly hungover hands.

"Hello? Uh—Hello? Can you hear me? Charlie?"

"Jesus Christ, Pete!" I scream into the receiver. "You got something you want to tell me?"

Oh, how ideal it would be to say this is the first time such a conversation has transpired. Lovely, to never have spoken such words in the past. Well, wishful thinking gets you nowhere fast as far as I'm concerned. Truth is, ideologies are meant for sissies and weaklings and regarding the here and now, I have lost count of such familiar rhetoric with the man on the other end of the line, long ago.

"I was gonna fix it, I swear. Just gotta get movin', that's all. Clean up a little and all that."

The silent plea for immediate forgiveness sits firmly in the pockets of his barely awake voice. Subliminal begging is his specialty and unfortunately, like so many times before, I bite back my redundant lecture and offer up the over used olive branch, even if I'd rather shove the damn thing down his throat. After all, blessed are the merciful, right? For aren't they the ones that shall obtain mercy?

What? You didn't think Jesus was my homeboy, did you? Well, think again. My relationship with the Son of God, goes far beyond the beatitudes. My faith—sometimes non-existent—resembles nothing but a plea for better days. Because when I do pray, my only hope is that somewhere out there, greener grass does exist and that somehow, someway, the Lord will see me to it.

Contrary to many others, I've never asked that my life be easy. I can handle getting kicked a bit. Being roughed up just enough by the Powers That Be is definitely doable. That's the kind of stuff that keeps a person grounded, in tune with the realities of the world, appreciative of what they have no matter how much or how little it may be.

It's the constantly getting stomped on part that often has me begging the Big Guy or anyone who'll listen for imminent reprieve. Getting kicked a bit? Well, that's one thing. But getting run over constantly, trampled on like a warthog being crushed and asphyxiated by a stampede of wild rhinos? That's what makes living unbearable. Theoretically, I can handle a sprained ankle, but a severed limb is another story.

For that reason alone, I simply cannot give up on the man that waits for me on the phoneline because if there truly is a God, I don't want to take the chance that one day he'd give up on me.

"You're lucky no one saw you, Pete. You really have to get a handle on this mess. I hate to be the bearer of bad news here but you're getting kind of old for this shit. Enough is enough already."

"I know. I get it. I'm sorry, Charlie..." He pauses. "Johnny didn't see it, right? He'll probably call the cops. That son of a bitch doesn't give a shit what happens to me."

"Johnny?" I let out a small laugh. "He hasn't been here since yesterday, he's 'working.'" My free hand adds air quotes to emphasize the last word.

"Besides," I continue. "I think it's fair to say Johnny and law enforcement are like oil and water. They can sit in a jar together, but they don't mix. Get yourself cleaned up, I'll make you something to eat, and then you can put the mailbox back where it belongs before he does get home."

"Okay," he mumbles down the line.

"Uncle Pete?"

"Yea, Charlie?"

"I love you, you know that, right?"

"Yea Pip, I know."

"Good, now clean yourself up and I'll see you in a few."

There you have it folks, Peter Cole is my uncle. My dad's brother, if anyone cares to take notes on my genealogy. He and my dad had a falling out after my grandfather died and I've since been the only family member to stay in touch. Of course, that's partly because he lives three houses down from me but more so, because I've always had an innate sense of sympathy for those with emotional problems.

I always root for the underdog and when you meet Pete, you'll soon realize he's not only the President but also a client of the infamous underground club.

Hardly finished getting dressed when another knock sounds from the front of my home. The door is barely opened before Pete stalks his way inside.

"Shoes!" I bark, pointing at the mat to the left. Rolling his eyes, he kicks his work boots off into the designated spot then makes his way to the kitchen.

"Don't roll your eyes, Pete. It's terribly unbecoming. Come and eat, I made you eggs and toast."

Settling himself in at the counter, my uncle grabs his plate first, then his mug, and proceeds to dump four heaping spoons full of sugar into his coffee.

"Want some coffee with that sugar?" I toss the morning paper in front of him.

"No thanks, Mother."

"So, do I dare ask what happened?" I sip my bubbling glass of cola, savouring the flavor and basking in the tingling sensation that's been handed over by my good friend carbonation.

"You still drinkin' that crap?" He avoids my question, trying to change the subject.

"How many times have I told you, that shit right there is garbage. Might as well drink rat poison."

Surely, this man didn't mean to use such poor choice of words, considering his current quandary. "At least when I drink this..." I gesture to the fizzy liquid. "...I'm not running over other people's lawns and waking up in my own regurgitation."

"You win." Pete throws his hands up in surrender before opening to the Sports section of the paper.

Nestling himself into a position that allows for leisurely reading and easy-going coffee-sipping, the man that defaced my home looks quite cozy. In fact, one would think he has somehow forgotten the real reason for his visit.

From the front pocket of the worn and torn, red and black flannel—a uniform of sorts—he pulls out a pair of reading glasses made sometime in the late eighties, opens them up with one hand, gives the newspaper a little shake to stiffen up the seam with the other, then settles in to read all about last night's big game.

I eye him over the rim of my drink, waiting for the moment when he acknowledges that now may not be the best time for rest and relaxation. Try as I might, I can't stop my lips from turning upwards as I anticipate my next move. I may have said I'd forgiven him for the mess on my lawn but forgotten I have not.

"Giant's lost." I mutter, casually sipping from my glass and waiting for the reaction I know will soon come. As suspected, Pete glares my way in disbelief.

Pushing against the table, he leans back in the kitchen chair, folds the paper back up and tosses it to the side in a show of frustration that has me looking on in contentment. When he picks up his fork and stabs at the contents of his plate, I have only one thought...

Now I win!

The two of us find ourselves back on speaking terms when I take his dishes to the sink to wash and dry. As I stand there, elbow deep in soapy water, I catch a glimpse of my uncle's reflection in the kitchen window. Once a man so charming and handsome, is now plagued by the demons of addiction. Admired long ago for his domineering stature and classic movie star good looks, my father's youngest sibling is now the spokesperson for fragility, and it breaks my heart.

Pete catches me gazing at him, readily pulling his shoulders back in an attempt to look less like the addict he has sadly become.

"Why don't we just get this fixed before, 'Golden Balls' gets home from 'work.'"

The shrinking expanse of his back faces me as he uses the same air quotes I had earlier to emphasize Johnny's husbandly devotion to the well-being of this household.

When I follow my uncle outside, it's only because I'm thrilled to play the part of nosy spectator, even chuckling to myself a couple times as he grouses incoherently, trudging through the snow.

Pulling my coat around my body until it becomes a cocoon of imaginary warmth, I use my hand to block the blinding rays of the sun that seem to be pouring from the sky in a way that mocks us as we stand in the frigid cold air.

There's something to be said about the winter sun, in that it's a tricky little bastard. Mesmerizing as it gleams triumphantly off the mounds of snow. Conniving in a way that teases you with the potential for heat and comfort.

Like I said, tricky. And like many things in this world, it can't be trusted. Trust is something I no longer hand out freely. In truth, many times it needs to be pried from my hands and even then, the trust is often ripped to shreds just from the exchange alone. Another testament I suppose to the woman I've become. I mean, if you can't trust the sun, it's fair to say that people don't stand much of a chance.

It doesn't take long for Pete to fix the mailbox, though the bluish tint to his lips tells me that he'd gladly beg to differ. A quick fluff up of the snow hides the tire tracks perfectly and in minutes we are back to normal. Both my home and our relationship.

My uncle looks pleased with his work as he shoots gratified eyes in my direction, blowing into his hands to keep them from freezing.

As much as I try, and as easy as it may seem for the rest of my family members, I can never stay mad at the big lug that stands before me. I plant a loving kiss on his cold cheek and watch as he slowly makes his way down the street in the direction of his home.

"I'll call you later, kiddo." He barks, without turning back.

"Thanks for the warning!" The backs of his ears lift slightly, and it feels good to know he's smiling.

Across the street from where I stand, a moving van grabs my attention. One by one, the boxes from inside the vehicle are being carried into the largest house on the block. Men in the most visually impairing, orange colored sweatshirts appear to have been contracted to complete the tedious task of moving and unpacking. It shouldn't, but the color of the ensemble has completely dissuaded me from ever utilizing this company in the future. Honestly, there will never be a poorer choice made in terms of marketing that would compare to the repulsive color of those shirts.

Yuck! Orange will never be the new black!

As I continue to gawk at the men glazed in such a blatant act of hideousness, it hits me that I hadn't even noticed the house was for sale. Suppose the oversight shouldn't really surprise me, I've been in quite the funk these past few...

YEARS! My subconscious cuts in with a tone that's much bolder than I would prefer.

Just like so many times before, I mentally wave the pesky voice away in hopes she'll take a break from constantly interfering with my life and messing with my resolve. To be honest, there isn't enough time for her antics. In what happens in the blink of an eye, any progression I've made toward my front door has failed immensely. Halted in my tracks, I can't move on account of some unidentifiable force that has infiltrated my limbs.

Magnetized to the sidewalk below me, my eyes involuntarily blink a few times as if my mind can't process what it is that I am seeing. Suddenly, I no longer have control of my body. A marionette to the puppet master that stands less than a couple hundred feet away.

On the front step of the recently purchased home is a god-like creature so beautiful, the sight almost burns my eyes. Chiselled as if sculpted from the finest marble in the middle of the Vatican itself, this ethereal creature takes his arms over his head to stretch, exposing his very toned abdomen as it peeks out from below the hem of his shirt.

My friends, this is the moment. THE moment. Theologians call it divine intervention. I call it—nothing, because I really cannot think straight.

What I know is this, the gates of heaven seem to have opened and from somewhere unknown, the voice of James Earl Jones penetrates my sense of hearing. Listening closely, I soak up each word as he begins to narrate the next few seconds of my life...

"Legend has it, a child was born with no parents to care for him. So incredibly beautiful was he, that he received the attention of the goddess Aphrodite herself. She soon fell in love with him, as did many, many others. His journey from innocent child to bounteous man had men and women alike taking notice. The endless nurturing—the love and adoration of his mind and body led him to be highly influential and universally worshipped..." Mr. Earl Jones booms from his imaginary perch in the sky, fully entrenched in his Lion King glory.

"...His physique was impeccable, his strength colossal. His name Mrs. Cruz...was Adonis."

The warmest sensation spreads from my feet to my face. My mouth goes dry. The blood in my veins boils hot. My entire body, usually an icebox of frozen emotion is suddenly awakened by the inferno in a way it has never been before.

Time has obviously passed, though I no longer understand the concept. I stand, ogling this mythical being and all his exquisiteness, enamoured and so in awe that a single person can be so incredibly magical. Struck stupid, I hadn't noticed that he'd been staring back at me this whole time.

A sharp gasp leaves my lungs when my eyes meet his. The supernatural god flashes a crooked smile in my direction, a slow and lazy weapon of mass destruction. None too shy is he to use his apparent superpowers to strike me breathless and just in case the smile didn't almost bring me to my knees, he follows up with a subtle wink. It's the kind of gesticulation that goes straight to the g-spot, rendering me completely brain dead.

Panic threatens to devour me as it appears that I've gone into hypothetical cardiac arrest. If this were one of those emergency room dramas, it would be the exact moment when an emergency room doctor rubs two paddles together and yells, "CLEAR!"

Willing my feet to take a few steps back, I try to shake away the sudden and unfamiliar salacious thoughts that have now taken over my nerve endings. This is not like you. This is not like you. I tell myself, over and over in an attempt to bring myself back to the City of Mediocrity of which I was born and raised. Where such physical attraction is storybook and there isn't a man that exists for miles that can conjure up such a visceral reaction.

Soon enough, all the warmth I felt moments ago is replaced with a feeling so cold my skin turns blue. I close my eyes and suck in a breath, not needing to physically see the cause of the decrease in temperature to know that he's nearby. The blood that had just burned hot has cooled considerably. A trained puppy to his presence, every vital organ in my body stands stock-still, awaiting the command that allows each of them to continue to provide me with the opportunity to live another day. Turning around isn't necessary, I already know he's right behind me.

"Something bothering you?" Johnny asks with no inflection in his voice.

Like you give a shit. My subconscious retorts while pushing those exact words to the very tip of my tongue until they're so close to spilling over, I have to force myself to let them be. Now is the time to remind myself of the primary lesson I received in this home all those years ago.

On the first day of class, the proverbial instructor stood in front of the room, ruler in hand, demanding absolute attention. White chalk to dusty green chalkboard, my teacher wrote in perfect penmanship, the name of my very first class in obedience, "How Not to Get Hit, Section 101." It was there that I learned quickly how to tread softly in the presence of my bestowed. How to submit and how to agree. But the most difficult lesson of all was learning to be invisible. Or more aptly, failing to exist.

At first, I didn't think I'd ever complete that specific section but soon after introduction, I passed with flying colors. Johnny had done his job as an advisor, erasing all parts of the girl I once was to the point where I was no longer able to recognize her in pictures. My husband has always been an impressive teacher.

"Um, no. Just thinking that's all."

"What did I tell you about thinking?" Doused in anger and disgust, the words fall effortlessly from his mouth as he uses his inexpressive eyes to look me over. "Nothing good ever comes from your thoughts."

If you only knew what I was thinking right now. My inner voice grows protective, trying to lash out on my behalf.

Johnny's lips meet the side of my cheek, the loveless show of affection is so cold it's a wonder my face doesn't immediately turn to ice to match the internal environment of my insides. Longing to get another glimpse of Adonis, I sneak a glance in the direction of his home only to find him gone.

On a shrug, I conclude that it's probably for the best. I'm not even sure that my mind didn't just make him up anyway.

With nothing left to do and no way to successfully escape, I follow Mr. Freeze into the house and close the door behind me.

Chapter Four

Masochist or Martyr?

"I didn't even see you pull in." I tell him, kicking my shoes into the corner.

"Yea, well you were too busy daydreaming..."

Oh no! My mind swirls to imagine the going rate of retribution for being caught drooling over the newly moved-in—maybe even totally imaginary—neighbor.

Mindlessly, I rub the left side of my hip, noticing how the fading bruise is still tender to the touch. My body tenses, an indication that it's taken one blow too many and can't possibly withstand much more.

"...watching your retard uncle walk down the street." Johnny continues. I find myself releasing a breath I hadn't realized I was holding before wincing at his choice of words, although sadly I'm not surprised by them. I mean, he's certainly called me worse. Suppose I can't expect him to have respect for any dividend of humanity.

The language of his choice is clearly disgusting but he doesn't mention the moments before where I was struck senseless at the vision of Adonis, stretching his virtuous form on the stoop of his home and I'm certainly not going to be the one to bring it up. I may by an eternal prisoner, but I'm not that much of a fool.

"Is that really necessary?" I ask, pouring his coffee. One of the many daily demands the, "love of my life," regularly insists upon. The sudden urge to spit in it has my hands shaking.

Wouldn't be the first time. I think to myself and stifle a grin.

"Oh, that's right, I forgot. What are they called again?" He rips the cup from my hand before I have the chance to contaminate it with my saliva.

"People, they're called people, Johnny."

The next few seconds are spent watching in utter repulsion as he laps loudly from the steaming mug. Not a coincidence that he takes his favorite non-alcoholic beverage black either, as it just so happens to be the color of his soul.

He mumbles something under his breath as his face becomes engulfed in a cloud of mist so thick, you'd think it would melt his skin right off. Not that I'm worried, as it is, he's used to the heat. Something you'd have to adapt to when you're both conceived and birthed in the pits of Hell itself, I'm sure. Unfortunately for me, a little piping hot condensation won't do any harm.

This man is so arrogant. So ignorant. So not the person I thought I was marrying all those years ago.

"Where were you anyway?" This should be interesting. As it stands, honesty is a foreign language for Johnny so I'm sure whatever response he gives me this time around is sure to be a doozy.

Masochist or martyr? I'll cop to being a bit of both, I guess. The thrill I get from knowing that he's lying, that he can't pull one over on me anymore, goes hand in hand with the angst I feel when thinking on how he harbors no remorse for lying to me at all.

There's no doubt in my mind that he's up to something lately. The little digging I've been able to do hasn't turned up anything pertinent but I'm not as naïve as I once was either. The extra phone calls. The secret meetings. The expensive clothing that he sheaths himself in each day. All of it has certainly piqued my interest.

Some years back, Johnny was involved in what some like to call the, "drug game." Mostly he played mule to some of the bigger players of the so-called "game." Picking up and delivering bundles of whatever the drug of choice was for the day, week, or month. At least that's the story he gave me. I'm not privy to many of the details. After all, a woman that asks questions, is certainly not a woman at all. Or so I've been told—a lot. Nonetheless, what I've come to learn with absolute certainty is that like most men who crave power and dismiss consequence, Johnny got himself caught.

Enter me and my undying love for him and that's all she wrote. Every gut-wrenching admission to all the poor choices he made had me looking past his legal indiscretions like the fool I was. Somewhere between sobbing about a lonely and fatherless childhood or crying that no one ever loved him, he proclaimed his everlasting love for me in a way that turned everything in my vision the color of roses while tiny little hearts circled rapidly around my head. Then, once he was sure he earned my compassion and more importantly my loyalty, he asked me to lie.

And lie I did indeed.

Every day that passes, I remind myself how stupid I had been for suspecting the truth about Johnny before things even got that far. What's more, for how ridiculous I was for staying with him, fighting for him—lying because of him. But as they say, the past is the past and I'm paying for my imprudence—Every. Single. Day.

"Work." He finally responds to his whereabouts as if conversing with me were as disgusting a chore as plunging the goddamn toilet.

How does one become so confident in themselves and the lies they tell? I wonder.

"Psychopathy will do the trick." As always, my inner voice does a stellar job of answering the tough questions life tends to throw my way.

"Oh, well how thoughtful of you to pick up all those extra hours for the sake of this household." Sarcasm pours from my mouth like molten lava, though he doesn't catch on to the barb.

A smile emerges, spreading from ear to ear across his deviant face. "Well, you know me," he states proudly.

Mr. Cruz, you have no idea how well I know you, you sick son of a bitch.

Sometimes I'm in awe of this man but not for the right reasons. Instead my amazement stems from his ability to amply believe that he is the rock that holds this family together.

Well, let me tell you, if he is the rock then I am fucking Mount Rushmore. It angers me to no end that he fails to acknowledge all I accomplish daily. More so, that he barely acknowledges me at all. Balancing everything while having to put up with his shit? Ugh. It makes me sick just thinking about it.

"I'm gonna jump in the shower then go rest for a bit. I'm exhausted from those extra hours."

I roll my eyes as he makes his way past me just as I begin to clean up his mess.

SMACK! Right in my ass and my body immediately tenses. A natural reaction to his touch. I do my best to keep my composure, ignoring the anger bubbling to the surface. Several deep breaths later I find myself on the deck with a cigarette in my hand, dreading the conference call I have to make shortly, trying to calm my shaking limbs.

Okay, I get it, smoking is a disgusting habit. I'm well aware of the distastefulness but I'd like you to consider for a moment that my own husband may kill me before cancer does. In which case, I'm just gonna carry on.

After a quick wash of my hands, I grab my cell and work tote before heading down the hallway to my home office. Walking past the bedroom, I peek at Johnny.

There he is—my husband—standing stark naked in front of a full-length mirror, all puckered lips and steroid inflated glutes.

You heard me right. The man is buckety freakin' bare ass, flexing his biceps like he has just been crowned Mr. Goddamn Universe. His eyes are hooded and heavy, laced with a self-induced lust only those of the narcissistic breed can comprehend.

Barf!

Time to walk away before he sees me.

"Babe." Too late. He never takes his eyes off himself as he yells into the hallway, making it clear that my attempt to escape was a futile one. If only he'd use terms of endearment for when he's being endearing. Which is, well—never.

"Come here for a second." It's a demand, not a request and my feet move one small step in his direction to appease the tyrant I've been promised to.

"What is it, Johnny? I have a conference call in five minutes."

He continues to make love to his own reflection as he speaks, "I ran into a friend of mine yesterday."

Female most likely.

"Told me I looked bigger, like in a good way. More muscular, you know? It's crazy because I haven't been to the gym in so long."

So far, this story is riveting. Unsure of what his point is and even less interested, I tell myself I've upheld my wifely duties simply by walking in here, so now it's time to turn and walk away.

"What do you think?" My shoulders slump in defeat.

"What do I think about what, Johnny?" There's a tiredness to my voice that makes it almost unrecognizable.

"My arms look bigger, right?"

God, the smile he has on his face is revolting and it takes everything in me not to vomit as I watch his erection grow just from looking at himself.

"I guess." The underlining tone of disgust doesn't go unnoticed.

"What would you know anyway?" He snarls. "The only thing getting bigger on you is your ass." With a wicked gleam in his eye, he turns to me. "How is that diet of yours working out exactly? Looks like you may need to alter your plan a little." Johnny eyes me up and down, deliberate in looking repulsed at my outward existence before turning back to his solitary tryst with his own image.

If I stand here any longer, I'm afraid I'll get the displeasure of having to watch him try to screw his very own reflection. So, I decide to dish it out in the way he's taught me best.

"You know what, babe?" Consequences be damned, I'm going for it. "Come to think of it, your arms must have gotten bigger."

My spouse salivates into his bicep, grinning.

"It must be why your dick looks so much smaller." This time I can't hold back the smile on my face as I stand in the doorway to my bedroom. I want to yell, "I win again!" but if the way I'm being glared at speaks to future reprimand, my victory won't last for long.

Johnny makes his way to me in a flash, looking down on me in disgust he sticks his nose in my hair and nuzzles himself into the ocean of unruly waves on my head. Overwhelmed with the urge to kick him in the balls, I surrender to that feeling to avoid further repercussions.

Instead, I keep my gaze locked straight ahead, focusing on nothing in particular, and everything but him.

"You smell like an ashtray." His searing breath hovers right against my ear as he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Slowly he passes me. A slithering snake in the tallest of grass heading toward the bathroom to start his shower.

"Yea well, I'd rather smell like tobacco than rancid pussy." The shower muffles my words and before I can repeat myself, louder this time, my office phone rings in the distance.

Shit! It's one o'clock! I make my way down the hall in a frenzy to answer before the ringing stops. The tan leather chair spins uncontrollably from all the twisting it had to do to accommodate my adrenaline-fueled body. After a quick twirl clockwise, I rest my hand on the phone's handle, readying myself for the next obstacle of the day.

With a deep breath in and one more out, I finally lift the phone and bring it to my ear.

"Good afternoon, Charlie Cruz!"

Chapter Five

For him...Only for him...

An hour and half into the conference call and I am ready to lose my mind. Both index fingers provide added pressure to the temples of my head, and I've been rubbing the throbbing area in small circular motions for what seems like hours, hoping to rid my brain from the surplus of stupidity that has been coming my way since I answered the call. Nothing works.

With my feet kicked up on my office desk, I close my eyes tight and thank the Lord that these people can't see me on the other end of this conversation.

After what feels like an eternity, the team agrees to the plan. I get off the phone and contact my assistant so we can get the ball rolling before these people decide to change their minds.

"Charlie Cruz's office. This is Lake George. How can I help you?" A pleasant voice greets me from the other end of the line. Too pleasant. Odd.

"You can leave your sweet and innocent baloney to the next call. I, on the other hand actually know you personally, so I'm not buying what you're selling." I tell her playfully.

"Oh hush!" She replies with a giggle. "What the heck do you want now? Aren't you supposed to be off today?" There, she sounds much better.

Lake George, a woman with the name you'll never forget and a mouth that would make a sailor go to confession, has been working for me over a span of six months. Her parents, the poster children for tree-huggers everywhere christened her in commemoration of the exact location in which she was conceived.

Too in love with the world and all things green to realize that the moniker would be pure torture for the poor girl throughout the rest of her life, they happily titled their newest bundle of joy after a popular vacation spot that many people in the area so regularly frequented.

It's a blessing that she's drop-dead gorgeous. With eyes green as rolling pastures and hair black as a superstitious cat, she doesn't fit the mold of the average looking woman. Nope, not Lake. There isn't a spot on her body that is average looking. Her beauty well surpasses the average marker and heads straight towards exceptional, often times knocking that sign over as well.

The cream coloring of her skin reminds me of porcelain, as if she were painted into life by a renaissance artist. Flawless. The word was invented for her. A few inches shorter than me, she's always been petite but no less well-endowed than Dolly Parton herself. Honestly, the girl is so visually appealing that many a man—and sometimes a woman— have tightly knotted kinks in their shoulders from rubber necking as she walks by and my girl here loves every minute of it.

Thing is, Lake isn't just my assistant, she also has the pleasure of being my best friend. My partner in crime. My sister from another mister. Anyway, you get the point.

We've known each other since grade school, meeting for the first time at eight years old, the two of us developed a strong bond that to this day has not been broken despite the amount of times the universe has tried to test its boundaries. It started in third grade, fed up with the ruthlessness of kids that had no business being bullies, I punched Bobby Niles in the face and threatened to kidnap his dog so I could ship it to Columbia when I saw that he had been repeatedly making fun of her during recess, recruiting many of my other classmates to do the same. Needless to say, Bobby never mentioned his dog again and avoided eye contact with me until we graduated high school. Lake and I though? We've been friends ever since.

"I just got off the phone with the board regarding Micah. They've agreed to fund his efforts to find housing, contingent on him staying clean and continuing with therapy. Of course, we'll have to find someone to take him until his license is reinstated. I probably don't need to emphasize the importance of this case being successful either. The story made national news. It could really put us on the map and that could mean a significant increase in charitable donations. On my desk you'll find two resumes, decent candidates for the position. I think either of them would do a good job, honestly. Can you give them a call for me? Ask them if they can meet next Thursday. I'll try to block out about an hour or so for each just to be on the safe side. So maybe eleven-ish to start? I should be in after Max's classroom breakfast."

Shit! Max! What is wrong with me today? I look up at the clock; three-thirty-seven in the afternoon. Phew! Time seems to be on my side for once.

Surprisingly, Lake agrees to all my demands without a snide remark or one single show of sarcasm. There wasn't even an, "I'm sorry, I fell asleep halfway through your unnecessary rant."

In fact, her tone is mellow, shifting from either irritated or completely uninterested. Not to mention, she's much less condescending than what I'm used to and frankly, I don't like it. I don't like it one bit.

"You okay, Lake?"

She takes a deep breath then blows it out, sending a loud whooshing sound to reverberate through the phone lines. "I'm fine."

"Pinocchio!" I yell into the receiver. Childish? Yes. Very. But it's always been our way of calling each other out on bullshit. "I can see your nose growing from over here, missy. What's your problem? Please don't tell me it's Wilson again? No one in their right mind should be spending one extra minute thinking about that gap-toothed assface. Particularly not someone like you!"

"I'm sorry..." My best friend huffs mockingly in response. "...are YOU giving me relationship advice, Charlie? I love you dearly but please forgive me if I look for someone else to advise me in that area, okay? Besides, the gap is not that big, you know you tend to exaggerate."

I feign surprise by bringing a hand to my chest to resemble a sudden state of shock and horror. "Not that big?"

Her accusation, albeit a sometimes true one, that I am some sort of pathological embellisher should make me think twice about such a performance in solitude, but I can't seem to believe my ears when it comes to her obvious denial.

"He whistles when he talks, Lake! I would make the whole kick a field goal joke, but I've worn that one out already. All I am saying is that you can do better. A whole lot better."

She barks out a laugh, the kind that will soon have me questioning how we've managed to remain so close for so long.

"Speaking of worn out clichés, have you ever heard the one where the pot calls the kettle black?"

We both laugh this time at the truth behind her statement. Giving credit where credit is due isn't always easy for me, but I must admit, she certainly hit the nail on the head with that one. Unfortunately, it's a sad sound, our entangled ricochet of laughter. Not quite filled with much amusement but more occupied with uncomfortable regret.

You see, Lake doesn't know the extent of my relationship with Johnny. No one does. Upon meeting my beloved, she claimed to immediately feel his negativity and potential for evil. Of course, I dismissed it, never playing much into her self-proclaimed ability to read people. Her supposed gift had always been something that I teased her about.

Often, I would wonder why these "feelings" didn't help when it came to, Whistle Tooth Wilson, Needle Dick Nelson, or my all-time favorite, Big Breasted Bradley. She might be batting zero in her own love life, but she hit a grand slam her first time at the plate when it came to mine.

I never tell her much about Johnny anymore. Her protective way became problematic the minute she suspected things went from sunshine and rainbows to dark clouds and tornadoes. I had no choice but to leave out the sordid details of my married life. As it was, I had already lost my soul to the devil, I couldn't give him my best friend too.

"Yes jackass, I've heard it, but our situations are different. You my friend, have options. I've already taken the plunge. So, my advice to you is move on from Wilson. I mean, if you really think about it, imagine if you marry the turd. When it comes time for him to say his vows, that high pitched sound he makes when he speaks will have every dog in New England and beyond rushing to the venue, looking for a biscuit and a belly rub. They might even start humping your Aunt Phyllis's leg. And we both know leg-humping at special events is reserved solely for Phyllis and no one else. Besides, you don't want dog crap on your dress."

Lake snickers before speaking, "Thank God I have you, Charlie. What would I have done in such a likely scenario? Always putting things into perspective."

"What can I say? That's what best friends are for. If it happens though, don't say I didn't warn you."

"I promise I won't hold you responsible," she deadpans.

"Glad to hear it," I reply.

The topic eventually subsides. We talk quickly about work-related nonsense. She tells me she'll call me if there are any other problems and it satisfies me enough to leave her alone. For now.

The call hasn't disconnected. The infamous question is coming. It always does. I wait on the other end for a few additional seconds and just when I think she might be giving up this little ritual of hers; there it is.

"Drinks, soon?" She asks, sprinkles of hope entwined in her words.

"Soon, I promise." It's the same answer I give her every time.

We hang up, both aware that my pledge was a broken one. The reality is, I haven't been out with Lake in a while. My homelife has suctioned me into its own little world to where I'm able to pull it together at work but I don't know if I have the control required to do so outside the walls of my office or home anymore.

Certainly, that's been Johnny's plan all along. He savors the idea of owning me—mind, body, incredibly broken soul. Petrified to let myself into the outside world, afraid mostly that it would make it harder to bring myself back to the truth that sits behind the front door of my home. The savagery that lies beside me in bed.

From the outside, my house is quaint. The contemporary style construction makes it, in my opinion, the most charming residence in the neighborhood. With its stark white siding, charcoal gray shutters and sweetly structured flower beds that sit delicately below the windows, my home is the epitome of the American Dream. Family dinners. Soccer games. A whole lot of laughter and above all, love.

Inside tells a different story.

I pull a can of soda from the fridge then run down to the corner, just in time to see the yellow school bus in the distance. Immediately, my lips turn upwards into a smile as this is by far the best part of my day. The best part of my life, really.

The driver waves as she comes to a stop but there's no movement within the aisle. Don't tell me he took the wrong bus home...again?

Just as I'm about to switch to full on panic mode, up pops the most adorable face I've ever laid eyes on. He smiles wide and my heart does back flips in my chest. Using my hand to motion for him to hurry, I follow his little red hat as it bobs its way down the bus aisle, eventually heading through the door.

"Mommy!" My little nugget of love runs to me, arms wide.

"Maximillian!" I wail in return, eager for the impending embrace.

With my feet planted firm, I'm fully aware that this little bruiser is going to try his best to knock me over. Once again, it's nearly a successful attempt. Hugging him tight, I kiss his face over and over until he gives me that heart-melting giggle that I adore so much and pleads for me to stop.

"I.Just.Can't.Stop" I pepper tiny kisses on his face between each spoken word. "I.Love.You.So.Much."

"Mommy, you didn't even notice!"

Keeping my arms placed on his shoulders, I pull away just enough to see his face. When my baby boy smiles wide one more time, I can't help but gasp.

He lost his first tooth!

The small hole it left on the bottom is captivating and the faint lisp that occurs when he pronounces his S's is to die for.

"Happened at recess," he grins again, and I breathe him in before exhaling the sweetest sigh of relief.

This is why I do it. This is what it's all about.

We walk back home together. Max skipping along the sidewalks, me daydreaming, stuck in those all too familiar webs of my past. Not for the first time today, I bring myself back to a time when life as I knew it turned completely upside down.

When life as I knew it just stopped making sense.

Chapter Six

Lemons to Lemonade

With shaky hands, I took a deep breath. You can do this Charlie. It's time to be a big girl. I flicked my signal and finally turned into the parking lot of Homes for the Brave.

If I'm being honest, I had intentionally driven by four times before then, purposely going straight past the building in an effort to gain some self-assurance, though driving around in circles did little to get my nerves under control.

There didn't seem to be any right way to placate my rapidly firing nerves, not when so much was on the line. Working at Homes for the Brave was a dream I wanted so badly to come true and I was so afraid that I was going to blow it.

By the fourth time around, I was ready, or at least mostly ready. As a recent college graduate, I had to remind myself more than once that this is what we do, we grow up and get jobs.

Having only just turned twenty-one, I was younger than many of my fellow classmates. Finishing my degree in three years with a double major was a pretty praiseworthy accomplishment if I must say so myself, though it didn't do much to prepare me for this moment.

I reminded myself that I could do anything. That, if I wanted something, the hardest part was putting myself out there and trying my best to get it. So, I walked into the building with the only intention of putting my best foot forward and hoping I didn't make a giant ass out of myself in the process. The thoughts of all the ways I hated feeling so vulnerable continued to run through my mind as I waited anxiously for my interview to begin.

"Charlotte?" The raspy voice of a strange woman called my name as I sat in the small lobby of an old building that once served as a Catholic elementary school. Recently the establishment had been turned into the aforementioned Homes for the Brave, a not for profit agency that still, quite noticeably needed a significant amount of work.

On the whole, the facility provided counseling and housing assistance to veterans suffering from PTSD, addiction, depression and all the other notorious mental health problems that often stemmed from the depravity of war.

For as far back as I could remember, working with veterans had been a lifelong goal of mine. My grandfather, a proud soldier and subsequently a prisoner of war had unknowingly pushed me in this direction.

World War II had been the bane of his existence, just as much as it was the light to his flame. Between the stories he told and the pain that always seemed to flicker behind his eyes, every time he recounted the deplorable things he had endured, I'd listen intently with a broken heart and a drive to help in whatever way I could moving forward.

Just the things that the man had seen and the way he was treated, sealed the deal for me when it came time to determine what it was that I wanted to do when I finally reached adulthood.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" It's a heavy question that is all too commonly asked of children who have barely mastered the task of wiping their own ass.

Except for me. Where my fellow classmates were jumping at the chance to be a professional athlete, firefighter or ballerina, I took a more unconventional approach.

"I'm gonna help the people that protect our country," had always been my response. Maybe I didn't know exactly how then but as I got older and heard those familiar stories from my grandfather with a more mature set of ears, I settled in on just how I could be of assistance. A method that I felt was really quite easy when you thought about it...

I would simply listen.

After all, isn't that what we all need from time to time? Someone to just listen. Not cast judgment, not give unattainable advice. Not make us feel worse about the person we've become but instead help us as we learn to accept the changes in ourselves and figure out a way to move forward. Sometimes a person just needs someone to listen. Sometimes a person just needs someone to care. Sometimes a person just needs someone period.

So, there I was, a bundle of shaky nerves and shuttering limbs but still eager and ready to save the world as I stood up tall and pressed down on the suit jacket.

Boy were my knees wobbly. The combination of anxiety and excitement kept my legs from remaining steady. Between the jumpy nerves and the sky-high Louboutin's that I had no business wearing, I looked like a baby deer trying to stand from the ground after birth. Doing my best to shake away the tension, I answered to the well-dressed woman that had just rasped my name.

"You can call me Charlie."

She smiled then and suddenly the intimidating character of the very put together and likely lifetime smoker softened some.

"Okay, Charlie. Lieutenant Jones will see you now." Our eyes locked and we both smiled as I followed her to the conference room.

The atmosphere of the room was strange. As I waited for Lieutenant Jones to meet me, I took in the sight of the old classrooms turned into makeshift office spaces. Dust covered blackboards cluttered in job related literature and health and safety notices also grabbed my attention. My eyes moved on to the hand-drawn pictures and old Christmas cards from years back, tacked firmly against the remnants of chalk dust, finding it difficult to see the place as a business establishment it had tried so hard to become.

The leftover echoes of small children entered my mind; playing, learning, and laughing. The heartwarming sound slowly descended into the noises of screeching tires and broken-down Hondas that shook violently as the bass of the music the drivers played blared loudly through the speakers. Horns blew inharmoniously for no reason while jobless people in pajama pants fought over lotto tickets on the street corner. The overall dismay became increasingly more prominent as the more exuberant memories of this building began to fade. It was clear that the neighborhood itself had seen better days.

The door opened and Lieutenant Jones walked in. She was an average looking woman, not unattractive but plain. She wore a no-nonsense expression on her face about as confidently as she wore her dark green cardigan and remarkably pressed khakis. There was no doubt she was military and someone I would never want to cross.

Out of respect, I stood to acknowledge her presence. A gesture that seemed to impress her, if the slight upturn of her lips was any indication.

Brownie points for me! Momma certainly didn't raise a fool. A clumsy introvert with awkward social skills and a knack for saying inappropriate things at the most unfortunate times, sure—but a fool she did not.

Before seating herself completely, the woman that held the ticket to my destiny extended her hand as a professional courtesy for which I shook it firmly, silently thanking the gods of clammy hands for my otherwise dry palms.

"Charlotte Cole? I haven't seen you since you were about this high." The Lieutenant held her hand out next to her shoulder, indicating that I've grown considerably since our last encounter.

When she smiled at the pleasant memory of me in my youth, my nerves soon became a feeling of the past. I surprised myself as I began to speak clearly, happy that I didn't sound like I had a handful of marbles stuck in my throat.

"Yes, my father of course sends well wishes. I'm twenty-one now and very ready for this opportunity, Lieutenant Jones. I assure you that I will be an asset to your team should you consider me for the position. I promise, if given the chance, I will not disappoint. "

Lieutenant Jones and my father grew up in adjoining neighborhoods. My dad, a successful man, despite his difficulties with color coordination, avidly made it a point to keep in touch with practically everyone he met.

In all seriousness, the Cole family patriarch put an abundance of effort into remembering even the smallest details shared through conversations with the most random people, some as unimportant as the guy that delivered our pizza. His name was Cal by the way.

"You never know when you need a favor." The voice rang in my ears as if he were sending telepathic messages from the next town over.

Marshall Frederick Cole, otherwise known to me as Dad or as I secretly like to call him, "Thorn in my Side Number One," had always been that kind of man in which for all intents and purposes, had a guy, that has a guy, that knew a guy.

"It's all about who you know and who they know." His quick weekly lecture on networking had been playing over and over in my head since I graduated in May.

Pending the outcome of the interview, I looked forward to the possible reprieve from daily speeches, where the agenda consisted of one thing and one thing only; "Try your hardest to be a little more 'people friendly.'"

It was his way of diplomatically instructing me to avoid being the "sarcastic bitch," that my brother Nicholas so lovingly deemed me many years ago.

After some small talk, it didn't take a genius to figure out that the only thing I actually had to do was show up and the job was mine. Deciding not to rock the boat, I politely answered her last question. Arguably, the most important one.

"Yes, ma'am, I can start on Monday."

From our seats in the conference room, she walked me to the door. Excitement entangled itself in my voice, giving it a higher pitch than normal.

"Thank you for this opportunity Lieutenant Jones, I really appreciate it." I told her before making my way to the elevator.

"Carla, please just call me Carla." She told me as we walked forward together, handing over some required tax forms, an employee handbook and other types job related material as she spoke. "We try to leave a lot of the formalities at the door. It helps those receiving our assistance feel a little more at ease. I won't lie and say it doesn't get dark and ugly around here because it does. A lot of these people have been through unimaginable ordeals. That's why they don't need some ranking officer to tell them what they should be doing, most times they need a friend. Here, I'm nobody's superior, just a person that wants to help."

The steel doors slid shut as I smiled wide in understanding, continuing to grin even after she was out of view.

Down the elevator, through the building's exit and straight into the massive parking lot shared by several other local businesses, I made a beeline to my shiny silver car, a graduation gift from my parents.

Taking a moment to admire the diamond-like shimmer handed over by the afternoon autumn sun, I appreciated the reminder of my hard work in the form of this pretty little token given to me to commemorate my dedication to academia. I felt confident as I walked toward it and so we're clear, it wasn't a typical feeling for me; confidence. It was strange, foreign. But as unfamiliar of a feeling that it was, I decided to go with it.

At least for the time being, I would embrace the newfound sense of poise, certain that soon enough my optimistic bubble would pop anyway, sending me to drink straight from my customary half-empty glass before the sun even set.

So, I did just that. I went with it. Head high, shoulders back—that kind of going with it. For the first time in my life, I grabbed onto life's horns, determined to enjoy the ride.

While continuing my strut and becoming more comfortable with each step, I found myself basking in the alien concept of positivity as the mass of curls on my head whipped across my face. The steady breeze was autumn's way of saying hello, a friendly reminder that the seasons had changed and a precursor to winter's arrival.

The air was crisp, a little chillier than expected for the time of year but not in the, I should've dressed warmer, kind of way. Instead the atmosphere felt fresh and clean with just enough bite to remind a person to pack away their sandals and pull out their softest sweaters.

As if it were a drug, I pulled air into my lungs and held it there for as long as possible in an effort to increase this high that had unexpectedly taken over my brain.

I wouldn't say I was on top of the world necessarily but I'd never before experienced life at such heights. Things couldn't get much better. My wayward ducks were finally standing in a row, an amazing accomplishment for those nomadic little bastards.

I had a purpose. I had finally found my place.

Sure enough, it didn't take long for the universe to interpret my enthusiasm as a challenge, using the moment to remind me that I was getting a tad ahead of myself, figuring there was no time like the present to hand over a reality check that I really didn't want.

The sound of my imaginary bubble popping rang through neighboring cities, setting off car alarms and sending wild animals in a frenzied search for shelter. My once obedient ducks had gone back to wandering aimlessly as I tripped over my own two feet, in heels that were a size too big and an inch too high. My bravado from before completely disintegrated into ash as I stumbled to my demise.

The gravelly pavement below appeared to be getting closer and closer as I made the almighty plummet, wincing as the textured cement presented itself for the imminent threat it was.

With little choice left, I mentally prepared for the aftermath that would undoubtedly leave me in blood and tears, possibly even with a few loose teeth. As I descended onto the angry black tar, I estimated the number of bandages I would need to control the oozing wounds that were sure to mar my once unblemished skin. To be honest, by the looks of it, I was quickly headed straight toward mummification because there wasn't enough gauze in the world to cover up what I was sure would be my completely battered body.

My, "to do list," grew quickly in the seconds before I came one with the parking lot. First on the list; never borrow the best friend's shoes again, no matter how cute or how slimming they made my ankles look. Next time—Team Cankles!

Second, I'd have to contact a plastic surgeon. A stateside doctor with a passion for sculpting and an eye for detail. A clinician qualified to fix the deformities that will likely result from my intrinsic clumsiness. Money will be no object.

Every one of those scenarios received ample consideration in the short time I had to prepare for the inevitable. The ground was so close, I could see the sparkles of age-old glass fragments embedded into the cracked and tarred pavement, sending me a twinkled hello, a shiny "come on in." My flailing body was welcomed with the utmost hospitality, ready to embrace the weight of my body by catching me with nonexistent arms.

Stoically, I made my face-first plunge, accepting the black and blues that had yet to form. When it was time for my meet and greet with the friable texture the only thing left to do was brace for impact.

"Oh, fuck!" There was nothing else to say really as I anticipated the agonizing pain and the inevitable horror that would soon be my skin lying on the parking lot's surface, tattered, ragged and destroyed.

I closed my eyes tight, expecting the excruciating sound of my head splitting open to echo through the air. Any second, I'd hear the horrifying noise that came from my cranium cracking like a fresh farm egg right into the cast iron frying pan of my departure.

I waited. Then I waited some more.

Nothing.

No pain.

No sounds of breaking bones.

Nothing squishy seeping through the crevices of my obliterated skull.

And that's when I knew...

I had died on impact.

"Christ, woman! Maybe next time wear some shoes you can actually walk in!"

Fearful of my whereabouts and still unclear as to how I avoided the less than graceful face plant, I opened one eye as if keeping the other one closed would somehow help to think more clearly. I rolled the only exposed pupil around my surroundings, creating a mental checklist of all things familiar as I did.

Wind swirling? Check.

Cars honking? Check

My car still looked pretty under the powerful rays of the sun? Double check.

Still unsure as to why I wasn't lying faceless on the pavement, I found myself hoping that this wasn't what it would look like beyond the Pearly Gates. Especially when considering God sounded kind of crabby.

"You wanna let go now? Or, do I have to carry you to your car to make sure you don't fall again?

I looked down at my fingers clenching the material of a strange shirt as if my life depended on it.

"Oh, geez. Sorry!" I pushed away just enough to see the face of this unknown human life preserver and gather my bearings.

Instead of the anticipated pain I had prepared myself for, I found myself in the arms of a very tall, very scruffy looking man. Handsome in the dark and tortured soul kind of way, the hood of his sweatshirt and the ball cap on his head did a decent job of hiding the almost fully healed scrapes and bruises that lined the contours of his jaw.

Eating or sleeping seemed to have fell off this guy's list of priorities at some point as evidenced by the concave cheeks and dark under eye circles. The unkempt beard added a considerable amount of depth to his face that without it would've made him look borderline malnourished, but no less delectable.

The shadow from the brim of his hat gave his eyes a mysterious look. Phantasmal.

They were sad eyes.

Tortured even.

They were eyes of a man that could never un-see things.

Eyes of a man that had seen all things.

Military.

One hundred percent, this man and his current state of brooding was a product of war.

"Might wanna leave shoes like that to qualified professionals. It looks like you took the training wheels off a little too early, kid. Isn't there a bounce house or a petting zoo you can go visit?" He grumbled like an ogre, careful to keep his head low.

Truth be told, I would have preferred smashing my nose into the ground as opposed to being treated like an incapable child. After all, no one asked him to help and I certainly didn't need someone putting me down.

Didn't he realize I did that enough on my own already? As a self-proclaimed professional pessimist, his condescending assurances were beyond unnecessary.

Pressing down on my suit jacket, tugging at the bottom, I tried to put myself back together while buying some time for an appropriate reaction. At first, it was only grumblings of aggravation that left my mouth, replacing the usual slew of words that normally spilled from my lips with ease.

Mad that I couldn't seem to think clearly in the proximity of such an impossible man, no matter how attractive, I grabbed my purse that had fallen to the ground during my uneventful trip to THE LAND OF THE FACELESS, threw it over my shoulder and spun back around to face the frustrating grump.

"Excuse me?" I screeched, decipherable words finding their way back to my voice box.

"You heard everything I said, princess. Go back home and comb Barbie's hair. Or better yet, bake some brownies in your Easy Bake Oven. This neighborhood isn't cut out for little girls who play dress up in their mommy's high heels."

The nerve! With my hands balled into tight fists, I felt my face redden and the steam leave the top of my head in long, drawn out puffs.

"I'll have you know that I am not a child so please refrain from speaking to me as such. In fact, I am well educated and as of about fifteen minutes ago, gainfully employed. So, screw you and the miserable train you rode in on, mister. I don't know what your deal is, nor do I intend to find out, but you won't get very far in life being a giant dick to people. Your attitude is terrible, and might I add, you're incredibly rude. Let me give you a little lesson here, jackass—you get more flies with honey than you do with vinegar. So, instead of taking your unresolved issues out on me, you and that giant chip on your shoulder can go to Hell. I would've rather slid across the parking lot on my bare ass than stand here and be berated by someone that, might I add, was never asked to help in the first place."

At first this adversary of mine said nothing. Choosing instead to plaster a smug grin across his face for the briefest of moments, the thrill of battle heating his senses, a shark to the faintest drop of blood. My words didn't seem to bother him as much as they appeared to have...turned him on? No, that can't be it.

Oh hell! What did I know really? I was absent the day they handed out seduction cards in middle school. What I saw as turned on very likely could've been something as simple as constipation.

While it shouldn't have, the thought of being less than admirable creeped into my brain, leaving me to feel awkward and even more unsure of myself than ever before.

Turning on my heels, unable to face him any longer, fearing mostly that he'd catch a glimpse of my trembling chin. The quake, a direct result of his cruel words hitting closer to home than I cared to admit. It was normal for me to feel like I didn't belong, and he gladly accepted the opportunity to confirm my suspicions.

A strong hand fell onto the upper part of my arm, sending strange vibrations in waves to wreak havoc through my body.

Given no time to process what was happening with both my mind and my body, I found myself twirling around under the power of his heady grip.

Inches away from my face, I was practically attacked by the fragrance of countryside and mint. A comforting smell that reminded me of homemade buttermilk pancakes on a Sunday morning, log cabins and shirtless men with impeccable oral hygiene splitting wood in the backyard.

A stranger behaving so abrasively should have had me scowling with hatred. At the very least, I should've managed to kick him in the shin a time or two.

But alas, no. Instead my traitorous cheeks flushed like vine-ripened tomatoes, something that always happened when a non-related male figure crossed the line of personal space.

So pathetic.

As he stared at me, I heard myself whimper. His mouth looked so enticing for some reason even if the rest of him was about as welcoming as a homeless man in a penthouse suite. Set in a line so thin, his full and pillow like lips were barely noticeable to the naked eye but quite evident to my naked body parts.

The expression on his face told me that Mr. Grumpy AssHat had zero intentions of apologizing and while my body had every intention of letting him have his way with me, my mind thankfully decided to be more rational.

Curious about this strange pull that seemed to exist between the both of us, I watched as he breathed in through his nose before exhaling through his mouth. The fury steeping off his formidable form enveloped my senses, hitting my face in quick and hurried puffs. Weird as it was, I didn't feel like I was in danger. As a matter of fact, it was the complete opposite.

Even as he exhaled into my face with the force of a fire breathing dragon with rabies, something inside me just knew he wasn't going to hurt me. Sure, he didn't like me, might have thought I was a poor excuse for a capable woman, but I was safe.

When he lifted his hands in a show of mock surrender, I knew right away he wasn't going to accept defeat.

"Oh, okay. I didn't realize you had a degree so forgive me for my oversight. Surely you know more about life than I do because of your academic endeavors." Mr. Grumpy AssHat sneered, continuing to bombard my senses with the woodsy undertones of his cologne and a shit ton of hostility.

"If you're lookin' to play a game of, 'How does that make you feel?' find someone with an appetite for bullshit and spoon feed them all of your psychobabble nonsense. Real shit happens in this world that can't be remedied through a textbook, fancy diploma or some cheesy shit abut honey and vinegar. Big words don't solve big problems, princess, and it would do you good to remember that. Someday those fluffy white clouds you tap dance on every morning will turn gray and rainy. When that happens, come find me and explain how easy it was to turn all those goddamn lemons into lemonade, then maybe we can talk."

Talk? He had to be kidding, right? "Believe me, you...you...cantankerous ass! I'll have the best tasting lemonade in town and you'll never know it because I don't intend on ever seeing your grouchy looking face ever again!"

"Yea, well feelings mutual, sweetness," he bellyached in response.

So tall before me, my neck hurt from the simple action of trying to make eye contact, but I refused to back down.

"To think that if you were even an ounce less miserable, I would've told you how much I commended your bravery and apologized on behalf of the rest of my fellow Americans for not taking the time out to do the same as often as they really should."

"Let's get something straight, I don't need your pity or your gratitude." There was pain in his expression that softened much of my resolve and had me aching to reach up and outline the fading bruises and scarring skin that ran across his face. My mind whirled with questions as to how the marks got there and how badly they must hurt. Of course, I wouldn't touch him. I couldn't. Instead I considered his eyes in hopes he would see the sincerity in my own.

"No, but you deserve it."

When his lips parted I was sure he had been ready to say something profound, something notable, words that you will remember long after the moment has passed. After a slight shake of his head I realized I had been wrong. In an instant the minty-woodsy smell was gone when wordlessly he turned on his own heels and walked away.

The strangest part? I already missed him.

Figuring I was still flying high on the coattails of employment and the adrenaline that stemmed from coming just inches away from breaking my nose, I made my way to my beloved silver car with an ego the size of a penny and a heart that wanted to save a man that clearly had no interest in being saved.

When I ran my hand across the slick and shiny paint, I relaxed enough to convince myself that Mr. Grumpy AssHat's opinion of me didn't matter and pretended to believe it.

The crisp fall air swirled into the car as I cracked open my window before turning on the radio just in time for Norah Jones' smooth and calming voice to seep effortlessly through the speakers.

Feeling better already, I put the car in reverse and prepared to make my way back home, excited to tell my family the good news.

"Whoa! What the hell? Jesus Christ!" Someone yelled as they banged on the trunk of my car.

Reflexes had my foot slamming down on the break, sending my heart into a panicked frenzy and my knees straight into the steering wheel column.

Once the aftershocks wore off and the car was in park, the man I nearly ran over walked to the driver side window and leaned forward. Let me tell you, this guy looked just about as happy to see me as the last one did.

I mean just take me to the nearest casino! I'm clearly on a roll!

The handsome—almost roadkill—scanned his hazel eyes over my existence.

An awkward smile spread across my face, all while my hand went rogue and gave him an uncomfortable wave.

When it came to men, I always seemed to have left my swagger at home, in a safe I had no access to, with a combination I'd never learned.

His face did soften a little at the sound of my nervous giggle. "That mirror right there." He pointed to the rearview. "And these ones here on the sides." Another point.

"They're a hell of a lot of help when trying to operate an automobile in reverse."

"I am so sorry," I all but sobbed in his direction. "I just got a job here and I was excited to go tell people, you know? Then I almost smashed my face into the ground.

That part was kind of scary, honestly. Before I could do it though, smash my face I mean, some random guy caught me in time. He turned out to be pretty crabby and kind of mean, really. You wanna know what he said to me? He said..." You're rambling, my subconscious scolded, immediately stopping me from continuing on in my embarrassing rant.

"Anyway, I apologize."

Skin glazed in delectable caramel coated the arm that pointed to the building I had just come from. Scrumptious enough to lick and smooth to the point of being unrealistic, as he stretched forward, I couldn't help but notice the slew of tattoos in various shades and colors slathered across his skin like body lotion.

Every inch of his forearm was covered in words or pictures and I eyed them lustfully, suddenly wanting to know the backstory on each one. If danger had a face, I was looking at it. It radiated off his body in thick amorous waves. There was no safety in his eyes, instead they held a promise of dominance. An oath to control.

Mr. Grumpy AssHat who?

All words he spoke flew from one ear out the other as I was hit with daydreams so erotic Ron Jeremy would blush.

The chastity belt I wrapped around myself each morning began to pop open with a mind of its own. Until that point, I didn't even know I liked tattoos. But my hoo-ha sure did, and she pulsated rapidly in my boy shorts to let me know.

"You got a job here?"

With my face hot and my cheeks red I could only nod in response. The smile that swooped across his face was far from innocent. More like the Cheshire cat with the street cred of Al Capone and the looks of a runway model. Such perfectly coifed hair styled with just enough product it glistened under the suns' rays. God, he was pretty. Not a typical word I'd use to describe a man but somehow it fit.

"Y-yes... I-I just finished my uh interview, I start M-Monday" My eyes darted down to my hands as I twirled my thumbs around each other. Nervous habit.

He leaned himself further into my window. The closer he was to me, the more the blood rushed to my cheeks.

A quick glance at his face and it was evident, this man knew he was well equipped with favorable good looks. Likely, this happened a lot with women and he used that to his advantage.

"Monday?" He grinned pointedly with a mouth full of teeth white as fresh fallen snow. Oh crap! I'm in trouble.

My imaginary pants fell to the imaginary ground while I stared directly into those pearly whites, then upwards to his hazel eyes.

"Well then, guess I'll be seeing you around. I'm Johnny." His hand pulled mine from the nervous twiddle and into his smooth handed grasp. "I do a lot of work in the area."

"Charlie!" I yelped out my name with a voice comparable to a prepubescent boy or a barely ready to leave the tit Chihuahua puppy, then dipped my face downward to cover up the different hues of blush that left unbecoming splotches across my face.

"Well Charlie, I guess I'll see you Monday." With a tap to the hood of the car, he was gone. My imagination had no choice but to pull her pants from the floor.

Convinced my hands would never again stop shaking, I put my car in drive.

Carefully and with the pace of a comatose snail, I made my way through the parking lot, avoiding a line of oncoming vehicles, focused on getting out of there without harming myself or others.

Turning the corner and following the arrows that mapped out my escape, the silhouette of Mr. Grumpy AssHat perched against the solitary oak tree at the entrance of the parking lot grabbed my attention. The way his arms crossed over his chest told me that beneath the façade of an underfed man was lethal human with plenty of corded muscle even in his most famished of days.

Did he witness the whole awkward encounter? See me almost run over another person? Why do you care? It wasn't like I was going to see him ever again.

Tension from his life and what he'd been through settled in his jaw and shoulders. He made it obvious that he didn't want to be bothered and it wasn't just with me.

Well, to hell with what he wanted.

"Hey!" I called out, rolling my eyes as he pretended not to hear me. "I'm talking to you, you know?"

Likely fearing I would cause a bigger scene he reluctantly brought his attention to me. It took a minute for him to realize what he was looking at and when he did, he visibly struggled to hide his surprise.

My middle finger sliced through the steady breeze, brazenly outstretched in his direction.

"It works wonders when stirring lemonade!" I yelled, driving away with my hand held high.

What I saw when I glanced in my rearview almost stole my breath. Never expecting a reaction from someone with such an all-consuming grudge against the world, imagine my surprise when I watched a genuine smile spread across his face, amusement awakening his otherwise deadened eyes. It was quite honestly, one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen, and it was also the last time I ever saw Mr. Grumpy AssHat. But I didn't think I could ever forget him. With a smile like that, how could I?

Chapter Seven

The Proof in the Pudding.

"Daddy!" Max screeches as he continues to skip up the walkway, pulling me out of my cloud and quickly snapping me back to reality. The image of the man that stands in the doorway makes my stomach turn.

How does one go from looking at someone and loving them to looking at someone and wanting to vomit?

My inner voice perks up. "Do you really want a list? I shake my head in response.

It's a long, miserable list. A list I would've never knew existed if I hadn't met Johnny. One that's a far cry from the Cinderella fairy tale I dreamt of as a young girl.

"MAX!" Johnny calls to his son, clearly changing into his father of the year costume in the short time it took for us to arrive back home.

Max runs to give him a hug, wearing a grin so wide, it's impossible not to see the missing tooth.

"Have you lost a tooth?"

Our son nods enthusiastically in his fathers' direction.

I'll do anything for my son, even if that means trudging through a loveless marriage, built brick after brick on lies and deceit. For Max, my one true love, I will battle the demons of hell. Shit, that's pretty much what I do now anyway. This child before me is the only thing in this world that I'd ever subject myself to such torture and misery for.

The light of my life. The beginning and ending of my day. He is me. He is his father. His innocence is bewitching and the sense of humor he has at such a young age is more than refreshing. He's the perfect combination of Johnny and me, and the only thing I have left that reminds me that his father once loved me.

As they discuss their plans for the tooth-fairy, I hang my head on the last thought. When he loved me? How long ago was that? Did he ever love me?

You know what they say, the proof is in the pudding. And my pudding is chunky, curdled and expired.

It's been a long time since I received a loving touch or a supportive hug. Christ, even a smile or handhold seems like it was eons ago.

When was the last time someone other than my family has told me they loved me and actually meant it? Johnny has certainly gotten worse the past few years, but was it always this bad? I mean, we had our moments sure, and he's lost his temper a lot, but has it always been like this?

I walk directly into the bathroom, bypassing the man that has turned me into a lifeless shell of a girl who once had promise and turn on the shower to distract my eyes from pushing out the tears that always seem to accompany the unwelcome intrusion that is the lump in my throat.

It's time to finish what I had started before the happy post man interrupted me this morning. The water's hot, scorching even. It prickles at first as it hits my back, but my body slowly becomes accustomed to the heat. Then like so many times before, my mind finds the clouds once more.

Chapter Eight

Date Night

Six Years and Eleven Months Ago

"Ugh! go away" I yelled into my sweaty and clammy palms, hoping that the nervous moisture would evaporate had I used a stern enough voice. No such luck.

I had never been taken out on a date before. In fact, I was actually quite inexperienced when it came to relationship formalities.

On the drive to the restaurant I gave myself a pep talk; "Try to stay cool, try to stay confident and try to have fun."

The phrase was said repeatedly, sometimes aloud, sometimes in my head, all times hoping it would eventually stick. If I'm being honest, I was a mess with nervousness, evident by the pounding in my chest and the rapid breaths leaving my lungs.

As Al Green's voice began to hum melodically through the speakers, my jittery limbs slowly began to calm. "I'm so tired of being alone," the words resonated on a personal level. I was tired of being alone. Tired of seeing all my friends happy, optimistic— in love. I wanted it to be my turn. My turn to let myself feel the way I should've felt years ago—important, worthy, deserving.

As much as I longed for a romantic bond and dreamt about finding a true companion, I feared it just the same. Fear of intimacy—or so said Dr. Phil—either way, giving my heart to just anyone had always been out of the question, at least that's how I justified my sad case of seclusion. Until now.

At twenty-one years old, I was a bit curvier than most of my friends. Not in the, I need a motorized shopping cart, kind of curvy. but in the true sense of the word. My hips flared a little more than most girls my age and my thighs not only touched, they practically humped each other every time I walked. At five-feet-six inches tall I wasn't a giant by any means, but I towered over my pint-sized girlfriends like my purpose in life was to provide them each with continuous shade. Not to mention, the difference in pant size that immediately casted me as the black sheep never did much to boost my confidence. As a size eight—ten when I was PMS'ing—to their otherwise size twos, it was easy to feel unattractive. Bitches!

Of course, they thought I was being ridiculous when I would confess my insecurities, but I couldn't help it and trust me, I tried to help it. Constantly they'd do their best to pump my ego with compliments and affirmations, always pointing out the names of guys that had been interested through the years, sure to emphasize that it had always been me who had turned them all down in the process.

Apparently, it wasn't lost on them that I had zero confidence in myself. Well, tonight it's my turn. I thought. My turn to feel like a girl worthy of love and affection, not like a bodyguard, or the beastly ogre I so often saw when I looked in the mirror. Tonight, there was no group to compare myself to. Tonight, it was just me and all my insecurities. Me and the wall I had put up to stop myself from getting hurt. Tonight, it was just me and Johnny.

After parking the car, I took one last look in the rearview mirror and fought the urge to close my eyes. Lips tainted with the slightest shimmer of nude gloss helped accentuate their natural plumpness as smoky black liner turned my already expressive brown eyes even larger. Adding to my dismay was the tight fitted cream sweater along with the newly purchased Lucky brand jeans that together did little to impress me as much as they did before I left the house. As it was, the color of the sweater seemed to pale my complexion drastically, making me look a bit washed out and dreary. Great! A frustrated huff escaped my lungs as my hands reached up to smooth out the blonde curls falling from my head. At least I managed to tame the beast. Kind of.

Exhaling yet another gust of panic-stricken air, I stood on trembling legs and made my way to the front door of the restaurant.

Just inside the entryway, Johnny stood confidently, a single rose in his powerful grasp, a tiny smirk on his flawless face. My own face immediately blushed to match the flowers pigment as his caramel complexion and hazel eyes enraptured me. Devious but at the same time addicting, his slightly presumptuous grin appeared to grow wider in between his perfectly sculptured and delicately primed facial hair as the tailored gray button-down shirt highlighted the warm tones of his skin, giving me all sorts of tingling sensations. His jeans were dark and relaxed, not too loose and not too tight, while the shoes he wore looked more expensive than my yearly salary could accommodate and don't even get me started on the watch that donned his wrist, a luxurious item that undoubtedly had to have cost a pretty penny.

Standing in front of this impeccably dressed man, I wanted to legally change my name to Frances McFrump as in comparison I felt about as attractive as a potato.

His cologne wafted through the restaurant, casting myself and every other woman in the immediate vicinity in this wicked spell that I knew would be next to impossible to break free from. He wreaked of confidence and surety, of swagger and vanity. He smelled like sin and looked like a devil. He'd break me if I let him and, in the moment, I was scared I'd let him do it all.

It wasn't easy to exude comparable certainty, though I did my best to make it seem as if I'd done this before. Lord of the Pearly Whites could not know this was my first rodeo, so appearing sure of myself was essential, even if my insides were experiencing what felt like an earthquake hitting a nine or ten on the Richter scale.

When he handed me the rose and kissed my cheek, there was a familiar flutter in my belly, the combination of warning and excitement that always seemed to be present when Johnny Cruz was around. The couple next to us stared at our embrace, causing my self-conscious persona to flap her annoying mouth in my direction. "Look even they don't get it," she said. "What could someone like him possibly want with someone like you?"

My confidence dwindled and my shoulders slumped as my thumbs began to twiddle at my lap. If only I knew.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yes, thank you." Pinocchio!

"Nervous?" He grinned.

Every excuse to get out of there ran laps through my brain but before any words could leave my mouth, Johnny leaned forward to whisper in my ear.

"I'm nervous too." Pinocchio! Pinocchio! Pinocchio!

This man was an anomaly whose words had this way of making me melt like butter just as quickly as his entire demeanor screamed for me to run away and stay gone.

Oh, he's good. The voice in my head chimed in again.

Really good. It wasn't easy, but I managed to shut her up.

"Mr. Cruz." A restaurant employee approached, batting her fake eyelashes in Johnny's direction, never once making a point to greet me. "Your table is ready."

My date gave a small nod and followed, garnering all types of attention along the way. I on the other hand may as well have been invisible, even checked a few times to make sure my paled skin hadn't turned completely see through in the ten minutes since making my way through the door.

At the table, Johnny gave the hostess a knowing smile and a subtle wink before seating himself in the corner booth. What the hell?

"Thanks for finally agreeing to this," he said, as I picked my jaw up from the floor. "I was starting to think something was wrong with me." His confession had me forgetting all about the uncalled-for flirtatious banter between him and our hostess with the mostess.

No! My subconscious mind screamed in protest before rambling on a response that made my head spin. There's nothing wrong with you. It's me! I have no experience. You scare me. I don't know what I'm doing. Does this place serve alcohol?"

"Well, I figured I'd give you a chance". Shit! What was that? I fought with my inner self. Yup, you're gonna die a virgin spinster. Hope you like cats.

"Well I've been trying for about six weeks now, I was beginning to think maybe you were a lesbian." He shot back at me nonchalantly, triggering a minor coughing fit on account of a recent sip of water.

"A lesbian?" The couple seated at the next table over seemed disgusted by my reaction. Mortified, I lowered my voice, leaning forward so only Johnny could hear.

"A lesbian? What in God's name would make you think I was a lesbian?"

Then it occurred to me, women probably never denied him. Those panty-dropping pearly whites of his have never had to work hard for female attention. This man didn't get rejected. He didn't get told no. You only said yes to a man like Johnny Cruz. He wasn't one to be denied.

Yet, surprisingly I didn't just tell him no, I avoided him for weeks altogether. Even as he hunted me down in the parking lot at work, whether he was asking me to the movies, out for dinner, or for coffee, I always had an excuse as to why I couldn't oblige. Most times it was a legitimate reason, sometimes I made one up but all times I was too nervous, petrified that even though I couldn't put my finger on it, something inside me knew that this man held the power to break me.

"Well Mr. Cruz." My voice turned serious, surprisingly passive. "Let me assure you in hopes of putting your mind at ease. I have no issues with the gay community. However, the list of men in my contact list would gladly oblige to disprove your theory."

Okay, so I lied a bit. So what that the list in question consisted of mostly family members and coworkers? Hell, my gynecologist was a dude and I added him to the illustrious bundle as well. But Johnny didn't need to know that.

His brow crinkled and he flashed a determined smile while something that resembled jealousy flickered behind his eyes. Pleased with his reaction, I held up my wine glass as if I was going to toast to him, but instead brought the rim to my lips and sipped softly. Repeating the mocked salutation, he focused his gaze on me and my face grew warm again. Feverish.

"Have we made up our minds?" The waitress thankfully cut in, a different girl from earlier, slightly more attractive, no less interested in the man across from me. Jesus, they're like cockroaches. This time Johnny's eyes stayed locked on mine as if I was the only female that existed for miles, putting me right on the precipice of hyperventilation. Casa Nova eventually tipped his chin in my direction.

"Ladies first."

Our server's eyes volleyed back and forth, from me to him, from him to me, and back to him again. It was as if her mind was thinking what the couple had earlier, "What is he doing with her?"

The voice in my head, always eager to cast self-doubt, answered back. "I told you, I have no idea."

We ordered our food and made pretty good conversation for two people that barely knew each other. When he asked basic questions, my response had been basic answers. It appeared we were pretty much on track with a healthy amount of uncomfortable tension that was allowable on a first date.

"How old are you?" He asked, steering the conversation into something less elemental.

"Um, twenty-one."

Johnny shook his head, one side of his mouth curled up into a dubious smile, illuminating his eyes with curiosity and thrill. "Jesus. You're a baby."

"No, I'm not!" I told him, offended by the words I heard so often from my brothers growing up. "And it's not like I said I was fifteen or anything. Why how old are you?"

Having just assumed he was around my age, I started to get a little nervous when Johnny coughed and murmured something at the same time, a horrid attempt to cover up his response.

"I'm sorry, what was that you said? I couldn't hear you?

"Thirty-one." This time it came out clear as day. Holy Hell! He's ten years older than me.

It probably wasn't a big deal to many, but I'd never even been in a relationship before. This man was the same age as my brother Christopher, who to put it lightly, was already an overbearing ass-munch most of the time. This was my first real date and Johnny was significantly older than I was, which meant he was significantly more experienced, and I was significantly freaking the fuck out. But still, I did my best to play it cool.

"Oh." It was all I had. Yea, real cool.

"So, me being ten years older doesn't bother you at all?" A hint of disbelief hovered over his question.

"Bother me? No. Why would it? It does concern me though." This is going to be fun.

"I mean seriously, were you able to even read the menu? Isn't eyesight like one of the first things to go in old age?" I mentally snickered at my acrimonious choice of words as the last sip of wine in my glass slid to the back of my throat.

"Charlie, Charlie, Charlie." Johnny shook his head as he picked up on the sarcasm. "What am I going to do with you?" Some ideas entered my mind, making my face blush a little, but I decided to keep them to myself.

"Well for starters I'll have another glass of wine." Motioning to our server with his own glass, he indicated that it was time for a refill. After that, conversation died down to a comfortable silence as the food disappeared from our plates, the both of us spending more time stealing glances at one another than speaking.

It was nice at first, pleasant, but it didn't take long for the self-conscious side of me to find her way back. Do I have food in my teeth? Is my makeup intact? More importantly. Is the beast on my head behaving herself? Feeling the dredge of insecurity clawing its way to the forefront of my mind, I decided to seize the moment and excuse myself.

The women's room was in the back and thankfully the walking distance provided a much needed segue to settle my spastic thoughts. As I waited patiently in line to access an open stall, I took notice of the warm colors and soft lighting, the ambience pacifying my jumpy nerves.

Once finished relieving my bladder, I washed my hands and made my way over to the full-length mirror, an object already crowded by the vanity of my fellow female patrons. With my face scrunched in disgust, I stared at my reflection, no longer wondering why the cackle of women parted like the Red Sea as I approached the reflective glass. It was clear I needed some work. As it was, my entire ensemble was minimally remarkable. In fact, the best part of my look was that I had nothing noticeable wedged in my teeth. I didn't even bother looking at the hair while I was there. After an entire childhood spent wishing for the mane of Rapunzel, I had to accept the fact it was the locks of Medusa that I'd have to learn to tame. With a pivot to my right, I scanned the rest of my body.

"My ass looks huge as always."

A chuckle came from inside one of the stalls and I scolded myself for once again letting my thoughts escape my mouth uncensored. Inhaling deeply, I let go of the breath I was holding and walked back to the table. The courage I'd gotten from my two glasses of wine seemed to disappear completely as I put one apprehensive foot in front of the other while at the same time this niggling feeling of doom bombarded my senses.

You know those moments when the hair on the back of your neck stands up from seemingly nowhere? When you can sense the haze of danger seconds before something catastrophic occurs? Or, when every fiber of your being is screaming for you to walk away but you decide to move closer to get a better look at the source of your unease anyway?

The peaceful illusion of peril so often has us forgetting that embers of a fire can be mesmerizing from a distance, beckoning us to come closer and get lost in the hypnotic aura that many times pretends to be harmless. These embers draw us in until we're up so close that the heat licks at our skin with brazen strokes, triggering fear and the realization that we were better off staying far away. It's late when we finally understand the imminent threat of fire and the potential for ruin that takes only seconds to swallow you whole, making you wish you listened to your gut from the start.

It's what happened when I made my way back to Johnny. My brain warned that the blaze would burn but my heart won and went toward it anyway.

Mmm. My mind pictured unmentionable things as I ate up the distance between us. Things I had never really thought of and most definitely had never really done. With small cautious steps, I made my way closer to the table and watched the man of my fantasies smile as he sipped from his drink.

The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up since my departure, exposing the tattooed skin of his forearms. The permanent ink calling for me to hurry back to the table. Gladly obliging to the silent request, I walked with the pace of a girl on a mission, as if time was running out, as if the fire would diminish. There was something inside me that needed to burn. For the first time in my life, I wanted the smoldering embers to scorch my skin.

My heart seemed to notice before my brain did that this man that I had finally opened myself up to was no longer alone. Within the minutes I had been gone he appeared to have found himself a replacement worthier of his attention. And while I was under no assumption that I was the most memorable of people, I hadn't realized until that moment just how forgettable I was.

Self-doubt tightened like a noose around my neck as it was obvious by the flirtatious body language between him and his guest of honor that they hadn't just met. Why was he there with me when he can obviously have someone like her? One thing was for sure, I wasn't going to stick around to ask.

With their attention on each other, it was my opportunity to make a break for it. A few more cracks to my already fragile character and I was hightailing it to the door in hopes I'd go unnoticed.

All hope was lost of course when Johnny's voice carried across the restaurant, drawing attention to my attempt at a quick departure. "Hey, Charlie where are you going?" God, I'd make a terrible ninja.

I stayed put like an awkwardly placed statue with my back facing the table I was running from, thinking about acting as if I hadn't heard him, even toying with the idea of faking some type of medical emergency just to get out of there. But despite the excuses that formulated, I found myself turning on my heels anyway, noticing how Johnny looked on as if he were aroused by my urge to flee.

I approached timidly, ashamed like a child that was just caught hiding after scribbling blue crayon on the whitewashed walls. Nobody spoke while we stayed stuck in the swampy marshland of uncomfortable silence where I prayed the resident gator would attack and swallow me whole. Put me out of my misery.

It was impossible to ignore the presence that loomed next to us. Even the lights seemed to dim a bit as this woman I had never met before glared in my direction, sending icy shivers down my spine. Daggers encompassed her gaze. She bore eyes of the devil, a provocative devil with long wavy hair that was so shiny and black it almost looked blue.

When I swallowed nervously with a loud gulp, the she-devil used her maleficent retinas to scan me up and down as she wore a vicious grin, slathered in shiny red gloss. It was a smile that grew wider with detestable despise the longer she took in my appearance, taking note of my flaws.

The more her calculating smirk spread across her overly made up face, the more she reminded me of the Grinch before his heart grew two sizes that day. The resemblance was uncanny, really.

Taking a moment for myself to inspect this interloper more thoroughly, I noticed how her hair flowed down her back as she skirted around the table in a way mine would never do even on a good day. Her perfectly firm and perky breasts were pushed up so far, it was a wonder her airway hadn't been obstructed, cutting off her oxygen and causing me to glance quickly at her extremities, certain I'd see them alternating between purple and blue. Yes, this bitch definitely stole Christmas.

The jeans that stretched over her long willowy legs were tight, her heels were high and in no universe was I a match for Satan's mistress, because I was a Frances McFrump and I looked like a potato.

The atmosphere wasn't just awkward it was intimidating. Stilled silence created an uncomfortable cloud over the table to where it felt like forever before Johnny finally spoke up, breaking the tension sitting among us.

"This is Aliza." He began his introduction before sharing some kind of secret look with the woman who seemed more than happy to ruin my very first date.

Aliza? Even her name slithered off the tongue like the snake she so obviously was. A venomous reptile whose eyes only confirmed the evil that glided through her veins as they silently taunted in my direction, "Eat the apple, Eat the apple!"

"Aliza, this is Charlie." Johnny said in a tone that suggested the two of us become the best of friends.

Yea, not gonna happen, buddy.

Against my better judgment I held my hand out as a matter of principle.

Various looks of disgust poured from her sad attempt at facial expressions, proof of all the ways too much Botox could make a person look perpetually constipated. This woman was a certified bitch and apparently had no qualms about holding the title.

"Charlie? Isn't that a boy's name?" She snorted, staring at my extended hand as if it held a communicable disease. I wanted to tell her it couldn't be any worse than what was likely crawling in the crotch of her pants but decided not to be petty. No, I was going to be the bigger person here, the better person. Even if she made me feel like I had just crawled from the dumpster out back.

Aliza, or Lucifer's First fucking Cousin, as I preferred to call her, had less interest in being formally introduced and more interest in draining the blood from my neck with her teeth.

"It's short for Charlotte, actually." I clarified, disappointed in myself for sounding so mousy and feeble.

"Right." The sanguine seductress tapped a long, fire engine-red fingernail against her front tooth before pulling her overly injected lips into a frown. "Well, that's unfortunate."

For longer than I should probably admit, I stared at the small red box on the wall to my right, desperately wishing someone would pull it— an unruly child, a teenage anarchist—anyone willing to pass by and give a quick tug just for the hell of it. The mayhem of evacuation alone would've offered the perfect diversion, an outlet for my long overdue escape.

The white letters seemed to pulse under my gaze as I waited for someone to pull the lever. FIRE ALARM. FIRE ALARM. FIRE ALARM. Nothing happened. When did the youth of today's society become so well behaved? It became clear that it was up to me to get things going. I tried—I really did—to will the box to roar with my mind, waiting eagerly for the obnoxious blare to fill the air.

No such luck.

My telepathic abilities weren't quite up to par, forcing me to endure more of the painful discomfort of this very first date that would certainly go down in history as being the worst one yet.

"Johnny here tells me you're on a date." The she-devil continued as if reading my thoughts. Her smarmy attitude threw my focus off the little red box of hope.

She looked me up and down—again. Deliberately. Pointedly. From the bottom of my feet to the top of my head, spending more time than necessary staring at the mop. I didn't impress her, and she was silently letting me know it.

"It's in your best interest to take good care of him." Aliza hissed in my direction before she whispered something into Johnny's ear. Worse, I was forced to look on as the two shared a moment where he spent too much time smirking at her secrets and eyeing her with indecent regard. After what felt like hours, he gave a quick nod of his head, dismissing her with more respect than such a woman deserved.

The shiny red claws on her fingers brushed the nape of his neck, trailed down his shoulder and stopped at his forearm, squeezing the lean flesh ever so lightly before brushing her hand through her curtain of shiny tresses. With her groping session complete, she poked her snake-like tongue out from her collagen filled lips, licking around the brim and turning the acid in my stomach so sour, bile threatened to shoot out from my mouth and right into her face.

When she was done with her repulsive demonstration of seduction, she turned to leave, seeming to make the lights dim again on account of her departure. Her shoes made a clacking sound as she made her descent back to the fiery pits of hell and I found myself wishing for a dark corner to hide in or a cobwebbed nook to sink my body into but came up empty.

The Botox-ed temptress whipped her head around once more, looking over her shoulder deliberately, sure that her next words to Johnny were loud enough for me and the rest of the crowd to hear. "Make sure she's worth it." She warned the man across from me before returning her gaze to my direction.

"See ya later, Carol." Aliza plastered on her Grinch impression one last time as she wiggled her fingers in a demonic wave. Then, like the wicked sorceress she was, her presence seemingly melted into the sea of people that began to pack the venue.

I checked my phone then, secretly hoping for a text, a call, a damn tornado warning, anything to give me an excuse to run and never look back. What I got in response was crickets, even my usually mouthy subconscious seemed to have fallen asleep.

The borrowed bag I used for the night drooped heavy on my shoulder as I shifted uncomfortably in my shoes.

"Um, I should really get going". My ability to feel worthy, equal, or deserving was nonexistent when it came to the opposite sex on most days but this day in particular, I hated myself more for the way I had always let girls like Aliza—the immoral she-beast—make me feel like I was inferior. And while I tried to keep my composure, attempting to fake even a semblance of confidence, I ended up failing miserably at both. With nothing left to do but give Johnny a quick kiss to his cheek, I waited for the opportunity to present itself then made for the door like Usain Bolt in a race for a gold medal.

Increasing moisture puddled on my cheeks as I fought against my emotions. Tears of shame, self-doubt and insecurity blurred my vision, reminding me that I was in way over my head and that it'd serve me better to stay in my own league.

On the walk to my car, I vowed to stop chasing dreams where someday a prince would come and sweep me off my feet. It simply wasn't going to happen to me, I knew that now. Not in a world full of so many potential princesses. I was more the stepsister type anyway. The glass slipper was never going to fit.

After what felt like a ten-mile hike, I put the key in the ignition, wiped my eyes and shifted into reverse, only to be halted by the all too familiar sound of a clenched fist landing on the trunk of my car.

"Hey, wait up!"

Don't do it! Don't do it! Don't do it!

"Roll down the window." Damn it! He was persistent. But I was stronger! I was going to leave him in the dust. No man was going to make me feel like second best again!

It wasn't long before a breeze of cold air smacked across my face as a reminder of my lacking resolve, sending half of Johnny's body into my car while he leaned into all types of my personal space.

You did it!

"What did I tell you about those mirrors?" A wolfish grin plastered itself on Johnny's face, once again seeming to enjoy the thrill of the chase.

"I-I didn't see you." I looked down at my hands, trying to hide the sentiment trickling from my face.

"Yea, see that's been a problem for a few weeks now, you don't see me, but I see you Charlie, and I happen to like what I see."

My naïveté to the world and all its shortcomings sent a swarm of butterflies to their home in the deepest part of my gut, tossing Aliza to an imaginary island of the unwanted in the process. It only took those words and I was right back to eating from the palm of his hands.

He came after me.

"Follow me." He said as he rubbed the silky-smooth pad of his thumb on my cheek, whisking away the stray tear that dared to dribble down my face. As my eyes glazed over from the simple feel of a man's touch on my skin, I was reminded of just how inexperienced I was.

"I'm going to get into my car, and I want you to follow me." He said the words slowly as if he was afraid that I wouldn't understand them.

Suffering from a sudden onset of selective mutism, coupled with a bout of quick setting paralysis, I was eventually able to nod in response.

Frantic to be wanted, I followed him closely, like a despairing little moth to the brightest of lights. And like that moth, I knew if I were to get too close to the light that was Johnny, I'd eventually get burned—badly. We're talking well done and crispy.

Right then, I didn't care. For the second time that night, I relished in the idea of my first potential burn, knowing that everything that led up to the impending singe would have been well worth it. For years I had waited to have someone crave me the way Johnny's eyes told me he did and spent too many nights alone because of it.

No more.

How could I claim to be a woman if I had no idea what being a true woman entailed?

The image in my head of passion and desire was my driving force, the notion of love and ever-after enough to solidify my decision. Things would be different the following day, I just knew it, and I welcomed the change, steadfast on finding a future filled with supportive hugs, comforting companionship, unadulterated passion, and insurmountable safety.

Several glowing lampposts later, the commotion of the city faded to the background until we were encased in the nighttime glow of suburbia, an indication that I unknowingly had followed him home.

Pulling out my phone, I tried desperately not to hyperventilate as I sent a quick text to my best friend, letting her know where I was and with whom. After all a girl could never be too careful, right?

Hurriedly I tossed my phone in my bag and made speedy strides to meet Johnny on the front steps of his home.

"Nice house, do you live alone?" I asked, my eyes scanning up and down the exterior of the modern raised ranch.

With his key in the lock, he turned to face me, eyes lit with amusement. "Charlie, I'm thirty-one years old, if I didn't live on my own, I would've ended this at the restaurant."

Warning bells sounded in the distance as he put three different keys into three different locks and finally opened the door, but I ignored them and followed him inside anyway.

A lingering odor of Aqua di Gio cologne and Old Spice deodorant clouded my senses as I took a second to look around.

The living room decor was impeccable and the TV hanging on the wall over the fireplace was impressive. Smooth velvety drapes in a warm, rich, honey gold reminded me of royalty as did the over expansive Italian furniture that looked fit for a king.

It was the kitchen though that had me really wondering what it was that Johnny did for a living. He was an electrician, or so he told me, though I quickly wondered if he was Ben Franklin's long lost Hispanic relative, living off the royalties of such an essential discovery.

The open area was equipped with stainless steel appliances and top of the line granite counter tops, a wall-mounted oven and one of those refrigerators that blended into the wall. Wine glasses floated daintily under a built-in rack while a twelve-bottle cooler fit snugly underneath, clearly not holding the five-dollar specials I had grown accustomed to purchasing for myself.

"Must be nice." I told him as my eyes continued to wander, tracing my index finger along the edge of countertop in admiration.

"It is." Johnny replied, a proud smile on his face as he leaned his lithe but imposing body against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, watching intently as I took in the setting.

Done fondling his kitchenware, my attention went back to him. "How does a thirty-one-year-old who does electrical repairs to run down apartment buildings afford such luxury?"

The question had Johnny taking a few steps forward, stopping so close to me that his breath heated my face before one of his tattooed forearms reached around my waist and yanked me inward until I was flush against his body. I gasped in shock as a variety of emotions consumed my senses. Confused. Turned on. Worried. Stupid. Probably all the above.

His other hand roamed the length of my back before gripping my bottom with a force that had those same bells from before sounding closer.

My resolve from earlier seemed to be deteriorating and his forwardness had me crumbling like the Berlin Wall. For a second, it seemed President Reagan himself made an appearance in my psyche, demanding the barrier be demolished, his voice reverberating in my ears as he spoke confidently in his megaphone. "Charlotte Cole...tear down that wall!" God, even dead presidents wanted me to loosen up.

"Little Charlie," Johnny whispered hungrily into my ear before nibbling on the lobe. "I forgot how young you are. Don't worry that pretty little head of yours about what I have and how I got it, just enjoy it." Then he smacked my ass hard, before pressing his mouth to mine and kissing me with the urgency of a medic to a scene of a car crash.

"Ouch," I yelped. More from shock than from pain. In fact, the sting of his hand against the sensitive flesh of my bottom was an oddly invasive pleasure.

Staring at his face, the angel on my shoulder screamed for me to run, but the devil had an altogether different plan, one that told me I needed this to happen if I wanted to validate myself as a contender. The little red ghost on my left told me that this was necessary in order to have even the smallest chance of staying in the race with the rest of the women in the world, the one's that more efficiently gathered men's attention without even having to try.

Another glance at my devious looking date and I surprised even myself when I threw caution to the wind. Screw it! Leaping forward, I secured my arms tightly around his neck and kissed him back with longing, letting a lifetime of feeling inadequate pour from my mouth into his.

The sound of our lips smacking, and tongues lashing did wonders at drowning out the devastating sobs of the defeated angel, who only seemed to cry harder the more the devil pointed and laughed in her direction.

"Come with me." Johnny took my hand and headed to the stairs.

Caution plugged the coordinates into my GPS and found its way back to me in record time. My shoulder angel wiped her eyes as the devil looked on curiously, not ready to accept defeat.

"Oh. Um, I don't think I can." I couldn't process anything as I tried to recall if I shaved my legs. Worse, I couldn't remember if I shaved my...oh damn!

"Do you have somewhere you have to be?" Licks and nips to the side of my neck shook my virginal core.

I attempted to think of an excuse, but my brain was a mere ball of mush, nestled deep within my skull, reminding me of Goldilocks' porridge, clumpy, lumpy and cold. I shook my head, "no" despite the impulse warning me to leave. Then, up the stairs we went.

Johnny's room was dark. Neurotically neat and comfortable in size. The walls were a dark bluish gray, the curtains a shade lighter. The furniture was big and overpowering, intimidating. His bed was raised high, draped in a slate gray satin comforter with an array of matching pillows cascading perfectly on top.

The pounding of my heart was intense, so much so, I was certain it could be seen on the outside of my chest. Sensing my hesitance, Johnny grabbed me tight at the wrists, pulling me down to the oversized mattress as he did. With the palm of his hand wrapped firmly around the base of my neck, he kissed me hard once more and it became apparent early on that he enjoyed being the one in control.

His breathing was heavy and thick with desire and I was beyond flustered and immensely inexperienced, struggling to remember what type of underwear I had on, hoping it was appropriate for what was undoubtedly about to take place.

The man that brought me on my first ever date took my hand and moved it over to him, slowly placing it to his lap and pushing it down between his legs. His eyes; cunning, clever, knowing. His hold; resilient, exact, precise.

He began to move my hand back and forth in a steady rhythm, moaning his approval. I felt him rising beneath my palm. Until then I had never known the thrill that stemmed from being able to arouse a man and it excited my body in ways I couldn't comprehend.

There was a logical part of me that still pleaded with the irresponsible part to leave. Telling me that this was not what I needed out of life. Advising me that this was not the road I should prepare to travel. Common sense begged me to understand that it was a path I didn't want to go down all while warning me that nothing but trouble stood behind the door I was about to open. Yet for some reason I chose not to listen.

Everything I had done up to that point was planned with caution. I thought too much, looked further into situations than necessary, planned every step I took before I took it and I was tired of it. That's why, the logical side of me took a hike, leaving me ready to see where the moment would take me.

A vigorous grumble of pleasure escaped him as I continued to caress him through his jeans. Embarrassing thoughts pinged my brain, thoughts that likely occurred to kids in high school not of a woman in her twenties.

What do I do now? What do I do with this? How do I do it? Do I say anything? Should I moan too? When they say blow job, do I really blow on it? Do I take his pants off? Do I take my pants off? There should be a book on this. I would read the book if there were a book. Maybe I should write the book.

The inner voice began to spew thoughts and random questions, rambling on and on, all while I sat there, a handful of manhood in the palm of my hand and millions of questions in the center of my mind. The urge to laugh the way I always did when my nerves had reached their maximum capacity of panic was rising. The giggle reflex tickled my diaphragm before I was able to stop myself.

I forced my eyes open for the first time since walking in the room. A gasp of surprise escaped me as I found myself staring into my own reflection, casting the image of the sensual embrace that sat beneath. My eyes wandered nervously around the over-sized and under modest mirror that was mounted on the ceiling above us. It appeared to have been strategically placed over the bed, matching the dimensions of the mattress perfectly, clearly customized to capture the exact images that transpired below.

Johnny's lips grazed the sensitive part of my ear. "You'll have time to look at that later." His whisper was filled with a dire need to dominate my innocence and claim my purity and at the time, it excited me. It was the moment I had waited all my life for. A memory I'd surely hold onto for years to come.

Johnny's voice broke through my celebratory bubble.

"But right now, I need you on your knees"

Naive and new, I slid down to the floor and did as I was told.

Chapter Nine

Becoming a Family

"God, that's cold!"

Reaching for my robe for the second time today, I force my mind to come back to the present. Lost in my own world for so long the hot water ran out. Thank goodness, my "workaholic" husband had already washed his golden balls, or I'd be stuck with the repercussions of allowing him to scrub his precious scrotum in unimaginable conditions. And I don't have time for that lecture. Max has homework.

Besides, I'd like to get to bed at a reasonable time, preferably injury free and unmarked.

Tomorrow, I will be spending the last day of my vacation from work driving my grandmother to and from every grocery store in town, in an attempt to get the best deals on canned goods, laundry detergent, and toilet paper money can buy.

With scurried steps, I reach my bedroom and shut the door behind me. As I drop my robe to dress myself, the door flies open. I'm naked as the day I was born, though much more shameful. Drops of water roam in pearl like beads down my skin, seeming to want to get as far away from this man as I do, only I'm not that lucky.

The days when standing bare in the bedroom ended in an all-day sexcapade are long gone. Instead, they've been replaced with my incredibly negative body image and the look of sheer disgust from the person that vowed to love, honor and cherish me just over six years ago. I grab my robe and hold it against my naked body, shielding myself from the look of disappointment in his eyes.

His expression warns that I have little time to feel such shame, a look that tells me this isn't going to end well.

"What the fuck is this?"

Johnny's voice is stern, and his eyes are glaring. He's loud enough to get his point across, but quiet enough so Max doesn't hear. The door closes behind him, the sound of my lost freedom coming in the form of the latch clicking against the door frame. He charges forward, waving something in his hands, frantic and enraged. It's a wonder what set him off this time.

"What the fuck is what?"

His eyes grow darker as I throw the angry words back at his face. Those hazel eyes I once loved, practically glow red with anger. The same eyes that at one time looked at me with something that at the very least resembled affection, have now permanently turned cold and vicious. He stands in front of me, his face pushed into mine, impatiently waiting for my reaction...but I don't have one.

The mere definition of what it is to be detached, lingers in my eyes when it comes to this man, and it scares the living hell out of me. Because of him, I know what it is like to be able to breathe when seemingly every part of my existence has been dead for years.

I remind myself to stay calm and unimpressed with his antics, a childish effort meant to infuriate him more. Maybe showing some more emotion or groveling at his feet would grant me mercy. One can only imagine there's a small chance he'd go easier on me if I did. But I can't bring myself to do it, not anymore. Johnny needs to have control, his entire existence feeds off the sensation, and it's the only thing I can take from him—most of the time anyway.

He doesn't let me grab the papers, instead he forces them forward, pushing them into my face and holding them tightly over my nose and mouth. I can barely breathe but would rather pass out than admit to it. Once he's felt I've been deprived of enough oxygen, he lets them fall to the ground and scatter at my feet. I bend to shuffle them together, stars swirling in my periphery while glancing at the contents.

My credit card bills? Oh God, the mail! I never looked at the mail this morning.

"$25,621.76!" Anger bounces violently off the walls of the bedroom. His eyes dare me to cross the unacceptable boundaries he's laid out.

I gently fold the statement and put in on top of the armoire and shrug, not bothering to go into detail that it's his champagne taste that has forced me into debt. Apparently, you can hang up your drug lord hat, but you should never stop living like one.

"If you think that's bad, thank God you didn't open it last month, you might've overreacted."

As I continue to get my clothes ready to dress myself, my feet lift from the floor. Completely airborne, he throws me onto the bed so that I'm lying on my stomach when he leans over and whispers in my ear.

"You better get a handle on this shit, bitch." Johnny says with a fistful of my hair in his hand. He tugs forcefully at the strands, bending my head back to meet his seething expression. "Every day that passes, you're proving yourself to be more and more worthless. I don't bust my ass at work so you can spend all of my money to feed and put clothes on your fat ass."

Minuscule droplets of his angry spittle rain down along the side of my face.

I try to convince myself to stay quiet, to leave it alone, but the tiny shred of life left inside of me won't allow it. With his knee still pressed forcefully on my back and his mouth to my ear, I turn my head to face him, my hair pulls painfully against my scalp from the movement.

"Maybe if you were actually going to work and not spending all your money on the all you can eat pussy buffet, I wouldn't have to use my credit card to keep this family afloat." The words are growled through gritted teeth, the agony from having my hair ripped from my head only adding to my fury.

It's silent for longer than expected as if he's taking the time to think of appropriate punishment for lashing out. Unnerving really, but honestly, I'm ready for whatever I have coming. Mentally, I prepare myself for the physical assault that is surely in the immediate future by tightening my muscles and clenching my teeth. Typically, the first hit is always the hardest, the rest are usually masked behind the initial sting.

To say I'm shocked when he lifts his knee from my back is an understatement, so I keep my body prepped for defense until I feel it's safe enough to turn around. Sitting upright on the bed, I force myself to face him, knowing that he won't leave me alone until I do.

Johnny bends forward, his voice snake like with devilish undertones. The eeriness of it has me wishing that he would just hit me instead because the promise of total devastation in his eyes is almost too much to withstand.

"You're just jealous 'cause it's not your pussy I'm eating." Armed with a closed fist, he juts forward. I fight with my body not to flinch at the threat and fail. When he stops just short of contacting my eye socket he laughs sadistically. The horrifying sound filling the room with evil. I've never been more than a game to Johnny, a game he's hell-bent on winning.

"Max!"

Max makes his way down the stairs to answer his father's call.

"Yea, Dad?"

"Give Daddy a kiss, I have to go to work." He glares at me as I stand in the hallway, watching as Max plants little kisses all over his face. Johnny smirks, a smile that would blow the Joker out of the water.

"Now group hug!" Max says as he pulls me and his father in by our legs. I brush Max's hair with my free hand, needing the physical touch to calm my nerves.

"I love my family." Max grins and squeezes us tighter.

"Me too, Max! I love my family too!" Johnny chimes in. The sensation of his stare makes my skin crawl, so I don't match his gaze. Instead, I wait patiently for the door to open and shut, thankful that the Cruz family patriarch has decided to go to work.

Left alone with the comfort of only each other, my son and I begin our nightly routine. Max's homework proves to be a far cry from what I was learning at his age as covering my hand in glue and waiting until it dried so I could peel it off was pretty much the extent of my kindergarten curriculum.

By six-thirty in the evening, I've successfully managed to assist Max without the help of the Internet's most popular search engines. When it's him and I like this, alone without the thick air of tension brought on by his father, everything feels right.

That feeling is short lived when the phone rings and as I read the screen of the caller ID, my shoulders slump in defeat. Resolving it best to get this over with, I lift the phone to my ear and speak.

"Hello.".

"Hi, Honey!".

"Hi, Ma." I do my best to sound less agitated than I feel, although even to my own ears it sounds forced and phony.

"Is everything okay, sweetie? I just got off the phone with Johnny, he told me to call you and make sure you were all right. Said you haven't seemed like yourself lately and thinks that maybe you can use a little help."

Son of a bitch! He always does this, uses his charm to get my parents on his side. What's more is that he knows my stance on keeping my life private from the people closest to me, especially my mom and dad, knowing I refuse to bring them into this mess and capitalizing on that refusal to paint himself as husband of the year.

"Yes Mom, everything is fine."

"Oh, sweetheart!" She brushes off my agitation. "For heaven's sake, don't get mad at him. He loves you, he's just worried that's all. You know honey, if you need any money your father and I can help you out." Her words, though never intentional, always seem to find a way to make me feel incapable.

"I don't need money, Mother. " I tell her through clenched teeth, my jaw so tight I'm not sure I'll be able to open my mouth again.

"Well your husband seems to think that maybe you've gotten a little over your head, he's just concerned dear, don't be mad at him, he wants to help."

With the heel of my palm, I smack my forehead a few times before replying to such a ludicrous comment.

"Mom..." I close my eyes, remind myself to stay calm and refrain from saying anything hurtful, ".... if my husband wanted to help, he would..."

Nope. Not gonna go there with her. Not now...not ever. Placing blame and pointing fingers is not an option.

My problems are nobody's but my own. I put myself in this situation, making me solely responsible for whatever unfolds. Never will you hear me talk about what happens behind closed doors. By all accounts, most of the people in my life truly believe I'm happy and in love. I have single-handedly projected the, I'm not really happy but you would never know it smile, forcing my emotions to never be visible from the outside. There is no way in hell I'm gonna begin now. Besides, what would that do anyway? Other than make me look like even more of an asshole for staying and putting up with it. Then there's the fact that Johnny has repeatedly reminded me that no one would believe me. And sadly, there are times I think he might be right. It's been several years after all, who's gonna believe me now?

This conversation with my mother needs to end before one of us, most likely her, gets upset. So, as always, it's best to just say what she wants to hear and be done with it. "Okay Mom, if I feel I'm getting over my head, you'll be the first person I call."

"See, that wasn't so bad, right? Your Dad and I love you honey, hopefully we'll get down there to see you soon!"

"I love you guys too, I'll call you tomorrow." My thumb frantically searches for the END button, pressing it repeatedly just to be on the safe side. I let the back of my head hit the wall and breathe heavily from my nose.

Truth is, I love my parents, very much in fact, and I know how much they love me. It would devastate them to know what I'm going through. All I've been going through. How could I do that to them? It would undeniably crush them both. Especially my mother.

After my older brother Christopher was killed, she's never been the same. Not knowing who killed him, only serves to twist the knife further into her heart. Telling her the details of my homelife would likely leave her catatonic. I can't do that to her, I love her too much.

My mother is a wonderful person. Kind, caring and lovable. The top three on a long list of commendable traits. But she can also be naive to the realities of the world at times, just like I was once. Except I've changed. Unlike myself, she chooses to believe the world is actually a good place, a belief I shared with her once long ago. I know better now. There are no better days ahead, there are just some days that suck less than others. She plays house in a fairytale castle, I play house in the devil's playground.

So, no, she doesn't know my world and I can't ever bring her here. For now, I will let both my parents sleep peacefully, believing my smile is real, my life is good, and that I have a husband who loves me.

I know it seems absurd, ridiculous even, letting the people closest to me believe he's a good man, hiding the truth, allowing him to keep up with this façade. But having people worry about me when they have their own lives to worry about is a burden I can't stand to bear. Like I said before, this is on me anyway.

Besides, I can't dwell on it right now. The world waits for no one, right? Well my five-year-old can give the world a run for its money in the impatient department because at least the world doesn't tug on my clothing when it's not getting the attention it craves. Then again...

"Okay, okay! I'm done." The dishes from dinner are finally washed and put away. I dry my hands on the dishtowel then drape it along the front of the sink. Turning around, I smile at my son. "Let's go kid! Time for a bath."

Max struggles with his shirt to get it over his head, I watch him untangle himself and chuckle. Eventually successful, the shirt goes flying, landing in the hamper in the corner of the bathroom.

"He shoots he scores!" Max pumps his fist in the air, pleased with the accuracy of his shot. A few seconds later, he abruptly ends his celebration. "Can I have bubbles mommy?"

The toothless grin points up at me and I don't think twice before leaning down to kiss his forehead, assuring him he can have the most amazing bubble bath imaginable.

The bath water rages as it pours into the old fashioned and recently refinished claw foot tub. "Head back." My voice stays smooth and gentle, never more relaxed than it is when I'm with my son. Rinsing the soapy suds from his recently shampooed hair, Max keeps his eyes closed tight. We're quiet but content for a while, both seeming to enjoy just the time spent in each other's company. So, when he asks me that dreaded question, I stumble on my words.

"Mommy? Where do babies come from?" My face flushes a little, my eyes open wide. Of course, I have no problem being honest and open with my son, but for the love of God, he's only five.

"Why do you want to know where babies come from, sweetie?" I feign a casual tone.

"Well..." He starts, "...I just want to know how I got here. Like, how did I get in your belly?" Curiosity illuminates his eyes as he patiently waits for me to give him his answer.

"Hmm..." My lips purse and my eyes wander, hoping the best way to answer him is plastered somewhere on the bathroom wall. No dice.

I always told myself that although my ideas on love are polluted, I'd never bad mouth that sensational feeling to my son. I want him to not only believe in love, but it's just as necessary for him to dream of happiness. Teaching him to love unconditionally is the only way I can effectively make sure he doesn't turn out to be anything like his father. So, with a deep breath, I begin to tell him how he came to be, in the most modest and honest way I know how.

"When Mommy was younger, I prayed every day I would find someone to love me, and then I met your Dad..." The eyes of my child are now wide and attentive as a sad smile plays across my lips. No matter my emotion, I continue to tell him how he made his way into this crazy world, this crazy life and how he completely took over my heart.

"Then one day my prayers were answered. And because your father and I loved each other very much, you started to grow in my belly." Not a total lie.

"So that's how we became a family?" Max asks.

I nod. A hint more of sorrow burning at my throat. "That's how we became a family."

Max finishes his bath, dries off and gets ready for bed. I tuck him in tight and we begin to read his favorite Dr. Seuss book. "I am Sam... Sam, I am..."

Less than halfway through, Max is asleep, giving me time to admire my baby as his long eyelashes rest softly against his slightly rosy cheeks while his chest rises and falls in a hypnotic rhythm. He looks so peaceful and as I continue to stare at this face of perfection, our conversation from the bathroom weighing heavily in my mind. I did pray for someone to love me. I wanted it more than anything. He did love me, at least I thought he did. In hindsight, Johnny probably knew all along what he expected of me. But I loved him, there was no doubt about that.

Looking back, I'm sure he was able to smell my insecurities from a mile away, painting me the prime target for his obsession with control and possessiveness. Even with the warning signals, I was so desperate to feel wanted that I submitted and settled into a life so far from anything I would've imagined as a young child. At the time, I would have given everything I had for Johnny. Hell, so far, I have given him everything. So much so, there's very little left of me.

The bed dips from my body weight as I snuggle next to Max, gently stroking his dark brown hair, inhaling the scent of bubble gum flavored soap that permeates his skin. My mind wanders off again, the way it always does as I continue the journey to figure out how I got here and whether or not I can ever get out.

Chapter Ten

It's Not Easy Being Green

Six years and nine months ago

Flush! I pushed the handle down on the toilet for the third time in less than an hour and watched as the little bit I had left in my stomach tunneled through the porcelain. I felt clammy, weak and tired. My God did I feel tired. But I had to go to work, the Cole family's reputation for good work ethic was not going to be tarnished on account of my churning insides.

As I brushed my teeth and glanced in the mirror, I noticed the greenish tint to my face. That can't be good. I thought to myself, rubbing some blush on my cheeks, trying to look a little less like the pioneer of the first ever Zombie Apocalypse. Several dabs of pressed powder and a blanket of cream-based foundation only seemed to emphasize my lifeless reflection in a way that would make my fellow zombies proud.

Giving into the fact that medical attention was a necessity, I grabbed my cell and called the doctor. Due to a recent flu outbreak, they were completely booked for the morning which meant Dr. Ingred couldn't see me until later that afternoon—if I made it that long. As it was, I couldn't recall ever having the flu before, but if it made you feel like you were slowly dying from the inside out, I was pretty sure I had it then.

Johnny's house was too quiet after the "incident," my body still convulsed with tremors from increased restlessness and it didn't seem to be stopping anytime in the near future. My nerves were completely shot. There was no way I could sit there much longer just thinking of what had transpired under that roof, just hours before. Barely finished brushing my teeth, there was nothing else to do but assume the position at the toilet bowl once more.

It's flu season. I thought to myself. I have the flu.

On the way to work, everything that happened the night before played over in my mind. The flashing of red and blue lights in front of the house, the aggressive rapping on Johnny's door, the way it felt to have my heart lodged in my throat.

I just couldn't shake it.

The thumping of my pulse pounded so hard, I couldn't tell the difference from the banging sound coming from down the stairs or from the increased pounding against my chest cavity and as my heart beat faster, the tempo of the knocks followed suit.

"Johnny?"

Frantically, I slapped Johnny's side of the bed to wake him up only to realize Johnny wasn't next to me, initiating the panic to sink deeper into my veins.

I sprung from the bed in search of him. Down the hallway, a beam of light shone from underneath the last door on the left.

With hurried knocks I banged and yelled, "Johnny!"

No answer.

Slamming the sides of both fists against the bathroom door repeatedly, the throbbing that ensued did nothing to stop my repetitive blows.

"Johnny please open the door, something's wrong!" My voice shook fiercely with the desperate mutter of each syllable.

It felt like hours, even though it was likely only seconds when the sound of running water permeated my ears. Odd as it was, relief cooled my skin. By then, the brutally rhythmic pounding on the front door stopped. The tension in my shoulders dissipated when I thought whoever was out there had finally given up. My heartbeat eventually slowed to a somewhat normal pace.

Just as my breathing settled, the door at the front flew open, practically taking off the frame of it and sending me to my knees with fear. Two uniformed police officers barreled through the broken slabs of wood, accompanied by two men and a woman, determination slathered all over their faces. The letters DEA were printed boldly on the front and back of their jackets, their special agent credentials hanging by a chain around their necks. With guns drawn and pointed in my direction, the herd of law enforcers moved forward.

"I need to see your hands!" A member of the pack yelled, storming his way toward me with a heavy-footed stomp.

Shaking and completely confused, I did as I was told as hot tears fell down my cheeks at lightning speed, giving my poor heart the workout of a lifetime.

"What is this about?" The question was barely audible as it left my lips.

"Ma'am." One of the uniformed officers turned to me as I managed to secure myself in a standing position with the support of the wall behind me. I didn't dare move while putting my hands above my head as instructed. As it was, the presence of such authority had instilled a fear so great in me, I was afraid to do so much as blink.

"We have a warrant to search the home." An agent approached, holding out a piece of paper and nudging it forward. The man who barely looked old enough to have graduated high school grunted a few times to indicate that the cursed document was mine for the taking and he was eager to pass it along.

My hand, seeming to understand the forward gesture better than my mind, loosely gripped the written words of imminent disaster without my brain recognizing the movements as my own. Briefly glancing down at the contents, I studied the warrant slowly. It was a useless attempt really, because my eyes were too blurred from tears to see it and my hands too shaky from fear to read it. The legal piece of paper equipped with words much larger than my mind could comprehend, fell from my grip in slow motion eventually making its way to the ground by my feet, never to be looked at again.

"Can you tell me where Juan Maxwell Cruz is, ma'am?" The nicer of the two uniformed police officers asked.

Unsure of what to say, or what to do, I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out other than a long string of low whimpers, followed by few dry squeaks, forcing me to swallow a couple of times just to muster up enough saliva to coat the scratchy patch of drought-stricken lining in my throat.

Just as I felt confident enough that I would speak in words rather than sounds, the bathroom door opened revealing a stoic looking Johnny who used the moment of pandemonium to say absolutely nothing. Unlike myself, the man I had quickly fell for looked cool as a cucumber as he strolled out of the bathroom, taking time to ignore the flock of law enforcers that had set up shop in his home. His strides bore a somewhat arrogant swagger. His nonchalance, the epitome of the phrase, "couldn't care less."

The officers didn't have to instruct him on what to do with his hands like they had with me. Nope. In fact, once finished with his show of ignorance, Johnny voluntarily raised his arms and placed them behind his head without speaking or making eye contact with anyone. Then, like this was a regular stroll in the park, he knelt to the ground and assumed the telltale position.

The woman in the DEA jacket stormed the bathroom. "It's gone!" She yelled into the hallway. "Bastard flushed it all."

"Shit! Well keep looking." The other agent bellowed. "There's no way he got rid of all of it!"

Flushed what? Got rid of what? What the hell is happening? Law and Order makes more sense than this.

Johnny's eyes gleamed in triumph. His grin; victorious. The whole process looked so natural for him, too natural even. Had this happened before? I got a sick feeling that this wasn't the first time he'd been in the hands of the law.

Then he mumbled something under his breath, words too quiet for me to hear from where my body stood shaking a few feet away. A sly and elusive sneer contorted his expression as his muffled words reached the agent's ears. Whatever was said was enough to have him face down onto the floor in the matter of seconds, and despite the uncomfortable position, the mischief in his eyes never dimmed, even with his face pushed firmly against the carpet in the hallway. He seemed to enjoy baiting these people and waiting for them to bite. Well, they bit all right and as they secured his wrists in a set of metal handcuffs it became clear that they've been chomping away at Johnny for a while.

"Third times a charm Johnny." The second agent grinned as he was joined by his partner, collectively picking my boyfriend up to his feet by the collar of his shirt. With a forceful push forward, they walked the man I thought I knew straight past me.

Still, Johnny said nothing, his focus pointed forward, void of expression, barely blinking, never once losing the insidious air that clouded around him. Something wasn't right, my eyes had to be playing tricks on me because the man I had come to know would never have behaved so brazenly, taunting the authoritative figures as if they couldn't completely ruin him. As my tears continued to fall in a heavy stream, I had no choice but to ask myself, Who is this man?

"Johnny?" Nothing.

"Johnny, what's going on?" The tone of my voice begged for him to answer.

He cocked his head slightly, briefly looking in my direction.

"Call Mathius." That was it, it was all he said before he turned away just as a gasp escaped my lungs and my hand flew up to my mouth to stifle the sound of my surprise. It was the look in his eyes that shocked me the most, so deadly I had to coax myself not to vomit from fear.

Outside, the lights in the driveway spun rapidly; red, blue, red, blue, red, blue. Headlights from the cruisers were bright and hit me head on as I stood on the front steps of Johnny's home. These spotlights formed a halo of sorts around my body, casting my shadow onto the splintered door behind me, making me look like the star of a highly raved about Broadway play. Only this was real. Very, very real.

It seemed like no time at all before the cruiser was pulling away with Johnny in it, leaving me to my own devices as the nicest of the officers approached and guided me back into the house.

"Can you answer a few questions for me?" He asked as he sat across from me at the kitchen table. I nodded because it was the only motion my body allowed. Confusion and fear were likely written all over my face and as empathy sat deep in the officer's eyes, I struggled to hold back tears.

"Can I have your full name please?" He flipped open a tiny spiral notebook and prepared to write.

"Uh yea...um my name is Charlotte Cole." I told him with a voice so strained it hurt to speak.

"Okay Charlotte, can I have your address and date of birth?

With a forceful swallow, I nodded once more, trying desperately to speak but again nothing came out.

Soon, the color of my skin paled drastically as moisture settled on my complexion, making me clammy to the touch. As I attempted to answer the officer with the kind eyes, a blurred tunnel drifted into the corners of my vision until everything swirled in psychedelic circles where all that once stood solid in state was nothing more than fluid waves.

The colors of the walls, the lighting in the kitchen, the steel sheen of the appliances, all of it stirred into one giant blob of nothingness. A strange sensation encompassed me. I could no longer hear what was going on around me. The face of the officer popped through the spinning bubble. He leaned forward, inches away from my nose and flashed a tiny light into my eyes.

Even though I knew he was speaking to me, his words were hollow, void of any sound. I squinted in an effort to comprehend what he was saying but dizziness consumed me. Then it was dark.

"Charlotte." The officer called my name

"Charlotte? Can you hear me?"

From where I sat, the blur of his frame suggested he was sitting right in front of me. Still though, he sounded miles away. My eyes continued to flutter open, but my vision remained fuzzy, nothing in my line of sight was recognizable.

A cold cloth was placed on the back of my neck and it felt delightful, even considering the circumstance. Surprisingly, the cooling sensation helped me to focus some as I zoned in on the letters B.E.N.T.L.E.Y. and was finally able to put a name to the face that was Officer KindEyes.

To sit up straight almost seemed impossible, yet I pushed to gather the strength needed to appear like I had myself together just as Officer Bentley handed me a glass of water. Though his eyes were still warm, genuine even, I knew he was ready to get down to business.

He reminded me a bit of my own father in that way; never taking his eyes off the target, always looking to dot every I and cross every T, making sure to get as much information as humanly possible from every one of life's conquests.

Just the thought of my father sent me into another bout of panic. What would he think? What would he say? The questions seemed to outweigh the importance of what was going on around me.

Small sips of water coated the dearth on my tongue and my dehydrated body rejoiced. Taking a few more seconds to compose myself, I did my best to apologize for my recent trip to Unconsciousville, then dipped my head toward Officer Bentley to indicate that I was ready to continue.

"Ms. Cole?" The soft tone of his voice was comforting even as I was fully knowledgeable that he had a job to do that left Johnny stamping out license plates in the prison yard. "It wasn't my intention to make you feel ill, but I think I need to clarify what's going on here."

FINALLY! The voice in my head erupted.

"Charlotte." He brought his eyes down to meet mine, "Juan Maxwell Cruz is a very dangerous man, some may say the worst kind of dangerous and the people he associates with are no better. Mr. Cruz has been arrested for several serious offenses. There's a new drug that's been involved in over ten overdoses in just a few months. We have reason to believe Mr. Cruz is not only behind the sales but that he also had a hand in backing its production financially. Furthermore, there was an incident that occurred several nights ago, seemed to be some sort of turf war gone bad. The bullet that hit the victim was traced back to one of Johnny's colleagues, who just so happened to go missing hours before we went to pick him up. Charlotte, this man has been able to dodge the bullets of the legal system before, but this time a bullet proof vest the size of Texas likely won't save him."

"Third times a charm, Johnny," The earlier words of Agent Number One, as I had dubbed him, rang in my mind. I shook my head. No, it's not possible. No way! I almost laughed out loud. They went to the wrong house, they had to have, there was no way he was talking about MY Johnny.

"That can't be true!" I stood up and shook my head once more. "Drugs? Guns? Missing people? What the hell are you talking about? You guys are crazy! No way! That's impossible! I have spent almost every free minute of my time with this man for several months now. I can assure you Johnny is no drug dealer or violent criminal and not to insult his intelligence, but he doesn't possess the skills to develop some type of potent homeless-consuming, killing drug. I'm sorry you wasted your time and my tax dollars, but I believe you've gotten the wrong man. I think it's time for you guys to go"

My rant was finished just as the DEA agent walked into the kitchen. The woman agent, with an attitude like nothing I had ever seen, whispered, "we're good" into Officer Bentley's ear. He nodded briefly in understanding, then slipped his tiny notebook back into his uniform pocket, his body hovering over me as he rose to his feet.

They were finally leaving, and I had no idea what to do next. Call Mathius! Oh Right. My subconscious fought to prioritize her list of duties.

"Officer Bentley?" I asked quietly, ignoring the rest of the agents crowding around the driveway.

He turned to acknowledge me, "What do I do now?" Strength only got you so far. So, while I wasn't weak minded by any means, I was clueless about this new world that seemed to be sucking me into this dreadful portal.

"I have never been in this position before. I'm scared and I don't know what to do. I can't call my parents because they will be so disappointed. I wouldn't dare call my girlfriends, they'll just find it amusing. You know? Something to gossip about on their next dinner date. I feel so lost."

He looked down at me once again with sympathetic eyes, eyes like my father, so expressive that they told me he probably had a daughter my age and was likely thanking God that she wasn't me.

Tears dripped one by one down my face, some hitting the skin of my chest, most dropping directly to the pavement. Tiny splatters of my emotions stained the ground at my feet as I stared innocently into the officer's face, silently begging him to show me a way out of this mess.

He was much taller, so he had to bend his knees a bit to be able to look at me directly when he spoke next, "Charlotte, you wanna know what to do?" He asked with a voice so soft and endearing.

YES! Please I'll do anything. I nodded eagerly.

"Stay away from Johnny Cruz."

Except that.

He turned and walked away just as the radio clipped to his shoulder began to speak. I watched as he responded briefly in some sort of code to the dispatcher on the other end, opening the door to the cruiser and stopping before seating himself entirely. I had just turned to enter the house, the wheels in my head revolving in a way that made me feel psychotic as I contemplated my next move.

"Charlotte?"

I looked over my shoulder, my glazed over expression a testament to feelings of defeat.

"Do me a favor, all right? Get some rest, you're going to need it." He dipped his head and gave me a reticent smile while his eyes told me he knew very well that leaving Johnny would likely never happen.

Each step was slow and defeated as I walked through the broken door and stepped back over the threshold of Johnny's house. It was eerily quiet, sending waves of chills up and down my spine.

Crickets chirped frantically in the night as the wind blew gust after gust of foreboding air. The power of its forceful whirl caused the tree branches to sway aggressively from left to right, blowing angrily through the cracked panels of the front door.

"Mathius," Johnny's voice plagued my brain, sounding so real, so close, and so demanding that I had to look around the room, expecting him to pop out of nowhere. He wasn't there though, as I was very much alone.

Still, the pungent tone of his imaginary words had me immediately obeying the dreamt-up commands as I fumbled with my phone. The thumb of my right hand shook so rapidly that I had to redial the number three times before I finally got it right.

On the second ring, a deep tenor of a voice answered; "This is Mathius."

"Um...uh Mathius? My name is Charlotte Cole, I'm a friend of Johnny's."

"Yea, I know who you are, is there something I can do for you?"

There was a little less sleep in his voice then, replaced with a little more annoyance and a few drops of irritation. I had never met Mathius VanStamp before. What I did know was that he had been a lifelong friend of Johnny's and his business card told me he was a lawyer, but that was about it.

For the most part, Johnny didn't talk to me much about his personal life, claiming to be an introvert in that regard. So, out of respect for his quest for privacy, I never pushed for further information, figuring he would tell me more on his own terms.

"Johnny was arrested...." The words barely left my lips before Mathius interrupted.

"I'll take care of it. He should be home by lunchtime tomorrow."

The line went dead and just like that he was done talking. The phone stayed in my hand a minute longer as I stared at it in peculiar amazement, confused about the oddity of the brief call. "Huh," I said out loud.

There was no point in trying to make sense of it all, not when I needed to rest, reboot, get my thoughts in order, jazzercise—anything to take my mind off what had just occurred.

The smell of Johnny's cologne and deodorant became stronger and more potent with each step up the stairs, continuing on as I turned the corner and made my way to his room. Even with all its furniture and lavish décor, the bedroom seemed empty, nothing more than a staged scene on a showroom floor. There was no life to be found among all the nice, really expensive possessions that sat before me, teasing my mind just enough to almost make me believe Johnny was still home.

"Juan Maxwell Cruz is a dangerous man, the most dangerous type." They were Officer's Bentleys words, only this time they were said with my voice as each intonation of his statement echoed off the walls of the otherwise lifeless room.

"Can this really be true?" My mind started racing, instinctively looking for an answer to the biggest question of my life thus far—"WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?"

Telling myself this wasn't happening, resulted in nothing more than proving the exact opposite. This WAS happening and reluctantly or not, my loyalties lied with Johnny, at least until I had some answers. I inhaled a sharp breath, "I fell in love with a criminal."

The thrum of agony, despair, confusion, all of it, wailed into the silent and empty home, departing from my lungs like thunder, it rendered me winded, exhausted. I needed to talk to him and get answers. I felt so hopeless, helpless and alone.

Once in bed and under the covers, I created a makeshift body out of pillows as if Johnny was still there with me. With my own body still shaking and my head still dizzy, I closed my eyes to stop the room from spinning.

Whispering, "I love you" into the air as if my words would magically float to him, was my only solace in the madness that had unfolded. I had never said those words to Johnny before, but I wished that I would have.

Logic beckoned in the background of my mind. Leave. Go Home. Drop the entire ordeal in the dust. Move on. Yet, I couldn't follow through, my heart wouldn't let me.

By the end of the night, I was solidified in my decision to wait this out. My moral compass cracked a few times, but that stupid heart of mine pulled rank and won. That meant I wasn't going anywhere, at least not right away. With nothing left to do, I curled up in a ball and hugged the blankets tight, took one deep breath in and held it in my lungs, then sobbed uncontrollably into the pillow as I exhaled, crying until I no longer had tears left to fall.

The next thing I knew, I was there in my car heading to work. Physically sick and emotionally exhausted. To make matters worse, my afternoon appointment with Dr. Ingred seemed like light years away.

Carla caught sight of my involuntary Kermit the frog impression and requested I leave and not come back until whatever was in my system was gone. No one seemed much interested in standing to close to me that day and while I understood why, it still stung a little. One thing was sure, it really wasn't easy being green.

To make matters worse, I still hadn't heard from Johnny and it was killing me as there was only so much thumb twiddling, lip biting, and silent praying one person could do. It seemed impossible to busy my mind. Seconds felt like minutes. Minutes felt like hours. Time fell into a painful stillness as I waited for him to reach out for me while I twiddled, bit, and prayed until my appointment with the doctor, relieved to have something to keep myself occupied.

When I opened the door to the waiting room, the potent odor of alcohol-based hand sanitizer was so strong, I wondered quickly if they required you to bathe in it before entering.

The pastel watercolor paintings, trimmed in shiny gold-plated frames, reminded me of retirement in Florida. Cheap and noticeably crooked, they set the tone for what was obviously going to be an uncomfortable appointment.

The chairs that lined the perimeter of the walls were a faded blue fabric, they were thoroughly sat in and less thoroughly cleaned. The water cooler in the corner gulped dramatically each time the door closed, sending a massive bubble straight up the middle and shaking the base slightly.

"Charlotte Cole," I stated, checking myself in with a receptionist whose 1990's attempt at the Rachel needed a couple more decades to master.

She hurriedly signed me in, then used her uncapped blue inked pen held between her long gangly fingers to point to the sea of green faces behind me, signifying I should take a seat. Smiling to myself, I picked up an outdated magazine and situated my weak body in a chair toward the back.

After completely disagreeing with most of the advice from the "How to..." section, I settled in on the most scholastic and life changing article I had ever come across in my short time on earth. "What does your pubic hair say about you?" I mean, how I had made it that far in life without such insightful information was beyond me.

The door on the right creaked and a red headed woman popped her head through the entryway with an enthusiasm of a Game Show Host that was about to give away a Winnebago. "Ms. Cole?" She reminded me of a dog's chew toy. Obnoxious. Annoying. Irritatingly chipper considering I had minutes to live.

Dressed in nursing scrubs that were covered in images of kittens, she smiled in my direction, signaling it was my turn. No longer interested in the ridiculous content of the magazine, I threw it onto the nearest end table and followed the feline obsessed woman down the hallway.

Squeaks, as I decided to call her, asked a variety of questions, then touched a variety of my private places before wrapping up the almost too thorough exam with instructions to head to the bathroom for a routine urine sample. I begrudgingly obliged.

Successful at having completed "Operation Urination," I sat back onto the exam room table, letting my feet swing back and forth off the edge. The paper crumbled obnoxiously beneath me as I tried to get myself comfortable in a position that wouldn't induce vomiting.

Minutes passed, as I knew they would. My eyes became heavy. Just as I started to doze off, the vibration from the phone in my back pocket jolted me upright. The number came across the screen as "restricted."

"Hello?" A recording echoed in response to my greeting. Exasperated and exhausted from the night before, I had no patience for soliciting phone calls.

At the tail end of the recording, hearing what sounded like the word, "inmate" coming through the line just before my finger hovered over the end button, my heart catapulted up my throat. I accepted the call and answered yes to a couple of automated questions. Seconds later, the voice I'd been dying to hear came through the line and stole my breath.

"Charlie?" There it was, the sound of my name from his mouth, a euphoric symphony to my ears.

"J-Johnny? Johnny, are you okay?" The tears came without permission as I struggled to speak clearly.

"Yea, I'm fine" His words were confident, no signs of distress or worry. Short and to the point.

I had so many questions running through my head I didn't know where to start.

"Johnny? Is it true? What they told me? How much trouble are you in?"

Silence lingered on the line for what felt like forever. Thinking that he hadn't heard me, I attempted to pry further, throwing out more questions and receiving just as much quiet in return. The interrogation wavered and I let the uncomfortable stillness sabotage my already nauseated insides.

Once he concluded that I had nothing more to ask, Johnny finally spoke up.

"Listen to me Charlie, everything is going to be fine. I'll talk to you about it when I get home. Just promise me you'll do what I ask when I get there, all right? You need to stay calm." I said nothing. One more time I was unable to muster up words.

"Charlie? I'm gonna need you in my corner now. You can do that for me, right? Be there for me no matter what?"

"I guess?" Uncertainty hung heavily in my response. To be honest, I wasn't sure about anything.

"That's my girl, I knew I chose you for a reason. Remember, don't mention anything to anyone, okay? Mathius will straighten it all out soon. I love you."

My heart slammed into my chest right then, like two eighteen wheelers in a head on collision. "I lov..."

The call disconnected. It was the first time he'd ever said those three words to me, and my heart fluttered as I replayed the proclamation while my brain kicked into overdrive and told me to run.

Those two essential organs never seemed to agree when it came to Johnny.

It didn't matter anyway, he admittedly picked me and at the time, my convoluted mind thought that meant something good. Out of all the women and the Aliza's of the world, he chose me, to top it off, he said he loved me.

Despite the circumstances, my heart melted. I needed to find it within myself to be strong, regardless of the cautionary tale my life was starting to become. This man needed me then and I couldn't let him down.

In an instant, I had become THAT woman. The ride or die type, the stand by your man type.

The incredibly stupid, ridiculously naive, unbelievably gullible and ferociously desperate type! My inner voice did her best to hand over her two cents, but I threw the pair of worthless pennies into her face, pegging her directly in between her nosy little eyes.

The tears had subsided then. Sadness was replaced with a mad rush of adrenaline left to dominate my body. I was a soldier going to battle in the War on Love, and I was going to do whatever necessary to save my man, all because he said he loved me.

Just when I thought things couldn't get more complicated, the doctor walked in the exam room. If the three words Johnny had just said to me knocked me off my feet, nothing could've prepared me for the two words that would undoubtedly change my life forever.

Dr. Ingred made her way over to me with barely a hello. She flipped open my chart, looked me in the eye and said...

"You're pregnant."

Chapter Eleven

The Other Women

Awaken by panic and a very unwelcome sheen of cold sweat, I look to my right and see Max sleeping peacefully. The image calms me some and I shake my head to rid the pictures of the past. It's to no avail.

Sadly, that's how it all began. My desperation to find love and be loved clouded my vision and brought me here to this very moment. If I knew then, what I know now, I would've run and never looked back. But love, as it pertains to romance, does funny things to your mind sometimes. It can truly make the smartest people stupid.

I've seen it.

I am it.

Love, and everything it encompasses, has the potential to turn good people bad and bad people good. It's a powerful son of a bitch and a feeling I won't ever allow into my body again.

We wear masks when we first fall in love, hiding our faults and indiscretions, always making a conscious effort to put our best foot forward. It's as if we need to prove our worthiness, show the objects of our affections that we have what it takes as we allow the mask of new love to cover up our personal imperfections as well as the skeletons that lie deep within our closets.

The newly in love wear the thickest blinders just to block any signs that may require caution because doing so allows them to ignore the cyphers of warning, disregard the viable signs of disaster. Those warning signals are meant to tell us that the one we have fallen for and the relationship we are seeking, could be just the thing to potentially end us. Once you fall, the person you once were, the heart you once carried, will never be the same.

Only those enraptured with the idea of, "happily ever after" allow their hearts to convince their brains, that everything they do for love, is done for the right reasons. We, the newly in love, convince ourselves that love, is the only thing that matters, that love, in its rarest form, truly does conquer all.

That is of course until it no longer does.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, allowing me to focus on Max as he lay dreaming in the shadows of his room, the silver moonlight highlights the cherubic curves of his face, detailing the softness of his skin and the overall innocence of his existence. It's hard to believe he is the aftermath of such a hectic and chaotic ordeal. Then again, these past several years have proven to be anything but normal. My husband is a lying, cheating, abusive bastard, but before all that, he was just a criminal.

It really is kinda funny when you think of it, the way you can convince yourself of anything when you love someone. I did. I put those exact blinders on for the sake of love. Gave up everything I've ever believed in and most of who I was for its namesake. But where did it get me?

I believed Johnny when he told me his trouble with the law was a mistake, when he told me he needed me to fix it, that he'd been set up by a corrupt law enforcement that pegged him as guilty simply for the fact that his estranged father lived and breathed all things criminal. An assumption in which, according to Johnny himself, made him an immediate scapegoat for every nefarious problem that sprouted up within the city limits. He said my loyalty would guarantee we'd be together. That my devotion meant that he'd get to love me the way a girl like me deserved to be loved, promising all along that he'd never forget the risks I took to save him.

I believed him.

Or, I made myself believe him.

Truth of the matter is, I may have been naive back then, but I wasn't stupid in the intellectual sense. I was stupid in love though, which happened to be enough to push the discrepancies to the side and focus on the future, never chancing a look at the malfunctions of the past, convincing myself that with Johnny's love, everything would work itself out.

After all, it's not about the past, right? Isn't it the future that matters? Don't we need obstacles to appreciate the cleared passages? To bask in the glory of togetherness? To thrive off the victory that stems from efficaciously attacking hardships?

With love waiting eagerly at the finish line; we push ourselves further, pump our arms faster. We ignore the burn in our lungs, the aches in our limbs. We trip over our tired feet, and fall over the brink of promised pleasure, right into the welcoming support of the one thing that will hurt us most, because it will always be enough. It will fix the deepest cracks of life and hide the darkest secrets. Love will be the savior. It will be all you ever need...

Yea, keep telling yourself that.

Listen to me when I tell you, the past sets more precedence for what the future holds than you may think. Don't believe me? Consider my soulless eyes... you'll see what I mean. None of that really matters now, I'm really the one with the lifetime sentence anyway.

Johnny's record has been wiped clean recently. Suspicious, but not surprising as it doesn't take a genius to know something fishy was and is still lurking within the judicial system. Officer Bentley's words come to mind, he was right to warn me. No one dodged that many bullets and lived to tell about it.

No one except Johnny.

And here we are today, Juan Maxwell Cruz is a productive member of society and I am his subservient wife, because that's what love did to me.

Standing in the doorway, still gazing at my creation, it's time to give myself my regular pep talk.

What I'm doing is worth it. I stay for my son. I'm doing this for Max.

With soft padded steps, I walk down the stairs, parting with the one thing that anchors me to life, the motivation that keeps me driving forward, the reason to continue, and I leave him there, dreaming peacefully in his bed.

After making the rounds in my home; checking the locks, straightening out the pillows on the sofa, folding the clothes that have been sitting in the basket since morning and setting up Johnny's coffee pot for sunrise, I'm left with nothing to do but listen to the eerie silence that is so thick with lies and truths and all the horrid reminders of what it is to live that I feel suffocated.

You'd think I'd get used to the quiet, find comfort in the peace but I don't. Leaving me alone with only my thoughts is never a good thing. Thinking is exhausting but overthinking is damn near debilitating.

Achy and sore, with a mind no clearer now than it was before, I practically drag my body to the bedroom. My tired muscles protest when I change into my nightdress. Normally, I'd never dream of leaving my recently removed clothing on the floor but right now I'm too tired to care.

I crawl onto the bed, it's cold in a way that freezes the marrow in my bones, in a way that tells me there's no one waiting between the sheets to keep me warm. It's a kind of cold that reminds me that there's no quiet breaths of slumber from my counterpart, no warm body to protect me and no arm around me to ensure my safety.

I'm alone.

Lonely more like it. A feeling one never quite comes to terms with.

Sure, we love our alone time, need it really, but not like this. Being alone and lonely are often on two very opposite sides of an enormously depressing spectrum and neither offer up much in the way of happy endings.

The curl of my legs into my stomach does provide some comfort though, as does the weight of the blankets surrounding my body.

Ritualistically, a quiet prayer to God spills from my frowning lips. They tremble a bit but I'll never cry, my tears have disappeared long ago. Instead, I beg the man above to give me strength, to show me the way. I pray for Max, that he will grow into being every bit of the man his father is not. I pray for my family and my friends. I even pray for Johnny, hoping by some miracle, he will see the error of his ways. My eyelids become heavy, eventually sleep wins the battle and I dream of a future where I can smile freely and a past that is so far behind me, I couldn't remember it if I tried.

Some hours later, I'm awaken by the sound of the birds harmoniously chirping outside the window, letting me know that the crickets have gone to bed and that a new day has now begun. For most, the exuberant sounds of morning are pleasant, representing a chance to start anew but for me they are no more than a cautionary signal of the uncertainty that lies ahead.

For me, the echoes of life and the hums of activity mean that Johnny will be home from "work" soon and that is never something to get excited about.

The clock on the wall reads 6:05am.

Any second now...

The front door opens and closes.

Right on time.

My stomach turns, I fight the sick feeling his presence gives me and pretend to be asleep. When he walks into the bedroom and turns on the light, without regard for me or my rest, I tremble with a distaste so strong it makes me nauseous. Picking up the clothes I left on the floor, the items I was too tired to dispose of properly, he chucks them at my latent body with purposeful force, grunting out his disgust for messes, rambling on about my lack of impeccable tidiness.

When he finishes whipping each item in my direction, he makes his way to his bureau with about as much stealth as a clown in a nunnery. At the chest of drawers, he delves through his shit like a raccoon to a garbage can, causing my heart to beat faster as the seconds pass, anxious to create distance between us. He grabs some clothes out of the drawer and after what feel like hours although has only been minutes, he finally walks away.

An invisible plume of infidelity sits heavily within the air as he makes his departure from our bedroom. The trail of women's perfume and freshly penetrated vagina follow him like a crop dust into the bathroom and in seconds, he'll turn on the shower and wash away the aftermath of his affairs.

And the award for husband of the year goes to.... drum-roll please....

A small sniff into the adulterated air and I recognize the scent—Jennifer.

To clarify, I don't know the names of the women, those I've just generated in my head. But I do know the fragrant notes of their bodies, the intimate aroma of their insides. I can smell the depths of their anatomy and recognize what makes each one slightly different from the next.

It's a despicable talent, I know, but if my senses have served me correctly, there are currently two of them, both in the running to get something more from Johnny, something that he doesn't have the ability to give them. Some people are born without sight. Johnny was born without a heart. These women want his love and he doesn't possess the one organ necessary to give it to them.

Jennifer; her perfume is expensive and the scent of her pussy is not so overbearing that I need to light extra scented candles to rid my home of the smell, as I am comforted by the fact that the aroma of her sex organ resembles nothing that can be found schlepping along the bottom of the ocean floor.

Likely, she spends more time on her knees than anything. It is after all Johnny's favorite pastime. Poor thing really, reciprocated pleasure could never be found in Johnny's wheelhouse.

Through the years, I have even come to prefer "Jennifer," as I am convinced, she is at the very least clean and spends time taking care of herself. I am not sure she knows he's married although that wouldn't really matter these days. Sadly, I've learned some time ago that women can be just as sexually ravenous as men, some even preying only on the kept man for no other reason than the thrill that comes from wrecking the livelihoods of others. It's a dreadful ploy really but trust me these women exist. Either way, it's surely not an issue for Johnny, I mean, he lies so effortlessly, it's likely she doesn't know of our nuptials.

To her, he's probably a single businessman—a philanthropist, caring more about the outside world than his own. He surely feeds her lines about his ties to the community and charitable donations in honor of his dead wife.

Yes, you've heard me correctly. I'm sure in this story he's killed me off. Nothing gets the juices flowing more than a widower and his willingness to put the needs of the less fortunate above his own.

At the end of the day, the idea of poor unsuspecting Jenny doesn't bother me as much as the knowledge of Gypsy's malicious existence does. The mere thought of Jennifer's competitor has an eruption of bile raging up to my esophagus. Sour and acidic, it nestles into the pockets of my throat, forcing me to keep my nausea at bay. It's disgusting really and so is she.

Where Jennifer has a scent, Gypsy has a stench. She's also been around the longest. A stripper or some type of paid for sex whore, amongst her list of accomplished credentials. To be blunt, she smells like it too—cheap, trashy. Her body reeks of sweat and stripper perfume, the kind with specks of glitter floating aimlessly inside a flimsy plastic bottle. Used and experienced. Money hungry and desperate. It's fair to say, I don't like Gypsy. It's even fairer to say, I hate her.

The odor of her stretched open women parts lingers for hours, even after he washes her off. It's so bad that sometimes I need to leave the windows open just to rid my home of the smell of her rotting innards. Believe me, they don't get much worse than Gypsy, of this I am certain.

Unlike Jennifer, Gypsy knows Johnny's married. I'm just as sure she doesn't care in the slightest.

After each one of their trysts, her acrylic press on fingernails leave purposeful scratches on his back, sometimes even open gouges, literal bloody flesh wounds. This woman, although I use that term loosely, has no reservations about drawing blood as there's a high chance she may drink it regularly in order to sustain life. She has one job in life; to wiggle her over smacked ass up and down a pole for pennies. But if you happen to have a nickel, you might get her on her knees.

She is pure evil, her soul sold to the devil at birth.

Lipstick marks on his collar are left to taunt me, along with the ones on his dick that stain his skin to claim ownership. It's a personal tag of hers, a message to me.

Dry heaving, my reaction to the image of her smirking as she sits on him, riding him, knowing I'm at home alone—lonely—left with the aftermath of his unpredictable temperament and the phantom pressure around my neck from his uncontrollable rage.

And now ladies and gentlemen ...the award for idiot of the year goes to...

Truthfully, there's no need for the drumroll, it really doesn't take a genius to know that I win the title hands down, unanimously even. Of course I'm embarrassed and ashamed to know this much and still be lying in this bed, sharing this home. But I no longer have the energy to hope for something different, something normal, something less sadistic.

God, if anyone ever knew? The thought alone pains me enough to make me wish for finality, for an end to the unbearable strife. More than I care to admit, there are days when I think to myself, "If I died tonight, I would be okay with it." Then of course I think of Max and how I could never leave him to live this life without my protection.

The image of what would become of him in the event his father raises him is horrifying, the worst of any one of my horrendous nightmares to date. If I were to leave my son, he'd be no more than a drug dealer's mule, a punk with a long juvie record. His eyes would lose that twinkle, he'd forget his manners, to say his prayers, to respect his elders. More importantly, he would forget about me. I would be replaced with one Gypsy after another as my pictures end up at the bottom of a plastic bin in the basement.

Wait, did I say basement? Ha! Who am I kidding? They'd be set ablaze in a fire pit at the back of the yard. The memory of who I am, wiped clean from my child's mind, my existence erased from his heart forever.

This is for him. I tell myself once more. I'm doing this all for Max. He loves his dad. I can't take his family away from him.

I know what you're thinking, you're tired of hearing it too, but it must be this way, right? At least until he's old enough to understand. What if he blamed me for taking him from his father?

After yet another pep talk, the second one of the day, I conclude that even to my own ears, this all sounds very much like a cowardly attempt to justify myself.

Something's happened since I met Johnny, it's changed me completely. Altered who I am and how I think.

Independent thinking? What's that?

Logic and reasoning? A long-lost concept.

Sensibility and ingenuity? Total strangers.

I hate him, yet I'm drawn to him. I despise what he stands for, but I crave his acceptance. It's an unbelievable struggle. An insurmountable fight within. And it's killing me. Slowly. Steady. I'm nonexistent.

The love I imagined is dead, just as the soul I carry and when the sound of water hitting the shower stall comes to a halt, my eyes stay closed while my body fights the urge to shake from terror. If I'm lucky, he'll go right to his "man cave," stick a hand down his pants and call it a day. We won't have to see or talk to each other at all and I'd consider today to be one of the good ones. But luck is a stranger to me, and the bedroom door opens once more to prove it.

Through squinted eyes, I watch him as he stands in the doorway, an intimidating apparition, a shadow of doom. He doesn't move at first. Instead he just stares at me, burning a hole through my body with his glare. It doesn't take much longer before he's on the move, forcing me to mentally prepare myself for what will happen next.

The sound of his footsteps become louder as he approaches as if he knows I'm not really asleep. As he leans over my body, blanketing me with the hellish heat that steams from his pores, with a tone to his voice that is drenched in malice, he promises unpleasant things to come.

"You're not fooling anyone." Johnny's hand snakes around my throat in a way it has so many times before. I know what's coming now and pray that I'll hear Max's feet tapping down the stairs as the gloriously innocent echo of childlike footsteps is the only way Johnny will stop his assault. The only way to save me from what will happen next. I listen closely.

Silence.

Max is still sleeping.

Turning to Johnny, fearless and bold on the outside, pushing away the trepidation housed in my core, I decide not to let him take all of me. I decide that this time, I cannot allow him to win.

"Didn't your dick have enough excitement last night?"

An evil grin stamps itself across his face. "Yea baby, but no one does it quite like you."

In one swift motion, he pulls up my nightdress, yanking my panties to the side while the material bites into my hipbone as I do my best to block out the minor discomfort and prepare for the inevitable invasion.

With one quick and forceful thrust, he pushes himself inside, stretching me open, causing me to stifle a scream. There's no pleasure, there never is. Just pain, and the constant reminder that I am not the proprietor of my destiny, no longer the writer of my own story—Johnny is my author and has been since the day we met.

Motionless, entirely absent of desire, need, or want, he attacks my most intimate areas with a level of aggression that screams of reciprocated hatred and despise. I have no choice but to accept my fate as the weight of his body pins me down to the mattress in a way that restricts any form of movement. Over the years, he has adapted to my insubordination, deliberately leaving me little room to fight against the invasion.

Close your eyes, just breathe. I bring my mind to another place, far away from my personal hell.

Flowers, beaches, palm trees

Summer nights, lazy days, cool breeze

Weightless, freedom, peace

My eyes open, glazed over and empty.

My soul dead, my body used.

"One...two...three." I count the seconds aloud on a featherlike whisper. It'll be over soon. And it is...It always is.

Fast and rough is Johnny's style, proving so when he removes his hand from my neck and smacks my backside as he pulls from my center, his dick barely wet from my lack of arousal. Next, he drizzles the remainder of his seed onto the back of my legs, giving me a painful slap just before he rubs the hot sticky liquid into my skin, marking me in the name of depravity, branding me for the sake of control. Then, like all times before, he smiles at his conquest, proud that he's killed off another part of me while bathing in the triumph that was further demolishing my spirit.

Johnny walks out of the room, leaving me slightly sore and completely blank of emotion. I force myself not to overthink. After all, what just happened, is what always happens.

As I pull down my nightdress, the cotton material sticks to the back of my legs from the unwanted moisture, so I sit upright, careful not to let the drying ejaculate touch the bed below me. The smell of my husband's recently showered body coupled with the pure immorality that seeps slowly from his being is now embedded in my skin. There's no choice but to rush to the bathroom and frantically begin to wash it all away.

I'm an educated woman, yet here I am. Call it Stockholm syndrome, Battered Woman syndrome, pure fucking stupidity, it's likely a combination of the three. Either way you look at it, what has happened with Johnny was horrific, yea, but in my world, it's also completely normal. Sadly, it's the only time I'm touched by a man. What's more, he's the only man that's ever touched me and that thought makes it difficult to breathe. For me, Johnny was my first in many things. He was the first to have my heart, the first to have body and the first to make me wish I was dead.

Making a point to turn the lever in the shower all the way to the right, I allow the hottest temperature to sanitize my body and let the spray hit my back until the heat of the water stings so badly blisters threaten to mar my skin in the most splendidly cleansing way. The way it stands, the angry welts are the only sign that there's nothing left of Johnny on my body and that revelation pleases me in a fashion that is so sick in the head it hurts to breathe. Hurriedly, I rinse away the soap along with the rest of the depravity that lingers in the air, knowing that I don't have long. As it is, the water is already losing its warmth and the recent rendezvous with my husband, although quick, has put me back a few minutes.

Closing my eyes, I let the remaining drops of warm water soothe my aching heart before breathing deep and exhaling hard.

Just another day in paradise.

Right on cue; the water turns cold.

Chapter Twelve

What it Means to Forget...

"Mommy, I really gotta go potty." Muffled slightly by the sound of streaming water, I barely register the sound of small fists tapping gently against the outside of the door. The familiar creaking noise leaves the lever of the shower as I pull it back to shut it off, speaking through rivulets of liquid that fall from my hairline.

"Okay, baby." Drying myself with a towel, I grab my robe to cover myself as the door opens and Max zooms past like his pants are on fire. His messy bed hair, his wrinkled pajamas and sleepy eyes have me smiling in a way that only feels natural in his presence. When you gotta go you gotta go.

Leaving him to handle his business, I quickly make work of the towel through my own hair then head toward to the master bedroom, stopping all movement when the diminutive sounds of footsteps can be heard trailing close behind. Wondering briefly what has caused this impromptu game of follow the leader, I glance over my shoulder. All remnants of my smile fade as panic hits me like a hypothetical kick to the gut. Before the words come out of his mouth, the disappointment that weighs heavily on his tiny shoulders, registers in my bones. If that weren't bad enough, the sorrow in his eyes almost destroys me on the spot.

"Mommy, I think the Tooth Fairy forgot about me."

The little bit of hope I held on to that he was going to say something else disintegrates into the air. Last night, so caught up in my thoughts, I never bothered to slip a dollar under his pillow.

Selfish. Useless. All the words Johnny has used to describe me for so long come rushing to the forefront of my mind.

"What is happening to me?" I whisper out loud. Shattered, I can literally feel the control I've had over my life thus far, slipping rapidly through my hands.

Johnny pops out of his lair then, standing absurdly still with his chest puffed out and his hands on his waist, doing the best he can to channel his inner Superman and failing miserably. The urge to roll my eyes is difficult to fight off as I can think of a lot of words to describe this man and super is not one of them.

"Max, what's this I hear about the Tooth Fairy? You think someone could ever forget about you?" He huffs contemptuously all while eyeing me knowingly. "Only an idiot would forget about someone so special."

Once more, his gaze singes through layers of my skin while he calls out my blunder, telling me he knows I've messed up. Inadvertently, I've added fuel to the fire and it's certain that I will soon feel the wrath.

"The Tooth Fairy did forget, Daddy." Max says in his father's direction. "I checked everywhere. Under my pillow, in the blanket, under the bed. There's nothing." Max hangs his head low, the weight of defeat clouding his normally jovial temperament.

Johnny walks closer to our son, reaches into the pocket in the front of Max's pajama shirt, lifts a single dollar from seemingly nowhere, then dangles it in his face. "I bet you didn't look here."

Max glows with excitement, yanking the bill from his father's hand then breezing past us both. "I'm gonna put this in my piggy bank!" He yells excitedly as enthusiastic footsteps hammer up the wooden stairs, unknowingly leaving me all alone with the devil himself.

Crouched down still, embarrassed and ashamed of my oversight, I can't bear to lift my gaze. What kind of mother forgets such an important milestone for a child? I hate myself for being such a scatterbrain lately. I'm losing control, not keeping it together as well as I used to. Is living like this starting to take a toll on me? No. I tell myself.

I assure my evermore broken ego that I'm much too strong for that, but she and I don't quite believe it.

Still looking down at the ground, the tips of Johnny's feet appear in my line of sight. Maybe, if I show my gratitude, he won't shove this little mishap in my face.

Resolute not to take the cowards' way out, I stand up to face him. It's hard but I look him in the eye and force myself to say two words I haven't spoken in his direction in years.

"Thank you." I pause before speaking again. "I'm sorry I forgot..."

The sincerity of my apology has nothing to do with my gratitude for Johnny swooping in to save the day. It's that, I actually am sorry for Max. For the fact that even for one second, he believed he wasn't deserving and because I am the one that made him think so.

Searing demonic breath lurches onto my cheek, scorching like the fire of a dragon into my face. Johnny moves his lips close to my ear, the light fuzz on my arms stands at attention. The hair of his perfectly primed beard pokes my skin as if hundreds of tiny poisonous needles are injected into my face.

"Like always, you're worthless. I knew you'd forget. Shitty mothers always forget." From the pocket of his pants he pulls out Max's baby tooth, tugs my head back by my hair then shoves the tooth into my mouth. His hand presses firmly over my nose and lips with his overly moisturized palm making sure that I can't breathe let alone spit it out.

"Swallow like a good girl." Johnny smirks as my eyes bulge from the lack of air. With no choice left, I gulp down my son's tooth and listen to my husband's evil laugh as I do it. When he pulls his hands from my face, I gasp and struggle to catch my breath. To drive his hatred toward me home, Johnny sucks his cheeks inward, making a scratching sound with his throat. Pooling a substantial amount of saliva onto his tongue, he spits what he was able to gather into my face, slathering me with disrespect, only to turn on his heels and walk away.

Here I am, standing in the hallway; defeated, abused, and truthful to his word—worthless. That lump in my throat is forming. This time it's physically painful, striking me so forceful, I may actually cry. Somehow able to tamper down my unsteady emotions, I wipe his spit from my face, convince myself to stand tall, then continue with my morning routine. It takes a great deal of effort to hold back the tears and begin to dress myself, but I do it anyway.

Max finishes his breakfast and brushes his teeth, fully readied for the day ahead. A constant ball of unbridled energy, my son races to the spare room, where his father is undoubtedly watching sports replays and scratching his balls.

He says good-bye to Johnny, and we head to the bus stop.

Leaning down to kiss the top of his head, the world rights itself when he tucks himself securely under my arm as we collectively brace the morning frost. Together as it's meant to be, we watch the bus pull onto the street from a distance and listen as the brakes make a shrill sound, hugging one more time before having to force myself to release him.

Like yesterday, I follow the red hat as it bops up the aisle in search of an empty seat. Situated, Max blows a kiss in my direction while the bus slowly pulls away. I catch his airborne smooch in my hand and hold it in a clenched fist over my heart. His mitten covered hand waves goodbye and I do the same as the image soon becomes a mere yellow glow before disappearing altogether. Hesitantly, I make my way back home, admiring nature, and wallowing in self-pity.

Snowcapped houses, and smoke pluming chimneys line the path back home, the intricate details creating a picturesque image of winter in New England although the walk back is not nearly long enough to admire it fully. Each step is weighted with guilt, sadness, and the thought that maybe Johnny is right—maybe I am insignificant.

Why would anyone else want me, really? I can't even take care of my own kid.

"Hey, kiddo." I turn my head to see Pete standing on the front steps of his house, sipping a cup of coffee as the combination of steam and cold air create a smoky cloud, thick and plush atop the mug. The fog swirls in front of him, rendering it almost impossible to see his face.

"Hi, Pete." I turn my head in his direction but don't make contact with his eyes.

"Come on in for a minute, you look like you need to eat."

"I'm not that hungry, but I'll take some tea if you have it."

My uncle nods, sweeps his arm in front of him then waves his hand toward the threshold of his home, gesturing that I should enter first. A tight smile slants across my lips, a measly attempt to show my gratitude even if the emotion never exactly journeys to my eyes, which by the way, surely look empty and lifeless.

Against my body's wishes to curl up into a ball and decompose somewhere, I force myself through the entrance, pleased to see that his house is clean for a change then take a seat at the kitchen table while Pete pours a soda into a glass. Once it's filled and the foam has subsided, he slides it across the table with just enough measured force that it stops directly in front of me. Impressive.

"Thought I shouldn't drink this shit?" I bring the liquid fizz to my mouth, anxious to sip the bubbly heaven, the combination of carbonation and caffeine, grounds me some.

"Well it looks like you can use a pick me up." He says with a raised brow. "Also, I know you don't really like tea." Seating himself directly across the table he eyes me suspiciously.

"What's going on, Charlie? I can tell something's wrong." He questions me mercilessly, his tone abrupt, clipped with just enough annoyance to indicate he means business. "What did the bastard do now?"

"Nothing..." I pause. "...well it was my fault actually."

Pete slams his fist down on the table with notable force, sending his coffee to sluice violently over the brim of the cup on impact until the steamy liquid splatters across the tabletop and onto the kitchen floor. Conscious of the mess, he reaches for the paper towels, grips them tightly then yanks the sunflower imprinted paper goods from the countertop.

"Christ, Charlie! I can't hear that again." My uncle grunts angrily, stopping the frantic cleaning to point at the side of his head. "Like, my ears literally may bleed if I listen to that garbage one more time. It's absolute bullshit you know it and I know it. How many times is it going to be your fault and never his, huh? How many times are you going to blame yourself for the shit that man does to you?"

Pete's arms wail around his head dramatically as coffee drips from the sopped-up paper towels in his grip, landing right back into the area that he's just cleaned, insistent on driving the point home. "The marks on your arms, those were your fault, right? The hole in the kitchen a few weeks back, the one I came by and fixed for you? Was it your fist that went through it? How 'bout that nasty bruise on your neck that finally started to clear up, you deserve that as well?"

He's on a roll and I can't stop him.

"When are you going to get it, Charlie? When will it sink into your stubborn brain, huh? He's going to fucking kill you someday, and he won't think twice about it!"

My muscles involuntarily clench at his harsh words, but I still can't find the strength to stop his tirade. "You're a smart girl, too smart for this shit. Take Max and get the hell out of here."

Swiping up the brown colored mass of soggy paper, he slams it into the trash, placing his hands on the counter with his back facing me. The grip on the granites' edge has his knuckles turning white, forcing his shoulders to slump forward as he breathes his anger in and out in an effort to calm down.

"I can't." I say quietly, somewhat shocked by his aberrant response.

Pete turns to me as my own eyes drop to avoid his, knowing that he's right.

The sad part is, he's the only one that knows it isn't my fault. Reason being, no one knows there's fault to be had. I have fooled everyone. Even if Pete was to tell my father, he wouldn't believe him. They don't even talk to each other. Dad thinks Pete is a drunken liar and Pete hasn't done much in the past few years to prove differently.

The one time my uncle did try to intervene he was drunk and ended up swamped in his own legal troubles as a result. Johnny's smart like that, always capable of turning a threatening situation away from him and onto someone else, usually the less fortunate.

In a way, it's almost like he made himself untouchable. In fact, his connections that run through the law seem to put him out of judicial reach. That's frightening enough to make me think twice about packing up and skipping town. Lake is the only other person who holds on to the suspicion that things aren't great in my relationship and honestly, I'm not sure even she wouldn't believe the extent of it.

"I can't do that to Max, he loves his dad, he tells me all the time how much he loves his family." My words are shaky, screeching, at a timbre that's almost inconceivable. "Do you know he spends each night before bed, thanking God for giving him a Mom and a Dad that love him and a family he's proud to be a part of? How can I take that from him?" The pitch of my voice reaches its maximum crescendo, a precursor to thoughts I can no longer keep at bay.

"Jesus Christ, Pete! You don't get it, you never had children. You don't know what it's like to sacrifice everything you have, everything you have ever wanted, for the wellbeing of someone else. I want Max to be happy, if it means I have to sacrifice my own happiness for a while, then so be it. It's my decision, not yours, so you can either support me or we can become strangers just like you and the rest of the family, the ball's in your court."

I stand from the table and take one last sip from my glass. My shoulders drop forward and my heart aches with guilt. The energy to concoct more excuses no longer exists, my own ears—like my uncle's—don't want to hear it anymore.

"I forgot about the Tooth Fairy, okay? If it wasn't for Johnny...." I stop myself before sounding even more preposterous.

"Okay, you forgot the Tooth Fairy. Big fucking deal." Pete snorts in my direction. "Out of all the things you do every single day, the shit that asshole makes you put up with, the shit you allow yourself to put up with." He's doing the hand waving thing again and I can't do anything but listen.

"Juggling your job with being a mother is hard enough, but being a wife to that son of a bitch? That's neuro-fucking-science hard. You're allowed to mess up sometimes, Charlotte. You work your ass off and handle the finances alone. Dinner is ready each night, and breakfast is ready every morning. Your house is spotless. Max never misses a play date or extracurricular and you're using your last day of vacation to drive your delusional grandmother all around God's creation, just so she can predictably tell you that everything you just did for her—you did it all wrong. And you're upset because you forgot to slip a buck under his pillow?"

He's yelling now.

Pete never yells.

I do the yelling.

I'm the one that always wins.

He isn't going to get the last word.

The desperate look in his eye stops my thoughts, awaiting what he'll say to me next.

"Max can live without a dollar, Charlie." He brings his hands to the sides of my head, tipping it upwards to meet his eyes. "What he can't live without? Is you." He let's go of my face and turns back to his stance at the sink.

"It won't be forever." I assure him. "Just give me some time, he's my husband, Pete. I took a vow, remember? And if I'm not mistaken, I believe you're the one that taught me a person is nothing without their word."

Pete turns his face slightly to the side, giving me just his profile when he speaks.

"You're right, Pip, you did take a vow, but so did he, and you have more than kept your word, kid. If this keeps going, the "death-do-you-part" is going to happen sooner than you think."

Pushing away from the countertop he reaches his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a tight embrace and settles my anxieties with just the comfort of his hug.

"Just think about it, okay?"

I nod my head into his chest before he pushes away. "Now, get goin' before your grandmother has a coronary." He motions me out the door with a slight smile, doing his best to hide his concern.

From the warmth of Pete's home to the unbearable cold onto the stoop, I let the frigid air bring life back into my body and take a step forward, more at ease now than before.

The skies seem to open as the miraculous mirage of man catches my eye. Immediately, I try to stop myself from losing my footing as the giant mass of godliness appears closer as the seconds pass. He's out for a run and it's fascinating the way his arms pump in tandem with his legs. The way his muscles seem to stretch the material of his clothing to almost unimaginable conditions. The way he seems to have stamina that knows no bounds. The way he simply—exists.

I half expect trumpets to play. If this were Ancient Rome, the doors of the colosseum would open now, the cheers and jeers of the eager spectators would be deafening. All would have traveled hundreds of miles for a single glance at the ferocious gladiator that is descending upon them.

Believe me, the pilgrimage, however long, would have been worth it. He'd enter with confidence and conquer with ease. No blood spilled would ever be his and he'd always live to fight another day. This man would battle violently and love fiercely. Women would wish to be with him, men would wish to become him. He'd be humble but confident, strong but reserved. He'd be...

"Adonis" I whisper to myself and my cheeks flush.

Jogging on the opposite side of the road, presumably heading back to the house he's recently moved into, he appears even more dreamlike the closer he gets.

It takes some effort, but I have to force myself not to blink, for fear he'll be gone when my eyes reopen. Then when I'm confident he's not some figment of my oppressed psyche, I use the moment to study him until my eyes water and burn from the cold.

A black beanie sits snug on his head, protecting him from the icy winter air while a tight fitted track jacket stretches over the span of his strapping chest. Loose fitting black pants hug tight around the mounds of muscled flesh that are his thighs as the wires of his ear buds sway like a pendulum with each glorious stride. As it is, there's a dribble of saliva pooling at the corners of my lips while I stand motionless, no longer capable of producing intelligent thoughts.

Throw a grenade at my feet and there's no doubt my body would stay put, relishing in the feel of my limbs detaching from my body from the force of the explosion. Happy to have the last image before my head is blasted clear off my shoulders be of him. This man—this god.

Sweat beads at the nape of his neck, glistening, twinkling, and silently calling my name. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was in the process of shooting a campaign for a Nike commercial.

"Wouldn't I like to 'Just do it' with him?" My eyes open wide at the realization that the words have been spoken out loud. Heat spreads across my cheeks from embarrassment, but if Pete heard me, he doesn't say anything.

It's cold out, the brutality of the non-existent heat has already been established, but I don't feel it anymore. Instead, my body burns hot, reaching unconceivable temperatures as I find myself, not for the first time, ogling the structure of his lightly dusted jawline.

The lines of his face are so seamlessly angled and defined, one can teach a high school math class all about geometry simply by studying his features. With eyes the color of stormy skies and skin tan with a golden luster, the entire existence of this man screams of confidence and a bedroom skillset that could fry a woman's brain. He's Masculine. He's Rugged. He's Perfect. And as his considerable sized feet pound against the pavement in perfect synchronization to the rhythm of my heartbeat, he tips his head in acknowledgement of our presence.

"Pete." He says, swishing past us in a blur and I have to swallow hard because it's the first time I've heard his voice and there's a good chance I've gone permanently cross-eyed. Husky. Deep. A little bit of rasp and a whole lot of man.

My nipples shoot straight forward, poking two hypothetical—might I add symmetrical—holes right through the thick wool of my sweater as my uncle holds his coffee cup in the air on a small nod, returning the greeting.

Pete and Adonis know each other? I make a mental note to ask him another time when my nipples aren't so painfully and quite visibly erect.

Squinting slightly in dauntless amusement that surely stems from the sight of my mouth hanging open, he winks as he passes before sinking his teeth into his full bottom lip and shaking his head almost unnoticeably. As if his presence hadn't already produced an abundance of extra saliva, a dollop of drool slips from the corner of my mouth as proof that my nervous system has gone into hibernation.

Pleased with my reaction, a crooked and knowing smile reaches this running statue's face as my tongue joins the rest of my jaw, hitting the gravel beneath me. I'm struck catatonic, my mind no longer my own and my underwear? Yea, they need to be changed...PRONTO. The feel of damp cotton between my legs does nothing to stave off my arousal. It's like I'm a prepubescent teen all over again and I can't help but blot my face with the palm of my hand just to make sure acne hasn't sprouted to its surface.

For the most part, I'm not even sure what it is that I'm feeling. Oh! Don't get me wrong—I've WANTED before, but my body has never NEEDED so desperately. It's not like I've never seen a good-looking man, but to say Adonis is simply good looking is the understatement of the century. There isn't any point in my life where I can remember having such a physical reaction, a literal quake of desire. Not even when I first met Johnny. Something about this man and the electrical spark his presence gives me is like nothing I've ever known.

For the longest time, I thought this part of me was lost, convinced the ability to feel, to need, to want, disappeared some time ago. It would be a lie to say I'm not happy at the revelation that there is still some life left in my body. Minuscule as it may be, it exists, nonetheless.

The truth is, I've never been an unfaithful woman, but damn it all to hell if I wouldn't bathe in the sweat that drips from that body, swim in the pool of infernal perspiration for no other reason than the need to encase myself in his DNA.

The unusually insatiable and equally unrealistic thoughts have me shaking my head as I continue to daydream about a life with a man like Adonis on the entire walk back to the nightmare that awaits in my little house of horrors.

Chapter Thirteen

Pure Evil

My pulse knocks against the thin skin of my neck while I walk through the door, closing it quietly behind me. If I thought it possible, I'd say somewhere in my stomach, a tiny little gymnast somersaults and cartwheels frantically within my core, her growth stunted body dismounting directly onto my panicked nerve endings, making me jumpy and tense. The aftershocks of crossing paths with Adonis, I'm sure.

I exhale the deepest of breaths and head down the hallway, only to be met with the eyes of Lucifer himself. It's instant when I realize something is off, even for him. This isn't just the typical look of disgust or disappointment that I've grown accustomed to, this is more. Far more.

The small hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, the universe's way of telling me I need to play my cards right, motivating my mind to delve straight into strategic planning, desperate for a way to avoid the brutality of his unspoken agenda.

The plan? Remain silent, appear confident, and walk right past him.

The goal? Avoid confrontation, abstain from unwelcome injuries.

One step.

Two steps.

He blocks my path with his arm. His shirt is off, even his tattooed skin seems to dare me to misbehave. That's when I smell it, the fragrance of evil, the decrepit odor of formidable suffering.

Before I can say anything, before I can do anything, the side of my face is met with a powerful bludgeon, executed by the back of his hand. My head flies to the side, making direct contact with the wall while the pain is so intense it sends me straight into foggy hell.

I try to pull myself together by continuing forward but my steps are shaky and small. Dancing stars cloud my vision yet no matter how bad it gets, I can't give him the satisfaction, can't hand over the last few shreds of pride that exist within me. So, I take the blow like a champ, remaining silent and speechless in hopes to avoid further damage.

Another step toward my closely approaching bedroom and I can almost feel the comfort my sheets will provide. The cool side of the pillow will do good to ease the aching in my temple. I continue to shuffle forward.

BOOM!

This time the punch is issued with a closed fist. It's an assault that I never saw coming as it forces the stars from the last blow to stop their dance altogether making it so that my line of sight is able to pick up only clouds and darkness. The last thing I hear before the shadows consume me is Johnny's sadistic voice as he whispers in my ear.

"It's about time I show you just how worthless you are." One more hit for good measure then everything fades to black.

*****

SQUEAK!

THUD.

SQUEAK!

THUD.

SQUEAK!

THUD.

The sound is repetitive, nauseating and all too familiar. In seconds, it's clear, I know exactly where I am and as wretched as it is, I know exactly what's happening. As the headboard of the bed repeatedly hammers against the wall, drops of liquid hit my lower back.

Johnny's sweat.

The beads of salty fluid drop from his forehead onto the undressed area at a hurried pace, moving me to cringe as I mentally compare the unwelcome moisture to acid, fully expecting it to eat through my flesh and straight to the bone.

Repeatedly I am jolted forward, my insides feel like they're being ripped to shreds and the pain coupled with the pressure is so unbearable, I'd rather die than withstand it.

SQUEAK, THUD, SQUEAK, THUD!

Faster now, my husband juts forward with uninhibited aggression all while incoherent words of protest fall from my lips. Johnny is in the NO ZONE, forbidden territory, an area of my body that has never been touched and certainly not readied for such violent invasiveness. Literally and figuratively he is ripping the virginal barrier apart. The vile sound of the sensitive skin tearing has me gurgling on my own vomit. The smell of blood mixed with the satanical aroma of his sweat is putrid as it hits my nostrils.

He shoves my head forward into the mattress, continuing to sodomize and dominate my body. I can't breathe. I attempt to scream, try to tell him he's hurting me, plead for him to be merciful but it all just seems to make it worse. As if my surrender is his motivation, he thrusts into me harder and I bite down on my lower lip to alleviate the pain.

A mixture of blood and vomit dribbles from the corners of my mouth as Johnny finally gets me to submit under pressure, breaking down the wall that took so many years to build and protect myself. He's obliterating my soul. He's taking my life.

If I had thought abdicating to his physical demands would make him go easier on me, I had never been more wrong. Evidenced by the way he pushes my face into the mattress, being sure that the comforter lodges itself deep in my throat. The thick feather filled material, a makeshift gag, does nothing more than stifle my breathing and muffle my cries for help until I can feel my body going limp.

SMACK! He hits my ass.

YANK! He pulls my hair.

SPLAT! He spits at me.

Significant dollops of infernal saliva hit the side of my face and slide down off my chin as he grunts and moans. The louder the rips and tears, the heavier his breathing. With increased stamina, he takes the opportunity to bend down and bring his mouth to my ear.

"This—this is how you treat a worthless bitch." He's huffs, out of breath from the vigorous pumping of his hips. He stills for a moment, but I'm not stupid enough to think it's over.

As suspected, he slams into me then and the powerful plunge has the top half of my body spilling over the side of the bed until I hang from the mattress like a rag doll as Johnny continues to hammer himself inside me.

I'm bloodied, bruised and lifeless, barely able to get two full breaths in before his hand twists into my spit soaked and sweat sodden curls. Johnny pulls me back onto the bed by my hair, more aroused as I cry out in pain when the tendrils rip directly out of my scalp.

When he pulls out a fraction it's not enough to give the brutally torn area reprieve. Every part of me throbs as he leans over again to lick the side of my face before biting down on my shoulder.

"This is what a useless mother feels like."

He slams into me. Further this time. The pain is excruciating, unbearable, torturous.

"You don't deserve pleasure. You barely deserve to breathe!" He grunts, picking up the speed of his thrusts to a rhythm I didn't know existed. His body collides with mine. Over and over again, the sweat, blood and bodily liquids pasted against the both of us, create a sick smacking sound; the despicable melody of the devil claiming my soul.

"You're not the girl I thought you'd be, you useless piece of shit. You don't follow orders, you continue to disobey my commands, your presence in Max's life is unnecessary. He's better off without you! The whole world is better off without you! It's time baby, time to show you what I'm capable of. It's time you know who I really am."

He bites my ear this time, drawing blood. "God yes!" Johnny grumbles in sadistic pleasure.

He brings a hand to the back of my head and pushes my face further into the mattress. "Tight, so fucking tight." The way he moans and jerks inside of me, tells me he is truly enjoying the depravity of it all.

For a moment, I can see my family. My brother Christopher stands tall and protective in the darkness unable to free me from this hell despite his ghostly efforts to try. Then I see Max. A telltale sign. The end is near.

No! I refuse to succumb to the obscurity of death, surprising even myself when something in me snaps. Where I find the courage or the strength? I have no idea, but I use the last drops of each to fight back.

Moving and flailing my body, kicking and bucking my knees, doing anything I can to get him to loosen his hold. Finally, I'm able to lift my head, just enough to gasp for air and the sudden pull of oxygen into my lungs gives me the extra endurance I need to turn my head to meet his eyes. One thing is for sure, if he's going to kill me, then he's sure as shit going to have to look at me while he does it.

"Pleasure?" Blood streaked bile puddles below my face, splattering onto my chin as I clear my throat. My voice is weak and strained, but I manage to allow an evil laugh of my own to escape.

"You thought you were pleasurable? You really think you made me feel good? Ha! You're delusional, Johnny. Believe me when I tell you, NOTHING you've ever offered in the bedroom is pleasurable. Half the time, I didn't even know you were inside of me. So really, it's you, my love, my dear sweet husband, it's you and your tiny dick that are without worth."

The crack I've just hammered into his ego doesn't settle well, visible by his tightening grip around my neck. I was asking for trouble with my words, I know that, but if these are truly my final breaths, I can't succumb to his need for me to submit to him.

Even in death ...I AM GOING TO WIN!

I gasp for air and try to breathe, all while grabbing and scratching at his hands. The skin of his forearms rips beneath my fingernails as I claw him with uncontrollable force all while he laughs a maniacal laugh that's more twisted than I ever could've imagined. The man I married is sick in the head, his mind psychotic. As I was warned so many years ago, the premonition comes to light, Juan Maxwell Cruz is as deadly as they come, and I am currently his prisoner. He is my warden. Freedom is not an option.

With nothing left to do, I close my eyes and pray, focusing on the image of Max, looking into his beautiful soul as he's told he no longer has a mommy. I watch as his bottom lip quivers when he learns he's never going to see me again and the agony written on his face is unbearable. The sting of tears pricks at my eyes. My mind calls out to him.

"I love you baby, don't cry for me. Remember to be strong my sweet boy. Grow up to be fair, to love, to dream. The world can be crazy sometimes, scary too, but you my love, you have the power to change that." I take a moment to study him one last time.

"Great things will happen to you if you let them. The universe is at your hands and you will forever have my heart." I mentally sob into the illusion of my son. God, how I'll miss this little boy.

"No matter what sweetheart, don't ever forget how much Mommy loves you, okay? How much I will always love you. I'm going to watch over you, protect you, be there for you, even if you can't see me. So be strong angel, and know I'll never leave you."

My eyes close tight as the pressure around my neck demolishes me. Max's face is further now. His tear speckled expression is almost out of sight.

"Mommy!" He reaches forward, but I can't lift my arms to grasp him.

"Always remember me," I whisper to the fading image of my child.

"Mommy noooo! Come back mommy, please. Come back."

It's here now.

The darkness.

It creeps in slowly like a thief in the night, eager to steal my final breath. Clouds grow thicker, my vision is skewed, my breathing no longer erratic but rather nonexistent as my eyes roll and my hands fist and pull at the bedding. Eventually, I lose the fight. The grip on the blankets loosens.

Flowers, beaches, palm trees

Summer nights, lazy days, cool breeze

Weightless, freedom.......

Shadows of death dance before me, the angels are calling to take me home. The last breath leaves my lungs.

Peace...

Just as I'm about to lose all consciousness a loud crash comes from beside me and the pressure on my throat is gone. Seconds pass as I try to convince myself I'm still alive before flipping myself over and grabbing my neck, desperately gasping for air. I'm inhaling so fast and so hard it's like I'm never going to get enough.

Items from the room are banging and falling, crashing and smashing. Glass is shattering into microscopic pieces, hitting the ground with so much force, the shards immediately turn to dust.

The yelling is just as loud, but I still can't make sense of anything. I blink my eyes over and over to bring myself into reality.

"You son of a bitch! I'm gonna fucking kill you!" It's the first thing I hear clearly—Pete's voice.

When did he get here?

I look over as they thrash around the room and make their way into the hallway, noticing how Pete's face is covered in blood, positive his nose is broken and unsure that he possesses the strength to go up against a person so evil.

"You couldn't kill me on your best day and my worst." Johnny retorts with another blow to Pete's jaw.

For an old man with drinking problems, Pete appears to be holding his own though realistically it probably won't be for much longer. Johnny is the epitome of blind fury. There isn't anyone alive that knows firsthand what those fists are capable of like I do and that means I need to stop him before he kills my uncle.

Stepping into my pants, I feel much less humiliated as I run directly into the battlefield that hours ago was known as my living room. As I step out through the threshold Pete looks up at me with his left eye swollen shut and his teeth stained red with blood.

"Charlie, get the fuck out of here!" Hooking his arm around my waist, he tosses me to the side, away from the warpath. I watch his eyes roll into the back of his head as he tries to steady himself from one too many blows to the temple.

The image of his distorted face molded by the fists of Johnny has me in shock. Suddenly, I can't move. Standing in a stupor, trying to comprehend what he's saying to me, my limbs no longer feel like they belong to me and have stopped working altogether.

The most horrific sound of breaking bones protrudes through the air. The faint smell of copper from the freshly spilled blood tickles my senses. Then a thud, a single sound of totality. Followed only by the most agonizing sounds of pain.

I look back at Pete, now barely recognizable as his head slams against the ground again and again under the subjection of Johnny's rage.

"Run, Charlie..." Pete manages the words with a low gurgle in his voice while at the same time his head falls back again and this time it stays there.

Everything is happening so fast, nothing feels real. As Johnny lets go of Pete, satisfied that he's immobilized the only other person here willing to protect me, he turns back in my direction.

His violent glare weakens my knees but when he smiles, it's the most satanical thing I've ever seen. That is until he raises his thumb to his mouth, dabs his lip as it drips with a mixture of his blood and Pete's, examines the fluid closely then pulls it way from his wounds.

Another unstable grin curls at the corners of his mouth as he brings his fingers back to his face then licks and sucks at each blood tinged digit.

"Mmmmm." He hums demonically, making a point to savor the crimson fluid, continuing to sneer at me as he indulges in the feast.

It's his eyes that tell me he is ready to finish the job and his body language that tells me he plans to succeed.

Unwilling to let him follow through with his plan to end me, I turn to run but it feels like cinder blocks are attached to the heels of my feet. The image of Johnny lunging for me plays in slow motion.

Mere inches from grabbing my arm and following through with his dark and dismal promises, the door flies open. The boom from the force as it slams into the wall is deafening, sending violent tremors through the floorboards and into the foundation.

The walking landmass better known to me as Adonis charges through the threshold, the likes of an imprisoned animal recently released from his cage. He never hesitates. Never questions. Instead, he steps right into in the line of fire, willingly placing himself directly in between Johnny and me.

My white knight.

My savior.

The only chance I have of making it out of here alive.

One muscle stocked arm is occupied from immediately producing damaging blows to Johnny's face while the other snakes behind his back, blindly searching until it connects with my body.

The feeling that havocs my insides when he places his strong palm flat against my stomach, pushing me backwards so that I'm safe outside on the front step is mind blowing. An unworldly connection. Electricity in its purest form.

His gesture is both gentle in nature and aggressive in protectiveness. Incomprehensible strength is measured by the seemingly effortless process of forcing me out, removing me from harm's way all while saving me from wrath of the devil himself.

Faint sounds of sirens sing in the distance, the cold winter air slaps against my skin. It's at this point where the magnitude of what has happened hits me while I watch in awe as Adonis dodges Johnny's punches, bobs and weaves and ducks and dodges with a skillful repertoire of combative movements. In between each of his opponent's misses, Adonis reciprocates with a blow to the face or a punch to the gut.

Johnny staggers.

Adonis is unscathed. Pristine. Unharmed.

He fights my nemesis as if each move is choreographed. Seeming to know each punch and jab the evil bastard is going to throw before he even attempts. Adonis is the most vicious of warriors and right now Johnny isn't a royal adversary.

"Does it make you feel good to beat a woman?" Adonis asks with a debilitating jab to Johnny's left side.

Johnny swings, trying copiously to land a fist on Adonis' face, missing each time.

My husband's eyes swell shut from the beating. Gone is the over-bleached white of his smile replaced with blood that settles in a thin film on his teeth, making them almost pink in color. His gait is wobbly, his nose pours a heavy stream of blood. It's like a broken faucet, colored in the deepest pigment of red.

"Do you feel like a man now, Johnny?" My protector asks with a right hook to Johnny's side. "Does it make your dick feel bigger to beat up on someone half your size?" Adonis howls as he lands an uppercut to Johnny's chin before clenching his fist and hammering it three times against his own chest at the challenge. "Well I'm here now motherfucker .... FIGHT...ME!"

The beating of his chest is a primal gesture of indignation. It's animalistic, aboriginal and above anything else, it's absolutely mesmerizing. Johnny attempts to accept the challenge by swinging and missing once more. Seeing the opportunity for what it is, Adonis uses the unsteady footsteps of his failing challenger to his advantage, landing another direct blow to the side of Johnny's face.

The man I once loved is hit so hard, his head flies backward, looking as if it will snap clear off his body. Blood spews from his mouth like scattered rainfall. He stumbles and coughs. His lungs wheeze in desperation for air.

The screeching sound of tires coming to an abrupt stop has me turning around quickly. With guns drawn and sirens blaring, a slew of men in blue barrel towards the front door.

In this moment, it becomes clear that my quaint little house that served as my mask to cover up the life I was living is never going to be the same and the thought has my brain turning fuzzy and my vision blurry, my knees giving out on their own accord.

Just before the world goes black again, my senses are swarmed with an oddly familiar smell of nature, mint, impossible warmth and three words that in the moment sound like they're coming from miles away, "I've got you."

Chapter Fourteen

Adonis and the Dove

At the back of an ambulance, my legs hang like two limp noodles, lifeless and feeling like each one weighs about fifty pounds apiece. When I came to, a female medic was crouched before me, shining a light into my eyes and asking me if I knew the name of the President of the United States.

Despite the thick blanket wrapped around my body, I'm cold, alone and wondering how I got here and why my driveway is now a scene ripped straight from an episode of Law and Order. I'm in a bit of shock, I know, probably why I could've sworn one of the detectives was ICE-T himself, confirming that I'm not just delirious, but oblivious to true feelings and realistic emotions as well.

The semi-psychotic behavior continues when I find the icicles trimming my house to be more fascinating than they should get credit for. It's just that the different lengths and rates at which they melt have my mind partially blown in a way that is so basic and childlike it's helping to uncomplicate the uncertain emotions rattling my body.

Entranced by the slick sheen of frozen water and their crystal-like nature, I'm struck completely stupid as I hum a made-up tune and count each drop that falls from the longest icy dagger. In fact, it's not until the police bring Johnny out in handcuffs that it all starts to make sense and I'm deterred from my current obsession that is watching ice melt, and might I add, thoroughly enjoying it.

In no time at all, neighbors have migrated over to the busy scene. Of course, all of them exude some level of concern but as neighborhoods often go, they're not as worried so much as they're nosy. It's all imaginary alarm, trust me these men and women, some familiar and others not, have absolutely no interest in my wellbeing and every intention on getting all the gritty details that will make their own miserable lives seem more appealing.

"This is my life you assholes! Not the screening of the latest Star Wars movie. Go home!" But I can't get the words out.

The only thing my body appears to be capable of is shaking and quite honestly, it's doing that rather well. I think the last time I blinked was yesterday and I'm not even sure I know what year it is.

One minute everything's happening so fast and now it all seems to be in slow motion. I feel like I'm in another world.

Johnny glares at me with a look so wicked and full of hate it makes me gasp, siphoning all air from my lungs. The evil gleam in his eye is the worst one yet and sends a frozen shiver down my spine, a silent promise that this, this war of ours, is far from over.

The officers place the former love of my life in the back of the police cruiser, and this time unlike all those years ago, I'm not searching for ways to get him out of it.

Adonis steps out of the house and follows close behind, looking as calm and collected as a man going on a leisurely walk. I watch him intently as he speaks to a uniformed patrolman in the distance and when the officer nods in agreement to whatever was spoken, Adonis shakes his hand and starts walking in my direction.

Each stride of his long muscular legs puts me into some sort of hallucinogenic trance that is difficult to make sense of. The confusion growing stronger as he gets closer, genuine concern etched in his angular face. It surprises me, as do his kind and communicative eyes that are so calming and incredibly familiar, it's almost as if I've looked into them before. But that can't be possible, can it? No, there's no way. I'd remember meeting a gentleman of this caliber, you'd have to kill me a thousand times over to forget him.

Instinctively, I put my head down as he closes the distance, embarrassed about what he saw, what he knows, and what he had to do to protect me.

Truth is, I'm not used to people stepping in to help, mostly because I never let them, which makes having a stranger—that looks like he just walked right out of a men's fitness magazine, stopped by a Calvin Klein photoshoot before catching the tail end of an Under Armor ad—want to help me in this magnitude, no less uncomfortable. It's clear that this man who carries the muscled force of an entire army around his arms did all of this for me, only after saving orphans from burning buildings and adopting puppies just for the hell of it.

Yes, he's that kind of perfect.

"Charlie?" The soft and soothing sound of my name coming from his lips placates my jittery limbs. "It is Charlie, right?" He asks.

I nod moderately as to not to wake the throbbing in my skull while lifting my head just enough to see the corners of his mouth curve upwards into a sympathetic smile.

"Adonis..." I say absentmindedly in the tiniest of whispers and watch as two wonderfully stormy eyes squint in confusion. There's a good chance this man thinks it's high time for me to take a ride on the looney train and sadly, I can't find it in myself to disagree with the assumption.

The trip to the padded room of my choosing seems even more necessary when the calloused tips of his fingers reach for my chin and I can suddenly see the goddamn stars. Gently guiding my eyes to meet his, it's strange how the feel of his touch surpasses the pain that comes from these masculine fingertips against the tender bruises on my skin.

Eventually the magical feeling of his touch wears off and the soreness that comes from the growing marks on my skin has me wincing in pain. Still, I don't tell him to move his hand. Not that it matters, apparently my Adonis moonlights as a mind reader and quickly pulls back, leaving an empty feeling deep within my core.

For some reason, the knowledge that I'm in agony seems to do something to him. It's almost like he can feel it too. Like it hurts him just as much.

When he clenches his hands, shakes out his fingers then clenches again in what seems like an attempt to calm his anger, it strikes me that never before has a man been so affected by my emotions to a point that his fury on account of my heartache becomes so physically visible to those close enough to pay attention.

Finished with this ritual of his, he reaches out to me once more, this time careful to avoid the purpling marks by keeping one hand tight at his side while the other one tenderly smooths the flyaway curls from my face in a heavenly caress.

Quietly and gentler than a man his size should be capable of, he pulls the blanket tighter around my shivering body and I have no choice but to meet his worried gaze with a skeptical one of my own, suddenly suspicious of his intentions and worried that I'm staring at the definition of what it means for history to repeat itself.

"I don't need you to feel sorry for me, you know?"

The new neighbor's brows pull together as a small smirk creeps up his too perfect lips, "I'm sorry...what?"

"I can see it in your eyes." I tell him by way of explanation. "Don't get me wrong, I'm beyond grateful for everything you did for me just now, but I don't need you to pity me." With a shaky hand, I gesture to the hundreds of people perched at the borders of my property.

"It's embarrassing enough that the neighborhood folk has circled around my house like they're all about to witness the birth of the Messiah, but I don't need you to look at me like I'm weak or incapable, 'cause I'm not. Sure, you probably think I'm pathetic and the fact that I'm wrapped up in blanket in the back of an ambulance perhaps doesn't help my case, but I'm tougher than most people think. That's why I need you to listen carefully when I say that I do not need you to feel sorry for me. As it is, there are people in this world that go through far worse every day, things I couldn't fathom if I tried. Why don't you look them up and give them your big beautiful I-feel-so-bad-for-her eyes? I'm sure they'll just fall to the ground when you do. But that isn't me. I need to be strong. I am strong, and you Adonis..." I point at his chest, then poke at the solid slab of muscle hiding behind his clothing. "...you need not pity me."

Taking overreacting to a whole new level should be my personal motto and I realize this while my eyes quickly scan the perimeter of my yard for a rock to hide under.

Crouching down just enough so that our faces are even with each other, this personal gladiator of mine smiles a knowing smile, making me wish I possessed the strength required to look away from something so spectacular, afraid that his powers are too strong to fight off, afraid that this man is too addicting, afraid that I'm already under his spell.

The problem with tearing my eyes away, however, is that I'm already so lost in his grin that I wouldn't be able to find my way out if I tried. Not with a map, a compass, or a damn tour guide and certainly not with that lopsided smirk or the charming scattering of darkened stubble that outlines his mirth in such a playful yet attentive kind of way. A way that has my body shaking for a whole other reason. This of course is not to belittle how his eyes twinkle like shooting stars or how his broadened chest expands with each inhale. Yea, I'm screwed.

On cue, the thumbs start their infamous twiddle because shit on a cracker this is the most domineering person I've ever seen. It's in this moment of agony and despair where I find myself captivated by the sight of a single human in a fashion that might just make my head explode. I may have heard the trumpets again actually. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, this time there seems to be an entire marching band nearby. Even the chubby kid with the tuba has made an appearance.

How could a smile bring so much comfort? How could the presence of a stranger bring such contentment? How can one person, erase so much horror, to the point when it's nearly forgotten? The hell if I know either.

What I do know is that the dimple that forms on the right side of his perfectly sculpted face along with the slight crinkle in the skin near his eyes the wider he smiles takes me away from reality. He's casting a spell on me in this very moment and unexpectedly I no longer see pity in his eyes, I only see safety. Exhaling for what feels like the first time in years, I listen as he chuckles a little, just enough that the hearty sound of his humor immediately breaks the enchantment.

"Why do you keep calling me Adonis?" Curiosity and mischief gleam brightly from his expression.

CRAP!

"I have no idea what you're talking about?" Humiliation has my face spinning in the opposite direction just in time to see the paramedics exit my home, carrying my unmoving uncle on a stretcher. Mortification turns into unadulterated panic, halting any awareness to all things around me. Shooting to my feet, the scream that leaves my lungs could break glass. It's a sound I never knew my voice was capable of. Blood curdling sobs of suffering and despair along with the miserable reminder that this is all my fault!

"Oh my god Pete! Nooooo!" My body trembles, my knees are weak. My legs shake so violently that when I attempt a step forward, I fall.

Adonis hooks a muscled forearm around my waist just before I hit the pavement. Déjà vu slams into me at lightning speed. Why do I feel like this has happened before?

Because you're certifiable? Agreeing with the pesky inner voice for the sake of my sanity, I force myself not to think about this sense of familiarity any further. Right now, Pete's condition is the only thing on my mind, and it isn't until I'm pulled into the strangely recognizable embrace with my cheek resting on the hardened plains of this oddly intimate muscular chest that every extremity stops shaking uncontrollably. With both fists digging into the material of his soft cotton shirt like a lifeline, the prayer that leaves my mouth is one of total desperation.

"No, No, please be okay, Pete. Please be okay!" I plead with God, not just my own, but all of them because at this point, we need all the help we can get. Soon, the rain starts to fall, and Adonis wraps me tighter in his arms, engulfing me in the purity of his strength and the gift that is knowing I am no longer alone.

My own arms have now dropped to my sides. The limbs of my body dead. The rest of me ready to join. Adonis rests his chin on the top of my head, thankfully unwilling to relinquish his hold on me.

"Shhh Dove. Shh." He croons, pulling me into his durable body further. "He's gonna be okay, Charlie, it's all gonna be okay."

In a brief state of lucidity, the pull marks and slobber stains catch my attention.

"I'm ruining your shirt." I try to pull away, only to be drawn back in.

"I can give a fuck about the shirt, baby..." The tone he uses is resolute.

Barely festering up the energy, I'm finally able to bring my hand to my face, the recently fallen raindrops that pebble down my chin vastly become a nuisance. Not only do they obscure my vision, but the rapid pelting of each drop clatters my thoughts. It's picking up, coming down heavier now than it had just minutes ago. Odd because there isn't a cloud in the sky. I swipe the unwanted moisture from my face with my fingertips and look down to where my feet hit the pavement. My eyes scan the concrete of the driveway, searching for the puddles that would've likely formed in the deeper crannies of the ground beneath me.

Nothing.

The grounds surrounding me are completely dry, void of any moisture whatsoever. Stuck once again in that all too familiar cloud of confusion, it takes a few minutes before it becomes clear to me that it's not raining at all. Instead, only tears create the murky condensation that blurs my eyesight.

Actual tears fall from my eyes and down my face and because I haven't cried in so long, I didn't even recognize the sensation. The problem is, now that I've started, it's going to be nearly impossible to stop.

Chapter Fifteen

Too Much

Adonis rocks me in his arms until the EMT comes up from behind to quietly tell me that it's time to get to the hospital. Panic rises all over again, my new friend takes notice. The large hands that had just provided the most soothing comfort, now come up to cup each side of my face. With the tip of his finger, he brushes away the stray curls that continuously fall into my line of sight, smiling a bit when the stubborn coils only bounce back to where they were as soon as he lets them go.

"Sweetheart, you have to go the hospital. I don't think you've wrapped your head around everything you just went through." He pulls me closer. "You're still in shock."

Every word that tumbles from his mouth is like honey; natural, smooth, sweet. A girl could get totally lost in his declaration, let alone the safety of his arms.

But I'm not your run of the mill sucker, submitting to a man is a thing of the past now, and my new friend here is about to realize that. "I'm not going to the hospital! I have to go inside and clean up that horrifying mess." The image of Pete's blood smeared all over the hardwood enters my mind. "You don't understand. I have work to finish. More importantly, I have to get Max..."

All the sudden my lungs contract, gasping for air at the realization that this isn't just about me. For the first time, I'm forced to acknowledge that this is about him too. My poor baby.

The pain and discomfort raging through my body is nothing compared to the heartache I feel for my boy and the loss of his innocence. He's yet to know he's lost his father— to power, control, and insoluble rage, nonetheless.

In this handsome savior's gaze sits understanding, a knowledge of life's hardships and the ability to comprehend these inconceivable realms of life that many of us inadvertently fall into. It's that very sense of compassion that causes the liquid warmth to fill my eyes until it's pouring over once more.

"What am I going to tell Max?" I sob with another fistful of Adonis's shirt in my hands. "My son! I have a son! What am I going to do? I need to get him off the bus! What time is it?"

I push from Adonis and run directly into a sea full of apprehensive eyes that belong to a town full of people who just so happen to be casually perched on my lawn. Worse, each one of these unnecessary spectators are in a race for the horrid details that define my crumbling life, all with apocryphal concern plastered across their faces.

"Does anyone know what time it is?" No one answers. Instead they busy themselves, attempting to look preoccupied, picking imaginary lint off their jackets, tying their shoes, staring at the sky, even kicking at rocks.

"This is insane!" The urge to pull my hair from my head is stronger than ever before.

"There are about one million people here gawking at me like I'm a sideshow freak. You should all be ashamed of yourselves."

The flock stands unmoving, eyes wide and still. Ugh, frustrating assholes.

"If you're all just going to stand there, can one of you make yourself useful and tell me what the time it is?" The continued quiet of the crowd only infuriates me more.

"Really? Am I speaking Japanese? Do any of you nosy bastards have a watch? A clock? A phone? Christ, even a fucking sun dial would do at this point. I just need to know what time it is!"

Making a complete spectacle of myself, it's obvious some of my neighbors are starting to reevaluate their stance on the situation. Wondering to themselves if I'm the victim or if maybe the whole ordeal was well deserved. Now, I don't frankly care what they think, the only thing that matters to me is Max.

Useless and beyond infuriating, everyone shifts their stance a bit, opening the space up between where I stand and where they loiter. Dozens of eyes stare at me in condescending awe.

The cops, the EMT's, the neighbors, they all step back with caution. Fear and panic circle their stares, looking at me like I'm a rabid dog, savagely craving the taste of raw flesh.

Everyone backs away from me.

Everyone except Adonis.

He approaches, standing with his feet planted firm, toe to toe with my own, then leans in to whisper in my ear. "Baby, you're wearing a watch."

There's always been a good chance that my psychological health was failing, that notion is only confirmed when I look down on my wrist and sigh in defeat, thinking that counting steps really is the least of my worries.

Pulling me back and facing us away from my audience, Adonis bypasses the recent act of lunacy. "I've already spoken to the officers, Dove. They've contacted your parents; your brother is getting Max from school and your Mom and Dad are going to meet us at the hospital."

When I look at up at him, this time with empty eyes and a heart that's tired of constantly being shredded into millions of pieces, reality weighs heavily on my chest.

"He was supposed to love me." The words are a whispered muffle, a declaration to clarify the years spent enduring Johnny's wrath, an answer to the unasked question probably on Adonis' mind and certainly on my own;

Why did I stay?

Desperation. Desperation to be loved. The dire need to feel wanted. And the fear of failing miserably at being worthy of both.

Adonis closes his eyes. His jaw clenches tightly, the throbbing of tense muscle penetrates the side of his face in a way that implies that I've upset him. "I'm sorry." I whisper, the words barely audible.

He snaps his eyes open and shakes his head slightly, breathing in and out heavily. Relishing in the sight of his strapping chest as it rises then continuing to stare as it begins to fall, I almost miss the following soft-spoken words, words that are in direct contradiction to the rigidity of his extremities.

"There is absolutely nothing for you to be sorry for. Right now, you just need to take care of yourself before you can take care of your son, okay?" A finger pushes up against the base of my chin. "Charlie look at me." I have little choice but to oblige. "Okay?"

With my voice on hiatus once more, I can only nod my response.

"Good," He places a chaste kiss at the top of my head and I'm immediately certain that getting struck by lightning wouldn't compare to the total shock of this endearment.

Situated inside the ambulance, the whole scenario becomes infinitely overwhelming. Adonis sits close by as they hook me up to monitors and eventually stick some type of plastic apparatus over my face to even out my breathing.

An EMT, whose name has yet to be established turns to Adonis who stands imposingly at the back end of the vehicle's cabin. "Sir, we have to go now, she'll be in good hands. You can meet us at the hosp...." Before I can even muster words of protest, Adonis cuts him off

"Save it kid, I'm not going anywhere." He says while his eyes never waver from mine as he climbs inside.

The young medic looks shocked at the blunt response made by this entity of transcendence. "But sir..." This small bodied EMT tries to reason with the muscled beast who holds up a commanding hand to end any and all negotiations on the matter.

"The way I see it my friend, you have two options. Option number one..." Adonis shoots a thick and masculine looking index finger into the air, ticking off his plan of action directly into his target's suddenly pale looking face, "...you can either get her there right now, which seems like the most logical decision if you ask me. Or, you go with what's behind door number two where one lucky bastard will get the opportunity to try and physically remove me themselves. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm usually only an overconfident prick on Tuesday's, but today I can guarantee that option number two will be much more fun for me than it will be for you. So, what's it gonna be, Chuck? Feelin' lucky?" The recently poked bear crosses his arms while he anticipates an answer.

Tensions are high and it's impossible not to notice the flex of each muscle, the way the veins protruding from his forearms seem to bulge from impatience.

"Uh...um. My name is Ben, but um...okay, sir," The poor guy stutters.

"Stop calling me sir, would ya? My name is Adonis." He looks over at me, sending one of those infamous winks in my direction and I smile and roll my eyes. One thing is for sure, I may not know this man and I'm obviously not the best judge of character when it comes to the opposite sex, but something inside me needs him to stay.

With my eyes closed, just his presence seems to level my breathing. On top of that, my heart no longer makes that pounding sound as if it were the gallop of a horse on its way to winning the Kentucky Derby.

God, I'm so tired.

My eyes close on their own accord, I couldn't keep them open any longer if I tried.

"Don't worry Dove, Chuck here will get us there safely, just get some rest and I'll be right here when you wake up."

I give him a small smile. My eyelids stay closed.

"His name is Ben." Adonis chuckles softly on account of my lazy drawl. The breeze from his nearby breathing soothes my soul as do his continuous strokes against my forehead, seeming to have made a silent pact that one of these times he'll get some of the curls to stay put.

The last thing I hear before I'm out cold is his whisper.

"I know Dove...I know"

✽✽✽

The hospital isn't far, though I'm quite groggy still and nowhere near ready to wake up when we arrive.

I force myself to open my eyes and when I do my nearby bodyguard gives me a swift grin just as the back of the cabin opens and ChuckBen along with a colleague, assist each other in getting the stretcher down onto the pavement.

Once successful, the automatic doors of the hospital slide open and immediately the urge to vomit is so strong from just the reality of the situation alone. Believe me, I'd rather be rolling in pig shit with rusted forks in my eyeballs than be here in this very moment.

Adonis grabs my hand and squeezes it quick as if he feels the same way about the establishment. In fact, his distaste for the situation is so powerful the gesture is all but asking to save one of those forks for his own eyeballs. Yet he's still here. Still with me. And that means something that I can't wrap my head around at the moment but it's strong, it's –everything. That's it I suppose, him being here with me means everything.

Leaving me to stew on such a confusing revelation, Adonis makes his way toward ChuckBen and although nothing about his demeanor speaks to a potential apology, he does begrudgingly shake the poor guy's hand, delivering the world's most pretentious pat on the back, one that the unsuspecting ChuckBen accepts as a genuine act of kindness.

Formalities aside, ChuckBen nods in my direction, an honest to goodness smile on his face before he turns around and leaves me to the wolves, better known to most as emergency room nurses.

To be clear, my grandmother was a nurse in her prime, so the theory that I need to be on my best behavior is founded not only on the personality of the vivacious Ester Cole but also from the countless horror stories I've heard far too many times throughout the years. One thing I learned despite the redundancy to which it was drilled in my head, it's that you want to stay on a nurse's good side, so I make a deal with myself to try my best to do just that. That is until the vultures start showing their true colors and then all bets are off.

The first nurse comes over and asks a few questions although most of my information was already given to the police and the EMT's, so the interrogation seems excessive. I force myself to stay calm anyway by telling myself they're just testing my cognitive functioning, doing their best to determine if I sustained some sort of significant head trauma. You know? The usual song and dance. They're being diligent and attentive, it's an admirable set of qualities.

Still though, there seems to be a few more caretakers hovering around me than one would deem normal. Everyone appears extremely focused and overly nice, to the point it starts to make me uncomfortable.

When I glance at Nurse Number Five and follow the path of her desire-soaked stare, I land on none other than Adonis himself.

Now it all makes sense.

Diligent and attentive my ass!

The pale blue hospital corridor looks insignificant holding his solid frame, the wide expanse of his chest and narrowing waist seem more pronounced against the dismal décor. There isn't one person around us that hasn't stopped what they were doing, even for a moment, to get a look at my rugged companion. Seriously, I might be medicated but I'm fairly certain that even the elderly woman they had pronounced dead on arrival sprung up one last time for a taste.

Yet, he seems impassive to it all. His muscle padded arms, his inky black hair slightly tousled from the earlier rumble, the structure of his jaw hidden only slightly by the perfect amount of manly scruff, all screaming for the exact attention he seems to be veering away from.

Adonis stands, legs shoulder width apart with his head propped against the wall. Perfection personified, there isn't many more ways to describe him.

I drink in the man who rescued me from the devil— still, tranquil, motionless. Like an actual statue. The sight of him is stoic, unshakable, firm. It's hard to read him really. If I didn't see for myself how compassionate he can be, I would've probably been intimidated by his presence.

With his jaw clenched tight, I can see the constant ticks of muscle pop from the side of his face, something he seems to do often. If I didn't know better, I'd say he appears to be just as frustrated with all the added attention as I am.

Surely, he must enjoy this type of admiration. He is a man after all, and by far the manliest man I have ever set eyes on. At the very least he's got to be used to it. I can't imagine him walking more than a few feet on any given day before the women of the world start to throw their underwear at him, possibly even their first-born children.

But if he is in fact basking in the glory of the added devotion, he certainly isn't showing it. Instead, he stares at me with those eyes that possess something so raw and familiar, that when I looked into them for first time, I instantly felt safe and protected.

I start to close my own eyes again, partly because I'm exhausted, but mostly to avoid the progressively pitiful and ever more exaggerated looks of concern offered up by the swarm of women, and even some men, surrounding us.

In minutes, a small cackle of nurses crowd the metal rails of my bed, simultaneously attempting to wheel me into a more private room.

Are they pushing each other?

Nurse Number Three turns to Adonis, sticks out her tits, pokes out her ass, flutters her over mascaraed lashes then speaks in a tone that is meant to be sultry but sounds more like she has a marble stuck in her nose.

"Um, I'm sorry but I didn't catch your name and your relationship to the patient."

Smooth lady real smooth.

I roll my eyes at the not so subtle inference and huff out my frustrations.

"Deklan...my name is Deklan. And to be clear, my relationship to Charlotte is really not a goddamn ounce of your business. I'd really appreciate it if you would all stop gathering around us like a pack of hyenas and take care of Ms. Cruz for me."

Well then...

Nurse Number Three turns red as a beet while the rest of her comrades leave her stranded and deserted, scattering outwards like pesky cockroaches, looking for a dark space or a shadowed corner to hide.

Would you look at that? Now it only takes two nurses to finish wheeling me down the sickly malodorous corridor. Who says there's no such thing as miracles?

I look up at Deklan as he looks down at me.

"What?" he asks with a crooked smile.

"Nothing—DEKLAN?" I shake my head with a wry smile of my own, happy to finally put a name to the fantasy...I mean the face.

"Trust me Dove, I like Adonis better too." He winks just before we enter the room.

The next few hours are a blur. Clothed only in a hospital gown, one that I refuse to let them call a "Johnny coat" for obvious reasons, I'm completely bare underneath as the draft of cold and stale hospital air blows uncomfortably against my skin.

The medical staff spends some time explaining the extent of the tests that need to be completed as well as preparing me as best they can for when the police arrive to collect evidence from my person.

Deklan reluctantly steps out while I'm interviewed by the detectives, claiming a work-related emergency needed to be dealt with. I didn't want him to go, but who was I to beg him to stay.

The detective told him he wasn't welcome to hang around anyway but Deklan only smiled wide and mischievously before walking to the door. "Try to keep me out, asshole." He mumbled just loud enough for us to hear. The door shut slowly behind him and I immediately felt the loss of his presence.

When they said they needed to collect evidence, I had no idea it meant I would feel even more violated than I had before. Instinctively, I tense as they snap pictures of my naked body and shudder when they swab my most intimate areas. They comb through my hair for reasons unknown, scrape under my fingernails too. I hadn't even noticed the dried blood rooted into the cuticles of each nail bed. Not that I care for any of this invasive protocol, but I know it's what must be done to make certain I'll never have to see Johnny again.

More than that, my mind can only focus on Max. Deklan made sure to put me in touch with my brother Nick earlier who has assured me my son is fine, that Max was happy, and they were busy doing, "guy stuff."

It's physically painful not to speak to him, but I'm afraid I won't be able to keep my composure if I do, not yet at least. The last thing I need is for him to worry and he'd definitely worry if he heard the stress in my voice. So much of his life has changed in a day, he should enjoy the time spent being carefree before I have to sit him down and somehow explain that his dad won't be coming back.

My parents are on the way. Last report was that they were stuck in traffic. They don't live as close as they once did so on a good day it can take just short of an hour to get into town.

Several doctors stop by to introduce themselves, their names I can't remember, and their faces I'd rather forget.

Then I'm off again in some demented type of carnival ride that only being stuck in a bed on wheels could simulate. Different types of nurses and techs make me lie down as they seem to take turns swiveling me around the hallways, parading me around like a messed-up pageant float.

One by one the overhead fluorescent lights pass over me in a fashion that is unsettling to say the least, reminding me of some freakish horror movie, like they're getting ready to remove my organs and hand them over to some psycho so he can whip up a quick stir fry for dinner.

A short while later, I'm back in my room when a nurse's aide named Pia cleans me up the best she can, considering I look like I went a couple rounds with an angry gorilla. She's incredibly gentle while she uses a washcloth to clean around the wounds and her voice is so compelling my heart rate slows to a normal rhythm as she speaks softly to me in accented English.

For a few minutes, I watch the clatter and commotion in the hallway, ponder the everyday hustle and bustle, and soak up the overall doom and gloom of this inaptly titled, "State of the Art" medical institution. It all seems so formal, so impersonal. The way the hospital staff moves through the processes as fluid as water is unsettling. How could people become so accustomed to dealing with these types of situations? When did the world shift so drastically that this whole ordeal is commonplace? It makes my stomach turn just to think about it. I start feeling less like a patient and more like a lab rat as the noisy clock on the wall ticks away.

A glance at Deklan and suddenly I feel better. True to his word he hasn't left my side, save for a few trips to the vending machine and a couple passive aggressive conversations with those that I heard him call, douche canoe asshats, to which I concluded he was speaking about the doctors.

Speaking of douche canoe asshats, another doctor joins us in the shoe box of a cubicle, the only thing separating me and the man who accidently got a cucumber stuck up his ass is a flimsy curtain. He explains that there's bruising they identify as a hematoma on my brain, possibly a slight concussion as well. Bloodwork looks good I guess, so that's positive. However, the swelling around my neck and the marks covering a good portion of my body are cause for concern, all of which point to staying at least one night for observations. The plus side? I've been upgraded to a room with its own bathroom. The nursing assistant says it as if I should plan a party.

I'm pushed through the halls again, eventually landing in a crowded elevator with a group of people that eye me warily, whose thoughts are so loud I can practically hear them myself.

"I wonder what happened to her? Probably drugs. Car accident, maybe? I'd beat my own self up if a guy like that would follow me around." Can't say I don't agree with the last thought.

Strangers in Stethoscopes, it sounds like some kind of kinky fetish book, but it is actually the scene before me. There's a lot of them and they're still talking so fast, I couldn't keep up if I tried. My brain is spinning hastily on the axis of dread. Every thought swirling into the next. Every sound distorted. Every spoken word a jumbled mix of foreign syllables. All while every bit of me falls apart.

"We need to keep an eye on the swelling." One doctor says.

"She's going to be in a lot of pain tomorrow." Comes from another.

I push myself back into my pillow in an attempt to let it swallow me whole, wishing it would hide me away somewhere, a place where I'll never be found.

The smell of antiseptic and rubber gloves, combined with the overall sickness and despair that this hospital encompasses, makes me ill. I keep my eyes shut tight, willing my mind to take me away from here. Inhaling through my nose and exhaling from my mouth.

Flowers, beaches, palm trees

Summer nights, lazy days, cool breeze

Weightless, freedom, peace

I swallow the warm saliva that turns up in your mouth before you're about to throw up and almost have it back down, my stomach almost in control, until I hear my parents just outside my door. They're talking to the attending physician. Deklan must've known they were here because when I did finally open my eyes, he was gone.

"There's significant bruising on her body and obvious swelling, especially at her neck. She also has as a small hematoma on her brain. She seems to be breathing okay and has no loss of memory, both are good signs."

A sob escapes my mother, the all too familiar noise has my eyes shut tight. The shrill cry takes on a mind of its own, vibrating through the door and scampering across the cold tiles of the floor. It makes its way to where I lay in the bed as my body trembles with guilt. She quiets her anguish by turning loud and painful moans into small and stifled whimpers, muffled from what one can only presume is her crying into my father's arms.

I hate hurting my parents. The last thing I wanted was to upset them. They've been through so much since Christopher died and my mom's too fragile to deal with my drama. Dr. Doom NEEDS to stop talking. They can be here to support me, but they don't' need to know EVERYTHING!

"Let me deal with it," I say, speaking only to myself.

"They don't need this," I grumble into the empty room.

Just when I think it can't get any worse... "There's also a substantial tear and a great deal of bleeding around her rectum, presumably from excessive force to the area."

And there it goes. The contents of my stomach flies from my mouth, so fast, I barely get it all into the tiny little bin they left for me.

I gasp—loudly. In fact, I never exhale. Hurting my parents is off limits. And Deklan? He may have the eyes of an angel, but I certainly don't know him well enough to share such revolting details.

How dare this bastard?

Deklan enters the room at the speed of light, my parents huddle close in tow. A melancholy procession that should only be allowed in the wake of death.

The doctor follows close behind, like a dopey looking basset hound, eager to get a belly rub or hastily hump a stuffed animal.

Deklan sees the look in my eyes, steps closer and leans down with his face hovering so close to my own.

"Breathe, Dove," he says softly. I finally exhale.

My parents take one look at me and rush to my bedside. They want to speak, but they don't know what to say. Can't say I blame them, really.

I can't stand the look in their eyes and the pain that sits behind them.

Anger boils deep inside my chest. The humiliation and the stress of today's events comes crashing down. My words seek vengeance. They bubble in my throat, waiting for diabolic release.

"You son of a bitch!" I glare at the doctor who so easily rattled off the details of the hell I had gone through, doing my best to sit up in my bed.

The cool air of the room hits my back, at the same time a shooting pain steers through my insides on account of Johnny's brutal invasion. My entire backside is exposed and open, but I don't care. Right now, my only intentions are to sink my teeth into the clinician that shattered my mother's already broken heart and shredded my father's soul.

"Did they teach you how to be a complete moron in med school? Or, did you figure that all out on your own?" The rage is so palpable in this moment I fear having a stroke from the increase in blood pressure.

"Honestly, do you kick puppies and steal pacifiers from babies in your spare time? I mean really! How dare you talk about my situation to my parents out of all people as if you were shooting the breeze with your golf buddies? Shouldn't you have asked me first? Shouldn't I have a fucking say in who knows what is torn and where it's bruised?"

I pause briefly then look up at my parents, "I'm sorry." Tears start to fall. "It's just...It's all just too much." Burying my head in my hands, I sob.

My mother pushes from my father and runs to my side, cradling me in her chest like I imagine she did when I was an infant. Dad pulls up a chair and holds my hand. My face is drenched from my own tears and the ones falling from my mother's face.

I don't care how fragile I look because I feel like a child all over again. A little girl that needs her Mommy and Daddy.

Except this time, there isn't a Band-Aid in the world big enough to fix me.

Chapter Sixteen

He Stayed

In the morning, it takes some time to remember where I am. I spent most of my night trying to convince myself that it was all a dream. Like I'd wake up and breathe a sigh of relief that none of what happened was real. Turns out it was all just wishful thinking and what I've learned over the past six years is that wishful thinking will get a person nowhere.

The sunlight begins to stream through the vertical blinds, covering the window in my hospital room. Specks of dust float through the golden rays, the tiny fragments mesmeric in their weightless journey. Somberly dreary and gravely dismal, that's really what the brochure should say.

The one and only window is small, like the kind you may find in an attic or possibly a segregated cell block. The blinds are dingy and yellowed from age, the bathroom is painted in mirroring colors and don't even get me started on the sink.

Freakin' thing makes a constant dripping sound...drip, drip, bloop...drip, drip, bloop. It's frustrating, infuriating, and totally going to send me over the edge. In fact, they should contemplate sending the dilapidated plumbing source to Guantanamo Bay for a sure-fire chance at gaining optimal intelligence from our enemies.

I close my eyes again and huff my disgust. "I feel like I'm starring in the remake of One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest, I need to get out of here." From my left, there's some rustling around. Butterflies flutter in my chest. How did I forget I wasn't alone?

He stayed.

"You snore." This is grumbled by the giant in the corner, trying to make himself comfortable in a recliner that fits only about fifty percent of his body. I don't know how tall he is exactly, but it's safe to say he's a couple inches over six feet, his expansive height making the sight that much more comical.

Dressed in the same gray zip up hoodie he used to comfort me in yesterday, the article of clothing stretches no less superbly today across his physically fit form as if it were sewn on his body, molding perfectly around the bountiful mounds of muscled girth. A man in a suit had always been a preference of mine but this man in navy blue sweatpants just pulverized his stuck-up competition and now holds the number one spot on my personal list of men that make me drool. Sorry Thor.

Besides the pants that hang loosely on his narrowed hips in a way that unmasks a faint line of hair from his navel to his ladybanger are the cross-trainers that came into my home untarnished but now hold dribbles of blood on the rubber soles and throughout the laces. It's not his blood. The Adonis certainly doesn't have a scratch on him. No this is Johnny's blood—demon plasma. In some twisted way, the thought is so euphoric, I almost can't see straight.

"Yea, well you smell," I grunt back in his direction acknowledging his unchanged attire, shimmying in my hospital garb in an effort to find comfort.

Deklan expels a husky chuckle and lifts an eyebrow in my direction, confirming I look as crazy as I feel. He rests his head back against the cracked faux leather upholstery of the chair then his eyes close to breathe deeply.

"Not much of a morning person I gather?" I ask, still shifting to find a position that alleviates some of the pain.

He keeps his eyes shut as he replies, "I'm like a unicorn Dove, galloping on rainbows and chasing leprechauns in the meadow. I don't know what you're talking about."

I giggle a little, admiring his dry sense of humor and well executed sarcasm. Unfortunately for me, the action makes my head hurt, so I rub my temple in a slow circular motion to try and rid it from some of the pressure.

"They weren't kidding when they said I was gonna hurt more today, huh?" I ask while I attempt to massage away the penetrating throb.

His jaw does that ticking thing again at the indication of my pain, but he makes no move to look at me. "No Dove, they weren't kidding"

I nod my head while my eyes roam the walls.

"Deklan?" I whisper.

"Yea, Dove?"

"Thanks for staying with me." I want to say more—ask him why, then of course follow up with the customary who, what, when, where, and how — of my interrogation but emotionally, I am a complete mess. No part of me is capable of handling the responses he'd likely give me, where somehow he reveals this whole time he thought I was someone else, and that this was all a mistake. Yea, I'll just leave the questions for another day.

No matter his intentions or how safe I feel with him nearby, thinking of Max and my parents, sensing the pressure and soreness on every orifice of my body, it all only serves to rattle me further. Usually, I'd be able to stay resigned in times of turmoil. Unaffected in times of strife.

Not anymore.

Yesterday, I had the best poker face this nation had ever seen. Today, it's almost like my feelings are being transmitted to a marquee that scrolls directly above my head, flashing continually— OUT OF ORDER—OUT OF ORDER—OUT OF ORDER...

Feeling vulnerable is a far-off concept mostly due to the many years spent building a wall around my heart, an iron gate around my secrets and I'm not sure I'm ready to tear either down. Stifling a sob, I gently shake my head, reprimanding my mind for being so all over the place.

"Get it together woman." I tell myself. "The war isn't over yet!"

I'm right, you know? The war isn't over. Yes, for now I've won the battle but deep in my heart, I know it's only just begun. What's going to happen these next few days, weeks, or months? I really couldn't tell you.

What I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, is that it's going to get worse before it has any chance of getting better because that's what life is like when one foolishly weds Johnny Cruz and produces his child. As long as he still lives and breathes, the fight for peace remains the same— Never ending. Constant bloodshed. Eventual death. You come back from Juan Maxwell Cruz like you come back from a head on collision—hurt, sore and perpetually scared to maneuver through the rest of your life.

While getting my life on track is a priority, it's useless to try and start now in the dungeon of doom.

Twenty minutes ago, a woman named Gert dropped a platter off in front of me with a thud. Wiry strands of white hair poked through a rip in her hair net, her teeth were jagged, and her voice was raspy.

"We'll be back in thirty minutes to pick up the tray." She grunted.

"What is this?" My lips dipped downwards as I looked at her then back to the spread that sat across my lap.

The angry food lady just glared. "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you gave me food someone chewed already, that's what it looks like." I poked my fork around what appeared to be the regurgitation of the patient next door, thinking I'd rather gnaw at my own arm than put the contents of that plate in my mouth.

You could classify me as the furthest thing from a snob, and you'd be right, however I wouldn't offer the pile of mush to old Mr. Stevenson's dog, and I despise that little ankle biter, constantly handling his business in my yard.

When my eyes met Deklan's, he gave me that uneven smirk that did all sorts of funny things to my insides. Continuing to hold his gaze, I pushed the tray from my body and folded my arms over my chest.

The defiant act stolen straight from toddlers everywhere, earned me an eye roll and a head shake from Mr. Freakin Sexy Dimple Face himself. He obviously was not pleased with my unwillingness to poison myself with some funky kind of hospital porridge and quite frankly I didn't really care.

By now, the less than lovable Gertie, a woman who put the rude in Gertrude gave up on trying to persuade me into thinking the meal was edible and exits on a huff without further comment.

Shoving the unappetizing spread further away, Deklan makes his way over to the bed.

"You need to eat."

"Not gonna happen."

Exasperated, the look he gives back to me tells me that he doesn't plan to let this go. "You still haven't processed everything that's happened, Dove. You've hardly even acknowledged that something did happen, other than the over the top verbal ass whoopings that you seem to hand out at random, of course."

He cocks his brow in my direction, daring me to disagree. I shrug him off because he's not wrong. I haven't been the most agreeable patient, but I can't bring myself to give a damn, not when I feel this way. Not when I know that the road ahead is going to be bumpy as hell.

Sensing the resurrection of my emotional walls, Deklan takes a step closer. When his hands find the sides of my face, I recognize the gesture as a plea for me to listen, a request that I couldn't deny if I tried.

I tip my head back, still ensconced in the wide spans of his palms and nod gently to let him know I'm paying attention even if changing my mind is out of the question.

"Eventually Dove, you'll run out of words, you'll feel the pain, remember it's real and struggle with its memory. It's not the days after that are bad, it's the months and the years that really get to you. You need to be healthy to prepare for it. Or it will swallow you whole. It will slowly destroy you."

As his thumbs brush up and down my jawline, he searches my face for understanding.

"The world just keeps fucking moving, Charlie. Even when you pray for it to stop, it never will. It...it just never will." I glance up into eyes that seem to plunge into my own. Not for the first time, this familiar gaze, recognizable for reasons I can't quite figure, is even more discernable than before. Completely opposite, stormy gray to chocolate brown, similar but not in the conventional sense, rather it's what sits behind them that I see so clearly, a constant surplus of sorrow that is identical to my own, an eternal angst that has no cure....

Emptiness.

Loneliness

Complete exhaustion.

Soon the array of raw emotion I saw in him is gone, replaced with a glare that is still consuming and just as comforting but tells me nothing about the man that stepped in to protect me, the man that stayed.

As if exuding vulnerability is some kind of foreign concept, Deklan finishes the sentiment with a little less passion entwined in his words, afraid—just as I am—to let anyone know too much.

"All I'm saying is that you have to take care of yourself or it's only going to get harder to deal with."

"I heard every word you said Deklan, please believe me when I tell you that. But if taking care of myself constitutes eating this..." I motion to the tray "...whatever this is? I'd rather starve."

He lets out a discontented sigh followed by a couple extra mumbles of frustration before picking up a piece of what he refers to as toast—though I've aptly deemed it death bread— and holding it to my mouth. With a narrow gaze, gone is the sweet and patient man, replaced with a brooding alpha that doesn't like to relinquish the upper hand. Both sides of him are nice to look at honestly but neither of them will get their way. As the dangerously handsome bloke beside me picks up on my unwillingness to submit he practically growls. "Bite!"

Goodness, that tone means business and such a serious look he's giving me. Firm. Telling. Beautiful. Did I mention unconvincing?

Has he learned nothing?

I close my lips tight and suck them inwards until they are virtually nonexistent. With stubborn motivation, I meet his stare head on. I don't care how mesmerizing he is to look at, I'm not putting that garbage in my mouth.

"Do you even comprehend how incredibly difficult you can be at times, woman?" He asks, pushing this sham of toast closer.

"If I had a dollar for every time someone said that I'd be a rich woman, my friend. Besides, I don't want to eat, I'm not even hungry. I just want to go home, Deklan, I want to see my son. Then I want a soda and all of its bubbly goodness. But not before I talk to my parents and see Pete." I cross my arms to continue my ramble.

"Furthermore, I'd like to sit in a room that doesn't resemble an institution for people eagerly awaiting a lobotomy or a quick romp of electroshock therapy. I mean seriously, this place is dreadful!"

Yes, I'm having another tantrum, one that gets Dimple Face to laugh all while continuing to stand his ground.

"Listen, I'll make you a deal." Now I have to pretend not to listen while listening and this is all making me tired. His voice draws me in anyway and isn't it amazing how in less than a day this one person has managed to save my life and simultaneously turn me into an avid worshiper? In all seriousness, it's almost impossible to go against his demands.

Charlie Manson? David Koresh? Amateurs compared to the cult leading skills of Deklan Dimple Face. Absolutely, no questions asked, I would totally drink his Kool-Aid.

"You eat half of this toast and drink some of this juice, and I'll sneak you in your soda. I'll even talk to the doctor about getting you out of here then get updates on Max, Pete and your parents." He pushes the dehydrated bread closer. "But only if you bite, so get to it." The rough and stale texture touches my mouth.

Not only a mind reader and cult leader but a car salesman as well, this guy drives a hard bargain and I'm buying everything he's selling without even realizing it. Short of breaking eye contact, I lean in and take the most dramatic bite possible and like a savage I chew with large overly exaggerated chomps, not once taking my attention away from his.

"This tastes like shit." I mumble with my mouth still full. "I think I just broke a tooth trying to chew through this mess."

Unimpressed, he no longer finds humor in my dramatics. Before I can finish swallowing, the straw is pushed against my lips. "Good girl...now drink."

I multitask by slurping up most of the juice and rolling my eyes. Cocky bastard wears a face full of approval.

"All right, now go work your magic." I wave my hands in front of myself, shooing him to the direction of the door.

He smiles, leans forward and kisses the top of my head and I get lightheaded from the feel of his lips on my scalp. To deny the intense reaction I have to his touch, would be like denying gravity or the fact that the world is round. Even the smallest touch seems to bring jolts of unknown origins through my body. It's an odd feeling, but one I'm fearfully growing comfortable with.

With every bit of masculinity protruding from his body, he finally leaves the room to uphold his end of the bargain.

The door is barely shut before the morning nurse enters the room. I'm cautious at first when she tells me she's here to help me shower but then I think about rinsing off all the hospital gunk and crusty blood funk and suddenly I have to stop myself from sticking my tongue down her throat and practicing my rusty Frenching skills.

No words can describe how disgusting I feel, for so many different reasons. This destitute bathroom with non-existent water pressure may not be a five-star hotel but it still feels so good to really wash all of yesterday away. Nevertheless, I'd be interested to see just how long Deklan sticks around when my hair dries into a perfect Mufasa-esque coif.

Entranced as the drain sucks down the remnants of the day before, it's strange how I feel marginally relaxed all the sudden. Like I'm watching Johnny and everything he's done to me pool at my feet and get sucked into the abyss. His touch, his smell, his sweat, his over-moisturized womanly fingerprints, they're gone now, and even though I know I have a long road ahead, I relish in the idea that part of me is finally free. That's when it happens, when I breathe my first real breath in six years and despite all the pain radiating through my existence and my inability to keep my emotions at bay, breathing feels amazing.

Deklan walks in a short while later. Some of the curls that frame my face have started to dry, the frizz taunting all who dare to look in my direction as it sprouts frantically from each coil. Undoubtedly, I'm a sight for sore eyes and contrary to what I originally thought, that he'd take one look at me and take off running, he's still here and doesn't look to be going anywhere soon.

There is a hint of a smile threatening to pop from his lips however, and I can tell he's trying hard not to comment on my outward look of insanity. I push upward at the ends of my drying afro with the palms of my recently cleaned hands and give him an innocent doe-eyed look.

"You like?" I ask him playfully, continuing to pump up the volume of my product free tendrils.

"I mean, it's kinda hot!" Deklan bursts out in laughter and I can't help but join in. We're in a fit of hysterics, so comfortable and genuine. For a second, I forget where we are and more importantly why we're here.

I find a hair tie and pull the poof into a ponytail high on my head then give him the finger for his continued chuckles. Our laughter subsides as he makes his way toward me with a sly expression on his face.

From the pocket of his form fitted gray hoodie he pulls out a can of soda. "For you, milady." He says, bowing his head in medieval regard.

"Why thank you, kind sir." I say as I tip my chin forward in return.

My eyes close with just the smallest sip, savoring the crisp, cold flavor. The bubbles from the carbonation tap dance on my tongue at first gulp. My shoulders relax.

Normalcy.

I open my eyes and hold the red can of goodness in Deklan's direction. "Breakfast of champions," I say, then drink some more. He sits back into his chair, laughing.

"Spill it, what's the verdict?" I ask, anxious to hear the information he's gathered.

"Your son is good and with your parents. Your Mom and Dad are obviously still upset, but they're hanging in there, just worried about you, of course. And Pete was discharged about an hour ago." My eyes perk up. I hadn't gotten much info on Pete last night, and the uncertainty of his condition has been tearing me apart.

"Are you sure, Deklan? He's really okay?"

While pouring a king size bag of peanut M&M's down his throat and he nods before he speaks. "Yea Dove, I'm sure. Just a broken nose, a dislocated shoulder and a minor concussion, he'll be fine. Tough old bastard." He says with his mouth partially full, explaining the injuries as if they held the severity of a paper cut and I wonder what this man has been through to downplay such bodily harm. Still, just knowing that Pete's alive and that he'll heal makes me feel better.

"Thank God," I sigh in relief and slump back into the concrete mattress

There's no question about it, if I'm working towards sanity, then I need to get the hell out here. I have to try to get my life back together. Which reminds me—

"Can I go home?" The words come out with more desperation than I'd like to let on. A ghost of a smile pricks at his lips regarding my impatience.

"Yea, sweetheart. We're gonna get you out of here soon, just get some rest, you'll be home before you know it." His voice is tired but comforting. Giving in to the exhaustion with snacks completely gone he eventually sits back and closes his eyes.

"Good 'cause I was about to use the spoon your friend Gert left behind and dig myself a tunnel. Go full out El Chapo in this bitch."

He chuckles while shaking his head, "Rest now, Dove." I don't immediately comply until he opens one eye and narrows it at me. Like I said—Kool-aid.

I shimmy down the concrete textured hospital bed, scratch my skin against the roughness of the sheets and lay my head back on the pillow. Deklan watches until satisfied, closes both eyes back up and eventually falls asleep.

Chapter Seventeen

Home Sweet Hell

Soon: To most of us, this word—by definition—means something that will happen in the near future, an event that will take place in a short period of time. But to hospital staff, I've come to learn the phrase, "you'll be out of here soon enough," actually means; any time between now and then next time Halley's Comet makes its way through orbit, and that's if you're lucky.

It's been two and a half days. Two and a half days of unidentifiable hospital food, beeping machines and the occasional whiff of dead person. Not to mention the constant hovering of those closest to me.

So, when they say I can finally leave, I all but skip out of there, flipping off the image of the entire building as I do. Deklan chuckles as he follows behind, a good sign, considering he wasn't too happy with me a few minutes ago when I told an orderly to shove the wheelchair, he insisted I sit in—per hospital policy— and ride it into traffic.

The ride to my house is quiet. Deklan has continued to prove he's a man of his word, other than running out to change and grab some extra clothes, he balled himself into that poor excuse of a recliner and stayed by my side each night, eating any and all types of junk food from the vending machine around the corner. The sound of crinkling candy wrappers became the sweetest ambience as I pretended to sleep, indulging in the fact he would only eat the good stuff when he thought I couldn't see.

He became such a staple, not only did every staff member of the female persuasion stop by to get a glance at him but so did fellow patients and even a new mom that had just given birth. When Adonis makes an appearance, it seems all the world takes notice.

The sun has set by the time I walk up to the front door of my house with trembling legs. Confident that if the wind blows, I'll completely topple over. The elation I felt when leaving the dungeon of doom has combusted into tiny particles, swept away with each gust of cold winter air.

Deklan keeps his hand on the small of my back while I let out a strong puff of determination. I don't know what to expect when I walk in. As much as I wanted to leave the hospital, the reality of everything that's happened hadn't hit me until now. Even the pain seems more prominent. Back at the very place my life changed forever.

Slowly, I crack the door open, mentally preparing myself for what may lie ahead after crossing the threshold. Before I can push it open completely, it's jerked out of my hands from the other side.

My palm slides off the handle.

The door flies open.

"MOMMY!" Max roars, as he barrels into my legs, hugging them with a grip so tight it almost cuts off my circulation.

"Maximillian!" I whisper frantically at the sight of him then bend down to kiss the top of his head before pulling him into my chest and squeezing, as if afraid I'd never be able to do it again. I've talked to him every day but seeing him and feeling him brings everything to a whole new level.

Tears stream down my face without permission. I hold him for what feels like forever, but still not nearly long enough.

Taking a second to savor the smell of his hair, the detergent on his clothes, the bubblegum flavored toothpaste on his breath, the faint aroma of Ivory soap on his skin, I breathe it all in all while basking in the warmth of his embrace.

Despite the onslaught of emotion, it would be best if he didn't see me cry, so when he picks up his head to look at me, I instinctively turn away. It's only then when I realize Deklan has been staring at our interaction this whole time.

Suddenly, his shoulders relax, taking a deep breath while his eyes fill with unreadable emotion. The tension I hadn't realized he was carrying seems to fly from his body as he admires my son and I in a way that is so powerful it strikes me breathless.

We lock eyes for what seems like hours. I can't help but wonder what he's thinking. Whatever it is, it's intense. There's meaning there, a purpose and words that have yet to be spoken. I would've been lost in his gaze if it weren't for the little tugs I feel at the bottom of my coat.

Deklan acknowledges my sympathetic smile as a promise to revisit this moment between us another time, winking and nodding almost unnoticeably in understanding. He directs my attention back to Max.

"I missed you, Mommy. I had a lot fun with Uncle Nick. Are you crying because he let me drive?"

"No, baby, Mommy's just happy to see you. These are happy tears. I've been—Wait a minute. What do you mean Uncle Nick let you drive?"

On cue, my brother and my mother enter the room. Just as I'm about to lay into Nick for his consistent irresponsibility, I watch my father walk in with his arm around the shoulder of Uncle Pete.

The sight of these two estranged siblings together sends my emotions into a frenzy.

Suddenly my thoughts revert to an annoying mess of jumbled words and mismatched sentences. Considering speaking isn't an option, I make a bee-line to the man that did his absolute best to protect me and leap into his arms.

"I'm so, so sorry Pete. You were right. I should've listened. It's my fault this happened to you. Please forgive me." I sob.

From a distance, Deklan can be heard asking Max about some video game that seems to have them both excited to discuss and I'm thankful he had the wherewithal to divert Max's attention away from this tragic scene. The pounding of footsteps up the stairs to my son's bedroom echoes above us, Max animatedly calling for Deklan to walk faster as his larger, more dominating treads follow close behind.

"None of this is your fault, kid, don't ever blame yourself. This is not on you. I'm just so happy you're all right." Pete croaks into my hair. "We're gonna get through this Charlie, you're going to finally get the life you deserve, I swear it to you on all things holy. If it's the last thing I do on this green earth, I'm going to make sure of that."

He lets go of me, slowly dropping me to my feet while I look up at him, wishing more than anything that what he's just said is possible.

"Why don't we all have a seat?" Dad chimes in and directs us all to the living room.

Pete walks to the sofa then pats the cushion to his left as a silent suggestion to settle into the space beside him. My jittery legs move in his direction, eventually situating myself within the dominion of soothing comfort that the piece of furniture provides. Once seated, his arm comes around my shoulder, squeezing just enough to offer relief and it's not long before my head falls against his chest, cautiously listening for a heartbeat.

Although threadbare and in need of a good ironing, the soft texture of his signature flannel settles some of my angst, yet it's only when the resounding beat vibrates against his breastbone, ultimately traveling to my awaiting senses that I'm content to believe in his existence. Then and only then, do I allow myself to accept the dreadful truth; that this man's been hurt because my poor choice in men, broken by my indelible yearn to be wanted and marked by my nearly deadly obsession with being loved.

Never again. I tell myself while I etch this exact moment into my brain. This is what happens, this is what it means to love.

Mom walks in with a tray of iced tea, finger sandwiches and a glass of cola, popping the saddened thought cloud that lurks infinitely above my head when she sets the spread down on the ottoman before taking a seat next to my father on the loveseat. With my appetite gone for the foreseeable future, instead of indulging along with the rest of my family, I use the time to scan the overall image of my home.

It looks different in here, cleansed. New. The broken glass is gone and there's no blood on the floor either. There's a faint smell of disinfectant that still lingers, more potent in some areas than others, even the curtains have been washed and pressed. My house looks immaculate, could be in the next issue of Home and Garden honestly, and if the dark circles under my mother's eyes are any indication, I'd say she spent each night and every morning sure to erase the lingering demons left behind by her son in law.

We talk for a while, Pete unknowingly answering the question that's been on my mind since the beginning of this whole ordeal—How did he know something was wrong?

Supposedly, he got worried after a phone call from my grandmother. She called to tell him that I hadn't yet arrived for our preplanned day of errands, raising his hackles enough to be slightly alarmed. The real panic didn't settle in though until she called back for a second time, a whole hour later, to say that I still hadn't shown. With both cars in the driveway and no answer at the door, his unease grew astronomically until he felt there was no choice but to use his key to let himself in, something he'd normally never do if Johnny was home.

"I just had a bad feeling." He continues. "I just knew something wasn't right." And, well—you know the rest. Something wasn't right indeed. I'm not sure anyone could've been prepared for what my uncle saw.

My eyes hurt from crying, burning in a way that proves I haven't cried in so many years. In between these never-ending sobs and intermittent hiccups, the family assures me Max is doing okay save for several oddly timed questions about my absence. Curious by nature, it doesn't surprise me that his wheels had been turning. As it is, we've never spent time away from each other. For the most part though, he was happy to have a sleep over with Uncle Nick. Popcorn and a promised Sponge Bob Marathon, the kid had pretty much put the questions out of his mind after that. As for his father? Johnny spent so much time out of our home that for now, Max won't register his nonappearance as being strange. Most times telling him, "Daddy is at work," convinced him that his dad was constantly out being a dutiful provider for his family.

So many years, and so much energy stolen in order to sound sincere when I explained to my child that we were always on the forefront of his father's mind. Promising him, that the man he looked up to would be home if he could be. Lying to him because none of it was true.

Before you pick up that stone and toss it in my direction, I need you to understand— protecting Max became a full-time job a while ago. My life's mission really, an unspoken promise I made just weeks after his birth. So, if that meant trudging through the fiery pits of hell to provide him with that exact protection, then so be it. Even today, in this moment, considering everything that's happened, Max will never know his father chose women before he chose him, crime before his family, evil before decency.

He'll never know that he and I were more of a nuisance than a priority and the reason he'll never know is because I'll never tell him. And that's the way it's gonna be, judge away if you must.

Dad, Nick and Pete devour the food left on the coffee table while it seems Mom and I have apparently lost most of our appetite. The silence that comes and goes between their mindless eating and the awkwardness of the situation as a whole isn't necessarily uncomfortable, just kind of sad. We've never been a family that was at a loss for words, until we lost Christopher of course. Since then there just doesn't seem to be much to say, really. This mess here doesn't help.

After some talk about the weather and my brother's plans for the weekend with yet another nameless woman, the detective on the case calls my cell. Per his request, I'll be heading to the station tomorrow to "go over some things," explaining that the more information they have, the stronger the case against Johnny will be and although I don't want to relive one moment of the horror, I know that in order to be free of Johnny's hold, I need the case to be iron clad. I hang up with Detective Martin with a promise that I'd be by in the afternoon and the pressing fear that justice may never be served.

It's getting late, my eyes are heavy. Every one of us seems to be running on fumes. Mom and Dad insist I need rest and arguing with them is pointless. Dad put his foot down which means Max is going to stay at their house for the night. Obviously, I'm not happy to be without him, though it'll buy me some time to get my thoughts in order.

Mom goes upstairs and packs an overnight bag for Max. Minutes later she returns, sets the bag down by my feet and wiggles herself into the spot on the other side of me. Pulling my body away from Pete, I'm settled comfortably into her embrace. Always soothing, like hot chocolate on a winter's night or warm sand on a summer's day, her voice calms me in a way nothing I've tried thus far has been able to do. Softly she caresses my hair as she tells me how much she loves me and how sorry she is that they didn't know what I was going through. She apologizes repeatedly and cries harder with each "please forgive me" that leaves her mouth.

Guilt; the sucker is embedded in the throngs of my existence as I insistently attempt to convince her that none of this is her fault, or my fathers for that matter. Still, when I explain to them that I purposely led them to believe everything was fine, it only makes the albatross of my secrecy significantly worse.

"But we're supposed to protect you." My mother sobs. "We were supposed to protect all of you."

The subliminal message buried in her words is heart wrenching, making it clear that she isn't just talking about me. Oddly enough, it never crossed my mind until now that she would feel responsible for Christopher's death. That seems like an absurd amount of pressure to place on herself considering there's nothing she or my dad could've done to change the outcome.

My brother was undercover when he was killed. On the cusps of bringing down one of the largest human trafficking rings the east coast has ever seen. We had no idea. Christopher made it a point to separate family business from his work, choosing the life of secrecy, choosing to distance himself, presumably to free us from worry and harm. Either way we can wish him back to life every day, plead with the powers that be that his death had all been a dream, but doing so would really be a moot gesture. After all, we lowered his casket, and said our goodbyes. The point is, Christopher isn't coming back and none of the reasoning behind it has anything to do with my parent's ability to protect us.

Knowing that my silence hurt them more than any act of contrition is a hard pill to swallow. For years I wanted to protect them and now I've singlehandedly torn them apart.

"Mom, please listen to me when I tell you none of this is on you. I hid everything on purpose, I couldn't stand the idea of hurting you and Dad. I couldn't be the one to cause you more heartache and pain." There's a desperation in my voice that begs for her to see my side. But when her grip around me tightens as she gains enough composure to respond to my confession, it becomes clear that she doesn't agree.

"And what would we have done if he killed you, Charlie? Did you ever think about that? Did you ever once think about what would happen to us if we lost another child? What would happen to your brother? I hear what you're saying but forgive me if I can't come to terms with it. You're telling me that you allowed yourself to be bullied and abused because you wanted to protect us? Give me a break! We didn't raise you to be a martyr, Charlotte. No, we raised you to be independent and strong willed. We gave you all the tools you needed to live a happy life with the support of your family so please don't expect me to believe you put yourself through this mess for our sake. Did you ever think we could've helped you, huh? Ever wonder if we could've kept you safe? Probably not, because you wanted to protect me. Well listen to me when I tell you, it's not your damn job to protect me."

"Mary!" Dad snaps in her direction, surprised just like the rest of us at my mother's harsh words.

"It's okay Dad, she's right." And she is. There's one problem though; there is no protecting me from Juan Maxwell Cruz. She couldn't have done it then and she won't be able to do it now. The only thing I can do is hope the justice system doesn't let me down. I can only pray this is the bullet that doesn't miss.

Sooner or later the tension dies down. Mom needed that rant and I was happy to give her the chance to let it out. If there is anyone that understands the need for a prompt and sometimes overly blunt verbal lash out, it's me. Sure, she still looks tired but a little less weighted. Too much of the remainder of her energy is spent trying to convince me to stay with them for the night, but I can't. It may sound ridiculous to distance myself again from my family, but I have to. If I'm going to be able to face this, to move forward, to talk to Max, then I'm going to have to start now and I need just one night to think everything through. Now that I'm out of the hospital I'm hoping it'll be easier.

With a child and a job, there's no time to break from reality. There's a need to keep moving, pushing, going. Because I know myself. To continue forward is my only option. Stop now and I'll never find a way to start again.

It's late by the time my parents have gone, taking with them my little beacon of hope who I already miss deeply. Pete agreed to stay the night on the couch only after Nick insisted on doing it instead, and as much as I loved my brother, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from continuing Mom's lecture from earlier and that's something I can't handle right now.

Secretly, I'm glad Pete will be here, even though I would never have asked. The last thing I want for my injured uncle is to be a burden but being completely alone for the first night home after the whole ordeal, is not something I'll be able to handle well.

Exhausted, I take a seat on the couch and curl my legs into my chest as a feeling of impending doom surrounds me at the realization that I haven't yet been to the rest of the house. Just down the corridor from where I sit, lies every horrible reminder that I spent six years playing house with the Devil. Thinking of things that belong to him being so close to things that belong to me makes my stomach cramp. I have to steady my breathing to keep myself from vomiting. You can do this Charlie, you're stronger than you think. I say to myself repeatedly.

"Uh um." Looking up to see Pete standing in the doorway, I watch Deklan hover nearby before cautiously making his way over to the couch.

"Hey, Dove." Worry lines sit deep in his expression as he inches himself closer, my body instinctively reacting to the nearby warmth of his approaching heat. When he puts his arm on the back of the couch, he's careful not to touch me, still getting a sense on my current frame of mind. Truth be told, I've been a real pain in the ass with my emotions. There seems to be a heavy case of Jekyll and Hyde syndrome constantly zipping through my body and no one can be too sure which one of the two they'll have the displeasure of meeting. This is why Deklan is handling me with understandable caution, the curiosity in his eyes expressing his knowledge that I can often be a loose cannon when faced with tumultuous circumstances. He's the bomb squad, I'm the bomb and he's trying to gauge how many seconds are left until I detonate.

"Hey," is all I can manage to say and even that is barely audible. So many thoughts and feelings are consuming my body, gnawing at my mind. A few seconds pass before he clears his throat to speak.

"So..." Looking sheepish, he scratches the back of his neck. "Um, I talked to Pete. He's going to go home and get some rest. If it's okay with you, I'm gonna stay here tonight so you're not by yourself."

There's no stopping the way my head whips around in an almost complete circle while my barely beating heart fills with wonder. Met with that familiar set of stormy gray eyes, there isn't really a specific reason to let my guard down yet having Deklan stay the night makes me feel safeguarded, untouchable and protected in a way I haven't felt in a very long time. Doesn't stop my pulse from taking it up a couple notches in the tempo department though.

Questions! I have questions!

The first of course is, why? And following that humdinger comes... What is he doing? What does this mean? Why is he being so nice to me? Did I pay the water bill?

That last one is ridiculous, I know, but it speaks to the fragility of my psyche and my inability to understand why a man of this caliber wants to spend another night in the home of a woman that may soon be lacking running water. Other than fantasizing about every inch of his body since the first day I saw this man, I really don't know him. There's even a very small part of my subconscious that has yet to be affected by my nervous breakdown that goes into high alert, running to the top deck of the sinking ship that is my brain and sounding the alarm, "Stranger Danger! I repeat Stranger Danger!"

If the lights of my house start flashing red at this point, I wouldn't be surprised because it's logical to think this was a bad idea. Logical? Ha, what's that? asks the remaining ninety percent of my conscience that has unfortunately been tasked with making the majority of my decisions.

When I met Johnny, something inside tried to warn me away—far away— but ignored it, choosing instead to take my chances in hopes that I had been nothing more than paranoid and inexperienced with such heavy emotions. Well, I think we could all agree that I should've listened to the warning back then and while I probably shouldn't just jump in headfirst here, this time everything just feels different. Whatever this internal sensation I get with Deklan, it doesn't scare me it excites me.

Sure, I really don't know him, and yea, he could probably kill me with just one of those strong looking hands of his, but he won't. Don't ask me how I know that—I just do. There's little in this world that I'd bet on, but I'd put it all right down on the spot that says that I'm beyond safe in the presence of this man. While I'll admit to being unsure of his motives, should danger come knocking, there's no doubt that this man that barreled into my life from seemingly nowhere would value my life more than his own and do anything in his power to defend it, of this I'm certain.

Silent still, words just seem unnecessary when I find myself scooting closer and putting my head on his shoulder, holding on to the feeling of immense security and infinite protection that for tonight I so desperately need. I let that sense of self-preservation suck me in as I close my eyes and breathe in the stranger that saved my life. His demeanor softens, his muscles go from tense in uncertainty to tranquil with contentment. Deklan doesn't say anything and neither do I. Instead we sit.

Uninhibited warmth steams from his arm around my shoulder. So strong, it wraps me in an invisible blanket, wordlessly telling me that at least for tonight, I'll be okay. Visually comparable, maybe, but he's no longer Adonis to me, he's Deklan. My guardian. My shield. And if I'm being honest, I'm not quite ready to let him go.

Not just yet.

Pete leaves just after Deklan runs home to grab some clothes and check on a few things.

Once inside for the night, I shut the door and lock it, repeatedly glancing at the silver looking knob, making sure the latch is in a secure position. An uneasy feeling still sits in the pit of my stomach. Johnny may be in jail, but the idea of him having a key to this house scares the shit out of me. Tomorrow every lock will be changed.

Deklan asks to use the bathroom, so that he can shower and clean himself up. I point him in the right direction and tell him where he can find everything he might need.

The old Charlie would not be able to concentrate with a specimen so rare, glorious and naked just a few feet away, in her shower, in her home—Did I mention naked?

So unbelievably attractive, I bet he has to fight with the water spray just to be cooperative and roll off his body, the beads of liquid unwilling to let go otherwise.

But those thoughts are a thing of the past, right now nothing but appreciation for this man settles in my mind.

Yea sure. My subconscious-self keels over in a fit of laughter and I roll my eyes at her childish behavior.

The sound of running water rings from the hall, the sign needed to take the opportunity and make my way to the back of the house. It's now or never.

Inhaling deeply, holding my breath I take a quick turn into the den then jump at the sight of Johnny's shoes placed perfectly by the door.

Overpowering terror has me choking on the air that I've held for safe keeping in the deepest pockets of my lungs.

Gasping.

Heaving.

Raging.

Scared.

Paralyzing as if I've come across a rattle snake in the desert, there's this fear I can't shake that somehow they're going to jump up and bite, infect me with the poisonous venom I know for certain they possess. Deciding it's best for my sanity, I pull away and leave them there bearing in mind that if I get some rest, I can likely handle this better tomorrow.

The master bedroom is across the hall. My legs move slowly in its direction as my back slides against the wall, cautious moves straight from a modern-day horror film. If I had a hard time with his sneakers, how am I going to sleep in the very room we shared, the very bed where he finally broke me?

I manage to make it across the brink, reluctant to come face to face with the nightmarish memory. The light is dim but shines enough to see everything in place.

At the chest of drawers, I pull out my pajamas before searching out my favorite pair of chunky cable knit socks that my grandmother had made for me during my last year in college. I find them nestled in the very back.

Complete exhaustion rolls through me, depleting my strength. It takes a forceful tug to pull my most comfortable footwear forward. When I'm finally successful, a tiny piece of paper flies out with them. It makes its way to the ground like a stray feather, floating from the ceiling, dipping in the air, then falling to the floor. The familiar thump wreaks havoc on my insides, every organ threatening to break through the cage of my chest.

It's this one small piece of paper, one single slip of empty promises that ends up becoming my undoing.

Memories of its contents flood my mind. It's the note Johnny left on my pillow the night before we married.

Charlotte,

Tomorrow I get to keep you. Rest and dream of me. Soon, I will meet you at the altar.

Forever and always,

-J

"I believed him." It's a whisper and a revelation. It's the moment of truth and it's also the calm before the storm. With trembling hands, I crumble the paper in a fist and bend myself forward. I'm once again gasping for air. My lungs pleading for oxygen. Unable to keep my balance, my body falls forward, my hands palm the slick texture of the recently polished hardwood and my knees instantly ache from the impact. I pull in a breath with unimaginable force, wheezing out an exhalation.

Anguish. Despair. Heartbreak. Agony. Loneliness.

Each emotion tucked firmly into the center of every tear that begins to fall. The sentiments pour from my eyes at impressive speed, drowning me in sadness, soaking me in anger.

I rise to my feet, my kneecaps quake violently beneath the skin that protects them. My eyes scan the room with vengeance. The dire need to destroy his possessions the same way he has destroyed me, rages through my body.

In a matter of seconds, my rational mind is completely gone.

Things, items, possessions, everything he once laid a finger upon, goes crashing and flying through the room.

With my arm extended forward, I bring it to the top of Johnny's bureau and aggressively swipe it across its surface, grunting and gurgling like an animal, untamed and wild, watching the memories of him smash and shatter at my feet.

Bottles of expensive cologne crash one after another onto the hardwood floor, the familiar smell of him released from the broken pieces, only serving to intensify the fury. Strength I didn't know I had, consumes me. With the force of the Hulk himself, I pick up the frame that sits alone on the tabletop unaware of its fate and future destruction. With hands tightly wrapped around its edges, the sharp metal breaks through the skin at the center of my palms.

Blood drips down my wrist as I launch it forward.

The photograph of us during our first dance as husband and wife takes flight, tumbling through the air as I stand motionless, raw, allowing myself to soak in the maniacal glory that stems from witnessing the intimate memory catapult through the air and smash itself into the mirror. The same mirror that once housed a permanent image of his egotistical reflection. Glass flies out in daggers on impact. It's a psychotic celebration.

Every piece of furniture in the room reminds me of him and it all has to go.

The nightstand: where he placed his watch, while he showered off the smell of the mistress du jour. SMASH!

The bureau: which holds his expensive clothing, designer jeans and pretty boy sweaters, masks to cover up the immoral beast he really is. CRASH!

The chair: The one he sat on almost daily as he pushed me to my knees and forced himself into my mouth. Only to follow up by releasing his semen onto my face or into my hair before laughing and walking away. BANG!

Sounds of splintered wood and breaking glass echo through the now barren bedroom. Not much time has passed at all and I've single handedly managed to destroy everything. As it is, I can't form coherent thoughts due to the silent screams that fog my brain, so powerful, they knock the wind completely out of me.

Strong, capable arms suddenly hook around my waist as Deklan spins me to face him. I stand still, feeling like I don't even possess my own body, shards of broken glass under my bare feet and I don't care, the wetness of the blood pooling below them means nothing to me.

My gaze is down. My arms to the side. My breathing labored as I will the demon that just possessed me from my body.

A calloused finger caresses my jaw, drawing a line from the corner of my eye to my mouth while quiet whispers of serenity purr from his lips. The limbs of my body instinctively soften as I'm scooped up into his arms.

"Dove?"

Silence.

"Dove? Look at me, baby. I need you to look at me." My head shakes in protest, but the comfort of his voice lifts my eyes up anyway. The corner of his mouth pulls up into a gentle and compassionate smile before he closes his own eyes for a moment, clenching his jaw, visibly fighting with his body to relax.

There's a pained look in his expression and instead of opening his eyelids, he pulls me closer into his chest. Those spectacularly muscled forearms tighten as his chin rests on top of my head. Eventually he softens as the both of us remain motionless. I try to talk but my voice is gone, my throat burning and my mouth dry. It hits me then that the screams weren't silent at all. The sounds in my head moments ago, were sounds that left my body.

"It's over, baby...." Deklan whispers, taking a deep breath then letting it out "...it's finally over."

At his words, I bury my face in his chest and sob. I don't hold back as I slam my fists onto his naked, damp chest. The fact that nothing but a towel is wrapped around his lean and cut waist means nothing as loud agonizing sounds are emptied from my mouth.

I cry for Max. I cry for Pete. For Nick. For wishing I still had Christopher. For wishing things were different. Tears are shed for my parents, my friends and I even cry for Johnny, the old Johnny, the one that died six years ago. More importantly, I cry for myself. The life that I fought so hard to keep in control was quickly replaced by a new life full of uncertainty and the unknown. And the man that fought for me lets me, lets me beat on his chest, sob in his arms and wail like a feral night creature into a room I once shared with my husband.

I don't know what's going to happen to me and it's terrifying. Maybe I'm not as strong as I thought I was. Part of me wishes that I would've died yesterday, surely it wouldn't have been as painful as what I'm experiencing now.

It's not until I wake the next morning, curled up in the arms of Deklan that I realize I had finally stopped crying. Not until I wake up in the arms of my savior that I finally choose to live.

Chapter Eighteen

The Purge

The strum of Deklan's heart as it pumps in his chest is heavenly and peaceful while the grip around my waist is one that is tight and possessive, at the same time comforting. With a muscular forearm tucked around my stomach, holding me like a lifeline, it's almost as if he's afraid I'd blow away.

Careful not to wake him, with a steady shimmy and quiet movements, I untangle myself from his grip. Free although suddenly freezing, I drape a blanket over his body and stand over his imposingly sleepy form.

Leaning forward, I place my lips to the top of his head, speaking softly.

"I'm sorry for putting you through this, someday I'll make it all up to you. You're my savior Deklan. I owe you my life." I kiss him gently into his hair, smiling as the floral undertones of my shampoo invade my senses. Then with a giant puff of determination, I walk down the hallway to face the aftermath of last night's wrath.

My bedroom is—well, it's here to say the least. Deklan must've picked up the broken glass and done his best to salvage whatever furniture wasn't ruined. I look at the room and stay unmoving, contemplating where I should begin.

Eventually, I'll probably sell this house but for the time being, I'm going to do my best to make it new, to erase all of the evil and face it head on and to do that, I'm going to have to start all over.

Operation Take Back My Life is in full effect.

Maybe lashing out and losing my mind helped a little, or maybe it was the breakdown that lead to crying until there were no tears left, but for now I feel ready. It's time to have the life I deserve. Don't get me wrong, I know I am nowhere near perfect and certainly not physically or emotionally healed but now is a better time than any to start the next chapter. I can't fix the past or change everything that has happened, but I can set the foundation for the future. So, with my newfound resolve, I gather the necessary tools and get to work.

Hours have passed, all of Johnny's things are in boxes and bags and I'm surprised at how good I feel, physically that is. The bruising is still pretty apparent, there aren't many cosmetics on the market thick enough to hide them all, but the swelling seems to have subsided. Fortunately, most of the lumps and bumps are hidden under my hair, the mark under my chin can pass as a shadow from a distance and my under-eye area looks more tired than bruised thanks to the concealers' best attempt at maximum coverage.

Johnny's belongings sit in my hand like hot coals, practically burning holes through my palms as I drop them frantically in designated bags and boxes. Each pile before me has GOODWILL draped in giant letters across the front. Anything that was his, needs to be gone as I want nothing in this house that serves as a physical representation that he once lived here.

This winter has been one of the coldest to date, it's fair to say today isn't any warmer, but holy hell, I'm sweating like a pig. Piling my hair onto the top of my head, I welcome the cool air to the nape of my neck, then get back to work, unwilling to take a break, reminding myself that the faster I get this stuff packed and out of here, the faster I can move on.

Once satisfied that I have it all cleared, I step out of the room with my hands full. The curls that frame my face coil tighter than normal, thanks to the added moisture on my skin from my hard work. As you know, I never did have control over this mop on my head and today is no different.

All this crap is heavy, and it weighs me down as I make my way into the hall, blowing the unruly curls away from my eyes. A few insubordinate strays stay behind, blocking my vision while perspiration streams down my face and back. With my forearm, I swipe at my brow to rid myself of the unwelcome moisture, watching as a wet spot instantly appears on my sleeve. Gross.

Each bag is still gripped tightly in my hands and I've been trudging down the hall with one thought— If one goes they all go, so I tighten my grip until my knuckles blanch and continue my mission, grumbling and mumbling as my arms grow tired and I ricochet from one wall to the next, trying to carry everything at once.

Jesus, it's freakin' hot in here.

To my surprise, it only gets hotter. As I make my way around the corner, I run into yet another wall. This one feels like brick and I hit it so hard my entire body fumbles backwards until I land on my ass in a very unladylike plop.

Shit!

The warm vibrato of laughter pokes through the commotion and I realize I didn't hit an actual wall but rather a Deklan wall. Everything I worked so hard to carry to this point has flown from my hands as I let out an angry huff before really looking at him.

Standing at the threshold in the hallway, arms overhead, pushed against the doorframe with a smile on his face that would shut down convents and burn purity rings right off the fingers of sworn virgins everywhere, is the man that quite literally saved my life. Another chuckle escapes his perfectly full lips as he watches me gather my bearings, all sweat stained shirt and blonde frizzy mop.

Continuing to swing just his torso back and forth through what happens to be the only nearby exit, obviously pleased with his diversion, he looks down at me and chuckles softly. I growl like an animal, the sound comes from deep in my throat as my eyes pinch themselves into narrow slits, no longer affected by his overwhelming hotness or the quiver of my lady parts whenever in his presence.

With the knuckle of his index finger, he brushes the remaining hair from my eyes, then stands motionless, staring at me with some strange reverent expression that shifts my heart into overdrive. So much for unaffected.

"You're kinda cute when you're pissy." He says, tucking the last stray tendril behind my ear. Dear Jesus, take me now! This man can erase my agitation with just his touch and that scares me—A LOT!

I ignore his comment—save for said lady parts that hear his voice and throw a party—then roll my eyes, hoping to offset the intensity of my thoughts as he continues to laugh at my childish reaction all while my heart flip flops rapidly. Not that I've been around him long, but each time feels like I'm stuck on a roller coaster, a fast one, with all kinds of loops and turns and freefalling sensations that make your stomach bottom out. You know what I mean? When you're at the very top of the biggest hill, readying yourself for the fall, hoping that should death be imminent it should at least be painless. I think that's what my body is doing now. Preparing for the fall. Reminding myself that although the thrill may be fun, Deklan, like many thrill rides, simply isn't meant for everyone.

I shake my head, an effort to return to reality yet no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to stop looking at him, a tall mass of lean muscle, barely clearing the ceiling to my home. From this angle, it's clear he hasn't shaved in a few days, the light stubble typically covering his chiseled jaw line has thickened a bit, succeeding in the impossible task of making him look even more devastatingly virile. On top of that, the way the morning sun streams through the blinds and sneaks up from behind him has his body glowing like a true angel sent from God to save me.

My avenging angel.

Bright almost blinding light reflects like a halo off the white V-neck cotton T-shirt that clings effortlessly to his broad shoulders and gladiator frame, only confirming my theory that he was sent from the heavens. The way his sleeves fit snug around his pronounced biceps as they flex and contract with every little movement turns my insides into a pot of chunky soup. This is not an exaggeration; the man is the poster child for arm porn. Other than falling apart against his naked chest, and not paying as much attention as I should've, it's the first time I've seen him without a hoodie or a jacket so when he reaches up to grab the frame of the door again, it's hard not to notice the marks that deface his otherwise perfect skin.

As if the War on Terror itself is keeping score by using the angelic flesh as the tally sheet, the faded scars embedded into Deklan's' forearms depict a vicious battle. That's when I realize it's exactly what I'm looking at. How I hadn't figured it out before now, I have no idea as for years it has pretty much been my job to know. The demeanor, the way they stand, how they respond to crises. Deklan's military and he's got the battle wounds to prove it.

Rage in the form of threatening tears begins to burn the rims of my eyes. How could this world be so crazy? How could people be so vicious?

I've become aberrantly angry when I look at each of the raging marks, fighting the urge to reach out and trace them individually with the tips of my fingers as my eyesight becomes increasingly blurrier. His eyes follow the path of my gaze before he crouches down before me.

"Hey." Firm hands come up to frame my face, "I'm okay, it was a long time ago." Deklan whispers gently.

"Army?" I manage to ask through a quiver.

"Marines."

I nod, then shake my head in the confines of his hold, still in my seated position, mounds of unwanted clothing scattered beside me, all sweat stained and runny nosed. I'm a mess.

A lone tear escapes, trailing down my face faster than my heart is racing. Deklan's thumb catches the trickling liquid before it falls and it's such an intimate gesture, I can't help but stare up into the eyes of this man, a stranger that I just met, that has been risking his life to save me before I even knew he existed.

"No more crying, okay?"

"I'm sorry. It's just not fair." I tell him, unsure of why I can't keep my emotions at bay.

"Such is life, Dove." Warm lips meet the worry lines between my eyebrows. "Such is life." Deklan whispers once more.

Against the wishes of every cell of my body I force myself to pull away. It's all becoming too much. I'm becoming too attached. Too reliant. It's not only unlike me, it's dangerous. Shark infested waters dangerous. I might as well cut myself and jump right in.

Quickly, I realize that moving away was a really bad decision. If I was looking for solace or even a sliver of sanity, I won't get it now that I have a view of him in his entirety. It isn't until now that I notice the way the hem of his shirt falls at the just the right length, delivering a perfect view of the waistband on his boxer briefs. Calvin Klein...shocker. Or, how his Ralph Lauren sweatpants hang perfectly at the V of his lower abdomen.

If I had simply stayed where I was, up close and in his hands, I wouldn't have had the chance to soak in the sight of the full head of dark black hair, short on the sides with just enough to come up at the top, the color, an exact replica of starless skies on sleepless nights. I certainly never would have been able to capture the essence of bad boy that beams from the outside or the soul that underneath each protective layer is as sweet as sugar within.

Having just woken up, he's a rumpled, wrinkled, groggy mess and still the most beautiful man I've ever laid an eye on. Deklan blows Johnny completely out of the water, along with the entire population of the Western Hemisphere.

Two pools of the most intense stormy gray clouds settle in my direction. Impossibly, both the brightest and darkest eyes I've ever seen. I'm lost for words when he gives me his signature tilted smile, that lazy grin. Aware of the fact that the dimple that forms on the right side of his face and not the left, makes him even more incredibly handsome, well versed in using it to his advantage, he continues to draw me in.

"Christ—" The grumble breaks me out of the spell. "What time did you wake up, woman?" He snickers once more, scanning the heaping piles of bags that have just fallen to the floor then offering his hand to help me up. I place my hand in his and feel weightless as he effortlessly pulls me to my feet.

"Actually, I was up pretty early." I tell him, dusting off my bottom and then the front of my shirt with my hands. I can't help but scrunch my face in disgust as I watch the dust bunnies fly from my body. "Couldn't sleep really, I hope I didn't wake you."

Vigorously I rub my hands on the side of my pants in an attempt to soak up some of the moisture that seems to spring to life in the crevices of my palms whenever he's near.

"Nah, I'm good, don't worry about me although I am gonna have to eat soon. I'm starving and I really don't want to chance a growth stunt." He winks at his attempted humor.

"That was corny" I roll my eyes, trying to stifle a smile at his playfulness. Piling one plastic bag on top of another, I ready myself to continue in my mission to rid this house of evil.

"You wanna know what's corny, Dove?" He asks, bending over to pick up the fallen bags. It's not lost on me that his one large, capable, vascular looking hand is able to carry almost every one of them without breaking a sweat. Before bringing himself fully upright he stops, his face directly in front of my own. "People that still use the word corny." The mere distance between our lips has me almost cross-eyed while his words practically fall into my mouth as he eyes me intently.

Then as if he hadn't just knowingly lit every nerve ending on fire, he stands up straight, lightheartedly nudging my shoulder. The heat from his body sends my bottom lip in a frenzy, seeking refuge between my teeth. I'm drowning in a standstill of emotions, emotions that seemingly come alive the closer Deklan is to me. My body tingles. My pulse races. Swarms of gratitude coupled with something fascinatingly unfamiliar hovers over my existence. I stare at him. Only at him. For what feels like forever. He saved me. Why did he save me? What am I feeling? How do I thank him? Those same questions ping in my mind again, haunting me, one after another. Questions I still want answers to, but like always, don't know where to find them.

"You okay, Dove?" His brows arch while he waits for a sassy retort, a spirited yet spiteful remark, anything to continue with this spirited banter that I'm sure he finds just as entertaining as I do, but this time I've got nothing, I don't respond. Instead, I hurdle myself into his arms, sure for some unknown reason that he'll catch me.

All the bags he's managed to grab so far thump at his feet as they're immediately released from his hands. Without as much as a flinch, he catches me just as I knew he would.

"Hey, what's this for?" He asks as he rubs my back in gentle circles, making no attempt to remove me from his body.

Without speaking, I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist and hang from him like some sort of baby animal, finding it to be the most naturally human feeling to be in his arms. With my face tucked into the crook of his neck, I shake my head further into the masculine canyon of warmth, a gesture that says, I don't have a reply suitable for the question, because in fact, the sudden show of affection isn't just for one thing—it's for everything.

Squeezing with every bit of strength left, trying to express my gratitude but unsure of how, we stay like this for several minutes. Neither of us say a word as he adds a little swing to our embrace, gently rocking my pain away and noiselessly accepting my thanks. He and I relax into the quiet, basking in the sounds of our hushed and shallow breaths. There are no words emitted amidst this silent understanding between two strangers that for whatever reason need each other more than either are willing to verbally admit. It's unlike anything I've ever known.

It's uncertain what will happen between Deklan and I, but if there's one thing that I'm sure of, for the rest of my life, I'll never forget what it felt like to be held in the arms of Adonis.

Chapter Nineteen

Troubled Waters

Just after lunch, Deklan drives me to the police station. Pulling his car in front of the foreboding building, he hurries to the passenger side to open my door. In seconds, the cold air annihilates any remnants of the car's heat and I shiver as the wind continues to blow against my shuddering body, but I don't get out.

I can't get out.

"Hey?" Deklan bends down beside me then runs his hand from the top of my head to my shoulders, working on his mission to smooth out the disobedient curls. So far, hair:100 Deklan: 0.

"I'll be with you the entire time, okay? If it's too much, just say the word and we go."

"Promise?" I ask him, finally coming to my senses.

"Promise."

"Okay."

With a small bounce to his knees to pop himself upright, Deklan places his lips at the top of my head before offering his hand. "Good, then up you get." He tugs and pulls me from the sanctity of his car.

I glance up at the building before me as uniformed officers come and go with ease while the recently released troublemakers wait patiently on the steps, visibly anxious to get as far as possible from the exact building I'm about to enter. Bondsmen hand out pamphlets of sorts to promote their businesses, just as suited up lawyers with over polished loafers carry expensive leather briefcases up and down the cemented pathway each so high on their own horses, they're almost hard to see. I inhale and hold my breath; my cheeks deflate, releasing a nervous wheeze into the winter air.

"Promise." Deklan whispers into my ear, reaffirming his support and it's all the strength I need for my feet to move forward.

A glass window sits in the middle of a brick wall as we enter the station, a sign, Please Press for Assistance is tacked up with scotch tape above a buzzer. Deklan presses the button, gives our names and waits until the door to our right opens with a faint hum. With his hand placed gently on my back he guides me through the doorway.

Detective Martin greets us both when the elevator door opens. Noticeably, he's less than pleased with the added company but that's really too bad for him. As it is, just staring at the greasy comb over and listening to the excessively confident way he speaks about himself is a bit much for me to handle. Even worse is the way his pudgy little fingers take hold of that overpriced pen in his hand, consistently tapping it against the yellow legal pad and driving me out of my mind.

For what feels like the hundredth time, I go into detail about what happened between Johnny and me. My story never changes, and I wonder quickly if he's wishing it would. News flash you oily looking bug, you can change up the words, or read straight from the thesaurus but my story will be the same regardless.

Once satisfied that I'm not some sort of pathological liar, he moves on from the tiring line of questioning only to make me increasingly more nervous by suggesting that I fill out a request for a restraining order.

"But, Johnny's in jail." I look at him, confused by his inference. "Why would I need a protective order? Didn't you tell me he wasn't getting out?" There's no lack of concern in my question as I wait patiently for an explanation.

"Honey, this is just precaution, the chances of him getting out are slim, but there is always a chance the judge will grant bail. Better to be safe than sorry, right? At least that's what I always say."

That's it? That's his reasoning?

It's hard to stifle an eye roll as Barney Fife's overweight grandson continues to blabber on, amazing me how every sentence or phrase tends to end with some story about how great he is.

Taptaptap...taptaptap.

It's all I can concentrate on while I try to bring my mind to a place, miles from here where I don't have to hear the detective's list of accolades or the repetitive sound of the pen smacking against the notebook that all makes me want to peel off my skin layer by layer, only after I slam my head into the cement wall behind me.

Assuming the glare coming from my eyes straight to his hand is one of appraisal, the detective holds up the culprit of my anger as if the look on my face is of interest rather than premeditating his murder. "You like?" He asks and I almost can't stop my thoughts from leaving my mouth.

What I'd like, is to see that pen shoved into the temple of your head if you don't quit tapping it against that fucking notebook.

Deciding it better not to threaten a member of law enforcement, I give him a taciturn smile, sit on my hands as to not find them around his throat and nod instead, secretly hoping he doesn't use the word honey in my direction ever again.

Judging by the sudden smell of ferocity in the air, seems my new friend to the right of me isn't pleased with the superfluous endearment either. In fact, Deklan might break a tooth if he grinds his teeth any harder. Risking a look in his direction, I find a murderous gleam in his eyes, directed at a completely oblivious and pen adorning, Detective Martin.

"What do you think?" I ask, trying to snap him out of his sudden state of anger. He nods but never actually speaks.

"All right." The answer settles like lead in my gut.

It doesn't matter if I believe that Deklan would never intentionally steer me in the wrong direction, there's still an uneasy feeling zipping through my body as I fill out the paperwork. They obviously don't know Johnny like I know Johnny because if that man wants something, there isn't a damn thing a piece a paper is going to do to stop him from getting it.

I've lost track of time since we've been here, completely tuning out the rest of the conversation because I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm done. Finished. Going over every excruciating detail is not good for the psyche. Opening hypothetical wounds that aren't even scabbed over yet doesn't really pique my interest.

The truth of the matter is, deep down I know when it comes to Johnny, even the police can't ensure my safety. We're talking about a man that's skated around serious offenses most of his life. Dodged those reputed bullets.

Unless the entire judicial system is reformed from this point forward, there will always be a chance that I'll be in danger. Now, without those rose-colored glasses that were practically glued to my face at one point, it's fair to assume that Johnny had an inside man, he had to have. No longer the stupid girl I was years ago, I feel confident in inferring he'd have already been in jail long before today—long before he ever met me—if he didn't.

So, for as long as that man exists, so does the threat he poses. What it comes down to is simple really, if I want to make sure I get my life back, the way to do that is to figure out a way to protect myself. How? Well, that's yet to be determined.

It seems like years before Detective Motormouth stops talking and we're told we're free to go in a way that makes me feel more like a criminal than a victim. Bad enough, my legs had lost feeling some time ago so when I go to stand the pins and needles turn my limbs numb making it hard to walk, though I'd crawl out of here if necessary.

Inches from the door, Deklan takes hold of my elbow, speaking for the first time since we arrived.

"Meet me in the lobby okay, Dove?" He gives a squeeze to the crook of my arm for assurance, walking me to the exit, the way a bodyguard protects a celebrity from unwanted paparazzi. When he returns my questioning glare with a reassuring smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes, there's a strong urge to smack him in his unreasonably handsome face.

The volley of silent speech serves to rattle my already jumbled brain, each one of us daring the other to give in. Figuring it best to oblige and not cause a scene, I tip my head forward, agreeing but still tentative. When he releases his hold, leaving me to walk to the lobby alone, the extra time to myself has the wheels in my head spinning rapidly.

I haven't asked why he calls me Dove but to be honest, I kind of like it. It's been a long time since someone called me a nickname that presumably held meaning. Christopher always called me Pip, short for pipsqueak. Notorious for driving my older brothers crazy as a child, always trying to tag along, crying until my father forced them to take me with them despite their protests that I was too young, too annoying and the worse offense of all—too female.

Eventually, as I grew older, though very much still in possession of girl parts, Chris said it with such fondness, it didn't bother me at all. Even Pete got used to the moniker, using it to this day as an ode to the brother I no longer have.

Maybe Deklan's nickname for me helps in holding onto those memories? Or maybe it's what he calls all the women in his life so that he doesn't have to remember their names? Kinda like saying baby or sweetheart. As someone that's been on the receiving end of such titles, it wouldn't surprise me, Johnny did it all the time. That man went through so many women in a day, by the time he made it back to me, I practically had to remind him who I was. Whatever the reason for Deklan's blandishment, it's probably best not to think too far into it.

It's not long before the man of my thoughts meets me in the lobby, his eyes telling me he knows I have questions, his body language telling me he has no plans to give out answers.

Screw that! I've already met my just go with it, quota. I sat with that sleaze ball of a detective far too long to be passive. If he's looking for a friend with diminutive qualities, he'd better keep walking because my tolerance to bullshit is at an all-time low —and for liars? Well, let's just say it's nonexistent. Good thing my genetic makeup consists primarily of obstinacy. I'll stand out here all day until he answers me.

"What was that all about?" I ask nicely, giving him a chance to redeem himself before handing over insight that relates to just how headstrong I can be. Without answering, he places a hand on the small of my back and guides me through the front door of the police station.

"Deklan!" I yell, a pitch meant to grab attention.

When he continues to glower in my direction, I almost forget how incredibly good looking he is, or how great his palm feels against my back. Almost.

"I can play hardball all day, handsome. If you really wanna do this, pull up a slab of sidewalk and have a seat. This can take a while." Mid step, I stop in my tracks, flip up my coattail and sit my rear end on the freezing cold concrete.

Deklan's massive shadow casts itself to the side while he towers above my settled form.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He grunts from above. "Get off the goddamn ground, you're gonna get frost bite on your ass."

"Hmmph" My shoulders shrug in indifference. What's a little frost bite compared to well-deserved answers?

Mumbles and grumbles entwine themselves with a string of impressive expletives, proving again that he is not a happy camper. His frustration is even more evident by the way he almost rubs his skin clear off his face by dragging a hand down from his nose to his chin in an attempt to calm himself. I smile back at his scowl.

"If you're gonna just stand there, can you shimmy a little to the left? Sun's in my eyes."

What happens next, is not expected. Before long, I'm hanging over his shoulder. Ass up in the air. Feet kicking in protest.

"Ahhhh." I can't help giggling at this point. Being so close to such a prime piece of derrière and I'm almost overlooking my ploy to extract answers.

"Put me down, you behemoth freak and answer my question!" I give him a nudge at his back, secretly enjoying the feel of his muscles as they flex with each step toward the car.

My captor grumbles halfheartedly. "Jesus, you're a pain in the ass."

Upside down, the view of the black BMW glistening in the February sun gets closer as we approach. With a free arm, Deklan flings open the door, swings me around then places me onto the passenger seat.

"Sit and don't talk." He asserts while taking the seatbelt across my lap and buckling me in on another exasperated snarl.

"And they say chivalry is dead." I taunt, hardly finishing my sarcastic jab before he's looking directly at me, emitting angry growls and speaking in a tone I haven't heard from him yet.

"This isn't a fucking joke Charlie, so stop acting like a child and take this shit seriously."

I fight the urge to slap him in the face, for real this time.

"You think I don't know that? God forbid I find a moment to laugh a little. I mean how ridiculous is it to take thirty seconds just to find humor in something considering the disaster that I'm up against. Forgive me for being so irresponsible, I mean, I had no idea there was so much at stake."

I lower my voice to barely a whisper, tears falling into my mouth that can't be kept at bay. "You think I'm not scared out of my mind about what will happen next? Well you're wrong, Deklan, I'm absolutely petrified at how serious this is. But I'm tired, so completely tired of all of it. This man has been torturing me for years, I want it to end more than anything, but something tells me that may not be possible. How the hell am I supposed to know what to prepare for, if I don't know what I'm up against because you won't tell me anything?"

Deklan expels a breath, his lips move like he's ready to finally come clean but stop as he shuts my door without saying a word. I slump back into my seat, convinced that in the face of how much he's done thus far, I am still very much alone. Startled when the driver side door opens only to be slammed shut as my chauffeur for the day positions his large body behind the wheel with neck muscles so tense, tendons may snap at any time. With ease, the engine purrs to life as we sit amid the uncomfortable silence.

Instead of driving off, he stares straight through the windshield, rubbing a hand along his stubbled jawline. Cold and just plain beat, I fight the urge to blast the heater, my need for answers far surpassing the need to stop the chatter of my teeth.

"Are you gonna answer me now?" I ask, breaking the silence, giving into the last shred of hope that he won't leave me high and dry in the middle of this mess. I soften my voice, and it cracks against my wishes. So much unsettled emotion swirled around so many uncertain feelings, the words are barely comprehensible. "What was that about, Deklan?"

With his eyes still forward, hardly blinking, he eventually speaks. "I told you it was nothing." Pinocchio!

Waves of sadness have me feeling seasick, too much deceit for my already fragile heart. Seconds away from getting out of the car and walking home, I try one more time out of pure desperation, out of needing to know that I am worth it, needing to know I matter. To Deklan? I'd like to think not, but I can't seem to fight this pull that exists with him.

More than that though there's a need to be smart, involved, ready for anything no matter how bad it may be. I may not have had much of a hand in the way my past played out, but I want—I need—to have a say in the future.

"Come on Deklan, that's bullshit. Please don't do this to me. I know what it's like to try to protect someone by holding back information but trust me it doesn't end well. Besides, I really can't handle anymore lies, I've had my fill the past few years."

That seems to have done the trick, proven by the way his body relaxes into something a little less rigid than moments ago. My own body goes lax from relief as I make a point to look at him.

Eyes full of the internal fight I know so well are now cast in my direction, an age-old battle raging from within; divulging hurtful information versus protecting someone from hurtful information. A giant fucking lose-lose. There's clearly no winner, the fear lying solely in the element of the unknown.

"Fine..." He yanks the baseball hat off his head and rests it on his knee, delving a hand through the unkempt muss of inky black hair before running it down his face then scraping along his jaw.

Sick of waiting for a response and the yo-yo effect the anticipation is having on my insides, "You gonna tell me today? Or are we waiting for Christmas?"

"For the love of God, woman! I just wanted to make sure they put a rush on the restraining order, okay? Didn't want to worry you, because right now, I don't think there's any immediate threat. But just because the asshole is in jail at the moment, doesn't mean the situation is any less urgent."

Shocked at himself for losing his cool, Deklan takes another giant puff of air, blowing the warm minty scent into the barely warmed up car before removing the hands that seemed to suddenly land on the sides of my face in a desperate move to get me to understand his reasoning.

We seem to be giving each other time to process what has just transpired. Me, thinking more about how good his touch feels on my skin. Him—though it's just a guess—probably thinking about how fast and how far he can run from this whole situation.

The baseball cap has returned to his head and he rubs his palm unconsciously along the top of his thigh, something I've seen him do a few times already when tension is high. Not sure if it's for my own benefit or his but I find myself reaching out, placing my hand on top of those tightly clenched fingers.

At first, he doesn't look at me and that miserable feeling that comes from rejection burns third degree holes in my stomach until I can feel the acid surging upward. Resolved that he's putting up necessary boundaries, I begin to pull away.

"No." He whispers hoarsely, a battle with emotion tight in his throat. He says nothing for a long time, just silently holding on, leaving me with no other choice but to silently let him.

Somewhere along the way, time seems to have taken a vacation, the both of us in some kind of passionately charged limbo. I'd say that it's uncomfortable, except it's not. I'd say it's awkward, but it isn't. I'd even go as far to say it's strange, yet the way his fingers wrap around mine, stroking lazily along the lines and ridges of my knuckles, it's the most familiar thing I've known.

"Deklan?"

Snapping out of whatever dilemma he's been rectifying in his mind, he turns to me. "I won't let anything happen to you." The tenderness in his eyes turns my heart to mush and, in this moment, he's not just holding my hand, he's squeezing my heart.

"I know."

As if that's all he needed to hear, he releases his grip around my fingers to shift the car into drive and I hate myself for wanting to cry at the loss of his touch.

Once fully settled into the flow of midday traffic, Deklan pulls my hand back to his lap, never saying a word as we head back home. The quiet gives me time to think. Whether that's good or bad, I'm not sure.

As it stands, I still want to know what they'd like me to do with this almighty and powerful document that is a protective order should Johnny ever get to me. Throw it in his face? Give him a paper cut? It's really all a crock if you ask me. Seemingly, it has more to do with the law protecting themselves, than the law protecting me, or women like me. No wonder so many of us are afraid to come forward and address our abuse. Why risk it? Especially if they're just gonna hand you a piece of paper and try to convince you that it's gonna make a difference when shit really hits the fan and the asshole vows retribution.

At that point, just use the paper to sop up my bloodshed, 'cause that's about all it will be good for. What authorities lack is the understanding that sick fucks like Johnny don't give a crap about the law and they're certainly not going to let some written words with a judge's signature on it stop them from getting what they want.

Most of these guys are egotistical, narcissistic assholes. The sickest of the sick. We're talking about psychotic bastards that feed off fear and control. They truly believe they're invincible and the power they crave over their victim, far surpasses the few days they'll be tied up in jail for violating the order. And that's just your average sadistic prick. Your Joe Shmoe of women beaters. We're talking about Johnny. So, yea, suffice it to say, I'm a little bit nervous.

"Do you know Mathius VanStamp?" Lost in my mind again, I almost didn't hear the abrupt question.

"You mean Attorney Mathius VanStamp? Yea, I know him."

How could I not? Mathius is a longtime friend of Johnny's, more than just a friend really, more like a partner in crime, his right-hand man. If there's trouble, Johnny's behind it and Mathius is first in line to save him.

Although their involvement in some kind of underground crime operation is only speculation on my part, it also makes perfect sense. It's why their relationship works so well. Mathius happens to be one of the most prominent attorneys in the state. Johnny, the most prominent crook. If that's not a match made in immoral heaven, I don't know what is.

Born with a silver spoon buried deep in the crack of his ass, Mathius took over his father's law firm almost ten years ago. With it, he gained some noteworthy and wealthy clients, all looking to bury the skeletons that tend to pop out of their closets every now and then. You know the ones, politicians with pregnant mistresses, politicians with dead mistresses, and politicians with enough money to pay high priced hookers to dress them up in baby diapers and cradle them like infants. Wealthy politicians and of course... Johnny.

He's the one and only person Johnny had me call when he got arrested all those years ago. Most people would have you reach out to their friends or maybe a relative but no, not Johnny. Johnny had me call his lawyer.

Red flag? Yea, now I recognize it. Seems it only takes a few years and a couple unwarranted bruises to cure color blindness because it wasn't until recently that I could actually see that flag flapping violently in the wind, as red as the blood in my veins.

Considering most of the charges were dropped and Johnny avoided jail time, it's safe to say Mr. VanStamp harbors some strong connections within the judicial system. Is he the one that got Johnny's record cleared? Past arrests sealed and expunged? Stupid Charlie, of course he is.

Why wouldn't Johnny take advantage of the endless possibilities and stakes in power that the dark world of crime has to offer? It's a recipe for felonious success, the perfect opportunity to divide and conquer and all of it just so happens to be the same recipe for my demise.

"What about him?" I ask, attempting to sound less erratic than I feel.

Deklan glances at our entwined fingers then quickly at me before turning his attention back to the road. God, he's handsome.

The curl of his lip that he tries and fails terribly at hiding has me wondering if he can truly read my mind and— if he can— contemplating wearing some kind of metal helmet to prevent it. I decide not to focus on the embarrassment that would stem if he did in fact possess such powers and focus on the topic at hand.

Mathius VanStamp

"He tried to visit you at the hospital." Geez, again with the mindreading. I don't have time to think about that though before the panic freezes every muscle in my body all over again. Sensing my unease, Deklan's thumb provides reassuring strokes to the top of each knuckle and I want to say it's helping but it only makes me more confused.

The way my stomach twists and turns, I'm tempted to tell him he has to pull the car over so I can throw up but instead I take a few seconds to even out my breathing as the almost unbearable knot loosens a fraction, giving me enough room to speak.

"What? Why?" I've asked the questions, but I'm not sure I want the answers. Me and my curious mind. It killed the cat for god's sake, now it's coming close to offing me. My brain is in overload, eagerly spiraling toward the inevitable crash and burn. All the things I once felt so sure of, vastly stop making sense.

"I'm not sure exactly. Spotted him out of the corner of my eye when I went to check on your family. He was at the nurse's station and I didn't catch the whole conversation but the minute I heard him say that he was there to check on a friend then mentioned your room number, something told me he wasn't there to drop off a Get Well Soon card. Besides, he didn't match any of the photos that were put on the visitors list, so I knew something was up".

"Whoa, wait, what are you talking about?" I interrupt, not sure I'm hearing him correctly.

"Relax, I talked to your mom and dad about it, they are the ones that gave me the okay. Anyway, the orders were clear, under no circumstance was anyone that wasn't on the authorized list allowed into your room. For a while I sat and listened to him sweet talk this incredibly desperate nurse at the desk, it was pretty ridiculous if you ask me. Can you believe that dumbass broad was gonna let him in?"

Deklan shakes his head in disgust, completely oblivious to the fact, he alone could ask Mother Teresa—God rest her soul— to commit armed robbery and she would gladly rise from the dead to oblige.

"Some women will do a lot of things for a man's attention." I tell him, not keen on the fact that I was once one of those women.

Deklan unleashes a serious eye roll making me feel more ludicrous for my past behavior. "The thing is, I know he's the go to guy for all things severely criminal, so I approached him and told him he wasn't welcome. After a few choice words and a threat to contact the State's Attorney about his unannounced visit to a client's victim, he finally left. The man definitely wasn't planning on me being there and honestly, he's smart enough to have weaseled his way through your grief-stricken parents. I'm just glad I was able to stop him."

My brain produces no perceptible words, just silent questions. The first and most important being, What the hell does Deklan do for a living?

"Breathe, sweetheart. I own a private investigating firm. We're contracted out for all types of crazy situations. Let's just say, I've gotten good at seeing people's true colors and figuring out their intentions, both good and bad. I've also learned a thing or two about safety precautions. VanStamp's a smart guy, even for the creep that he is but him showing up there tells me he's desperate. He's running out of moves and I'm working on trying to figure out what he wanted but so far, I'm coming up empty. All I know is that the visit was risky, even for him. Mathius VanStamp has an agenda and I need to find out what it is. That's why I needed to talk to Detective Martin about my suspicions but if I'm being completely honest, it took a few choice words to get him to acknowledge that the possible threat even existed. Seems even our very own law enforcement members have little interest in going up against the States' most successful defense attorney. Believe me Dove, I wasn't trying to hide anything from you, I just didn't want to freak you out until we got a little more information. So that's why I asked you to meet me in the..."

"I know what he wanted."

"What do you mean? How?"

"Because he visited me once before, years ago when Johnny was in trouble." Somehow my hand breaks free from Deklan's soothing grip and shoots to my mouth as shock and understanding ripple through my body.

"Deklan, Mathius came to the hospital so he could get me to lie. They want me to recant my statement. That's what he showed up there for, to try and convince me to drop the charges. More than just that, they want me to know what will happen if I don't."

The dread from before is gone, replaced only with the reality that I am and always have been nothing more than a pawn in this messed up game of chess that happens to be my life. A cover, a heterosexual beard if you will, that allowed Johnny to play family man and dust-off numerous trophies, each one claiming Father of the Year.

Except he couldn't fully break me, he couldn't fully turn me into the woman he needed, a woman that would listen and obey, nod and curtsey. They wanted me to be the type of wife that sat silently in the corner, only appearing when it was time to refresh beverages or replenish the appetizers. They knew I lied for them once and that I'd never do it again so they either need to stop me or threaten me. Either way, I'm a goner.

Shame. That's the primary emotion sitting on my shoulders as I turn to face Deklan. After a few gulps to muster up courage, I rip open the seam to the pocket of my deepest darkest secrets and for the first time allow the words to tumble out of my mouth, spilling every detail about the events leading up to Johnny's arrest all that time ago. Details about lying under oath, and the oppressive burden that stems from letting a violent criminal roam free practically rattle the car windows.

The pressure against the glass only worsens when mentioning that both Johnny and Mathius had convinced me that if I hadn't done what they asked, the prosecutor could still charge me for being an accomplice or obstructing the law. It seems silly now but according to them I would've been guilty by association alone. So, without understanding the ins and outs of the legal system, on top of believing at the time that Johnny hadn't done anything wrong, I did what was asked and I did it well.

"No one would ever believe you knew nothing." Mathius had said. "You'll do this if you love me." Came from Johnny. And the worst of them all ... "I'll do whatever you need me to do so we can be together." That pathetic line came from me.

At a red light, I watch the people crossing the street in silence, giving Deklan the opportunity to come to terms with everything I've just said and focusing on a young couple holding hands as they make their way across the busy road. There's a twinkle in their eyes that instantly grabs my attention. Something so incredibly heartwarming about the way one will sneak a glance in at the other, smitten in a way that provokes those hyperactive butterflies to come alive until they're so high off the vibes of happiness they don't believe they'll ever come down. Awestruck, I watch as the young man pulls his girl close, protecting her from the bitter cold and the clueless drivers who often fail to heed traffic signals despite the midday congestion. It doesn't take long before her body practically melts into his side like it belongs there. Like there is no other place on Earth that she herself would rather be.

From a scene out of a movie, a giant gust of wind sends snow, sand, and street litter to blow ferociously into the air, creating all types of chaos among the pedestrians that have been caught off guard. Suddenly, the woman I had been watching so intently throws her hands up to try and catch the hat that has just flown from her head, now barreling through the street like tumbleweed.

Her boyfriend stops her from retrieving the knitted accessory and although it's impossible to hear what is said between the two, the way she nods and steps back onto the sidewalk makes it easy to pick up on the instructions given to stay put and let him handle it. This gentleman, barely twenty if not a day, sticks his arm forward to stop the cars coming from the other direction. Jogging into the road, he sweeps up the woolly winter cap and heads back to the sidewalk to meet his better half whose teeth chatter violently from the lack of warmth he'd been providing. With a reddened nose that only a cold day of winter could create, she manages to smile brightly while the object of every one of her affections tenderly places the hat on her head before placing the most adoring kiss onto the tip of her nose. The two lovers melt into the distance, holding hands and rightfully oblivious to the potential struggles that will eventually come their way. It's a wonderful distraction really, yet it's also the devastating moment of truth...

I've never had that. And I never will.

"Christ, Dove ..." Deklan's voice breaks my thought bubble. It's all he says before he lifts his arm in an attempt to rest it on my shoulder and pull me close. But the intimate gesture can't happen. Not now. Not ever. I can't let myself feel for anyone. I'll never allow myself to care again. Not with reality knocking so powerfully on the front door of my inevitable demise. I know it now... my destiny.

It's clear how my story will end.

"He's gonna kill me." I whisper at the realization, not talking to Deklan as much as I'm preparing myself.

"Charlie, look at me."

"No Deklan, you don't understand. He's never going to stop!" Tears fall from my eyes.

"You're mine now Charlie, you belong to me." Johnny said those words to me on our wedding day and it took until this moment for me to realize he meant them so literally.

"If I don't recant, they will kill me, or at the very least ruin my life by trying to take Max from me, and in that case, I might as well be dead. Until now, it never really hit me how dangerous he is. Somewhere in my mind I believed one day I would be free from both him and the terror that comes along with being his wife. But it's not going to happen. Even if I'm not his wife, I'm always going to be his prisoner. There was actually a police officer back then that had tried to warn me how dangerous Johnny was, but I didn't listen." I turn with pleading eyes. "What am I going to do Deklan? What the hell am I going to do?"

My lips tremble. Petrified of what's yet to come as the image of my life moving forward isn't even visible beyond the black fog and misty terrain.

"Look at me." Deklan's soothing voice pokes through the impermeable barrier of pure unadulterated fear so that when I turn my head and find those familiar eyes, full of sympathy, compassion, determination, and promise, it's hard for me to focus on anything at all.

"I've come to learn that head of yours can be a little stubborn, but I want you to listen to me carefully... I told you before and I will gladly say it again, I won't let anything happen to you or Max. I promise you I will keep you safe, okay? So please, please baby, I need you to think about living now. This fucked up world is ready to see what you've got to offer. Let me handle the issue with Mathius, alright? My opinion? They're getting desperate, grasping at straws. But believe me when I tell you, they will not get to you, Charlie." Deklan glares deep into my eyes, his free hand framing the right side of my face.

"They'd have to kill me first."

The light turns green at the same time my insides melt. Just wish his words were enough to burn through the identical twin clouds of disaster and despair hovering over my existence. This man that sits beside me must be a fabrication of my imagination because people this attentive, caring and protective simply don't exist. I try to convince myself that my crazy mind developed him as a coping mechanism to deal with all this trauma and bedlam but then I feel his hand graze mine and the familiar zing that occurs from his touch shoots straight up my arm, aiming directly for my heart. Yea he's real.

But why him? More importantly...why me? What incredibly confused force of nature dropped this man on my doorstep? It just doesn't make sense. Like if the hypothetical stork dropped a baby off at the wrong home. Eventually the real parents would be looking for it. So how long before the powers that be come for Deklan? How long before he's taken from me and delivered to someone worthier of his attention. Because let's be real here, there's no way in hell that person is me.

Another sizzle of electricity as he taps his fingers against the inside of my palm, an action that causes his head to whip in my direction for a brief second before returning his focus back to the road just as the most beautiful grin lights up that spectacular looking face. I think he may have felt it too.

With one hand on the wheel and the other playing with the radio, he continues the drive back home. If I wasn't dying to see Max and start our new life together, I would have probably told him to keep driving. Demanded that he take me to a place so far from here, all of this would just dissipate into the air with each mile we put behind us. Ask him to save me from the disaster that surely lies ahead. But I can't. I need Max like I need air. So, with my head rested up against the window, I allow the cold glass against my skin to soothe my aching mind, closing my eyes as Bridge Over Troubled Waters by Simon and Garfunkel seeps softly through the speakers.

The sound of Deklan's humming infuses my senses. "Paul and Art? I'm surprised."

The lazy grin appears again, giving him that boyish charm I've vastly become addicted to. "This is a classic, Dove. It's impossible to not like this song. As a matter of fact, I think the lyrics are rather fitting, don't you?"

I close my eyes tighter this time, as if it'll help me listen more attentively.

Deklan sings the words in the faintest of voices, a lullaby for my tired soul. When he stops, I open my eyes to find him looking at me. Or should I say into me? Because that's what it feels like, like in this moment he can see right inside to the real me, the person I haven't been able to see in myself for years.

Spinning the brim of his ball cap to the back, he gives me an unrestricted view of his handsome features while his eyes glimmer as they speak to me. It's as if they want to tell me how I know them, give me answers to my most daunting questions.

He's tired, I can see it in the faint crinkle of his brow, in the worry lines by his eyelids, yet he hasn't complained once. Looking straight into my eyes, he gives my hand an extra squeeze, asking me —without words— to give him this chance to help, telling me through silent understanding that I only have to give him the okay.

I nod my head in the slightest way before turning back to the window as he continues to croon with his fingers locked firmly around my own. And in this moment, in the middle of my chaotic life of uncertainty, I know one thing for sure...

Deklan is offering to be my bridge and I am without a doubt his troubled water.

Chapter Twenty

A Brief Escape from Reality

"It will get easier."

We're sitting in front of my home now and I can't help the way my limbs are shaking just by looking at it. As it is, it's going to take some more time before I can stop looking at this place like it's the HellMouth itself. Sure, I'll work past it eventually, if the plan is to move on with my life and be the best mom for my son, there really isn't much choice. In the end, I place a tremoring hand on the car door's handle then brave the ambiguous road ahead.

Once inside my home, I'm unable to shake the feeling that in seconds, Johnny will come slithering around the corner, his evil eyes daring me to misbehave.

With a hand on my shoulder, Deklan offers silent encouragement as warmth exudes from his large masculine palm and brushes over my winter coat in hesitation. I back myself into his touch, craving his strength, telling him that I need his comfort and the safety of his embrace.

"He's not here, Dove." Johnny may not be here in the physical sense, but his presence is everywhere, an indestructible spirit that will likely never fade.

My eyes wander before speaking, "How long is it going to take to stop feeling like this?"

"Feeling like what? Nervous, scared—" Deklan asks. I turn my head to the side, interrupting.

"Like no matter how far away he is, or how long he stays away, he'll always have control over me. He's doing it now. He's not even here for god's sake and I can't even walk straight, I can barely breathe. I'm more fearful in his absence than I was when he was sitting right in that damn chair just three days ago. It's screwed up, right? It doesn't even make sense." My shoulders slump as the burning sensation forms in my eyes. God, I'm sick of crying.

"Every time I think I'm ready to take my life back I hit this wall, run myself headfirst into a solid block of pain and doubt that gets harder to cope with as time goes on. Lest we forget the terror that Johnny left for my eternal indulgence as if he planned this all along. It's like each day we were together he added another brick until soon there was a wall so big, so wide and so tall, he knew I would never be able to see what was behind it. He knew I would never be able to find myself again. Maybe this is how he always wanted it to be? Maybe he figured that even if he couldn't be here forever or couldn't have me for himself, he would make sure no one else would ever have me again. More importantly, that I would never know me again. I can't get around this wall, Deklan, and that alone scares the living hell out of me." A tear escapes against my wishes.

With his hands rested on my shoulders he waits for a second more before spinning me around and using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the stray droplet, looking directly into my eyes as he does it.

"Like I told you before, nothing about this is gonna be easy but you do have options, you either spend the rest of your life trying to figure out how to get around that wall, Dove. Or, you can stand tall, be strong and figure out a way to get through the fucking thing instead. Fuck what that asshole has said to you. You can do this, Charlie. You can find your way through. I know you can." He pauses. "And I'll be here to help you, because you deserve that and so much more."

"Come." He grabs my hand and steps back onto the front porch, taking me with him.

After he shuts the door and pulls my keys from the lock, he wiggles the handle before pushing against it to be sure everything is secure. I look back and forth, from him to my home that has now been closed up tightly, wondering what this incredible man has planned.

"What are you doing? I think you're supposed to shut the door behind you not in front of you." I play, hoping some good ole witty banter will pacify my tumultuous nerves.

He chuckles. "Do you ever stop talking?"

My brows bunch together with curiosity and I bite the corner of my bottom lip as I always do when I'm confused or nervous. "Not really," I reply, still trying to figure out his motive.

"Max won't be back for a few more hours, right? So, the way I see it, instead of going home and getting all worked up, let's just hang out for a bit. You know, try to relax a little? If you're gonna talk to Max tonight, you should try to stay calm and keep yourself together. So, what do you say? You trust me, Dove?"

I want to scream YES! while I run far away from the reasons as to why it is that I do. Of course, I trust him. Immensely so. Why? Well that's the scary part, isn't it? Maybe because he hasn't left my side since my husband tried to kill me? Or, it could be the way he reads me like a book, the way he knows how I feel and what I'm thinking in a way no one ever has, not even my family or my friends and sure as hell not Johnny.

More though, I still feel the answer is in his eyes, there's something about those deep smoky gray irises that resolves me to believe I can trust him even more than I feel I can trust myself with him, an issue that will need to be rectified soon. Still, he waits patiently for me to answer.

"Do you trust me?" He's asking again as if I didn't hear him the first time, we both know that isn't the case. With no other options at my disposal, I answer him as honestly as possible.

"Probably more than I should."

Deklan exhales a sigh of relief as his eyes soften and a tiny curl of a smile forms on his face. Is it possible that this man needed this...? Whatever this is between us as much as I do? How can that be?

Surely a man as mystical as he would have better things to do with his time than to spend it with someone as messed up as I am. Suppose it may be best not to question it too much though, there really are some things that are better left unsaid.

Truthfully, I just want to enjoy it, savor the little time we have together and feed off the strength that screams from his body.

The gleaming sun causes my eyes to squint and my brow to furrow, the glare making it difficult to see him in his entirety although its powerful rays are not nearly a match for the mischievous spark in his eye.

"Okay then."

"You're up to something." And hell, if that freakin' smile isn't contagious. It isn't long before my own spreads across my face.

It's an odd feeling—contentment. That specific emotion and I had a bit of a falling out sometime ago, but it feels good to be reacquainted.

"Get ready, Dove." Just like that we're off— in reverse— and seconds later, he's pulling his car into the driveway of his home.

"Umm..." I look from his house back to mine. "Too lazy to walk, Adonis?"

Deklan tips his head back, an unreserved laugh that exposes the most intricate parts of his neck fills the confines of his luxury vehicle. Jesus, this guy literally has muscle everywhere. It's such an amazing sound really and I can't help but watch in a stupor as his Adams apple bobs up and down with each bout of joy. It's as refreshing as it is infectious.

"What's so funny?" I ask with a giggle of my own.

"You are, Dove. That goddamn mouth of yours just never fucking stops."

Pretending to take offense, I bring my hand up to my chest and inhale loudly.

"Watch your language," I snap sarcastically "Don't make me get the soap."

"HA! Stubborn and humorous I see. You're a pretty funny girl Charlie, but if I need soap to stop myself from using foul language, then we might as well drive you over to the car wash and let you run through with your mouth open."

Something about seeing this side of Deklan and hearing his quick-witted humor has me in hysterics, bursting out in a fit of laughter and losing all focus on my surroundings. Taking a few deep breaths, I pull myself together, finally chancing a look in Deklan's direction.

The expression on his face has me wishing for a meteor to fall from the sky and land directly on my head. If possible, my face would've caught on fire from embarrassment as by nature, the tone of my laugh is more of a raspy giggle to start, veering off into a quiet wheeze of sorts. Not proud to admit to it but people used to make fun of this specific flaw in my younger years, calling me things like Molly McGiggles and Lily Laughalotapus. It used to embarrass me then. And now? Well, now I've just introduced the sexiest man alive to one of my biggest downfalls.

Deklan is standing on the top step in front of his house, me on the one below it and the position puts me at eye level with his perfectly toned abdomen. Even fully clothed, the way his attire snags across the firm ripples of his body, makes it increasingly hard to focus.

I've yet to look at him and I'm certainly not doing myself any favors when I find myself questioning the size, shape, and consistency of the appendage that just so happens to be inches away from my mouth.

What the hell am I doing? I shake my head in hopes that the derogatory images swimming through my brain will drown and disappear.

With just a simple hook of his index finger under my chin, he gently pushes upward, forcing my eyes to lock with his. Such intense adulation that stars me as the focal point complicates my already frenzied emotions. "Don't ever stop laughing, Dove." Oh boy, time to switch gears here.

"It's freakin' cold out here, Deklan. Do you have some sort of plan? Or are we simply having a competition to see whose limbs turn black and fall off first? If that's the case, I'm pretty sure I'll win."

My teeth are chattering violently when a gust of wind hammers into us. The force alone has me frozen still as it blows the light dusting of snowfall from earlier into a magical looking swirl around his home.

Tiny snowflakes embed themselves into my eyelashes, compelling me to blink them away while he watches with a look of wonderment plastered across his divinely sculptured face. My belly tightens. My core aches. Ugh! Enough of this!

Sick of playing repetitive games of solitaire with my own emotions, I tell him to hurry up and open the door before I freeze to death as Deklan stands tall in front of me, flashing a swift smile just as the key turns and the lock clicks. With a twist of the knob, he's pushing the front door open, taking a small step back and giving me just enough room to enter first. After shutting us in, the gracious host takes my coat and hangs it on the banister that leads upstairs.

Now I can't stop but think about his bedroom. My mind really gets a workout when it comes to this guy. Imagining its decor. Wondering if it smells like him, the perfect mixture of masculinity and comfort. All soft sheets and fluffy pillows but also neutral toned and manly.

Enough you pervert, don't ruin a good friendship because you can't control your suddenly ravenous libido. That infamous inner voice can be a real asshole sometimes though I hate to admit that the nosy bitch is right.

My shoulder devil breathes fire at the angel who sits on the other side, happy that for once my thoughts seem sound. In turn, she gives the devil the finger, basks in the rare victory, while continuing to whisper all the reasons I need to shut down these powerful emotions that threaten to completely destroy me when it comes to good ol' Dimple Face over here. The proverbial angel has a point and it's time to get myself in control, so I kick off my boots and place them neatly by the door.

"Have a seat." Deklan points to the overstuffed sofa and suddenly the urge to just go back home surges through my timid body. This whole situation is blurring too many lines that exist between us. Can I really relax in his home and not latch on to him like some sort of pond leech? Can I take the proffered seat and not think ludicrous thoughts about a future with Deklan in it?

Half of my body moves further into the living space, the other pulls me towards the door. The entire time Deklan stands gloriously by the staircase, intrigued by my internal dilemma. You'd think he invited me to sit in the pit of a volcano.

"It's just a couch, Dove."

I give him a sideways glare. "You know if Miss Cleo weren't dead already, you'd put her out of business with that shit."

The piece of furniture in question is beyond welcoming in its rich mocha colored fabric and earth toned accent pillows, part of me is afraid I'll be lost in its undeniable opulence with so much as the slightest touch. This reluctance of mine consumes my movements as if cozying up on his couch is the same as cuddling up to my delusional attraction to Deklan. The only way to fight through this debilitating apprehension is by reminding myself I'm losing my mind.

Sinking into the billowy feel of the cushions satiates my body to the point where my shoulders practically weep, and my legs begin singing songs of rejoice.

Comfortable isn't even the word to describe the sorcery that my body succumbs to, like I'm floating weightlessly on the fluffiest of white clouds high in the sky where my troubles are so far away, they resemble nothing but miniscule little dots that from this distance hardly look as threatening as I know them to be. Clouds that smell like warmth, home, strength—Deklan.

Relaxation nestles into every nook and cranny of my body and I let myself sink into it some more, breathing deeply and letting this overly stuffed fixture take hold of the strain in my neck and the tightness in my back.

"Dear God." A small moan of pleasure tickles my throat while my eyes shoot forward, realizing maybe I was louder than intended.

That damn smile. Those knowing eyes. They're both there to greet me when I look up. "Comfy?"

"You have no idea."

Deklan pats the arm rest opposite from me, the muscles of his forearm contracting with each gentle tap. Gahhh! "Oh, actually I do, this thing right here." He gives the couch another little rub. "It's the best part of coming home sometimes, well, besides Hilary of course."

"Of course." The magic cushions have me halfway to wonderland by the time my mind picks up on what he's just said.

"Wait— "

Whiplash; a condition I was fortunate enough to never understand until now, until right this second, when my head jerks forward like I've just been involved in a car wreck. "No, not of course—I mean." I smack my forehead with the heel of my hand and stutter, swallowing then wincing awkwardly. "—can you repeat that?"

After congratulating myself on being able to put zero effort into hiding my surprise, I force myself to look at the man in which by appearance alone has me fumbling my words like a third string wide receiver. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he pulls the corner of his mouth between his teeth to stifle a grin.

To say Deklan is a good-looking man isn't just an understatement it's a sacrilege. It shouldn't surprise me that he's involved with someone, the man looks like a Greek fucking god, so it wouldn't surprise me if he was involved with multiple someones. Without warning, this strange feeling houses itself in my stomach, it feels terrible and provides unbearable discomfort.

In the past, I'd chalk it up to another impromptu diet where I overdid it on too many leafy greens and fiber supplements. But that's not what's happening here. Is it disappointment? Jealousy? Psychosis? Ding! Ding! Ding! My subconscious slams down on the buzzer at the last one. Either way, it's unfamiliar and frankly, uncalled for on my part.

Let's compartmentalize some of this for a bit, shall we? Firstly, I think of Deklan as a friend. It may not have been the most ideal foundation to build a friendship upon, but I consider him one, nonetheless. And yes, I have grown fond of him and will be forever in his debt for everything he's done for me but—and that's a big but, I have absolutely no right to be upset if he's in a relationship.

So why does the revelation sting a little? Because you're a hot mess!

Well yes, there is that.

Regardless, I can't help myself from prying a little further. Shrugging my shoulders, I go in for the kill. What do I have to lose anyway?

"Oh, I didn't realize you had a girlfriend."

I bite the corner of my thumbnail and look down at the progress of my nibbling, at the same time Deklan raises a brow in my direction, an over presumptuous grin sitting confidently amid his perfectly angled face.

"Why, Charlie? You jealous?"

Okay, so clearly, I won't be winning an academy award anytime soon, but does he have to rub it in? His exceedingly sure of himself question makes me want to tell him where he can shove that cocky smirk of his but as always, my heart betrays me and skips erratically at the sight of that flicker behind his eyes. The dusting of virile stubble has the fickle organ in my chest completely disregarding my hindrance and there's something to be said about my self-control in this very moment that has me torn between physically assaulting him for his overconfident remark and ripping his clothes off just to rub my hands all over his bestial flesh.

As it stands, I'd smack my own self across my face if it wouldn't out me on my unwelcome desire. Shit! Shit! Shit! I need to get my head checked but first I need to stop him from thinking he has such power over me, that I'd gladly walk on fire just to feel him near, even if it is just a load of crap.

"A little full of yourself aren't you there, Goliath?" Hopefully, switching up the nickname makes me sound like I can handle this conversation but if not, in order to really drive my imaginary nonchalance home, my shoulder blades rise and fall in a casual shrug. "Besides, I don't get jealous."

"Bullshit!" He calls out amidst taking a swig of water, his questioning eyes peering over the plastic rim, eager to call my bluff.

Little does he know that many of the so-called normal emotions a person can experience no longer apply to my line of thinking. I've forced myself to block feeling, allowed myself to remain neutral, then convinced myself it was all necessary for survival. Of course, this is why I can't seem to handle the firework display Deklan sets off in my stomach every time he's near.

I study him for a moment, toying with how I can explain such lack of sensitivity without the diagnosis of sociopathy.

"I'm serious. There's a fine line between jealousy and insecurity, Deklan. For me, that line was hazy for most of my life when it came to those of the male persuasion. Then, it practically disappeared altogether when it came to Johnny. With him, I stopped getting jealous when I stopped believing that requited love existed." Suspicious eyes wait patiently for me to elaborate.

"Think about it, you can't be envious if you teach yourself not to care. There's no sense in getting your hopes up by convincing yourself you're worthy of someone's monogamous devotion, only to be let down. I did that once, bet everything I had on happily ever after, look where that got me." I point to the fading bruise under my chin.

"So, no, I don't get jealous, I don't get envious. I don't want the things that others have. Because I've told myself for so long that I don't deserve them. I know my place in this world, what I am capable of, and what is realistic for me. Things are less complicated that way. It's not that I'm immune to feelings necessarily, I just happen to be fantastic at ignoring them."

After placing his water bottle on the coffee table, Deklan leans forward, legs spread with his elbows resting on his thighs as both hands come up to rub his jaw. For the most part he's silent, but I can see the wheels turning, hear the cogs spinning. Finally, he goes to speak, then stops himself, tries again then stops again. For a few minutes, I watch him stroke his hand across his shadowed jawline, quickly feeling awkward and out of place by way of the lingering quiet.

Maybe he forgot I was here. I clear my throat just enough to serve as a reminder of my physical existence. When he leans in further on his forearms, clasping his hands together, letting his intertwined fingers hang forward in the gap between his legs, he snaps a look in my direction.

Gray eyes pierce my skin, silver at first before swirling into two impending storms. They read me, study me like I'm the only thing standing between him and an A in chemistry class. Chemistry? Ha! There seems to be a lot of that floating back and forth between us. While my lady bits are ready to crown him valedictorian, the rest of me wants to hide away behind an impenetrable steel wall, a blockade for my inner most desires.

As if he's having some sort of Eureka! moment, those acerbic eyes narrow in my direction. "I'm gonna just stick with my previous statement and call bullshit."

With my hackles raised, I go on the defense. "You can call it what you want to, but it's the truth."

"Sounds pretty fucking lonely." The rebuttal comes back with just as much bite and hits a chord so deep in my soul.

"Incredibly." The one-word whisper stings my lips as it escapes.

Showing him this side of me is the best form of repayment in my opinion. This way, he can go on with his life without worrying that I'll require more saving, especially when he comes to terms with the idea that there isn't much left to redeem.

After today, he'll know to stay far away. Plus, I stand by my decree. At least I would've if it weren't for the wrenches that stir in my gut at the thought of Deklan being in love with someone else.

It can't be jealousy, right? Feeling anything for a man I barely know is beyond ridiculous. Seriously, it was just days ago that I survived the wrath of the man I vowed to love, honor and obey. So feeling anything for someone else is irrational. Obviously, I'm not thinking clearly. This whole situation has screwed with my head so badly that my once realistic self is pondering feelings for a guy that I know nothing about. God that's pitiful. Desperate even. And those shameful sensations sit like bricks in the very bottom of my stomach.

"Everyone gets jealous at one time or another, Dove. It doesn't make you weak, and it sure as shit shouldn't make you feel any less about yourself. It's human nature to wish for something you can't have at times. To see something every day and want it, even when you know you can't have it." There's obviously a personal motive for such a profound speech, leading me to believe that whoever it is on the receiving end of Deklan's desire is one lucky duck.

"And just so you know..." He's moved closer to me now, his voice low and quiet, the breeze of his whispered words blowing softly against my collarbone while the husk in his tone sends shivers through my body. "I'm not with anyone at the moment."

"Then who's Hilary?" Way to play it cool, dumb ass!

Without speaking, he leaves for the other room only to return with a friend. A furry friend. Tucked securely in his arms is the fattest, most unattractive animal I've ever laid eyes on and it's such a visual astonishment that my eyes widen in shock and my lips curl involuntarily in the way a mean girl would eye a knock-off handbag.

Proudly, Deklan smiles, offering up the answer with more excitement in his voice than I knew he was capable of, "Hilary happens to be my cat." He holds the animal up and forward.

"If Elton John's "Circle of Life" starts playing, I'm outta here!" I try my best to suppress my amusement, fighting a losing battle. Deklan nuzzles his nose into the monstrosity's neck, giving the feline so much affection that it's borderline disturbing before looking over at me with a cocked brow.

"What? Don't tell me you aren't a cat person."

That's when it happens, the fight is gone and the once stifled laughter escapes and fills the entire house. "Well no, I'm not actually, and I think whoever told you that right there..." I point to his arms "... is actually a cat—lied to you. I'm sorry Deklan, but that thing just may be the ugliest creature I've ever seen." My laughter is uncontrollable now.

Doing his best to hide his amusement, speaking softly Deklan says, "Shh, you're gonna hurt her feelings." With his giant masculine hands over the cats' ears his head shakes back and forth. "Don't listen to the mean lady, she doesn't know true beauty when she sees it."

Hilary is carefully placed down on the ground by her clearly delirious handler after a fit of gratuitous purrs in thanks for all the undeserved compliments. Just as soon as she's free to roam on her own, the fat ball of fur makes several failed attempts to get onto the couch, the extra girth around her belly, an obvious obstacle when mounting furniture.

"She's rather um..." I pause to think of an appropriate word "...jolly."

Deklan gives her a gentle boost. Once successfully balanced on top of the seat cushions, she slowly makes her way over to me.

"Real women have curves, Dove" He winks as the cat creeps closer, leaving me entirely unsure of my safety and forcing me out of my comfort zone. With no other choice, I put the palm of my hand forward to keep some distance between myself and the feline version of Leather Face, hoping she's already eaten for the day. "Easy there, killer. No need to come any further."

Hilary paws at my thigh several times before her owner intervenes, reaching over and giving the beast a quick scratch behind her ear. "You can pet her you know? She won't bite." As he works his presumably skillful hands into her fleece, Hilary looks elated and eerily humanlike in the way she seems to smile and sigh.

"I'm not worried about her biting me, Deklan. I'm worried about her eating me alive."

He continues to knead and rub his hands all over the body of the beast. "Nah, she wouldn't like the stubborn aftertaste you'd leave in her mouth." He says as he cocks a brow. "I'll be right back."

He's barely into the kitchen and out of sight before Hilary jumps into my lap, sitting her wide bottom on the top of my thighs then leaning back on her chubby little legs. Her face is so close to mine that our noses are practically touching, making our eyes completely level with one another.

Oh my God. I suppress another bout of laughter. She's cross-eyed. As if the wiry hair that grows in different lengths across her lumpy body isn't bad enough, the poor thing had to be cursed with summer eyes. Summer over here and summer over there.

It's hard not to feel bad for the homely looking creature despite my usual distaste of her people. Cautiously, I scratch behind her ear the way Deklan did, hoping to earn some brownie points. Hilary purrs but skips out on the smile, her way of telling me I don't match up to her eminent caretaker. Suddenly, she relaxes into me, curling into my lap as if the sole purpose of being born with legs was to provide her with undisturbed slumber.

Unfamiliar with cats or their tendencies it doesn't take much experience in determining that this one is snoring. A noise that very much resembles the likes of an overweight man napping after an all you can eat prime rib buffet.

Minutes later, Deklan walks back into the room, smiling sweetly at the noxious sounds streaming from my lap. Another eye roll at the ridiculousness of the situation causes him to chuckle while carefully carrying sandwiches on a plate in one hand, two bottles of water in the other, and a bag of potato chips wedged under his chin. Reaching out to assist, an irritated huff from the animal on my lap stops my movements. The Queen of Meow sizes me up with one eye as her giant head seems to shake in disgust, compelling me to stick my tongue out teasingly. Because—well, because I refuse to be bullied by a cat!

"You could've asked for help."

Deklan laughs harder as the interactions between his beloved pet and I reach new levels of pettiness. "I didn't want to interrupt your bonding time with my pretty lady."

Picking up a sandwich, turkey on rye—my favorite—I nibble at the end before speaking. "I'm not into stereotypes Deklan, but it really shocks the hell out of me that you spend your downtime playing crazy cat lady." I babble with my mouth partially full.

"She's my sister's cat actually. Found her in a dumpster a while back and decided to keep her. I'm just keeping an eye on her for a while."

The bite he takes from his sandwich is so huge, the Jaws theme song seems to play faintly in the background. Men and their food.

Christopher enters my mind again as he himself never took the time to enjoy his meals, scarfing food down so fast like he was afraid it would get up and walk off the plate. It drove my father insane and resulted in a lot of unnecessary arguments between him and my mother.

Warmth surrounds my heart at the memories of my brother. Really, there are so many similarities between Chris and Deklan, I bet they would've gotten along well. It makes me sad to think about the potentially amazing friendship that will never exist.

I can feel Deklan staring at me while images of my brother flicker before my eyes, grabbing one of the bottles of water from the coffee table, I take a sip to rid my head of the somber thoughts.

"How many siblings do you have?" I ask munching on a potato chip.

"Just my sister Allie, it's been a while since we've seen each other." His tone makes it clear that he's uninterested in elaborating on their relationship, something I can totally relate to. Having spent most of my own adulthood avoiding talks about the personal details of my life, I can't expect him to openly discuss his own.

"I get it." I take another sip.

Surprised that I'm not going to pry any further, Deklan finishes his food in record time, displeased that I barely made it halfway through my plate.

Insistent on cleaning up, I wiggle out from under Hilary, trying my best not to disrupt her current state of inertia. Almost completely in the clear, only one furry paw left to remove from my thigh, I glance back at the fat cat and think to myself that maybe she isn't so bad after all. But just as I'm about to openly declare my growing feelings, the most horrific scent makes its way to my nose, completely changing my mind.

"Sweet baby Jesus!" I leap to my feet, trying to avoid further contact with the poison that has just been released from the rectum of this weighty animal. I lunge my body forward just as this vicious stink machine takes the opportunity to lift her head and glare at me before huffing in my direction for the second time in less than twenty-five minutes, all while ripping another giant fart into the air for good measure.

Here I am, stuck breathing in the rancid aftermath of her undigested cat food and this freaking animal has the nerve to catch an attitude. "There's something wrong with that thing, Deklan." I leap closer to his seated form, finding myself standing in the space between his legs when he immediately puts a hand on my back as if providing protection to others is instilled in his genetic makeup.

Dear Lord, what a putrid smell! I wave my hand in front of my nose to block the stench. When that doesn't work, I stick my face into the top of my shirt, my words muffled from speaking through the material of this woolly sweater while looking down at a very amused expression. "Oh my God! I think I might throw up!"

Shouting now, dry heaving into my top, Deklan finds the sight hilarious and spits out his water, the brunt of it spraying across the front of his shirt.

"What the hell is so funny?" I wipe the droplets of Adonis spit with a napkin, keeping my face and nose completely covered from the poisonous cat gas. Wet pieces of paper embed themselves in the threads of my clothing, creating even more of a mess as I attempt to dry myself off.

The laughter bounces off the walls, frustrating me more until I throw the soppy napkin at him and place my hands on my hips to give him a piece of my mind.

"You could've warned me that your pets' ass held weapons of mass destruction. God dammit, Deklan, she smells like cheese and rotten onions. "

There's no reply from the cat's owner as he's too preoccupied with leaning against my hip in hysterics. Leaving him to his fits of laughter, I walk to the window to crack it open because no matter how cold it is outside, the fresh air is essential.

The laughter grows louder, filling the house to the rafters as he wipes built up moisture from his eye. "I probably should've warned you, Hilary can be a little gassy sometimes."

Annoyed and equally rejuvenated from the sound of unbridled laughter—whether on my behalf or not—I bring my plate to the kitchen and place it in the sink. Seeing that Deklan's too occupied with his thirteen-year old girl giggle fit to pay much attention to my whereabouts, it gives me a little time to check out my surroundings.

This kitchen is really quite spectacular, industrial looking with the perfect combination of testosterone and home. It's the kind of area you see on television shows or movies, where it looks like nothing but costs a fortune to create.

White plates and matching bowls are stacked on metal shelves as the cabinets seem to have been removed and replaced with rustic looking racks. Pots and pans hang over the island countertop and a portion of the wall to my left looks like a chalkboard that has yet to be written on. It's updated but not overly flashy, a kitchen everyone secretly wants but no one gets to have. Kind of like Deklan.

Veering away from this impressive area, I look over my shoulder to be sure not to get caught, then take it upon myself to learn more about this mystery of a man by scoping out the rest of his abode.

Starting at the dining room, it's not difficult to note the formality of the area or the splendor of the furniture with all its sleek polish and intricately carved corners that more than likely had been an heirloom of some type and totally not something you'd find at the local IKEA. Although I have to say, the deep cherry wood table and chairs would be even more impressive if there weren't a bunch of unpacked plastic totes and boxes, lopsidedly piled on its surface as if the latest episode of Hoarders was filmed right here.

Clutter aside, soft lighting projects calming beams from the wrought iron chandelier as gold drapes—a color that could easily look gaudy—do the expansive space justice. There's an openness here and even with the length of the table, it's easy to get lost in the image of big family get togethers, the kind my grandmother used to have when I was a kid—loud, noisy and full of love—the perfect space for those infamous Sunday suppers, an area I'd like to have in my own home someday.

My feet move as if they have a mind of their own, drifting away from the elegance that is the dining area to a smaller, cozier room that sits nuzzled in a corner to my right. Another step closer and the alcove appears to be an office of sorts, so I peer in from the hallway, doing my best to scold myself for this sudden act of nosiness, failing at the task. As it is, snooping in this man's home is really kind of ridiculous. I'm sure Deklan would show me around if I asked, but there's a thrill I get from looking on my own that throws all manners of decency out the window and brings me to the middle of this quaint—though no less impressive—space used to tackle some obviously important matters.

A mahogany desk sits powerfully as the central focal point, covered in documents and other forms of piled-up white paper and yellow legal pads, screaming of a busy and complicated occupation. Adding to the prestige are two leather chairs perched in front of the desk as if meetings of some kind or another are held between some very important people.

Without going too far into the office, I notice a display case and inch myself closer to get a better look inside. The little bit of sunlight that creeps through the window hits the encapsulated object in a way that creates an almost blinding reflection, but I'd recognize the contents from a mile away despite the striking glare...

Dog tags.

Sneaking forward to get a better look, I jump at the voice that comes from behind.

"Did you get lost?" Slowly turning around, embarrassed to find the owner of said military grade identification leaning against the doorway, I fight the urge to faint. As I ready myself for whatever verbal reprimand that I'm sure is about to come my way, one muscled leg takes a quick step forward, followed by the next and it's clear that these remarkable limbs are making their way over to my motionless body. The worst home invader to ever have existed.

When he reaches forward, I flinch out of habit, closing my eyes and instinctively preparing myself for the blow that I'm so certain will follow next.

Shit. I'm so messed up. This isn't Johnny. At the blunder, I bury my head in my hands, feeling a degree of shame I'm not sure I've ever felt before. Through the cracks of my fingers, I watch as Deklan bends to look at me, those spellbinding eyes crashing directly into mine even through the blockade of my hands. With his arms in surrender he takes a cautious step back.

"Dove, I will never hit you."

The words strike the most sensitive spot of my heart until sobs vibrate the inside of my palms.

"I am so sorry for being nosy." I hiccup and sniffle. "It's just, I noticed your dog tags—"

I trail off into a blubbering mess of nonsensical words before pulling my snotty face away from him then heading to the door.

"Anyway, I didn't mean to intrude on your privacy, it won't ever happen again."

No longer cautious, those giant hands grab ahold of me, gently placing a palm at the nape of my neck and pulling my head in to rest on his chest. Cradling me with a tenderness one would give an infant, tucked into the protective cave of his neck, the sobs wrack my body as his touch consumes my heart. When all is said and done, relaxing into this unworldly embrace, an onslaught of unknown emotion creates sensations I haven't felt in years.

Safety.

Home.

"God, I'm sorry, I really should go. In case you haven't noticed, I am far too screwed up to have normal relationships with people. You don't need this shit in your life." My hands push against the hardened domain of muscle on his torso to create distance.

"No."

"No?"

The calloused pads of his fingertips slide across the plains of my face, making it impossible to do anything but love the way the rough skin prickles euphorically against my skin, the result of once again being surrounded by the warmth of this illustrious man. This protective god takes the time to wipe the moisture from my eyes while placating the ache in my soul. And even though I probably look terrible, all wet-faced and snot-nosed, he just looks at me, sweetly, reverently...completely undeterred.

"You heard me, I said no. You're staying with me until Max gets home. We're going to talk. You can pretend to be normal while I pretend that my cat isn't ugly." That earns him an unladylike chuckle.

Surrendering to the pull by allowing my red-rimmed eyes to meet concerned grays, I let myself exhale. With the hem of his shirt, he wipes the aftermath of the meltdown from my face then pulls me back into his body before I have time to protest how disgusting of a gesture that was or how upsetting it is that I missed the chance to see that chiseled stomach.

"It's not up for discussion." He murmurs into my hair, continuing to rub his hands down the length of my back. "Let's just enjoy each other's company and not think about all of the shit that's happened the past couple days."

I let out a small sigh and relax further into his arms.

"Look at me." The urgency in his voice has me immediately complying with his request.

"I'm sorry for everything he did to you, Dove. Please believe me when I tell you that you didn't deserve any of it." He says the words with the intent that I'll believe them.

Reasonably speaking, I know I didn't ask for any of this to happen, but there's still a part of me that thinks that maybe it was all my fault. Maybe if I was a little more submissive by nature, a little less of a sarcastic bitch then none of it would've happened.

"Marine's huh?" I change the subject, not wanting to think about all the things I could've done differently, especially the idea that if I did them any other way, I'd never know the beat of a strong heart, and the sense that with Deklan near, nothing or no one can get to me.

Deklan waggles his eyebrows. "Depends. You like Marines, Charlie?"

I swat his forearm playfully, feeling the stiffness of the muscle through his fitted white Henley thermal.

Dear Lord.

"Get over yourself." Or get under me! Gah! Shut up!

"I just have a thing in general for the military because of my grandfather, mostly. Just seemed like a no brainer to me to work in the field. I mean, it was the least I could do to honor the fact that he fought for my freedom, right?"

Deklan's expression is one of wonderment as I speak. The look in eyes almost dreamlike.

"Did you even hear a word I said?"

He smiles the most endearing smile. "Everything, Dove. I heard everything."

For a while we do nothing but stare at each other, until suddenly his eyes fill with something that looks very close to desire while his breathing becomes more ragged the longer we lock gazes. The wave of heat that slaps me in the face reminds me that this is getting much more complicated than I can handle.

"Do you have Scrabble?" I ask, forcing myself away from his body, snapping Deklan out of whatever mindset he was in that had his lips centimeters away from my mouth. His brow cocks as he pulls back, either frustrated or embarrassed, I'm not sure, but something passes along his expression as his wheels turn, putting a considerable amount of distance between our bodies

"Do I look like a guy that has Scrabble?" He all but chokes out, folding his arms across his front, flexing the muscles.

Death threatens to come for me sooner at the sight of the individual pecs taking turns bouncing up and then down. My nether regions get warm and tingly and I wonder for a brief moment if a stroke can affect only your vagina, or does it have to involve the rest of your body too?

"About an hour ago, I would've said you didn't look like a guy that had a cross-eyed cat with irritable bowels, so I think it's a fair question. Do you have Scrabble or not?" I ask, already having seen the classic board game on the dining room table amidst the unorganized mess during my failed attempt at prying.

He winks out a confirmation and I can't help but laugh. "You're just an enigma aren't you Mr....Mr.? I don't even know your last name."

Deklan coughs a bit, sipping from his water bottle.

"Are you all right?"

He nods while I wait for an answer. "O'Malley."

"You're just an enigma, Mr. O'Malley. Prepare to get your ass handed to you!"

With my fists up and in front, a slight bounce to my feet, I mockingly take on the stance of a fighter, sending pretend jabs and punches in his direction, my face still splotchy from lack of emotional control.

Of course, Deklan doesn't flinch, there's a glint in his eye though— amusement, and I'm much more comfortable now that the stagnant clouds of intimacy have dispersed. Biting his lip, he continues to gaze down at me, holding back a smile and catching one of my airborne right crosses until suddenly my fist is engulfed in the palm of his hand.

"Be careful, Dove..." He reaches around my waist to put his water bottle on the flat surface beside me, eyeing me up and down with my hand still in his.

My eyelids shut, an attempt to ground myself just as the distinct fragrance of this Marine slams into my senses, trying hard to bring back a memory that feels so incredibly important but won't quite make it to the surface. Familiar just like his eyes, the smell of mint and wood and all things aboriginally male gets me lightheaded and when his lips come to my ear, I shiver. "...most people don't have limited edition Scrabble games lying around unless they have crazy word skills."

Those damn intimate clouds are back again, this time creating a fog so dense I'm practically asthmatic. Rolling with the punches, seizing the day if you will, I stand on my tip toes and place my own mouth next to his ear. As I let the stubble from his face tease my nerve endings, I bring my mouth just a feather's touch away, whispering, "Show me what you got, Marine."

Bold and more fearless than ever before, my face skims down the length of his jaw followed by a hand that brushes softly along his bicep, earning a low growl from the back of his throat. At the end of this uncharacteristic charade, I bring myself back down to normal height, turning and eventually sauntering away with a quick look at Deklan, watching as he swallows hard before squeezing his eyes shut. The last thing I hear as I make my way back to the living room is the struggled proclamation made by the only man to wrench this type of behavior from a girl such as myself who had been taught for so long that she lacked the ability.

"Ah! Fuckin' hell!" Deklan says as if in pain, and I scoop Hilary up and smile.

Chapter Twenty-One

Heated

Where the hell did that come from Charlie? My subconscious leans back and kicks her feet up, popping a kernel of freshly buttered popcorn into her mouth, enjoying the show.

The hell if I know.

Hanging up my imaginary hooker dress for the day, I once again contemplate the health of my psyche.

After the game is set on the floor and we have enough beverages and snacks to last through a nuclear winter, I wiggle myself into a comfortable position. With my legs crossed like a pretzel in front, a glance sideways shows my competitor lying on his side with one hand holding up his head and that stupidly addicting grin plastered all over his rugged looking face. It doesn't go unnoticed that this stretched out position pulls the hem of his shirt from his waistband, casually exposing several inches of his abs, not to mention the drool worthy "V" that peeks out from below.

"See something you like?" He asks with a lifted brow, wagging it up and down deviously. I shuffle the letter blocks around with a throat suddenly dry as the Sahara, struggling to find an actual word and swallowing hard. "Not particularly."

"Well then Dove, may the odds be ever in your favor."

"Easy there Effie." I stick a hand in the air to pacify his arrogance. "I'm about to Katniss your ass"

An hour or so later, my stomach hurts from laughing so hard. Leaning forward, I flick away the tiles he's just placed on the board, sending the wooden squares sailing across the carpet and upsetting a very discouraged Hilary who's been sawing wood for the past twenty minutes.

"Pecker? Really, Deklan?"

"What?" He feigns innocence.

"Nothing," I shake my head, "Guess I shouldn't be surprised since many of your words seem to relate to the anatomy or some type of bodily function."

"Yea, but you wouldn't let me keep WENIS! You're like the Scrabble Nazi."

"Because WENIS isn't a real word, jackass." Serious about winning, I place my letters on the board and dismiss his immaturity. Too competitive for my own good I suppose, although having two older brothers can do that to a girl. Either way, Deklan can be a pervert all he wants because I'm gonna win this damn game.

"Zipper, Yea! Triple word score. Take that wenis man!"

Deklan reaches out to pull Hilary closer, the temperamental gas grenade cuddling herself into the crook of his waist.

Remember what I said about jealousy before? Well, let's take a moment to strike it from the record.

"WENIS is a word Dove, it's the skin that hangs on the bottom of your elbow."

Using an index finger and a thumb, he leans across the game board and pinches the spot on my arm in which he is referring too. I chuckle.

"It's not a real word Deklan, and please, I don't like my WENIS touched on the first date." I say jokingly, getting a real kick out of my play on words. Rearranging the tiles and examining the letters I've just picked from this swanky, special edition velvet bag, a lot of effort goes into plotting my next move. Excitement in landing another impressive word has me quickly pondering how I managed to have friends at all growing up, then deciding to save that thought for another day because now I'm about to win.

With a quick glance at my opponent, I prepare myself to rejoice in victory.

Deklan's expression is unreadable, certainly not that of the spirited man I knew moments before.

"You think this is a date?" He asks but doesn't give me time to respond. "Charlie look..."

Blush spreads across my cheeks like buttered toast, heating my face and crawling to my neck. "Jesus, Deklan get over yourself, okay? It was a joke."

No, I don't think this is a date. In fact, it never crossed my mind. But now that's not really the point. Now, like the self-conscious woman that I am, I'm upset that he seems so against the idea.

Forget about a broken ego, my shit is now battered, bruised, and decrepit.

The tally sheet where I've been keeping score provides some distraction as I pretend to add up the points and wish for a sudden breakthrough in humankind's ability to teleport.

"Just let me explain." That voice, the master of a thousand unexpressed emotions, makes sitting here even more painful.

My cell phone rings nearby, cutting him off. Saved by the bell!

"Gotta get that." I all but leap from my seated position and head to my purse, careful to avoid eye contact and thankful for the interruption. Sure, Deklan and I can never BE anything but am I strong enough to hear him tell me so? Not likely.

A quick swipe on the phones screen and I connect the call. "Mommy, I'm home! Where are you?" Just hearing Max helps bring everything into perspective and I can't help but smile.

"I stopped by the neighbor's house for a few but I'm on my way."

"Okay Mom, I'll be waiting" Max disconnects the call.

I look over at Deklan, now sitting in the chair, ball cap spun to the back and eyes focused on the floor below just making everything all the more uncomfortable. The jaw clench thing is also in full effect and for the life of me, I can't seem to gauge his emotions. Brooding possibly? Mad? Is this about the date comment? Surely, he knows I wasn't serious. Why didn't I just keep my mouth shut?

Stuffing the phone in my back pocket, I shuffle over to the banister and grab my coat. From the corner of my eye, it seems Deklan has left the confines of his chair, standing to his full height and showcasing his overpowering presence, giving me all kinds of goosebumps that require more energy than exists within my body to ignore.

"Listen, Charlie." He speaks but doesn't move.

Grateful for the buttons of my coat, acting as an amazing deterrent when it comes to making eye contact. Same applies for wrapping the scarf around my neck and placing my pink and gray striped mittens onto my hands and paying them a lot more attention than necessary in hopes to continue to avoid more awkward conversation. Don't think I've ever been so thankful for yarn in my life to be honest.

"I'm sorry, Deklan..." I tell him after waiting far longer than normal to respond. "...but I have to go now. It really was great spending time with you and again, thank you for...well just for everything. Maybe one day we can do this again sometime, that is...um if you want to, I mean. Well...um, anyway we'll see you around, yea?" I find my purse resting on the armrest of the sofa to the gods, and head to the door.

"What the hell are you going on about, woman?" The question is asked through clenched teeth, causing me to turn but avoid eye contact.

"Well it doesn't have to be anytime soon, just...you know... if you find time that's all."

"Are you kidding?" Deklan cuts in, irritated.

"I'm sorry what's happening here?"

"What's happening is that you've got it in that head of yours that you're just gonna leave and never acknowledge me again. Just walk out and pretend I don't exist. Maybe give a friendly neighbor wave when we grab the paper in the morning."

"I don't get the paper." I mumble.

"Screw the damn paper, it's not the point. What the hell, Charlie?" He looks at me like I've lost my mind.

Now I'm the one confused. "Relax okay, I didn't mean anything by it, just figured you probably have better things to do that's all, and you should give yourself a chance to do them. Honestly, I don't know what I would've done if you weren't with me these past couple days but now it's time to get back to reality and reality for me is a five-year-old who still doesn't know that his father isn't coming back. Whatever this is between us was just a fleeting moment, heated emotions, tensions high, that kind of stuff, it was real and honest and something that helped me heal, something that I'll remember forever but it's over now. Frankly Deklan, you deserve so much more than I can give you, you deserve someone that isn't so broken."

With a powerful stride forward, Deklan tips over the ottoman as a rumble of determination echoes from his lips. "And what the fuck about you, Charlie? What do you deserve?"

Instead of answering, I open the door to leave. The cold air barely gets the chance to enter before it's pushed shut, smacking hard against the frame and causing me to jump a little. Without warning, I'm being spun around in an all too familiar way by those strong capable hands, corded with veins, flexing to maintain control as they dig into the shoulders of my wool coat. The hat on his head gets tossed, zipping across the room. Briefly he grips at his hair, pulling at the longer tendrils that sit toward the crown of his scalp, then drags his hand down his face, rubbing at his chiseled features and trying hard to get himself in check.

"Answer me, Charlie. What is that you think you deserve?" The intense way he stares at me makes me lightheaded and sucks out all the words from of my mouth.

"Okay so if you're not going to answer me, I'll do it for you." It's a matter of fact statement made unbelievably close to my lips. I shudder in anticipation of his words.

"You deserve happiness. Freedom. Love. You deserve to laugh, to smile and to be revered as the amazing woman you are." Closer now, towering over me, each step he takes forward, I take one back. There's a glimmer of pure desire in his expression. Lust pours from his veins. Heavy breathing from his nose.

"You deserve to be put on a pedestal. A goddamn fucking stage."

My God!

There are moments in all our lives when you feel like you're hearing things. Times when you question what you know as fact and what you perceive to be fiction. When you must decipher between the face value of words and what they actually mean. This is one of those moments. Now is one of those times.

Against my better judgment, the hidden meaning of what he's just said has my body betraying me. The closer he gets, the more the words have an effect on a physical level. My lips go dry. My own mouth silently pleads for his tongue to quench my thirst as the core of my body salivates all while the breaths escaping my lungs come in the form of short and hurried wisps. I bring a hand up to my chest to slow the pace of my racing heart, unsure how he managed to get impossibly closer than he had been just seconds ago. Those words have hit my senses with fire and determination. Conviction and longing. The passion behind his eyes dominates my whole body.

"You deserve a worthy motherfucker who will praise God every day for your existence." The handle of the door cuts into my back but it's a pleasurable kind of pain so I don't move. With nowhere to go and no place to hide, his lustful actions along with my newfound inability speak the English language are evident by my flushing complexion and increasing pulse, worsening when thick muscled forearms hold the wall on each side of my head, caging me in and covering me in sinful heat. In this position there's no mistaking the lengthy erection pressed firmly against my stomach, this is not a gun in his pocket nor is it a banana in his pants, no sir, this is all one hundred percent steel-like flesh waiting eagerly to be taken for a ride.

This is wrong! So, so wrong! Forehead to forehead, I find myself completely mesmerized by the fullness of lips just inches away from my own. But God, it feels so right!

And that—that spark of electricity I've mentioned? Well it's now comparable to lightning striking twice, all while being submerged in a bathtub. My insides spasm and I squeeze my legs together to alleviate the pressure that's building inside.

"You deserve the world and that bastard you married should have done everything in his power to give it you." He whispers into my ear, grazing the stubble of his chin over my face then crossing over to the other side, dragging his delectable whiskers across my cheek then my nose all the while continuing his hedonistic declaration.

"You deserve someone to take you to paradise. Someone willing to confess daily that simply thinking straight around you is impossible. Someone who's entire world stopped spinning the minute you walked into it, that will fight every bastard that threatens to diminish your glow, because they know that the only way light can exist amidst the dark is to always... always give you whatever it is that you need to continue to shine."

The lateral movements from ear to ear have stopped as he stays bent at the knees, speaking only into the bend of my neck with a voice so low and breathy it's like soothing bathwater, doused with lavender and chamomile. Sensuality sizzles from the imaginary tub in the form of the hot steam and I can't help but drown.

"And above all, you deserve to feel things you never thought your body was capable of. Heavenly things. Things that take you to another universe, skyrocketing across space and time. The kind of things that leave you breathless. Shaking. Begging for more. You deserve infinite pleasure Charlie, never the fucking pain."

There they are again.

Words.

We hear them every day, some we don't pay attention to, others grab our consideration. Many words mean nothing to us, other words mean everything. Then there are words that are spoken that hold so much power they shatter your resolve and destroy your will.

These are the words that will make you question who you are and where it is that you want to be. They'll strike with a force bigger than nature itself and leave you to wonder if anything you've ever known up until that point was real. Deklan's words are the atomic bomb, my body is Nagasaki. What's left of me after touchdown? Total devastation.

Impossibly, my breathing grows heavier. My skin is so hot to the touch, I wait for my clothes to inevitably char off my body, sending a pile of ashes to the floor beneath our feet.

I take in a deep breath, lingering on the smell of his skin and the aroma of his shower gel. Hands tremble as I place them firmly against the rugged flesh of his chest. Lips quiver. Legs shake. To feel his heart beating rapidly from the outside of his shirt makes everything in me want to explore the dunes of each muscle, trace my tongue along the protruding veins in his forearms. And his mouth? I want to taste it. Savor the flavor of his being. Suck on his salt tainted flesh, swallow his imminent strength and get lost in his cosmic presence.

There's an all-consuming urge to watch our sweat stricken bodies collide with inhumane force until I know what my protector feels like with his bare skin pressed against my own, as it is here, in this game changing moment that I find myself wanting it all, needing it now.

With a crushing grip on the material of his shirt, I squeeze my eyes shut and take a moment to remind myself that I'm playing with fire. Convince myself that I'll only get burned in a way I've been scorched so many times before, in a way I still am now. Scarred. A woman so unrecognizable you almost have to wonder how much more of this almighty blaze a person can take.

A new mantra develops from within, the distorted thoughts hop along the lining of my skull, working hard to keep me living in the real world, far away from these fantasies that so often end in destruction.

You can want a lot of things in life, it doesn't mean that they're yours to take...

Reality settles in, the hymn served its purpose. Opening my eyes, I find hooded eyelids dressed in anticipation, breaths that mimic the erratic pants that escape my suddenly constricted lungs. This man has invested way too much in too little time, devoted himself to something I'll never be able to commit to and quite truthfully, given me more credit than I've earned. He envisions something in me that I simply do not possess...

Worthiness.

There it is...I'm a psychological anomaly. Sigmund Freud would have a field day exploring the mechanics of my brain and ultimately determining it unfixable. A hard pill to swallow but true just the same, which is why this very unstable psyche has left me with no choice but to protect him from such a desolate future. And the best way to do that, to ensure he doesn't succumb to the inevitable burn himself, is to try any way possible to protect this man from the one thing that will scar him most...

Me.

To shelter him from every dark and stormy cloud that promises years of unsettled waters and a lifetime's worth of unimaginable events. Hide him from the fog that will forever haunt my existence, consequently shielding him from this curse of mine that can never be revoked.

With the heels of my palms, I push against his chest and set him free. Give him the opportunity to find stability and normalcy, hand him the pathway to happiness and show him that without a doubt that path will never lead to me.

Max is waiting and he's all that matters, so I reach up, place my palm on the face of this man that, even for a few hours, made me feel alive, and watch as his eyes close.

"Deklan," I whisper, but he seems to purposely ignore the plea. Seems to know my intentions as he prepares for the impending warning sound that screams our time is up.

Leaning into my embrace he nuzzles his stubbled jawline into my hand, places his lips at the center of my palm and finally lifts his head to look at me.

My thumb caresses his cheekbone once more, then skims over the fullness of his lips. God, if only life were easy.

"I have my answer now." I whisper against the side of his face, his hand coming up to cover my own.

"Tell me, Dove." His words are strangled.

Sneaking a grip to the doorknob, the truth spills through my mouth amid a steady flow of tears.

"I may deserve all those things Deklan, but I'll never in my life deserve you."

With that I push the door open and allow my legs to begrudgingly carry me home.

As the cold wind stings against the moisture along my face it takes every bit of strength I have to keep on running, never once taking the chance on looking back, knowing that my heart, a barely functional organ, would shatter into millions of pieces if I did.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Moving On

The weeks are rolling by and the healing process has been slower than I'd prefer. Not physically but mentally. To be honest, it's sometimes harder to deal with as the days pass. With the shackles off for good, it didn't take long to realize Johnny controlled so much of my life that I hadn't known how to live it for myself.

On a better note, I'm impressed at how well Max is doing. It's funny, often we don't give kids enough credit for how much they comprehend or how strong and resilient they actually are.

And before you ask, yes, I still see Deklan. In fact, he stops by daily. Trust me, I tried my best to resurrect the necessary boundaries, but the persistent fool just kept popping up, hellbent on breaking my resolve. Not that it was hard to do, but still, a girls gotta have some pride, right?

Well let's just say pride went out the window each time my tenacious neighbor showed up with that same sly smile on his face, that goddamn mischievous twinkle gleaming from his smoky gray eyes, always trying to convince me that running into each other regularly was merely a "coincidence."

A coincidence? Not likely. Maybe if he stuck to grocery stores and the occasional gas station, he might have been more believable. But the doctor's office? That was pushing it and so far away from coincidental you'd need a plane ticket to get there.

It was a lively and sunny morning when Dr. Bowman gave me a clean bill of health, a report that seemed to take more than half of the normal bricks of pressure off my shoulders and for the moment helped me to feel a lot less weighted. There was an extra something in my step that hadn't been there before, not quite a bounce but definitely some added pep that changed the way I looked at the future with a tad more optimism than normal. Over the years, wondering about the brighter side of things became somewhat of a foreign concept so it felt nice for once to think that better days were ahead.

Passing the receptionist on the way to the waiting room, it was hard not to notice how the flushed face of the woman who typically wore a complexion that rivaled Casper, seemed to be glowing ten different shades of red, a strange color for someone who was normally so pale she was almost see through. On top of that, she had this dreamy look to her eyes that I'd recognize anywhere, one I often saw in my own reflection, one that gave him away immediately. As it was, there weren't many people on this planet that possessed the power to perform such magic on an otherwise ghostly looking skin tone—well, other than my buddy Thor of course, but even he looked like a homeless pirate compared to Deklan.

Speaking of the world's most delicious looking Marine, the man I'd been trying desperately to avoid for no other reason other than my own sanity was smack dab in the middle of the waiting room, garnering all sorts of looks from admirers that he once again completely ignored. As delectable as he looked, it was hard not to wrap my hands around his neck and strangle him for taking on the role as my shadow.

With a loud whisper, I spoke in his direction. "What the hell are you doing here?"

This gorgeous man who stuck out like a Republican voter at the Democratic convention held up a finger as he leisurely scanned over an article from the medical magazine he had in his hands.

"I'm reading," he said nonchalantly then scrunched his face in repulsion while turning the glossy pages in several different angles, bending his head every which way and gawking at the pictures before him.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Why are you here?" This was exhausting. "And what the heck are you reading?"

Without giving him the time to answer, I snatched the magazine from his hands, turned it around and glanced at what it was that had him so entranced. Seriously?

"My Life with a Micro Penis? Really Deklan? That's the article you chose? What were you doing? Taking notes?" I closed the publication shut and threw it onto the nearest end table.

He stood then. From the chair to his feet, seeming to sprout from the ground

like a beanstalk, towering over me and stepping closer.

"No notes needed, Dove. I don't have that problem. Exact opposite if you know what I mean?" He waggled his eyebrows, my face heating despite all the effort to try and look impassive.

"Ohhh so you have a micro vagina? Sorry to hear that." I gave my best attempt at looking concerned while he flared his nostrils in pretend frustration before eventually smiling that astoundingly superb smile.

Clean up on aisle three! My subconscious barked over her intercom, referencing to the puddle of my existence shining on the waiting room floor. I buried the lascivious thoughts then stood toe to toe with the heavenly beast.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?" My voice grew louder this time, catching the attention of several waiting patients that hadn't even noticed me until that point.

His shoulders shrugged as he coughed, a meek and pitiful sound traveling up his throat, one that gave me no choice but to roll my eyes. "I wasn't feeling well."

"Deklan, this is the gynecologist office!" I whisper shouted in his direction, giggling at his horrified expression. Serves him right. His mortification was a small price to pay for following me...EVERYWHERE.

Pulling on my elbow and guiding us to the corner for some privacy, he ducked his head down until his lips reached my ear. "What the fuck, Dove? No wonder everyone was looking at me like I was crazy."

"Well you are crazy, Deklan. You have to stop following me around."

"I guess it's useless to tell you it was just a coincidence, huh?"

Pointing to the sculpted uterus to my right, the look on my face was all the answer he needed. Fighting the urge to laugh, I maneuvered around his brawny build and headed to the door only to be yanked back into the strong arms I'd come to know so well. With my eyes level with his perfectly carved neck, I fought against the urge to either place my lips on his Adam's apple out of gratitude for looking out for me or ripping it out altogether for being such a pain in the ass. I did neither, still going by the notion that too much affection between us wouldn't be a good thing, opting to just let my arms dangle by my side as he held me close.

Everyone from Dr. Bowman, to the receptionist, to the soon to be moms and the man from FedEx seemed to stop what they were doing to watch us.

Uncomfortable with the attention, I tried to push away.

"I just worry about you, Dove. I wanna make sure you're okay." He swung me from side to side being purposefully annoying as my feet lifted from the floor.

Sensing the extra tension and the complete lack of humor steeping from my expression, he finally let me go.

"I'm fine. Come on let's go back home..." I spoke over my shoulder, lowering my voice. "...we have quite the audience." No less upset with the invasion of privacy, I figured there wasn't much left to do but give the bystanders a verbal parting gift. With one foot through the threshold, my face turned toward the crowd.

"Sorry 'bout that guys, my friend here was just upset about his tiny penis. Poor guy just found out there's no hope—Ahh!" I yelled, laughing as my body gets pulled through the door.

When we made our way into the hallway, Deklan gnawed at his top lip.

Looking to the ceiling, his face flushed with both embarrassment and amusement.

"Did you just say what I think you said?"

I patted his face a few times. "Sure did."

He faked anger then playfully smacked my behind until I took off running, teasing on the way to my car. "Some private investigator you are, didn't even know you followed me to the girly doctor." Jumping into the front seat with seconds to spare before his hand made a second swat at my already tender rear, I stuck out my tongue and reversed through the now empty parking lot, leaving Deklan to stand alone, a towering figure with a grin that could melt glaciers just as effectively as it seemed to melt my insides.

That day, we reached an agreement of sorts and since then it seems to be working.

He still stops all the time but has stowed his stalking skills away for now. We've never really talked about our "incident" at his house, though there's a sneaky suspicion that the steamy altercation is on his mind just as much as it's on my own. It doesn't matter, I've made it pretty clear that having anything more than a friendship just wasn't in the cards at the moment. And while the independent woman part of me wants to abide by the personal vow, it doesn't make it any easier considering the only portion of my body that wouldn't jump at the chance to be more than friends with Deklan is probably my right thumb— and that's only because I burned it on the stove a few months back, so it's still kind of numb in spots.

Chalk my uninhibited attraction up to delirium, stress, or just good old-fashioned loneliness. Either way, I'm just glad things aren't weird between us. Other than being a little disappointed when I told him we needed to keep our distance when Max was around, it's all been a little too perfect between us to be honest. The kind of perfect that comes with a disclaimer, a bluster of ridiculously small print that heeds all sorts of warnings pertaining to irrevocable damage. Damage there's no coming back from. Hence the arrangement to limit interaction with my son, as it was already scary for me to think about losing Deklan, Max certainly didn't deserve to be let down again.

The problem was, it seemed clear from the get-go that no one but me was abiding by the commitment, judging by the blooming bromance between child and neighbor that is. Pretty much, I was screwed.

With summer around the corner there was a lot of activity on the horizon, activity that threatened to shake things up a bit. First order of business was Max's kindergarten graduation. Advertising a small and quiet ceremony to commemorate the occasion, the elementary school didn't seem to know what hit them when the Cole family descended upon this once in a lifetime event for one of our own.

Of course, I cried — loudly, hiccupping like a seasoned drunk as the tears trickled into my mouth while every tissue in my bag quickly became saturated in snot. My parents where there too, again not so quiet, both spending most of their time fighting over the best way to take pictures on "The iPhone," a fight that ended with no winners because when all was said and done, they had about eighty-seven photographs collectively, all of someone else's child.

Nick sauntered through—late of course—in all his playboy glory, smiling wide and soaking up the attention he always seemed to get from ladies young and old. Too busy staring at the single mom sitting next to us, my brother added to the chaos by clapping loudly after a moment of silence, seeming more interested in his next lay than witnessing his nephew take hold of his rolled-up paper diploma.

Award for the worst distraction goes to Deklan, and his ear-piercing whistles wailed loudly through his fingers as Max walked across the stage. The disturbance so palpable, I thought Mr. Wallace, the principal and a man on the verge of retirement, was going to have a heart attack right there in front of everyone. Didn't bother Max though, he just looked on excitingly, proud that his "best friend," Deklan the Marine—as he introduced him to his pint-sized comrades—was making such a to-do on his behalf.

And trust me, Deklan the Marine was making to-do's left and right. The size of him alone had a great grandmother behind us grumbling about an article she read in the Readers Digest, going on about how things needed to be done with the number of steroids "they"—whoever "they" were—put in our food, "See what happens Albert when they give them GMO's to those chickens." She pointed at the back of Deklan's head as Albert her husband simply nodded in agreement. And while I wasn't sure he had heard even a word his wife had said, something told me poor Albert had been nodding since his wedding day.

We were an interesting bunch to say the least and if I'm not mistaken, the entire auditorium applauded louder when we made our way through the doors to leave.

Second on the list of things to tackle today was packing for Max's summertime getaway to the Cole family beach house, a vacation that I had been against the minute my parents invited him along for the season. Not that they couldn't be trusted but spending so much time away from Max didn't settle well.

Like most things though, my argument fell on deaf ears as Mom and Dad, Pete and of course Deklan convinced me that it would be good for him to spend some time with family and take his mind off all the changes that had occurred in his life over such a short period of time. Still, as much as I knew he'd have a blast hanging out with many of my cousin's kids who also had property along the coastline, the mom guilt that burned in my chest made it hard to initially agree to the plan.

While in the past, I'd go up for a week or so, sit and read on the beach while Max dug holes and built shapeless sandcastles with muddied sand, this year I had planned on making mostly weekend trips, not totally ready to deal with the onslaught of extended family.

Too many people.

Too many questions.

Everything was still a little raw for me but eventually I agreed to the excursion despite the selfish part that was willing to risk Max's happiness in order to have him close by and placate many of my anxieties by doing nothing more than just being near. It sounds terrible, I know, but not only did I love the hell out of the kid and wanted him with me always, his presence made dealing with some of the difficult emotions that popped up now and again—thanks to the years spent under Johnny's regime—a little less debilitating.

As it is, nighttime always seems to be the hardest. The frequent nightmares are hellish, terrifying, and habitually all the same...

Johnny comes into my room while I sleep, my body seems to know he's near even before the familiar pressure wraps itself around my throat. The deadly hands squeeze harder while he whispers something in my ear, detestable pledges, where even through the regularly occurring vision, are never loud enough for me to hear clearly, weighing me down with incredible fear. Each time it happens, beads of cold sweat drip from body, soaking through to the mattress as the air struggles to release itself from my lungs.

No matter how often I tell myself he's in prison or remind my shuttering body that he can't hurt me, each night sleep evades me, as if part of me is afraid that someday it will all come true. Like part of me is afraid that even though this time the bullet didn't miss, the wound may only be a superficial graze rather than the fatal gouge that is necessary to ensure my freedom.

Night after night, my tired feet trudge themselves up the stairs into Max's room where I snuggle close to his peaceful form, fully aware that I'm the one supposed to be warding away the monsters at night and not the other way around. Still, the horror never seems to leave my mind, many times playing over and over until daylight sneaks through the windows and I prepare myself to do it all again. So, yea, I am scared of what will happen when this nightmare plagues my slumber again and Max won't be around to unknowingly soothe the violent tremors that consume my body each time.

As far as the rest of my life was concerned, things were going okay. Lake took my position at work initially and has since maintained the role as I've slowly been able to ease myself back into the reins. Outside of the occasional visit to the office, most of my time has been devoted to enjoying this taste of freedom. Really, it felt so good to be in my home with my own schedule. No longer having to abide by the strict regimen of orders Johnny laid out for me, my home has become more of a haven than the hell I once knew. Dinner at seven not six? No problem. Spaghetti for breakfast? Have at it. Hell, if I wanted to wear shoes on my hands and walk around upside down all day there was no one there to tell me otherwise.

Clothes aren't put away by color category anymore either. Nope. The daredevil that lives within me has blue jeans next to a black sweater in her closet. How's that for worthiness you evil minded prick?

The bus pulls up to the corner for the last time this school year and Max runs off as he always does like a mini bulldozer on a sugar high. Determination has settled itself deep within his big brown eyes, telling me to prepare for the upcoming blow. Full speed, his little arms and legs pump fiercely, the wind puffing up the tails of his striped collared shirt, his face contorted in concentration.

With my arms extended and my feet planted I'm more than ready for his attack. That is until a haze of green and white stripes zips past my open arms leaving a cool breeze in his wake. He ran right past me.

Pulling myself together I let my eyes follow the blurred figure, eager to catch a glimpse at what it is that caused such a disruption to our daily routine, just in time to see Max leap into Deklan's arms.

"Hey, Big Guy!" Max says, wrapping his little hands tightly around Deklan's brawny neck.

Deklan holds onto Max effortlessly, completely enveloping him until he's almost invisible.

"Hey, Little Man."

"What are you doing here, Deklan?" The question is clipped with annoyance.

First, he's supposed to be working. Second, he knows how I feel about the three of us playing one big happy family. For me this false sense of normalcy and stability is hard enough to deal with, it has to be even more confusing for a child. This is going to mess with Max's head because it sure as hell is messing with mine.

Unperturbed The muscled Marine winks, setting Max down to the sidewalk. "I was in the neighborhood."

Noticing Max's shoelace untied, I crouch to tie it still speaking. "You're always in the neighborhood. You live in the neighborhood. That's not what I meant, and you know it." Max's giggling cuts me off.

"What's so funny?" I look up at my son.

He shrugs his tiny shoulders as his hands move up and down the straps of his backpack, visibly struggling to suppress his laughter.

"He's making that face again, isn't he?" Max nods while his eyes dance with humor.

I pop myself upright then turn to find Deklan, cross-eyed, his teeth bucked outward like some kind of sickly rabbit. Honestly, somewhere in the depths of all that muscle and girth there is a child stuck inside of this man. A child, might I add, with ADHD, who frequently comes forward to drive me insane.

"Would you look at that?" I start. "Seems it's true when the say owners start to look like their pets after a while"

Max mimics the childish behavior until they both stand in front of me. Both looking ridiculous.

"Dear, Lord. Help me." It's a prayer made while brushing the fallen tendrils away from Max's forehead. "Be careful. Your face is gonna stay like that."

Fist bumping each other, proud of ganging up on me, the two pals bring their faces back to normal. Max skips ahead as we make our way back to our homes giving me the chance to speak to Deklan without the presence of nosy little ears.

"Really Deklan, what are you doing?"

With a devilish wink that goes straight to my ovaries his response is simply, "You invited me."

"Explain what you feel is the definition of an invitation."

When he tugs on one of my habitually uncooperative curls, I swat his hand away, he only chuckles louder.

"Last night at dinner. Remember? You said, 'Max is leaving right after school', then proceeded to tell me it was too bad that I was going to be working because we wouldn't get to see each other to say goodbye. You don't remember that?"

"Deklan I don't remember, because it wasn't an invitation."

"Eh...invitation? Insinuation? Tomatoes, To-mah-toes, Dove. Besides I wanted to see my best little dude here before he goes on his big trip. Maybe we could stop by my house quick? There may be a few things I found that he can take with him."

"By found, you mean bought?"

"Semantics."

Before I know it, we're walking through Deklan's front door.

"Make this quick boys, Gigi and Poppa are gonna be here any minute to pick you up." I stand at the doorway with my arms folded, trying to be annoyed at the sudden detour, although I'm anything but.

In truth, my insides are melting at the sight of these two together. Deklan and Max. Big Guy and Little Man. My son and my...friend? Jesus, it sounds as awkward as it feels.

No.No.No. You can't go there Charlie. Life's already more complicated than you can deal with. The familiar voice of my subconscious tries avidly to encourage coherence.

You need to be smart about this. "Dammit! I know, I'm trying!" I reply in an angry whisper so that Max won't hear.

"Who are you talking to?" Deklan comes around the corner, making me jump.

"Myself?"

"Um okay. Weird, though not surprised."

"What do you mean you're not surprised?"

Deklan doesn't answer, instead changing the subject. "Close your eyes."

"What? Why?"

"Can you just stop being a pain in the ass and do it, Max wants to surprise you."

"Fine, don't get so snippy. What's the matter? Someone call your cat ugly again?" I joke, closing my eyes tight.

"Hilary isn't ugly she's unique"

"Ha! Nice try"

"Don't forget the drumroll" Max calls out from the other room, making the both of us laugh.

"Come on, dude. You think I'd ever forget the drumroll?" Deklan yells, as I peek quickly. He nudges his head in the direction of the other room where Max waits for his revelation, the dimple out and giving me heart palpitations. The drumroll begins.

"Okay, Mommy! Open!"

Following instructions both eyes open wide, taking a minute to adjust to the image before me. What the hell? My nostrils flare as the hilarity of the sight threatens to escape my body. Deklan's eyes are watering as he tries just as hard to hold in his own amusement by sucking in his top lip between his teeth and rocking on his feet in hopes to stifle the impending laughter.

Imagine if Scuba Steve and Shaggy from Scooby-Do procreated, my son would be the aftermath.

I really don't know what else to call what it is that I'm looking at other than...interesting. Between the wildly tousled hair, thanks to Deklan's head rub of a greeting plus the variety of psychedelic colors and swirly patterns of his new ensemble, the kid is truly a sight to behold.

Dressed in oversized headgear for snorkeling, his breathing and speech are both heavier and muffled. The bright fluorescent green flippers, flop on his tiny feet as he attempts to balance the giant tie-dyed boogie board against his body. The life floaties banded around his arms display an eccentric array of oceanic creatures across the plastic material, making it impossible to put his arms flush against his sides.

"Did you buy this stuff in the dark? None of it matches." I whisper, still facing forward. Deklan chuckles quietly but doesn't respond.

All mismatched water paraphernalia aside, it's the T-shirt Max seems to enjoy the most. "It says MARINE, Mommy!" He squeals, pointing at the bold white letters strewn across his chest.

"I see that, very cool." It's hard not to smile despite feeling like this right here is crossing every single self-persevering boundary I've been trying so hard to keep standing. "Deklan," I whisper in his direction, soft enough so Max can't hear. "You think you went a little overboard?"

"Nah, Dove, he deserves it, he's been through a lot"

Staring into Deklan's eyes it's hard to find words to express what this gesture means but before even a semblance of a thank you falls from my mouth, Max flops in our direction. His giant green feet clap against the hardwood floor. With each step, he struggles to hold the boogie board and steady the headgear which has now gotten cloudy and foggy, blurring his vision so much that he's bouncing against the walls.

Deklan tilts his head sideways, scanning the miniature Swamp Thing heading our way. "He kinda looks deranged."

Not gonna lie, the kid does look a little crazy.

Tiny flipper to massive shoe, Max looks up at Deklan, Deklan looks down at Max, the top of my son's head barely reaching the lean waist of that of our neighbor. Staring each other down with mirroring smiles, they only break eye contact when Max's arms shoot out and attempt to wrap around Deklan's midsection, turning my heart into a pile of mush, a giant bowl of confused applesauce.

"Thanks, Big Guy. I love everything! Especially the shirt. Someday, I'm gonna be in the Marines and fight bad guys just like you." Max squeezes tight as Deklan closes his eyes, exhaling at my son's choice of words. The kid hit a sweet spot. He's a pro at it for sure.

"No problem Little Dude, now go and have a good time and be good for your grandparents all right?" Max nods and releases Deklan, handing over another hair ruffle. Max then shuffles his way to the door, waddling more than walking.

Out of his flippers now, back into normal shoes, Max leaves, dragging his board behind him. With my help we cross the street successfully, letting go of my hand only when he's safely on the sidewalk in front of our home.

Over my shoulder, I glance at Deklan standing proudly on the front steps of his own house as the wind blows the hair into my face, obscuring my vision. The sight of him is no less heart stopping regardless of Mother Nature's efforts to block him from my view.

It's on those very same steps where my body first felt that magnetic pull that this man who not only saved me, but in his own way has helped to heal my son, stands stoically, a protective statue who never asks for anything but deserves it all anyway. I brush away the errant blonde strands with a hand and match my eyes to his. A few cars pass while we stare at each other, both remaining motionless, breathing the same air, possibly contemplating the same surging emotions.

A penny for your thoughts? Right now, I'd empty my savings and remortgage my house to get into his mind.

When a delivery truck approaches, slowing down in search for the correct address, the brown box truck blocks my view. As if an unknown force is instructing my movements, my arms and legs begin to pump as my heartrate increases. The whole time, my entire existence begs to feel whole again. Pleads for that one piece that's been missing this whole time. And to find it, to feel complete if only for this moment, I only need one thing.

With that thought in mind, I hightail it across the street, practically skimming the back end of the truck with my leg just as Deklan's about to walk into his house.

As if sensing my presence, he turns just in time to find me leaping into the air, counting on him to catch me, knowing that he'll never let me fall. Without flinching, without as much of a second thought, he scoops my body into his hold with ease. "I will always catch you." He whispers as one arm crosses the other around his neck.

Resting my chin on top of those silky tendrils that scream for me to run my fingers through each individual strand, I close my eyes and burn this moment into my brain. Regardless of my inability to commit to more than friendship there is no doubt in my mind that my heart will never beat again the way it does for this man. My Adonis. Never. With his lips level with my throat, he places a barely noticeable kiss on the sensitive area while I empty every bit of gratitude into my embrace. Nestling his forehead in the crook of my neck and inhaling deeply against the exposed part of my collarbone, Deklan seems lost in thought. Giving him the time he seems to need to pull himself together, my legs wrap themselves around his waist as my ankles hook behind his back until he's impossibly close. With his strong arms around my thighs his thoughts seem to be back in working order as my body is jutted forward, forcefully into his muscular torso putting my dampened center directly across his narrowing hips.

"What are you thinking about?" I whisper into his inky black hair.

"Trust me baby, you don't wanna know." The breathy words flow across my neck, slide to my collarbone then hover around each breast.

I pull back just enough to look at him then place a hand on each side of his face, my forehead to his own. "What you did for Max. I just...I really don't know how..."

With the weight of my body secure in just one arm, he places a finger from his other hand over my lips to silence me.

"Don't okay? No need to thank me and you better not even think about trying to repay me. So, get that shit out of your head right now."

A kiss to the top of my head and I'm begrudgingly placed on my feet. I have to go but I don't want to. Bad enough, Deklan's eyes tell me not to leave, same for his fingers that seem desperate to keep hold of mine. We stay stuck this way, one begging the other to stay, the other begging one to understand why she has to leave.

Reality comes in the form of a blowing car horn, announcing my parent's arrival and cutting through the dream that somehow, we—both Deklan and I—are more than what we try so hard to pretend not to be. A struggling sound of defeat comes from the depths of his voice box before groaning out his contempt with my necessary departure. Our fingers slip away from one another and I miss him already.

Pete, who stopped by to wish Mom and Dad a safe trip, multitasks by keeping them occupied with nonsensical conversation while eying me suspiciously as I run up to grab Max's things. Disregarding my uncle's continuing looks of disapproval, I pack the suitcase into the trunk then hold onto Max for as long as possible before my father starts to grow impatient, mumbling on about traffic and the importance of remaining on schedule.

My mother on the other hand would probably have stayed for a couple more hours, going on and on excitedly about all her plans at the shore while looking chic and carefree dressed in her finest vacation clothes. She rolls her eyes at my father beneath her oversized Tory Burch sunglasses before murmuring some choice words about his driving abilities under her breath then situating herself in the passenger seat.

Normally entranced with one another the pair turn into mortal enemies when it comes to traveling.

"Both of you tone it down a bit with Max in the car, please?" I point back and forth to my parents, much more of a demand than a question.

Dad holds his hands up in surrender as Mom nods in understanding. I help Max with his seat belt and give him a lingering kiss on the side of his face. When they drive off and the car turns the corner, eventually drifting out of view a huge part of me feels empty already.

Pete hugs me tight, giving nothing away about his accusatory looks from before and walks away.

Shaking off the unease that comes from entering my eerily quiet home, I sit on the sofa and try hard to fight back tears. Forty-five minutes later, still wallowing in the emptiness that stems from feeling so alone, my cell phone buzzes on the table.

Too pitiful to get up from my seat, I bring the phone to my chest and unlock the screen, smiling for the first time since saying goodbye to Max.

A message from Deklan.

You ok? :-(

Well, that's a loaded question. I stare at the screen. Am I okay? Who knows? Another message pops up seconds after the first. Mr. Impatient gives me little time for self-deprivation.

Dove?

I text back.

Will be. Just gonna take a bit to get used to that's all.

I'll call you later, all right? Thanks for checking in.

Then the next message.

OK. Remember I'm here if you need me

The words pull moisture from my eyes as there's never been a statement before that I believed so strongly to be true.

I know

Chapter Twenty-Three

Calling All Friends...

What better way to wallow in self-pity than to binge watch my new favorite show? Another liberating experience really, considering I never had—or should I say, I was never allowed—the opportunity to watch much TV in the past. Unless of course it involved sports or the news. And while I'm a huge sports fan and consider myself in tune with the ebb and flow of the world, sometimes enough is enough.

Several episodes in and I'm making random comments to myself. Things like, "Olivia Pope is a badass," "Huck is crazy," and "Team Jake, definitely Team Jake."

Wanna know what else I've accomplished the past couple hours? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!

Inclined to see what happens on the next episode, I think better of it before my body molds itself to the damn couch. Shuffling around the house like an old lady with arthritis and growing more and more despicable as the seconds tick away, the idea of sitting around and feeling sorry for myself doesn't bode well.

Finding something to occupy my time proved difficult as it became clear I didn't have many hobbies other than sitting around feeling sorry for myself obviously, which was stopping now. An idea hit then...an activity to keep my mind busy...

Cupcakes! Not much of a hardcore baker, cupcakes being the extent of my abilities, it still gave me something to do. Besides cupcakes made people happy. Happy people liked cupcakes. Seems like a win-win to me.

The problem was that while my skillset has grown significantly, thanks to having a five-year-old that liked to sign me up for all sorts of bake sales without my permission, scaling down the recipe was not something I found to be particularly easy. On top of that, there was no way in hell I'd be keeping two dozen cupcakes in a house that was only being occupied by myself at the moment. Diabetes wasn't on any of my bucket lists these days. Although there was one person that without a doubt would be glad to take the delectable desserts off my hands. Deklan loves food, junk food in particular, which is really freakin unfair considering I look at sweets and gain twenty pounds, he however can eat a whole cake and a new fucking ab pops up on his stomach. Such crap! Whatever, there's no use in stressing over my lack of metabolism and really, it's a good way to say thank you for what he did for Max today and definitely not an excuse to see him again because that would be pathetic. Ridiculous really. Totally uncool. Who am I kidding? I'd probably eat the damn things off his feet if he told me to.

Before I go licking my way to a necessary therapist, there's just one thing I need to do before releasing my inner Mrs. Field. Somewhere in between the episode where Oliva breaks it off with Fitz and the one where Cyrus sleeps with a male prostitute, a lightbulb went off. No kidding, the one in the living room is set on a timer. Regardless of the extraordinary coincidence, with its sudden illumination came an idea, one that should be acted on before I give myself too much time to change my mind.

I grab my phone.

After just two rings, a familiar voice sends a smile to my face. "Charlie? Everything okay?" Lake asks with notable concern. She's a little overprotective of me lately, understandably so I guess. Devastated doesn't even describe her sentiment when she caught wind of just how badly my marriage had turned out. When I saw with my own eyes how hurt she was, it made me realize that keeping everything from her was really a huge mistake. Keeping things from everyone was a huge mistake.

A few weeks back, we talked about all of it. For hours, we sat on my bed, blankets around our shoulders with empty tissue boxes by our feet while we sobbed in each other's arms and wiped each other's noses. By the end of the night I promised never to keep anything from her moving forward and she vowed to do anything she could to help me move on. Since then, we've talked daily. And the best part? We see each other more too. She's been a saving grace for me, and tonight I'm going to show her how much I appreciate it, all of it.

No sense in beating around the bush. "Drinks?"

An ear-piercing scream blasts through the other line, forcing me to hold the phone at arm's length.

"Jasper come here!" She continues to screech, reminding me of an overly caffeinated high school cheerleader.

"Jesus did someone die?" The voice snaps as it makes his way to Lake, dramatic as ever.

Did I forget to mention Jasper? It's hard to believe that's possible. Lake's roommate and one of my dearest friends missed much of the chaos during his most recent quest to find the meaning of life. Judging by the fact that he's back living with Lake, I'd say it's safe to assume he wasn't able to find it in San Francisco.

After coming out at fifteen, both his father and his mother tossed him from the house with little more than the clothes on his back and three dollars to his name. As the son of the great Winston McCall, there wasn't any room for the devastating scandal that was his own flesh and blood being attracted to those with a mirroring anatomic make up.

To hell with the fact that said offspring was a varsity track star and second in our class for that matter. Image—in Jasper's father's line of work would always trump all.

A true born comedian, a guy who'd give you the shirt off his back, even the last penny to his name are not the only qualities that define Jasper. He may be a man that uses the word "literally" more than any other word in the English language and does seem to have a knack for saying the most inappropriate things at all the wrong times, but he's so much more. Underneath the exaggerated hand gestures and outlandish phrases is a man with a heart made of solid gold despite much of the discrimination he's faced.

Not that any of that mattered to an up and coming Christian based television star like Mr. McCockface—I mean McCall. Because in his world, homosexuality would not be tolerated.

Often, I wondered where that very poorly kept secret affair he had with the high school principal fell into his ideals on what qualified itself as scandalous. Apparently, all is forgiven if a penis and vagina are involved.

Rumor had it, Daddy Dearest singed his ball-sack on a Bunsen burner in the Chem lab during one of their infamous trysts. Serves the bastard right, I say. The prominent pastor—yes, I said pastor—was known for making fire and brimstone look like an episode of Sesame Street. With his syndicated morning television show slowly becoming a national commodity in the homes of stone throwers everywhere, a son who'd prefer a relationship with the same sex just would not do. Because as we all know—Jesus loves you, unless of course you're gay.

Yet another reason I sometimes find myself at odds with the church as an institution. Choosing to pray on my own rather than be judged by those who preach about avoiding the web of the devil, when they—like Pastor McCall—are often the ones that take the time required to help him spin it.

Originally identifying himself as "questioning", it took only one single vagina for Jasper to out himself as a proud gay man.

"It's like a fucking Venus fly trap, I was so scared. Immediate flaccid...I thought my dick literally died."

His exact words when describing his one and only encounter with the female anatomy all those years ago.

Lake's parents instinctively took him in, providing him with unconditional love and support when his own parents would not. The guy is more like a brother to Lake and me and he's going to freak out when she tells him the plan.

"Eew Jasper! What the hell is on your face?" Lake asks before saying anything else.

He scoffs, undoubtedly rolling his eyes so far in the back of his head he's currently looking at his brain. And just like that I'm forgotten, left to sit back and listen to the comedic performance that is the Lake and Jasper show.

"It's a clay based, seaweed infused and vitamin enhanced facial mask, if you must know. I was exfoliating, something you should think about doing a little more regularly." I cough a bit, not surprised at the dig he's just tossed in her direction.

"What's got your underwear wadded in your twat anyway?" My dear friend snickers, ignoring me still, speaking only to her roommate. "Just so you know, you look like an asshole and smell like the Jersey Shore, but we'll deal with that later. Charlie's on the phone, she wants to go out tonight, like in public—around other people." The last part is implied as if it's the most out of this world concept. Then again, it is pretty far-fetched.

Indicated by the shuffling sounds and the occasional name calling, I've surmised that he's made a play for the phone. Now on speaker mode, his smooth voice carries through the line.

"You better not be shittin' us little girl. Don't make us come all the way over there just so you can tell us you've changed your mind." As always, he rambles with a certain vibrancy in his words. Dragging out his 'S's" and enunciating only certain syllables.

"I'm for real Jas! Max is with my parents. I want to do this, but I'm gonna need you guys to help me. I don't even know what the kids wear out these days." Such a sad admission but nonetheless true. I haven't been to a bar in a few years and spend most of my time outside of work in my "Basic Bitch" uniform as Jasper calls it. Talk about being out of the loop, I'm standing in another galaxy entirely.

"Damn, I am so excited, I literally feel it in my loins. Let me be clear though baby girl, you're not a kid, haven't been for a few years now, so time to stop living in fantasy land. You don't even know Charlie; my face wants to smile so hard right now but my mask is starting to harden."

His words start to mumble as the concoction thickens.

"Go over the details with Lake and I'll pick something from her Couture de la Skank collection for you to wear. I'm thinkin' black and red and lots of Ta-Ta! Ahhh! Okay, I gotta go before I pee myself for the second time today. Smooches love!"

The smile on my face stretches from ear to ear, bordering on being close to painful. Lake takes the phone back from Jasper and puts it back onto private conversation.

"Ugh, I swear I'm gonna sell him on Craigslist, let someone else deal with his obsession with moisturizing."

I laugh into the phone. "You won't do that. At least he's not showing you the blueprints to his highly classified manscaping vision this time."

"Very true! But don't remind me, that was one of the worst weeks of my life." She seems to shake the image away as she speaks "Okay babe, we'll be at your house around nine-thirty. It's Friday so everyone is at Finks. I think its karaoke night—" She stops mid-thought and I know where she's going with this, but she's lost her loving mind if she's even considering the possibility. "Oh My God! Are we gonna get to see Charlizzle again?"

Her enthusiasm is unnecessary, beyond smitten with the idea of my eighteen-year-old alter ego being sprung back to life. Hate to break it to her. Not happening. No way!

"Um, yea...Nope! Charlizzle retired, last I heard, she's off living in Florida somewhere wearing pastel colored sweat suits and orthopedic stockings." The images of the carefree girl I used to be flash before my eyes.

Looking up at the clock, her words have me thrown and anxious. "Wait... nine-thirty? I go to bed at nine-thirty!"

Lake grumbles her obvious disgust for reasonable bedtimes. "Oh, for fuck's sake Granny, if we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right. I'll see you in a few hours." She squeals once more and hangs up.

With plans set and nothing left to do for the span of a couple hours, I start baking the cupcakes, stirring the batter, hoping the mindless task will deter me from overthinking the idea that in a few short hours, I'll be making my first public debut in years.

What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Unexpected Visitor...Unexpected Feelings...

Is this stupid? Should I knock? Ring the doorbell? Run away and never return? Walking up the steps, I find myself rethinking my decision. Oh, stop being ridiculous, just do it.

Straightening my shoulders, I nod my head in resolve and tap lightly on the front door of his home. Gnawing at the inside of my cheek and twirling my eyes around aimlessly, nothing seems to help calm my frazzled extremities.

As good as Deklan is at stopping by unannounced, it's totally a one-sided deal as I've never just showed up here before. Hesitant to knock again, for fear of looking overly needy, or just plain out of place, it's easy to contemplate going back home and forgetting this whole thing.

Go. Stay. Leave. Knock.

The resident hamster on the wheel in my brain is getting the work out of a lifetime, gasping for water and begging for air.

In what feels like hours later, the door finally flies open sending the furry rodent to rejoice in reprieve, happy to get off the wheel now that the decision has been made for the both of us.

Like an unscheduled premiere of the latest Magic Mike spin-off, Deklan stands shirtless, sweaty, and totally out of breath. The tray of recently baked cakes wiggles in my hands as the shock of seeing his glistening naked torso completely weakens my knees. Pulling myself together seems to be out of the question as my tongue traitorously pops out to lick my lips, enamored by the sight.

Deklan stares at me with perplexity as if my imagination is projecting the thoughts in my head onto the front of his stucco covered home. Diligently, my eyes work overtime to burn this image into my brain.

If only you can lock up a memory. Put it in a box for safekeeping. I'd store the sight of him, right now, all tousled hair and sweaty skin, all black shorts and matching cross-trainers, all left dimple, not right dimple, all muscle and all strength and I'd selfishly keep it to myself. The one and only key to the elusive memory box would hang around my neck and if that didn't work, I'd swallow it like a Columbian drug smuggler. Whatever it takes, really.

There's a hastiness to the way his chest rises and falls that quickens my own breathing. Add to that the smell of his sweat and I'm on the verge of face planting right onto the walkway. Musky, but not offensive. Pungent but not repulsive. Laced with the erotic pheromones of a feral beast, he reeks an odor that screams of an inability to maintain lustful control. An aroma that says, if given the chance, I'd walk away bowlegged by the time he was done with me.

Whatever he was doing prior to opening the door required stamina and if I'm not mistaken, an infinite amount of endurance. Niggling at the back of my mind, slowly making its way forward is an assumption that's unbearable to withstand. Scanning his body once more, the realization slams into me like a tidal wave, tears burn my eyes without permission. Tears I have no right to let fall.

No shirt? Sweat? Heavy breathing? It wasn't an assumption, it was fact. Deklan was having sex and what's left of my heart has shattered into pieces. Destitute fragments just rattle around the cage in my chest, sounding as sad and empty as a poor man's piggy bank. My not really thank-you, thank-you cupcakes all but kamikaze themselves off the platter, they too unable to endure the proof of my carnal demise.

Taking a much-needed moment to clear my throat, my brain struggles to formulate even a sliver of coherency. "Uh, um sorry." Never usually at a loss for words, I can't help but stammer like a fool. "I just wanted to give these to you to say thanks for what you did for Max today and everything really. But it seems you're busy, so I'm just gonna get going. Enjoy!"

Pleasantries are tossed in his direction as awkwardly as it is to try and French kiss with braces, not recommended by the way. Shoving the platter into Deklan's arms with movements that are robotic and uncomfortable, my voice drips of devastation, shoulders slump in defeat. With a brief nod and a painful smile, I pivot, then make my way down the stairs, rejected and discouraged. Both my first and middle name.

Mid-step, this all-consuming sensation almost instantly slows my hurried pace. It's back. The word bubble. A crotchety beast that lives like a hermit deep in the woods of my voice box. A creature so miserable has been stirred and is now creeping out of the cob-webbed basement, waiting for release. The confines of its home built upon a sturdy foundation of sarcasm, brashness and plain old frustration. This unforgivably rude monster lives in solitude and disregards consequences. It has a mind of its own and an agenda for disaster. And it never gives up without a fight.

Don't do it.

I swallow hard, a half-ass attempt at getting the words back down, it doesn't work.

Whipping my body back around, face to face with the half-naked man I've just stormed away from, my shoulder angel buries her head in her hands, afraid to watch the scene unfold.

Invisible waves of heat steam from my body, screaming of vengeful intentions as they dissipate into the air. Warranted or not, war is upon us. Eyes I no longer possess as my own are pointed and narrow as they silently pin the target, preparing for the exhilaration that comes with the pounce.

He, the prancing elk, dancing through the jungle. Me, a ravenous tigress, anticipating the kill. The recently sexed and the regenerated virgin. My own personal battle between logic and insanity. The internal struggle of the brain and the heart.

"You know, you didn't have to stop your sex-a-thon to answer the door Deklan, the poor girl's probably all dried up by now." I throw my hand forward to stop him from speaking, needing to get this off my chest.

"It's sad really, pegged you to be a little more attentive to the needs of females." A confused expression sits along his chiseled features, likely thinking about an excuse that would soothe my unjustifiable rage. Good luck with that you sex addict! Such words don't even exist.

"I have to say though, I'm disappointed in you MISTER O'Malley. Then again, maybe I shouldn't be too surprised that you keep your whores on retainer, you are a man after all. Never know when you're gonna need an early evening quickie or a little happy ending, right?" This time my hands wave frantically in the air as if able to swat away the unspoken words that have yet to leave his mouth thanks to my inability to shut the hell up.

"Like I said, I'll let you get back to business, I hear blue balls can be a real son of a bitch, and we don't want that do we? Oh! And be sure to give Holly Hobag in there a cupcake for her troubles, I think it's fair to say that unlike her current situation, at least they are still moist."

A booming fit of laughter rings through the entire neighborhood, threatening to stop me in my tracks while I retreat back home, one hundred percent ready to pull the mixing bowls out from the sink, shove my face inside and lap up the leftover batter until either a sugar coma kicks in or I die of food poisoning. Either way the invitations to this pity party of mine have been signed sealed and delivered and this man is making me late to the pathetic celebration.

"What in the actual fuck?" Deklan commands from his perch, the sound quickening my steps. "Get back here."

"No!" I yell, still facing forward, water prickling the rims of my eyes.

Screw him, if he thinks I'm gonna follow his orders. Oversized deadly marine or not, my days of following orders are over. More importantly, I don't want him to see the look of disappointment on my face or the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes. After all, he could do whatever he wants, right?

Suddenly, the just friends title, I've worked so hard to convince myself of, has been thrown out of the window leaving behind a pang of grief for a relationship that never actually existed.

"Jesus, Charlie, you think I'm playing? Turn the fuck around!" He barks. The tone of his voice more irritated than before. "You have about three seconds to voluntarily come back to me, woman! After that, get ready for the spectacle of a lifetime. Old Man Stevenson will get the show he's been waiting for when I throw you over my shoulder and slap your stubborn ass for the entire neighborhood to see."

Pretend to be offended all you want but that incredibly bold statement has all sorts of erogenous areas pulsing in between my legs. Feminism be damned, regardless of how strongly I believe in equal pay for men and women in the workforce, I'd wear a girdle and nude hosiery the rest of my life to experience the picture he had just painted. It's betrayal of the worst kind and it's handed over by my very own vagina.

Strong and capable hands grip my shoulders, both tender and aggressive as they spin me around. Deklan bends just enough to look directly into my face noticing how my eyes shimmer with a moisture that formed on its own accord. With both thumbs stroking along my jawline, the rest of his skillful fingers splaying along the nape of my neck, it's that familiar prickle of his calloused palms that tries so hard to tell me I belong there, in his hold, with him. You can almost hear the universe screaming for me to take the final step over that theoretical line that only exists because my own fear of being hurt runs so fluidly through my veins.

No. I shake my head in an attempt to break his hold, squeezing onto the last drops of resolution in my body as if my life depends on it. The line is there for a reason. Screw the universe, I'm no fool. Son of a bitch has played me before, making me believe that the forces of nature and the powers that be were once on my side. Jerk. And because of the little faith bestowed upon all things related to fate, there's no other choice except to push away from the safety and comfort that these warm hands possess even as his thumbs stroke along the corner of my lips so softly that my eyes close in contentment.

Despite the forceful attempt to create distance between us, he won't release the hold. "Listen to me carefully because I am only going to say this once," he says. "There aren't any dried-up females in my bed right now."

"Holly Hobag you mean? You're trying to tell me Holly Hobag isn't in your bed."

Both frustration and amusement spread-out across his face and he mumbles incoherent words under his breath, something like, "She's gonna be the death of me" and "fucking impossible."

"No Charlie, Holly Hobag is not in my bed. Neither is Sally Slutkins or Heidi Hookerman."

"How 'bout Wendy Widehole?" I ask half joking, and— my saddest admission yet—half serious.

"Nah, last I heard Wendy Widehole has been reformed. She now goes by Wendy Hole-Was-Wide. Guess she decided on one of those fancy hyphenated names, hear that's the cool way of doing things these days." Deklan cracks a smile, the left side a bit higher than the right catching me all up inside of the boyish grin.

"Truth of the matter Dove, it doesn't matter what you call 'em. I won't be handing out apology cupcakes to ANYONE. I was in the basement, working out, if you really must know. Wasn't expecting any company and you never just stop over without asking me about twenty times if it's okay. So, when I saw you standing there it surprised me, that's all. Nothing more going on here, baby. Come inside and stop being a giant fucking pain in my ass. You think you can make it a whole ten minutes this time?"

Walking towards his home, I glance up at Deklan's face as he tosses some major side-eye in my direction as if he's asking for the impossible.

"My record is seven."

"Baby steps, Dove...Baby steps. Let's go, maybe you can tell me that story about how you don't get jealous, I'd love to hear it again." He winks then motions to the threshold, stopping quickly to pick up the tray of dessert that had been abandoned on the steps. Overcome with yet another wave of embarrassment, it's a wonder why my face even bothers turning back to its normal color.

"I'm sorry."

Deklan grabs my hand, places a forgiving kiss just above my knuckles before entwining our fingers together and creating so much of that zing between us it's almost painful.

"S'all good Dove, that may have been the funniest thing I've heard in my entire life."

"I just thought...'cause you were all... you know?" I use my freehand to motion toward his sweaty torso.

"Relax, would you? I told you I was working out and seeing that I'm about to devour this entire tray of cupcakes, it looks like the extra cardio was necessary. Did you make these yourself?"

"And ruin this phenomenal three-month-old manicure I've been rocking? No way. Kidnapped the Keebler elves from the tree in my backyard to help me out instead. Problem is one of the tiny fuckers got a little handsy, had to flush the perverted little bastard down the toilet. So, if anyone asks..."

Deklan cuts me off, smiling. "I know nothing."

The smell of the testosterone seeping through his pores along with this delicately carved body sends me in a frenzy. It doesn't help that the masculine aroma, mixed with a faint odor of shower gel, has my lady bits on the verge of a panic attack. Keeping my composure proves difficult because Christ almighty, I'd slurp the puddled sweat straight from the structured mounds of his washboard abs.

Leading the way to the kitchen, Deklan places the tray on the island unwilling to remove our hands from their tightly wounded knot. With a foot hooked onto the leg of the stool, he pulls it from the counter, and gestures for me to sit.

The muscle in his forearm flexes as he reaches forward to snag one of the baked goods from their spot on the counter. Adding to the torture that is simply watching this man eat, he sinks his teeth into the cupcake like a starving man, groaning his appreciation as the rich ingredients attack his taste buds in a way that's so painfully erotic, I can't help but whimper.

The lack of sexual intercourse in my life has never been more noticeable than it is now when his tongue peaks out and sweeps across the outside of his mouth. Captivated by the harmless gesture, my own mouth parts in longing, mesmerized by the gleaming moisture left behind on account of that presumably skillful tongue. Affixed to the sight the way a curator would be to famous art, the mission to see how long it takes to get me to pass out continues when his eyes roll backwards while releasing moans of satisfaction into this suddenly too cramped kitchen area.

Lord, I almost can't take it anymore.

"...fucking good." He groans in a way that could make me weep, transporting my mind into a euphoric wonderland and my heart straight into the eye of the Category 5 that's churning just below my bellybutton.

"Dove?"

"Hmmm?"

Deklan's soft chuckle snaps me from my amorous daydream. By the look on his face, I've been caught red handed, increasing the temperature of my body tenfold. A conceited brow arches in my direction bouncing up and down and if I weren't afraid of wetting my pants right here and having to kayak myself back home, I'd probably kick him in the balls for outing my struggles so openly.

Changing the subject, "So, I take it, they've been made to your liking?" "Shit, yea they are. They're incredible." He mumbles through the thick and creamy homemade frosting.

We smile at each other until I force myself to look away, pretending to pick a piece of lint of my shirt then flicking the imaginary fuzz from my fingers.

"What's incredible?" A strange voice comes from behind and I swear I jump three feet into the air. "Are you talking about me again? It's a known fact that I'm incredible, doesn't change my feelings toward you though. How many times do I have to tell you? You're really not my type."

Ready to make a run for it, I only sit back onto the counter stool when I see for myself how easily Deklan tosses his middle finger in the direction of the interloper, telling me that the strange voice belongs to someone he knows.

Calmer than seconds ago, my gaze follows the path of the single digit, landing on an imposing beast of a man whose striking features and impeccable physique leave me breathless.

A minute ago, if someone told me another man so divine existed in this very small world of ours—besides Thor— it would've been a laughable concept. Don't get me wrong, it's not like we breed dogs around here or anything, but this is on a whole new level of hotness that exists only in Hollywood and the occasional porn.

It's hard not to wonder if there is some sort of local laboratory that puts these guys together. If so, I'd like a tour. An unpaid internship would even suffice. Hell, I'd clean the bathrooms!

Charcoal gray, Adidas sweats hang low on his thick but sumptuously cut waist as a T-shirt, similar to the one Deklan gave to Max, although much larger and without sleeves, pulls against his chest. The threadbare material looks ages old but does an amazing job at showcasing rock-hard pectorals and an intricately carved stomach. This guy is so solid he'd make steel jealous. Intimidating, with blue eyes clear and translucent, eerie even, giving off the vibe he can see straight to your soul.

Not typically a fan of the man bun, I readily make an exception for the warrior that stands before me. A tribal tattoo wraps around much of his left shoulder, skating down the length of his well-built arm, corded with tautly upraised veins. This kind of ink has meaning and holds a story that's worth telling.

The rest of his body is coated in tan, unblemished skin, illuminated by the aftermath of rigorous exercise. The evidence of his exertion drips along his hairline, much of it settling in a pool at the base of his neck.

Is it warm in here?

Lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his face, he drags the cloth across his brow, scrapes it along his nose, then upper lip and with a flat palm, slowly across his jaw. The action puts the impeccably sculpted ridges of his abdomen on display.

Welcome to Six Pack City!

You'd expect some sort of pain when your jaw not only drops to the floor but completely falls off the hinges. I got nothing.

"Seriously, asshole?" Deklan growls, tossing a kitchen towel into the strangers' face.

The unnamed man laughs at his friend's angry words.

"What kind of water do you guys drink?" I ask, stuck figuring out a way to reattach my fallen jaw. Neither answer. One too busy contemplating murder, the other laughing at the challenge.

"Christ Fatty..." Hotty stranger disregards his friends' fury and eyes the tray of half eaten cakes. "Take it easy bro, no wonder you were slacking during our sparring session. Looks like this little lady here is the one to blame for your less than stellar performance."

Suddenly I recognize the potent odor that streams from his body...arrogance, with a few softer notes of conceit. Each waft through the air with his movements. The initial shock of his presence seemed to block the aroma, now though, the overconfidence is invading my senses like the cheap perfume the old ladies wear at my grandmother's favorite Bingo Hall.

When he pats my head like I'm some kind of recently purchased puppy found under the tree on Christmas morning, I get dizzy with rage.

"You think you can lay off bringing over the baked goods, doll? Pretty boy here can't afford to get all doughy." Moving his hand from me to Deklan, he taps a few times on Deklan's stomach.

"And your name is?" I ask, no longer flustered by his presence. Very quickly, his level of attractiveness went from out of this world to non-existent. As it stands, I have a zero-tolerance policy for extreme vanity.

Been there done that.

In one long stride, he's in front of me, taking my hand into his ridiculously massive paw.

"It's anything you want it to be, sweetheart." He says, placing a kiss above my knuckles, replacing the memory of Deklan's lips in that very spot.

I jerk my hand away from his hold then do my best to scrape the egotistical saliva off on my pants, in hopes that he notices.

"How 'bout we go with Richard, Dick for short." The comment earns me a chuckle and some brownie points from Deklan, who might I add, looks like he's about to have a stroke just inches away from his toaster.

"Like I said, call me what you want. But, if that's gonna be my name then I just gotta say one thing, sweets...I definitely like the way it sounds in your mouth."

For a good portion of my life, I would've probably done anything this man had asked. Hard up for male attention and the feel of strong arms and safety, I'm not proud to say it but I was as a total sucker. Today? I'm repulsed by his innuendo. Preferring instead to ram a crowbar through my ear canal than stoop to that level of desperation ever again.

"Now little lady, what's it gonna take to get you to drop some of those pretty cakes of yours on my counter?"

"Amnesia, traumatic brain injury... A miracle?" I deadpan.

Deklan coughs up a laugh.

ManBun thumbs in my direction. "This one's a piece of work."

"You have absolutely no idea." Deklan states, earning himself a death glare from yours truly.

"So, Richard, how do you two know each other?"

"Name's Kai actually, but most people call me Labs. And me and this ugly bastard." He points to Deklan. "We served together."

"Well thank you for your service, I wish I could say it's been nice meeting you."

"Come on Betty, loosen up a bit. It's warm out, no need to be so frigid."

"My name is not Betty." I state with limited patience.

"Sure, it is." He reaches over to grab at the desserts, manners nonexistent, letting his forearm skim across my nose when he leans forward, once again as he moves back.

Without a care for etiquette, the giant douche bag shoves the whole cupcake in his mouth and smiles. "Betty Crocker" He winks, speaking with his mouth full. "I must say, I'm a big fan of your work."

Deklan gives his friend a look of warning as plumes of smoke can likely be seen exiting my body, attempting to relieve the tension by way of formal introduction, "Labs, this is Charlie."

"Pleasure." We both know he doesn't mean it.

"What kind of name is Labs anyway; did you work in a lab? Have a sexual fascination with Labradors? Do tell." I pop a piece of cupcake into my mouth.

"It's short for Labia." Not expecting the response, I inhale too quickly. The action sends me into a coughing fit as chocolate flavored crumbs get stuck in my throat.

Deklan grabs a cold bottle of water from the fridge and hands it over. I nod my appreciation and take a few sips.

"I see, and are you a junior or the first of your name?"

For someone claiming to be known by way of female genitalia, this guy here is completely unfazed by the absurdity of it.

In fact, he all but ignores the discussion when he scoops up a whining Hilary before nuzzling his face into her neck. Clearly unhappy with my presence, the cat gives me a disgusted look then disregards me completely. It's no time at all before she's off to La-La Land with a drawn-out snore.

"We were stationed in Spain..." Deklan begins to elaborate, humor evident in his husky toned voice. "...waiting on details for a re-con mission. One of the locals told us about this tapas bar that wasn't far from camp." He grabs himself a beer then leans back against the counter to finish his story.

"As you have seen for yourself, this guy here has a knack for pissing people off. It's not a new thing either, been like that for as long as I've known him. A few of the other guys though, they had trouble ignoring him the way I had learned to do. They wanted to get back at him for being such a constant pain in the ass and of course had my blessing to do whatever necessary to put him in his place. So, on the way to the bar, we told him that the employees probably weren't going to speak much English, if any at all, which was a problem only for him because the rest of us spoke Spanish fluently." Deklan uses the moment to call his friend out with his eyes.

"What? Don't look at me like that!" Labs shrugs. "It's all fucking backwards, man. We say toilet paper. They say it like, "paper toilet." He motions with his hand as he describes the differences between languages. "We say, 'I like big boobies.' They say..."

"Alright, we get it. You're such a fucking idiot." Agreed.

"Anyway, we taught him how to ask for a drink in Spanish and listened to him repeat it about fifty times. When we got to the bar, the walking Rosetta Stone over here, decided to take lead and order a round. Going up to the bartender a guy named Gerardo, Labs says, 'Discuple senor, tengo grandes labios.' At first the guy's eyes pop out of his head, completely thrown off guard until he takes a look at the rest of us trying to hold it together. He catches on that we're purposely letting our friend make an ass out of himself and schools his features. Labs figures he wasn't heard correctly so he repeats himself, louder this time." Deklan laughs, reminiscing.

"Good Ol' Gerardo, a man after my own heart, plays along the whole time, acting like he can't hear until pretty soon a crowd of people surrounds the bar waiting to see how this is going to pan out. The whole time, Labs realizes nothing. At this point he's practically screaming in the guy's ear. Finally, Gerardo curls his finger inward, motioning for Labs to come in closer. He leans over the counter and puts his mouth right next to Labs' ear. It's a second before he speaks and when he does, I swear to God, Charlie, he sounded exactly like Al Pacino in Scarface. 'Maybe you should see a doctor for that my friend,' he says to Labs, pats the side of his face then walks away."

"Okay, so obviously he thought he was ordering drinks, but what was he really saying?"

Deklan walks toward my seat at the kitchen island, every part of my body is unsurprisingly covered in goosebumps on account of his closeness. In a low voice he says, "Dove, discuple senor tengo grandes labios, means, 'Excuse me sir, I have large labia.'"

The swig of water I had taken sprays like a firehose straight from my mouth.

"Damn..." I say, trying to get myself together. "I'd stick with Richard if I were you."

Deklan bursts out in another round of uncontrollable laughter and I follow suit, dabbing my eyes with a napkin.

Labs flips us both off, directing the finger at Deklan first then dragging it over to me.

With the laughter subsiding, I take my empty water bottle to the recycling bin, conscious that though it's been fun—and weird—it's time to head back home. Deklan blocks my path, taking the bottle out of my hand, his index finger curls around mine for a second.

It feels like I'm on fire when the warmth of his breath hits my face in soft spurts. Using the tips of his fingers on the other hand to gently brush away that one floppy curl, I wait patiently for the arrival of the smile that always comes with the intimate gesture. His eyes search my face, landing directly onto my dilated pupils. It's clear by looking at him, I'm not the only one that feels lost.

"Hey, Betty?" We both let out a sigh. Deklan's swift change of expression tells me he's wishing that we were alone as well.

"Why don't you grab me one of those treats of yours and give my boy here a few minutes to search for the balls he seems to have lost since you came over."

Is this guy for real?

"You have to do me a favor first." I tell him, my voice sweet as sugar.

"What do you need from me, dollface?"

Leaning forward, my mouth grazes the outer shell of his ear as I whisper,

"Promise me you'll choke on it." I shove a cupcake into his hand and walk away.

Looking up at the clock, it won't be long before Lake and Jasper show up at my house and honestly, there isn't a weed whacker in the world that's powerful enough to address the issues of my exceedingly vacant nether regions.

Just as I'm about to say my goodbyes, Deklan speaks, pulling another beer from the fridge and tossing the bottle top into the sink.

"Why don't you hang here? Red Sox and Yanks are playing. I'll order pizza or something."

Labs begins some weird pizza chant, lifting Hilary's front legs as if she were a puppet, wiggling them from side to side.

Deklan rolls his eyes but grins anyway which tells me he's fonder of his friend than any normal person should be. With his phone in hand he readies himself to place the order.

"Um, actually, Deklan." I hesitate.

He looks at me curiously. "Uh, I kind of have to be somewhere soon."

Uncomfortable under his inquisitive stare, my thumbs start to twirl around each other.

Moving so he's less than arm's length away, Deklan laughs. At me! And it's not an oh my god, that was the funniest thing I've ever heard kind of laugh either. No, this is a poor thing wants to pretend she has a life kind of a laugh and it hurts a lot more than it should.

"You have plans?" He snorts again. "Come on, Charlie, don't feel like you have to impress this guy. Look, I even have your favorite blanket on the couch for you." For a person that just a few minutes ago was classified as one of the most important people in my life, he seems oddly unaware that in seconds Mr. Labia here is about to be his only friend.

True, the phrase I have plans had to be taken out of the word vault and dusted off a bit, doesn't mean I turned all Whoopie Goldberg and went straight Sister Act though. As it is, a convent would probably fall to the ground if I walked inside.

Nunnery or not, screw this crap. I push away, not wanting to be anywhere in his proximity. A first, that's for sure. "I'm not trying to impress anyone, asshole! Least of all that jackass! I do have plans. Once upon a time, I had a life Deklan and it didn't always revolve around you, so please put the blanket away before I'm tempted to wrap it around your neck and pull the ends really fucking hard."

Labs uses Deklan's shocked silence as a chance to speak. "Well Betty, if it makes you feel better, I for one am happy you have other things to do."

Standing to clap a hand on Deklan's shoulder he continues, "Dude, this is perfect. Now you don't have to stick around just 'cause you feel bad that she'll be all by herself. We can actually do something for a change."

Deklan gives his friend a warning look that quickly turns into panic as he assesses my shocked expression. Speechless and completely blown away by the revelation, I fight to keep the tears away and my anger under control. "Is that how you feel, Deklan? You feel like you have to babysit me?"

"Dove..."

I shake my head in disgust, backing away. "No Deklan, don't start that Dove shit with me! I've never asked you to do anything for me. You're the one that always insisted. You! Not Me! But now it seems that your generosity was just a ruse. Am I some kind of charity case to you? Is that what this is? Do you hang around because it makes you feel better about yourself? If so, that's pretty pathetic. God, I don't think I've ever been more embarrassed in my life. This is crazy. Thank you Deklan, seriously, because I was just starting to forget what it was like to feel like a total fool and you just went and put me right back in my place."

Determination settles into my bones as the frost begins to form tiny crystals around my heart. Not again Charlie! Not fucking again!

"Contrary to what you may think, I actually have friends that want to spend time with me, if for nothing else but the fact that they enjoy my company. Certainly not because they feel obligated."

Deklan reaches out to put his hands on my shoulders. No sooner do his skillful fingers set alongside the nape of my neck do my own hands come up to bat his away.

"No!" I can't let him touch me. I'm not strong enough to fight the way my body livens with something as simple as a light brush of his fingertips.

"You hurt me, Deklan, and you're the one person I never thought would." I grab my keys from the counter and take off to the front door.

"Charlie, please."

I whip back around, the curls on my head smacking against my face.

"Screw you! You go out and do your thing and I'll do mine. Obviously, you've been depriving yourself of a social life because of me, so now I'm telling you, you're off the hook. You're a free man Deklan, you don't have to play savior anymore. I'm sure whatever indiscretions you had from the past that you felt required penance have been long ago forgiven. No more staying home. No more pretending to be my friend. You can do whatever you want to now. Paint the town red for all I care. Stick your dick in any hole you find. Live it up and I'll do the same. As for me, I fully intend on getting pissy drunk, maybe even finding a good-looking boy toy for the night. Someone to have a little fun with, you know? Haven't decided if we'll head to his place or mine when the night is over, kinda prefer some things to be spur of the moment."

"Charlie, cut the shit!"

"It's gonna be fun" I speak over him, ignoring his growl and the way his eyes have turned impossibly black. "Never really did the random hook up thing before. Then again, I never really had a bucket list either, but if I did, I'd put it right on top and scratch it off tonight."

When I see fists tighten into angry balls of tension and the jaw clench to the point of snapping, I scoff and roll my eyes. To hell with him.

"Charlotte..." He seethes.

"You and the other giant pecker over there can fondle each other's balls all night for all I care. I'm leaving!"

With a shaky hand, I latch on to the door handle, swinging it open violently.

"Oh, and Richard?" I turn back around and snarl. "Call me Betty again and I will personally rip your dick off with my bare hands then shove it down your throat." The slam of the door is so powerful behind me, the wall décor rattles like a tambourine in the hands of a psychopath.

Barely acknowledging Pete, who takes in the sight of my hurried steps. He hesitates to get into his car.

"Everything okay, Pip?"

"Peachy."

"Charlie?"

"Not now, Pete. I'll call you tomorrow." I storm away.

Back into my home, standing in only a bra and unbuttoned jeans, I'm exhausted, defeated. Part of me toys with cancelling my plans all together. Though, Lake and Jasper's guilt trip would be far more taxing than wallowing in solitude. Questioning every decision made in life, and whether it was for the right reasons, can admittedly be rather draining.

When my phone begins to vibrate and a picture of Hilary flashes across the screen—one of Deklan's unexpected pranks—the call is immediately ignored. "Fuck you!" It takes all of three seconds before it starts jackhammering across the end table again.

This time I let it ring and go to voicemail, finding myself asking the same question that looped through my head constantly during my entire marriage to Johnny.

How many times can one heart break?

This time though, all these years later, I don't really want to know the answer.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Back in Action

As I step from the shower, I run my hand along my recently shaved body parts and feel the need to give myself a pat on the back for handling that task in record time. My phone's in the other room flopping around on the tabletop as if it were having a seizure so I throw on my bra and underwear, quickly wrap myself in my robe and check my cell just to make sure it's not Max trying to get a hold of me. There's a message from my Mom:

Made it safe. Max says he loves you and goodnight. He's half asleep on Dad's lap watching the game right now. Will call tomorrow

xo

Mom

I smile, not surprised at all to hear he's exhausted after a two-hour car ride with the traveling arch-nemeses. Move over Superman and Lex Luthor, let Mary and Marshal Cole show you how it's done.

The smile fades glancing at the seemingly hundreds of messages left by my freakishly handsome and exceedingly vexatious neighbor.

Needing some much-needed distance, grasping at the last shreds of dignity, I mentally respond to each message.

Dove, just call me, all right. I need to talk to you.

Nope!

Answer your goddamn phone!

Not a chance!

Did you just press ignore?

Sure did, asshole!

Stop being so fucking stubborn. Call me the fuck back!

Not gonna happen.

I swear to God, Charlie, you are by far THE biggest pain in the ass! Just fucking call me so we can talk about this, okay?

I HOPE YOUR DICK GETS STUCK IN YOUR ZIPPER!

That one I sent.

The inner turmoil I'm experiencing is excruciating no matter how many times I've justifiably threatened parts of his anatomy.

Considering all that's happened, the last thing I need is to feel like a burden. Yet, look at me now. Here I was this whole time thinking there was this connection between the two of us, but it seems as if everything done to this point has been done out of pity. And I hate being pitied. More than I hate raisins and green peas!

Maybe I should just call him back? Hear what he has to say?

Oh God, I can't get my thoughts straight.

No! If I call him back, I'll just be giving in and I don't want to give in anymore.

Fuck him. I'm gonna stand my ground. Or try to. Ugh! No one person in my life has ever made me feel so many different emotions the way that Deklan does.

I take a deep breath and think about it some more. The chime of the doorbell poses a distraction and with the chances of it being the man of the hour so high, I peek through the window to get a better handle on my visitor. That's when a glimpse of the infamous Louis Vuitton weekender comes into view and all previous frustration is lost.

Hastily opening the door, I don't even get to greet them as Lake completely skips formalities by plowing through, sending Jasper backwards and knocking me straight to the ground. She straddles my hips and hugs me so tight I can barely breathe. Jasper shakes himself off and enters with smooth struts close behind.

"If I were into this sort of thing, I'd be pretty pissed that I left my tube socks and lubricant in my nightstand." He places his Louie bag on the small sofa as I carefully exit Lake's grip of death.

"Christ, Lake" I say, pushing her off me, struggling to speak. "I have to be able to breathe if you want me to go out tonight." Back on my feet, I re-wrap my robe around myself, thinking that if Lake is ever out of a job, she'd make an excellent left tackle for the Giants.

"Wait!" Jasper commands, making his way over just as I finish securing the knot around my waist. As if practicing this next move daily, he unties my robe with one quick swipe of a finger.

Horrified, I look my friend in the eye. "What the hell, Jasper?"

Pursing his lips, he stops my hands from instinctually covering myself and turns to Lake. "You literally owe me twenty bucks!"

Lake waves him off "I literally, don't owe you shit!"

"Wait, What? What are you talking about?" How it is that I always end up being the invisible one?

Lake sits on the sofa, her toned legs crossed in front, gently kicking one heeled foot back and forth, thumbing through some random gossip magazine that she's just pulled from her bag.

No one's giving me any insight on this unexpected wager. In fact, Lake seems more occupied by the fact she lost somehow, evidenced by the middle finger held in Jasper's direction and the scowl that has appeared to accompany it.

"Helloooo?" I wave my arms around as a reminder that I am in fact still here and that they are in fact in my home. "You bet on this?" Confused as to why they would bet on my clothing, I use my hand to point to my practically naked top and bottom.

"Sweetie, I'm not even sure what this is." Jasper curls a lip to one side and twirls his finger up and down my torso. "Did you buy it in the lingerie section at the Goodwill?"

"On the way over, Jasper bet me twenty dollars that you'd have on your grandmother's underwear." Lake explains between chuckles.

"You guys are messed up, you know?" Self-consciously pulling my robe around myself, this time nobody stops me.

"Oh sweetie, don't worry that pretty little head." This comes from Jasper as he pinches my cheeks like some sort of mentally unstable grandmother that just met her chubby grandson for the first time.

"After we made the bet and discussed the probability of my victory, we made a quick stop for reinforcements."

At his bag he pulls out this complicated looking black bra, laced with a tiny white ruffle. In other words, it's the world's smallest French maid costume and looks about as comfortable as sandpaper pasties.

After placing it in my hands as if he was passing off some sort of expensive piece of fine jewelry, he bows his head forward and backs away. I can't help by gnaw a bit on the inside of my cheek thinking about the absurdity of his behavior. We've been friends long enough, you think I'd be used to it by now.

Ignoring my weary expression, he pulls out the next piece of the ensemble. Matching Panties! Yipee! The definition of underwear needs to be rewritten if this flimsy piece of fabric falls anywhere beneath the title. Why even wear it at this point? I'll be lucky if they cover the small freckle that sits at the top of my round derriere.

"I'd have more coverage if I wrapped myself in dental floss." The nonexistent intimate scrap hangs from my index finger. I tilt my head to examine it better. "It looks like an eye patch"

"Charlotte Marie Cole!" Jasper sashays in my direction. Taking the minuscule piece of material back. "It's high time you learn the secret...Victoria's secret." Channeling his inner Arabian belly dancer, he holds the skimpy excuse of underwear up over his face, pops his neck from side to side, making me—not for the first time tonight—rethink my decision to hang out with these people.

As it is, their recent gamble against each other on my behalf pisses me off, leaving no space for the humor I would normally find in such a sight. Bitterly, I snatch the scantily clad undergarments from his hand and swallow my stubborn pride.

I make my way to my room with frustrated stomps amid flashbacks of when I was in kindergarten and didn't want to eat my broccoli.

Against my better judgment, I remove my granny wear and fasten the insanely expensive hooter holder around my 34 C's.

Well, I'll be damned! Totally not what I was expecting, that's for sure and I'd be lying if I say I don't feel something like a vixen in this little getup.

Lake and Jasper catcall and whistle as I walk back out to them, modeling off the new addition to my wardrobe, giving them my best Hadid sister walk, confidence growing by the second.

"Damn girl! That body is on point right now! Still on the tobacco and cola diet? I might have to think about that." Jasper jokes.

"Soda, yes. Tobacco, no... I quit...mostly... maybe one or two a week but that's it." I stand on the tips of my toes and rotate my body from side to side, unable to resist admiring the image of myself cast onto my living room window.

"I'm proud of you, C." Lake comes from around the corner carrying a tray of tequila shots, limes and a saltshaker. "Here's to the new you!" She holds up a shot glass to toast my newfound freedom.

"We aren't even dressed yet Lake, I won't make it out the front door if you have me start this early." Using her hand to shush me, she passes out the shots until we all hold one in our hands.

"Go put your granny pants back on and finish crocheting your afghan if you're gonna say shit like that. But if you're gonna stand in front of me looking like the screaming sex pot that you are, then you better take this shot and—Loosen. The. Fuck. Up!" She smacks her lips together to create a popping sound on the last word to drive her point home.

Glaring at my best friend, I hold up my shot glass and toss it back. Like old times.

Swallow the liquid.

Lick the salt.

Suck the lime.

And just like that, we're right back into the swing of things.

"Oh damn!" I scrunch my face, letting the warmth of the tequila spill down my throat. "All right, unless I'm going out as a hooker tonight, what do you two fashion gurus suggest I wear on top of this little number? I hope you brought reinforcements for that as well."

Jasper lets out an exaggerated snicker. "Come on girl, you know we did. We literally had zero faith in your underwear selection. We couldn't risk the chance of watching you open the door in a turtle neck and tapered leg mom jeans. My heart couldn't have handled it." He clenches his chest then continues to examine me while speaking.

"There is one condition though, you have to promise to let me do something with that mop on your head. We aren't going to sexify the rest of your body and then let you walk out looking like a backup dancer in an 80's music video. That high pony is fine for cleaning the house and reminiscing about your favorite New Kid on the Block but it's not happening with me around."

Hesitant at the idea of a head to toe makeover, my anxiety starts to creep back up from the bottoms of my feet. Do they really have to turn me into something or more importantly, someone that I'm not? Then again, what do I have to lose really? Even my damn yoga pants are begging me to give them space.

Maybe it's the tequila that has made up my mind or the magical feel of silk against my hoo-ha. Regardless, I give in and decide to let them have their way with me. You only live once right? As if Lake read my mind, she tips another tequila shot into her mouth and slams the empty glass on the tabletop.

"YOLO!" She yells out as she stares in my direction.

"Calm down, Drake." I grab another shot of my own and mimic her dramatic mannerisms, swallowing the liquid down in one gulp, wincing at the aftertaste. "Fuck it, I guess we should get to work then."

My two friends high five each other as I roll my eyes. But the truth is, I can really use a confidence boost anyway, especially after the way I felt leaving Deklan's house. Does he really think I'm that pitiful? It takes some effort, but I force myself not to think about the answer. Worrying that I'm either overthinking or that it's based on truth, I figure it best to keep a busy mind.

Jasper belts Katy Perry's "Eye of the Tiger" close behind as I head to my bedroom. There's no way I can stop myself from laughing when he sounds like an animal in heat both giving birth and dying at the same time. Ending the ostentatious rendition with a high-pitched squeal, he gets to work unloading all his magic tools.

In this moment, he's totally in his element. I'm his bride of Frankenstein and he's the evil genius eager to see his creation. As much as he loves the conquest, his sole intention is to make me feel good about myself. Not an easy task.

Before they begin playing dress up, I grab them both by their arms and pull them in for a very sappy and emotional group hug. We dab our eyes from our tears and pull ourselves together.

"I literally love you girls!" Jasper croons as he takes turn nuzzling his nose into the tops of both of our heads.

Lake and I give a simultaneous eye roll as we mockingly mouth "LITERALLY" in each other's direction.

All sentiment aside, my beauty team gets to work.

✽✽✽

"Deklan's calling again!" Lake yells from the other room for the third time in ten minutes. Each time my answer has been the same. "Tell him to go fuck himself." I laugh jovially, doing my best to stay still and avoid a third-degree curling iron burn on my forehead.

"Hi Deklan." Lakes voice rings in the distance.

Please tell me she did not just pick up my phone.

"Charlie would appreciate if you were to fuck off. Toodles!"

She just picked up my phone.

"Yup!" Jasper announces with a dramatic nod, apparently able to home in on my silent thoughts.

Flying from the chair, I'm yanked back by the curling iron Jasper has coiled in my hair. Shit! That hurt.

Into the living room, I'm just in time to watch Lake hang up and casually toss my phone back onto the couch. With her hand curled in front of her, she examines her recently painted cotton candy pink fingernails, cool as a goddamn cucumber!

"I wasn't being serious, Lake!" I snap.

"I know." Her perfectly sculptured shoulders pop up and down in a shrug, not affected in the least by my frustration. Somewhat irritated at my best friend, I walk back into my room so Jasper can finish his transformation. Not before throwing back another tequila shot to calm my rattled nerves.

"O-M-G! Charlie, you look fucking hot." Jasper whistles several minutes later, applying the last coat of mascara to my lashes. He seems pretty pleased with himself, which is a good thing if you talk to young Katie Malgrove who went to see Jasper for her senior prom and came out looking like a Hollywood starlet, a really bad thing if you talk to Enid Frost, a ninety-year-old woman who tried to sue him for making her look like a geriatric Spice Girl on her sixtieth wedding anniversary, earning her the nickname Old Spice, a name that stuck to her until the day she sadly passed last year.

My master stylist leans his upper body back, leaving his feet planted in the same position. He scans my face up and down, making sure my makeup is perfect. Truthfully, he and I both know that short of painting my face with a roller brush, anything is better than my mostly natural look I tend to go with regularly.

"I don't know about that. I'm just glad you're finally done; my ass is numb, and Lake is shitfaced out there. Do you hear her? She's talking to herself in her creepy Elmo voice already."

"Well it literally took forever to straighten out that mess on your head but trust me when I tell you, you're totally gonna think it was worth it when you see yourself. You ready to turn around?"

Ready? Not so much.

Anxious? As the day is long.

Slowly, I turn my body toward the full-length mirror keeping my eyes closed, afraid of what—or more importantly who I'll see. When I finally open my eyelids, I can't seem to do much more than stand there and gape at the person staring back at me.

"Holy shit! I don't even look like myself" I blink several times, needing to get closer to the mirror so I can make sure what I'm looking at is for real.

I can't even remember the last time I felt so sexy, I'm not sure I ever have. The red top resembles an old-fashioned boudoir bustier. The satiny material with light boning, clinches tightly around my waist, pulling my mid-section in and pushing the girls up in such a subtle way.

The black pencil skirt is all clean lines with a hint of sheen, only present when I walk or move. It fits like a glove, hugging every curve as if it were painted onto my body by a famous Renaissance artist.

Like a baby fawn, my legs wobble to acclimate to the feel of sky-high patent leather pumps on my feet, lengthening the look of my legs drastically. Most surprising is when it registers that the blonde curls that would normally be found on my head are gone. Instead, loose waves cascade down my back and fall just below my shoulders. Even more miraculous is the infamous wayward curl, it's straightened, smooth and swept off to the side. Deklan would be so jealous! But I can't think about him because I can actually see! It's the perfect combination of intentionally messy and modestly put together. Total sex kitten hair. I've always wanted sex kitten hair.

Thick, full lashes fan over my eye lids, my brown eyes doe like, the pupils large and clear. Oh! And we can't forget the red matte lipstick that screams danger and sass. All of it makes me look and feel like a movie star.

Turning around to Jasper, I watch as he basks in the glory of his accomplishment. I want to tell him how much I appreciate this, but I can't seem to find the words.

He senses my struggle. "Don't." He says. "Just have fun tonight."

I nod and grab the Kate Spade clutch that Lake let me borrow, the glorious little accessory does wonders for pulling the ensemble together. Yep, I'll definitely keep this. I file away a mental note to thank Lake later for the early birthday present.

Gathering my essentials, my hand stops midair just as I'm about to drop my favorite cherry flavored lip gloss into the new addition to my wardrobe. The explosive knocks on the front door have rocked my house straight to its bones and have me completely forgetting what it is that I'm doing.

Wait, I said knock, right? More like the forceful blows of a wrecking ball.

Lake's heels click and clack against the rhythm of the unwelcome banging, creating a cacophony of headache inducing noises.

Careful not to move too much after concocting some ridiculous notion that staying still will somehow encourage invisibility, I run my eyes down my fashionably clothed body. Once my gaze stumbles upon the four-inch Jimmy Choo's, my mind is made up. Well I'm not gonna avoid him looking like this.

But what am I really doing? How do I really feel? Am I trying to make him jealous? Am I just looking for some affirmations of some sort? I don't know. Is there an option to check all that apply? The likelihood is high that they all pertain to what I'm feeling and thinking. Truth is, I really can't get a handle on any of my emotions.

I had somewhat of an epiphany earlier as I fought off drowsiness in the magic beauty chair. I'm just gonna live and let live. Okay, so that's someone else's epiphany but I'm borrowing it. For one night, I'm going to allow myself to just be. No overthinking. No excessive worrying. Just for tonight, I'm gonna take caution, ball it up in my hands and throw that overbearing sucker to the wind.

"Can I help you with something?" Lake's voice carries over the banter of my subconscious. Her question lingers in the air, unanswered. "Hey, He-man..." she prods, "I'm talkin' to you. You think you can just walk in here and..."

"Charlie!" Deklan yells through the house, cutting her off.

Frustration builds in my friend's voice. If I had the ability to see through walls, no doubt her eyes are glowing red with rage. "Ever think she doesn't want to talk to you?" Lake states bluntly, the comment floating over Deklan's head like a giant lead balloon.

He grunts something incoherent to my friend then proceeds with his mission.

"I'm not leaving until you talk to me."

Determined to stand my ground, I use the little bit of time I have to convince myself to remain unaffected by his presence. Talk about being able to command a room. Deklan can command an entire third world country with his eyes alone.

Thank God, the cab will be here soon, this way I won't have enough time to let him get to me. I may not want to argue anymore, it doesn't mean that I've just forgotten how he made me feel earlier.

Wobbly legs make their way down the hallway as I continue to muster up resolve. Why does he make me so nervous?

Forty-three seconds; the amount of time I can hold my breath underwater. Thirty-three seconds; the amount of time I have before I'm sucked into the Deklan portal of desire. Go ahead, call me crazy, but I like to know what I'm up against.

Deep breath in. Big breath out.

Shoulders back.

Left foot. Right foot.

Another head nod.

I'm ready.

"God Damn it, Charlotte, I'm serious!"

His voice gradually becomes louder, telling me that he not only stalked past my two friends without permission but that he's on a mission to pinpoint my location.

"I'm coming all right, chill the hell out, would ya?" My breathing hitches just as I'm about to turn the corner.

"For fuck's sake Charlie...I've been trying to..."

I take my last step into the room and watch as the shock of my appearance has stopped his tirade altogether. If I'm not mistaken, I swear he might've stumbled backwards a little. Mumbling words that don't make sense as if he's forgotten what he was about to say, he regains his footing and drags his eyes along the length of my body.

Lake and Jasper use the opportunity to sit close to one another on the large sofa, eager to stick their nose in my business.

"You've been trying to what?" I snap.

The Tequila shots I slammed down my throat earlier are doing wonders for bravery, my confident prowl in his direction is proof.

His eyes soften as he searches for the right words to say. "My God Dove, you look..."

"Different, I know. But let's get over that. I have a few words for..."

He shakes his head and sticks his hand out in my direction to cut me off. One long stride in my direction and he's suddenly so close, I can feel the heat of his body. Tenderly, he places a chaste kiss on the top of my head and pulls my face into his hands. My backstabbing body melts in his hold.

Seventeen seconds. That's how long it took for my walls to crumble.

So much for not letting him get to me. I'm so screwed.

"Beautiful" He tells me softly, finishing his sentiment.

"Thanks, but I'm still mad at you."

"About that." He releases my face and brings an arm up to rub the back of his neck. The protruding muscle of his forearm doesn't go undetected; not by my eyes or my vagina and if the way Jasper is crossing his legs is any indication, seems his own dick is struggling to be impassive.

I shake off the inappropriate thoughts, eager to dismiss the idea that one of my best friends is pitching a tent that could shelter an entire neighborhood in Tijuana and do my best to focus on the words coming from his mouth.

"Look, Charlie, I'm sorry. You gotta believe me. I've never once thought of you as a charity case. Spending time with you is not a burden. In fact, I enjoy your company probably more than you realize. It kills me that you're upset because of me." Opening my mouth to speak, Deklan presses a finger to my lips. "I wasn't finished." His voice is whisper soft. "You make me laugh, Dove. Like, really laugh. When I smile around you it's genuine. It never feels forced. Most people have a hard time breaking through my gruff exterior. But not you. You practically bulldozed that shit to the point where at least twice a day, I do actually check to see if my testicles are still intact." My eyes widen and he chuckles.

"On the other hand, you also piss me off." From a wide-open glare to eyeing him through narrow slits, I scowl.

"There are times you do stuff that's so adorably innocent." He taps my nose. "Like making that face right now and I can't help but want to keep you safe. It drives me crazy to think that someone hurt you. I'll never apologize for wanting to protect you from the nasty things in this world. There isn't much I wouldn't do to keep all the bad shit away. Trust me, I've seen enough of it for the both of us." Unaware that he's shocked the words right out of my system, he takes it as a cue to continue his speech.

"Even if it means I have to stay home on a Friday night and watch an entire season of Scandal instead of the playoffs, or sit next to you while your lips curve into a smile from reading one of your smutty novels..." My face reddens and he winks. "...I'd do it just so I can be in your company. Shit, I'd never watch ESPN again if it guaranteed your safety. So, stop thinking that anything I do for you is because I feel obligated and start getting it through your thick fucking skull that I'm doing it because I want to." He gently pokes my forehead as if his finger would burn the words into my brain.

"So, I apologize that your feelings are hurt, but I'll never apologize for looking out for you. Or Max for that matter. That's what you do when you..." He stops himself. My eyes trail along his face just as my heart rate spikes to an unimaginable beat. Lake gasps. Or was it Jasper? I'll never know because I can't move to look.

Confused. That's what I am. What is he trying to say? God my hands won't stop shaking. Is it possible to both want to hear it and not want to hear it at the same time? 'Cause that's pretty much what I kinda got going on right now. It's too much too fast and equally not enough.

Dragging his right hand down the length of his face, realizing his blunder, he throws a string of words in my direction, this time careful to alleviate any confusion. "All I'm saying is just know that you can count on me. Okay? No strings attached, no obligations, just friendship. So, what do you say, Dove? We still friends?"

My stomach plummets and my heart screeches to a stop. Friends?

It stings, but I've been stung before.

This too shall pass. I remind myself, hoping that if I say it enough, one day I'll believe it.

Searching for a way to turn this into an easier pill to swallow, I convince myself that friendship with Deklan is better than no relationship with Deklan at all. He's become too important to me to give that up. Friends it is then.

Yippee! My subconscious twirls a finger in the air, rolling her eyes seven ways to Sunday.

"Are we good?" Deklan breaks me out of my thought bubble.

"Yea, Deklan. We're good."

"Sorry to interrupt the atonement of your dickhead ways, Shrek, but the cab is here and we're already a little behind schedule." Lake says as she grabs her bag, quickly reapplies her lip gloss and making her way to the door. Swaying her hips and smacking her lips, my dear friend is clearly ready to party as she hurriedly motions to Jasper that it's time to head out.

Jasper stands, brings a hand to his forehead and shoots it straight outward in some sort of awkward salute, unintendedly looking more like a follower of Hitler than anything else. Deklan stares at me curiously as my friend finishes his best Nazi impression and walks through the door. I shrug my shoulders because really, there is no explanation for the fact that my friends are complete weirdos.

Grabbing my clutch from the ottoman, I turn to follow suit.

Deklan puts an arm out to stop me. "I'm sorry Dove, I really am." The words are sincere, and his expression tells me he's being completely truthful.

"I know Deklan, we'll talk about it later though, okay? Right now, I just want to go and have a good time and try not to think about anything too emotionally charged for once." I stand on my tip toes and place a gentle kiss on his cheek to let him know that all is forgiven.

Finally dropping his hand from my stomach, he allows me to pass, a hint of a grin threatening to spread across his face.

Ever the protector, Deklan has me step outside first so that he can ensure the security of my home meets his standards. With a jiggle of the door handle and a slight push, he's satisfied and continues down the front steps.

Walking over to the cab, he grips the open car door. I cross in front of him and position myself alongside Lake and Jasper who are fighting about something.

Whatever it is that has caused their childish argument is probably completely ridiculous and unnecessary, so I don't even acknowledge them at first.

"Just out of curiosity, where you guys goin', anyway?"

"What are you my probation officer?"

That damn smirk. "Ha! Funny" He pinches my nose between the knuckles of his middle and index fingers. I scrunch my face in annoyance.

"Fat Boy Finks." Hoping to fly under the radar tonight and spend much needed time with my two besties, Jasper happily ruins my plan.

Deklan smiles in victory, winks at Jasper then closes the door.

Situating ourselves in the taxi, Lake and Jasper spark another dispute, this one over which seatbelt goes to whom.

"That one is mine...see!" Jasper attempts to buckle himself in, but Lake yanks the strap from his hand.

"No, it's mine! You're probably sitting on yours!" Lake snaps.

"Honey! Don't you think I'd know by now if something were stuck in my ass?"

"I don't know, it gets enough action, do you even feel anything back there anymore?"

As I allow their bickering to fade into the background, I take note of the moon, having never seen it so big and bright. The way it illuminates the neighborhood makes it seem like it's far earlier than nine-thirty in the evening.

Not much for illusions, preferring reality over magic, the closeness of the celestial sphere almost has me convinced if I were to reach my hand out, I'd be able to touch it, trail my fingers along the cool surface and softly trace along the edge of the craters.

The crystal clarity of the inky black night gives way to a dusting of glittering stars. Like someone took a million fireflies and let them loose in space to dance through the evening sky and add life to an otherwise boring looking canvas. As if they're having a conversation with one another, one twinkles then another, until soon, they're all dancing in an otherworldly rhythm. It's mesmerizing. Reminding me of all the things in life we often let ourselves take for granted.

As the moonlight cascades across the front of my house like a spotlight, its overwhelming glow combined with the shadows of nightfall outlines the intricacies of the flower beds, creating deeper reds and darker purples. The span of light defines individual flaws in each blade of grass, moving on to highlight the various cracks in the pavement that would otherwise go unnoticed.

Finally, the projected glow details the silhouette belonging to the enigma of a man, standing stoically on the sidewalk.

His gaze penetrates the metal barrier of the vehicle, warming my body and fogging my mind, magnetizing my own eyes to meet the likes of his. Even if I wanted to look away, I couldn't.

The stars appear to crowd together to watch us. Light years away, even they take note of this confusingly strong connection. Three fingers touch the glass of the window as if they took it upon themselves to reach for him.

"Be careful." He mouths and I smile. Then I toss the middle finger in his direction to tell him what I think about his warning and watch his sturdy shoulders shake from laughter, falling a little harder for the boyish grin.

"Jesus, Mary, Joseph and Henry Winkler." Jasper wails, fanning himself dramatically. His strange addiction to classic TV grows on you after a while. The Fonz being the first on the list of his dreamed up sexual endeavors. "Are you sure he's straight?" He asks continuing the speedy motion.

I keep my eyes on the moon as I speak. "Pretty sure."

"Well, I would chop off my own dick and create a girly hole for myself, if it meant I could have one single night with that man. And that says a lot considering I'm vaginaphobic and all."

"Not only is that an image I want erased from my memory forever, but I'm also pretty sure that's not possible."

Lake huffs while she stares at her manicured fingernails. "Who knows? He probably saw it on Pinterest. Just look at him. He's jonesin ' to tackle another DIY project." She deadpans.

The entire cab erupts in laughter.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jumpin' Around

We pull up in front of the bar, pay the fare and hand the driver a generous tip for dealing with our antics. Considering Fat Boy Finks is located downtown on a strip surrounded by handfuls of swanky overpriced clubs, it amazes me that they never fail to be packed on Friday nights.

Once our id's have been handed to the bouncer and checked for authenticity, we step further into my old stomping ground. The place smells the same as I remember—Chicken wings, peanuts and something sticky. I take a moment to breathe it all in.

Lake, Jasper and I, fight through the crowded space and make our way to the bar. It's fair to assume Fink's has always been so popular because they constantly have something going on. When you can offer something for everyone, you're likely to be high on the popularity scale. Not to mention it is the biggest bar on the strip in terms of space.

There's a small arcade on the right side of the bar for those looking to tap into their inner child. From Pac Man to pinball, it's quite an impressive spread.

Head downstairs if you'd like a more laid-back experience, a total nod to the 'Man Cave', if you will. And while they don't necessarily advertise it, I'm pretty sure they check for testicles before you enter.

On the top level, you'll find a spit shined dance floor that practically begs for you to bust a move. DJ's from all over, fight for a chance to showcase their talent on the weekends, their competitiveness and obsession with being asked to come back all but guarantees a topnotch musical experience.

Seeing that this area is the newest addition to the old warehouse turned nightlife favorite, everything is new and noticeably more expensive. The upscale furniture cost more than my yearly salary, and the grand piano, signed by some famous pianist, is displayed protectively on a raised platform inaccessible to patrons. The separate bar for martinis only is a big hit and a selling point for some of our more—how to put it? —stuck up members of the area.

Several VIP rooms line the corridor that on occasion are known to harbor some pretty X-rated behaviors. It smells like money and at times, some really expensive hookups.

It's always the main floor that makes me feel at home, my favorite part of the establishment really. An incredibly open and rustic looking space with wrought iron chandeliers and matching candelabras that illuminate the fashionably distressed wooden decor.

Lined with high top bar tables and chairs to match, your drink is served in a mason jar and you can munch on complimentary peanuts while you watch people tackle "Thadius," the mechanical bull. And we can't forget about the massive karaoke stage. Many a drunken Friday night was spent on that stage before I met Johnny.

Those were certainly the days. I think to myself as I continue to take in the familiar surroundings.

"Come on let's get a drink." Lake tugs at my wrist so hard I almost fall forward, breaking me away from my trip down memory lane and rushing us to the bar to find Fink.

At the furthest end of the bar, local celebrity and nightlife extraordinaire, Mark Finkle, tends to a few co-eds.

Fink notices Lake and Jasper first and tosses a head nod of recognition in their direction. It doesn't take long before my old friends' eyes grow wide in shock and adoration. "Charlie?"

I haven't seen Fink in so long, he sure isn't as fat as he used to be. Maneuvering around the bar with a grace that only comes with years of experience, he stalks in my direction. Without as much of a word, I'm wrapped in one of his famous bear hugs to the point of possible suffocation.

Feet no longer on the floor, I'm thankful for the tight fit of my skirt, otherwise I'd be giving the rest of the place full access to the expensive dental floss that may very well be lost in the depths of my bubbly ass by this stage in the game.

"Looks like you may have to change the name of this place, old man." I pat his stomach to commend his weight loss as he places me gently back onto my feet.

"Nah, I'll always be a fat boy at heart." He smiles while pulling me in for another tight hug. "It's good to see ya here, kid. In fact, drinks on me tonight, yea?"

"What?" I shake my head in disagreement. "No, we couldn't"

"You can and you will. Please. Charlie, for once don't argue with me." Okay, so I may have a small reputation for being a little hardheaded at times in all aspects of life, at least I'm consistent.

Fink's expression softens, the look in his eyes tells me he's caught wind of my story. Not a huge surprise considering it was in the paper and briefly on our local news station.

"Don't Fink. Don't you dare pity me, you hear me?"

Fink shakes his head. "Pity you?" He scoffs. "Look at you, doll, you look the best I ever seen ya, there ain't nothin' to pity you for, trust me. We're just happy to have you back, so whaddaya say?" Using his signature accent that sounds more Sopranos than he actually has the pedigree for, I have little room to disagree.

"Okay, fine."

I order a round of shots for the three of us and add another one for Fink.

Swallow.

Lick.

Suck.

Something tells me we're going to be repeating that a few times before the nights' end.

And I'm right.

Four beers in and three shots of tequila later, I'm feeling rather tipsy. It feels good, so carefree and so right.

Swaying back and forth, we mockingly hold our cell phones in the air, letting the screen light shine to and fro, while some tone-deaf college girl attempts to sing Christina Aguilera's "I am Beautiful."

Wearing a midriff shirt that barely covers her tits, it wouldn't surprise me if we're graced with the presence of at least one of her areolas by the time the noxious performance is through.

She probably wouldn't look so stripper-esque if she wasn't wearing the shortest and tightest denim cut off shorts this town has ever seen. Just breathing in those bad boys has to be difficult. Did you hear that? Yea, that was her vagina gasping for air.

"Jesus, that camel toe of hers keeps staring at me. No matter how many times I move my head to avoid it, there it is. It's like the fucking Mona Lisa!" I holler over the noisy crowd in the direction of my friends.

Jasper spits out his drink and roars with laughter, his cosmopolitan spraying over the back of the guy in front of us, creating darkened splats all over the light gray shirt. The victim of the unexpected shower turns and glares.

"Cool it, Sasquatch!!" Lake scares him off and just like that, the three of us sit back on a bar table, laughing, swinging our legs and swaying our bodies.

The screeching seagull finally flies the coop and my eardrums rejoice in her absence. I watch curiously as her orange skin glows with an eagerness to scoop up a testicle or two in her excessively used beak. Her steroid induced admirers flock close behind and I find myself questioning the exact moment in time when our standards as a human race plummeted to non-existent levels.

Too caught up in the pathetic sight, I barely hear the words coming through the speaker. A nudge from Jasper has me snapping my head over to the DJ booth.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! I need everyone to give a warm welcome back applause to Ms. Charlie Cole!"

My face now hot, I don't have time to figure out if it's from embarrassment or anger as the DJ continues her introduction. "Y'all might know her better as the one...The only...Charlizzle!"

I look over at Lake, if looks could kill, they'd be calling the coroner to scrape what would be left of her body off the peanut shell covered floor. Shrugging her shoulders, she gives me a coy smile. Jasper laughs beside her, and it's suddenly obvious, the two of them were in on this together.

Lake begins a chant of my name and the entire section of the bar joins. Most of the people here have no idea who I am but clearly expect some sort of show.

How can I back out now?

Screw it! I chug my beer, leaving only a few drops at the bottom of the bottle, a habit of mine.

Added courage in the form of hops, wheat, and barley starts to sizzle in my veins. I hop onto the stage with a familiar finesse that comes from many Friday nights in this same spot.

Feeling more at home than I probably should for my age and life experience, I give a head nod as a cue that I'm ready to do this.

Lady Lyric, the house DJ and Fink's fiancé, hands me the mic and bows her head as if she's in the presence of royalty, her multicolored hair drapes forward then back. With another death glare shot at my two best friends, I relax into the familiar beat that comes blaring through the speakers. Taking on a mind of its own, my hips bounce and my body jerks to match the rhythm. Closing my eyes, I get myself into Charlizzle mode and wait patiently for the opportunity to "spit" the lyrics to a song I haven't heard or recited in years.

Here it is, the intro I've been waiting for. With a firm grip on the mic, I lean over to the crowd in front of me and sway my body to the beat. Then, for the first time in what feels like forever, I just roll with the freakin' punches.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Crossing Lines

Pack it up pack it in

Let me begin

I came to win battle me that's a sin

The crowd cheers enthusiastically as I move confidently across the stage. As the chorus vastly approaches, muscle memory kicks in, sending my free hand into the air and the mic back to my lips.

So get off your feet and jump around

Jump around

Jump up jump up and get down

"Jump! Jump!" The crowd roars in unison, everyone's on their feet ready to hop up and down with their hands in the air. There's not one person in my line of sight that isn't repeating the words that make this song as energetic as it is.

I walk to the right; Jump!Jump!

To the center; Jump! Jump!

Make my way to the left; Jump! Jump!

Smiling wide and keeping the words on point, I'm lost for a moment in the zest the pours from the crowd before me. Their smiles, the way they dance, the laughter. It's all so surreal. It doesn't seem like much, but to me, to be able to acquire such a reaction after being sheltered from the real world for so long, cheesy or not, it's incredibly liberating.

Mid-way through, this feeling takes over my body. As sure as I am that the world is round, I know that he's here somewhere. My skin prickles. My knees go weak.

I search the crowd, continuing as my alternate ego, making sure I don't miss a beat. It doesn't take long to find him. After all, he is the only one not participating in the performance. Figures!

Standing by the door with his back against the wall and his arms crossed over his body, he looks every bit as god-like now than he did when I first laid eyes on him.

That smile is all-consuming as he shakes his head while a combination of affection and disbelief streams from his expression. My smile falters a bit as I look to his left noticing that he brought his friend along with him. Not that he's hard to see. As it is, the giant idiot flops his massive body all over the bar floor, unfazed that he's sending other patrons to their asses in the process.

With a ton of liquid courage running through my veins and the energy from everyone in the room, I decide to have some fun. Taking slow steps, I continue bouncing to the beat, making sure I hit each word on cue.

Deklan knows I'm coming for him, the dimple on his face serves as my guiding light. With my free hand, I pretend to be scratching turntables, grinning as I let the words flow like running water from my mouth then stop directly in front of him and stand tall, confident even.

To an outsider, he's passive, slightly amused but unwilling to give much away. A few more people, mostly of the female persuasion are paying closer attention to him than they are me and in soberer times, this would be the moment I ran away and hid, cursing my parents for creating a woman as subpar as me, one with awkward social skills and too much unruly hair but right now, I couldn't care less.

His loyalty to me and only me is set in the crinkle in his eyes, in the dilation of his pupils and the way his chest rises and falls just a tad quicker than normal. Prowess is not one of my noteworthy traits, yet the vibes from my spectators and the savage look in the eyes of the man before me has changed all that.

Generally, I have as much grace as an elephant in high heels though now my strut is smooth, my breathing is level. Balancing a book on my head would be child's play, in this moment I could probably take on the whole damn library.

Stopping when my mouth is only inches away from his, I smile knowingly and bring the mic to my lips.

I'll serve your ass like John McEnroe!

"OHHHHHHH!" An eruption of shock and amusement ricochets off the walls of the renovated warehouse. Some look on surprised. Others look on solely for entertainment. Both groups crowd around and watch curiously as I serenade Deklan with the "heartwarming" lyrics of House of Pain.

Before heading back to the stage, I grab his arm and hold it the best I can over his head, trying to get him to mimic the lively movements of everyone else.

He laughs at my efforts, appeasing me for a second but stops the minute I release him. I roll my eyes at his unwillingness to let loose and walk away in preparation for the finale.

Purposefully, there's an added sway in my hips, not a difficult task with shoes I can barely walk in. Prepared to look over my shoulder and give a single finger wave at the object of my affection, the chance is taken from me when a large hand grips my arm, pulls me back and spins me around to face its owner.

My Adonis and I get stuck for a moment, staring at each other in the way we often do. This time though his eyes travel brazenly all over my body, landing on my mouth while his nostrils flare as he stares at my lips with a starvation that should only be reserved for the malnourished.

Kiss me damn it! My inner voice begs.

The look on his face when he takes note of my parted lips barely grazing the tip of the mic, sends a pang of need to my core. Like a shot of gasoline, chasing it down with a lit match.

Deklan continues to breathe heavily through his nose with eyes so dark it's as if it were painful to be near me. Heat. Passion. Hope. We pass each one back and forth. Me with a timid smile. Him with the left dimple. I use my eyes to motion to the stage. He nods, knowing I have to finish what I've started.

Before releasing my arm, a gentle kiss is pressed in the spot just above the middle of my brows. It's not the kiss I was hoping for, yet for some reason it's more...so much more.

The contrast of heated passion and the tenderness of those soft lips on my skin has my entire existence short circuiting, on the verge of a total black out.

When the song is over, the sounds emanating from the main floor are almost deafening, I can hardly hear myself think.

Fink hangs over the bar with his fingers in his mouth, generating an abnormally high-pitched whistle. Lake's screaming so loudly, I'm not sure she'll have a voice left. And Jasper? Well he's Snap Chatting selfies of himself with captions that read; Charlizzle Lives and The Rebirth of Charlie Cole.

Hopping off the stage, I pull Lake's drink from her hand desperately in need of alcohol. That confidence I told you about before? Gone. It was fun while it lasted but my shaky legs beg to never do something so unabashed again.

More than half of the tangy liquid spills down my throat in one gulp. There's so much adrenaline running through my body, I hardly feel the burn of the vodka at first until I hand the glass back to her as the aftertaste kicks in and my face twists in revulsion.

"Ugh God, what is that? That's disgusting!" I whine as she pulls the remainder of her cocktail from my hand, rolling her eyes.

Without warning, a familiar warmth tickles the small of my back then travels to every orifice of my body. Not having to turn around as there's only one person in this world that can exude such safety, I push myself into his touch.

Earning a groan of approval from the mouth that hovers next to my ear, I spin myself around into two of the strongest arms I've ever known. Nervous and unsure of what he's going to say about my performance, I cast my eyes down to the floor.

Deklan grabs my wrists and pulls me further into him. Wrapping my hands around the middle of his waist, he leans down to nuzzle himself into the bend of my neck. It's not hard to enjoy his attention. It's quite easy actually, even if there are no words to describe how he makes me feel. It's explosive. Out of this world. Magical.

Like fireworks on the Fourth of July, shooting right through my body and straight to my heart.

Christ, if he makes me feel this way with my clothes on what would happen to me if my clothes were off? Don't be a slut. The inner voice pipes up. Friends Charlie. Just friends. Ugh! I thought I drank that bitch away for the night.

"That...was the most amazing thing I have ever seen." Deklan whispers into my ear, pulling my body impossibly closer. For a moment, I forget about the hundreds of people that stand around us. All the noise in the atmosphere—gone. It's only him, his voice and his presence and every bit of pure masculinity and safeguarding warmth that this lone man exudes. I FEEL him. Only him. And for the first time I'm able to admit it to myself—I WANT him, badly.

"Dance with me." I break his embrace. This time, I'm the one to take initiative by grabbing his hand and intertwining my fingers with his until his gargantuan palm swallows mine whole. I do my best to pull him in the direction of the staircase only to find out quickly that I'd have better luck pulling a MACK truck down the interstate with a shoelace in my teeth.

"I'm not much of a dancer, Dove." He says, pulling back, taking my entire body with him.

"That's okay, you just have to stand there. I don't mind doing all the work." I wink.

His chest heaves at my innuendo, struggling to keep his composure. "What are you doing to me, Dove." He whispers, opening his eyes to look into mine. "I can't seem to control myself around you." The expression on his face is almost dangerous. Yet, I'm not fearful.

My heart does cartwheels. Tons of them. The entire high school cheerleading squad decided to practice their newest routine in my chest. That marching band that always seems to be around when Deklan is near appears to have taken on a few more tuba players since their last visit. Everything inside of me is a vibrating, wanton mess.

"Well it's a good thing I'm not asking you to control yourself then." Boy, am I getting brave here or what? Let's be honest, my flirting skills are mediocre at best. Whereas some people master the art of seduction with skill rivaling that of Picasso or Van Gogh, I fall along the lines of a finger-painting kindergartner, getting more paint on myself than the paper.

Jasper may have a phobia of vaginas, but my fear of rejection goes much deeper. Which is likely why my hands are sweating, and my skin feels clammy.

Christ, it's hot in here! If Deklan steps back now—and to be fair, he probably should—I'm not sure what I'll do, short of enrolling myself into the closest witness protection program.

The Jeopardy tune stays stuck in my head as I wait for his reaction. Doing my best to appear unaffected, I discreetly tug at my clothing, making it look like I'm adjusting my outfit, when really, wiping the accumulation of sweat from the palms of my hands is my only priority.

Finally, there's movement. Deklan takes the smallest step backward and my stomach bottoms out. My head dips forward as I try to convince myself that I can withstand the blow to my already decaying self-esteem. When capable fingers hook at the base of my chin and guide my shameful expression upward it's clear that there's nowhere to hide now.

"Careful what you say to me, Charlie. I'm trying to be a gentleman here. You keep saying shit like that and I can't promise I'll be able to contain the monster inside that's been struggling to consume you since the day we met."

And— I'm— Done.

"Um, Dove?"

"Hmmmm?"

"I wasn't necessarily talking about that monster, but yea him too." Deklan grins proudly.

"Huh?" Startled, I snap out of my trance. The only two eyes that matter, shine brightly back at me. The tilted grin. The mischievous twinkle. The casting of his eyes downward to the place I hadn't realize I'd been caught gawking at. With my mouth open no less!

Snapping my jaw shut, my teeth almost break on impact, the familiar heat of embarrassment creeps across every inch of my skin. Red, like the ripest tomato on the vine because I've been caught completely staring at his crotch.

He said monster, I thought penis!

Kill. Me. Now.

"You're so fucking adorable sometimes, I can eat you whole." Spoken like a true storybook villain. Eat me whole? Cannibalism never really got my mojo going but at this point, I'd probably sacrifice a couple toes for this man.

"Come." Deklan pulls my hand into his, a difficult task considering I'm nothing but a puddle. This time it's me that resists moving forward, afraid I'll do something even more embarrassing the longer we hang out together.

Sensing my hesitation, Deklan taps a finger to my nose, a gesture I'm growing to love. "C'mere." He says, twining our fingers into a grip stronger than before.

"Whoa, where are you two going?" The intolerable voice comes from behind. Turning and taking me with him, Deklan grunts, clearly sharing my disappointment.

One look and I can tell Labs is about to say something incredibly stupid. In the very short time we've known each other, I've seen the look more times than I like to admit. It's like watching a constipated baby try to pass gas. The result is never pretty

"So that performance, Dove..."

Oh no! As I suspected would happen, Deklan lets go of my hand and stalks toward his friend. Every muscle constricts with his movements, from the corded veins in his neck, to the tightened tendons in his forearms, finding little humor in hearing that nickname fall from his friend's lips.

Labs speaks through a shit-eating grin, hands up in surrender. "Chill out, Hulk, don't get your balls in a bunch, that is of course if you've actually located them yet. I was just gonna compliment your girl here about how fucking awesome her little performance was."

Being acknowledged as Deklan's girl has my mind reeling while the two of them stand toe to toe in their mission to see whose body carries the most testosterone. Thinking on that, I tune them out in order to contemplate my own internal struggle, stopping only when Labs offers up an unexpected compliment.

"...other than that, it was pretty entertaining."

"Huh? Oh, yea. Thanks."

"No problema." Sure, now he speaks Spanish. The Cheshire cat smile stretching across his face says I was a fool for thinking he was being nice. It seems that this man wants nothing more than to keep Deklan and I apart and is willing to say anything necessary to make sure we stay that way.

Deklan steps forward again in warning, "Now would be the time to stop talking."

Courageously, I place myself in between the two human mountains and place a hand over Deklan's rapidly beating heart, trying my best to calm the fury that riddles his body. "Don't." He looks over my head at the culprit of his anger then back to me, eventually nodding in agreement.

Comfortable with dancing or not, he willingly heads up the stairs this time, all things Labs forgotten, for now at least. The flashing lights grow stronger in our ascension. Music blasts through the speakers, the bass so loud I can't hear myself think.

Facing Deklan, I grab both his arms and wrap them around my body until his hands rest gently on the lowest part of my back. Two pinky fingers move back and forth as they make their way to the top of my ass, rubbing gently and deliciously slow. The sensation makes me gasp.

As a lover of all types of music it was disheartening to discover in my early teens that I couldn't carry a tune to save my life. Despite my lack of vocal talent, it turned out that I did possess some rhythm though, an ability I planned to use to my advantage.

Slowly I begin to sway my hips to the beat of the music, feeling Deklan's arms tense from the erotic gesticulations. From rigid to relaxed, it takes a minute for him to come to terms with this level of closeness. This type of movement.

The music picks up, the tempo surges. I turn and let my back hit his front. The swift movement has my hair whipping around our entangled bodies, fanning across his face then falling back to my shoulders. No longer hesitant and apparently needier than ever before, his hands rest at my sides as he caresses my body through the material of my clothing.

Uncomfortable with his hands on my love handles, my own hands fall on top of his and try to discreetly move them a few inches higher. Deklan and his keen ability to sense my shame, slides his hands right back to where they were, this time with a stronger hold.

He spins me around to face him again, shaking his head in disapproval.

Sheepishly, I nod in agreement and attempt to push away the giant cloud of self-deprecation.

"Close your eyes, Dove."

I do as I'm told.

"Stop thinking and just feel." Gifted hands glide up then down. From my hips to my ribcage, landing on the small of my back, the feel of his touch triggers euphoric tremors throughout my core.

Bold, he walks his fingers along the length of my backside and with open faced palms, bites ten skillful digits into the flesh of my ass. An appreciative growl vibrates through his chest while he gently kneads the area. There is no ignoring the bulge in his pants that presses aggressively into my stomach, either. Holy. Mother. Of. God.

Another roar of contentment from this man and my legs start to shake.

"Perfect." He whispers.

Any fear of being unworthy dissolves into the air, thickened by body heat and sexual tension. My hips tauntingly sway, left then right. Circling slowly. Each pass grazes against that specific area that tells me he's more than pleased with the lascivious movements.

Done with the current position of our bodies, he twists me around to face forward and pulls me into him. It's a gesture that all but tells me Deklan is a wild man in the bedroom and I'm struck stupid on images of getting tossed around from one spot to the next, from the wall to the bed, the floor.... God, the things he would do to me on the floor. I can't think about it.

One hand is pressed into my hipbone, the other brushes my hair off to the side, exposing my neck and back. With purpose, he blows tender waves of air onto the heated skin, then places his lips to the nape of my neck.

Turning my head to the side, I watch as he brazenly scans every inch of my body. From the top of my head to where my heels meet the dancefloor, he brings a fisted hand to his mouth, nods approvingly and bites down on his knuckles as if he's about to lose total control, and he does it all in front of the eyes of dozens of envious women, each of them green with envy.

My entire existence is on fire. I have NEVER felt so idolized and worshiped. Never been so content with who I was or how I looked...until now...until Deklan.

Measured and unhurried, he grinds himself into my backside. Can't dance my ass! Every swivel below my waist is met with a mild thrust. Dizzy from a myriad of mind-blowing sensations, my head falls back to his shoulder, needing the extra support. The stubble on his face brushes the side of my forehead. The two of us lost in some sort of carnal rhythm. Swimming in erogenous glory. His manhood lengthens from behind, straining against the barrier of clothing.

Possessed by an over-sexed, former escort and wickedly salacious spirit, I lift my arms over my head. Reaching back, I clasp my hands around his neck, steadfast to encourage him to move his head downward until it sits perfectly in the space between my chin and collarbone.

Beads of sweat make my skin shine under the soft and sensual lighting that the area of the bar provides. Strobe lights flash repeatedly in tune with our desperate breathing, the sight of our bodies blazing under the white gleaming rays only to become hidden by the darkness is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

My lips part as his hands skim down my ribcage, journeying further south, stopping just above my sweet spot. Ugh God! Don't stop.

My need for Deklan is so incredible, I lose all inhabitations and ready myself to be taken right here, right now, on the dance floor in front of all these people. Exhibitionism never seemed as enticing as it does in this moment.

I gasp when I feel the wetness of his tongue lather the side of my neck. Then almost die when his teeth nip at the skin where his tongue had just been.

By now, my shoulder angel must have lost her voice from screaming, ABORT! ABORT! straight into her handy dandy megaphone. Nonetheless, it's too loud to hear the warning, the atmosphere doesn't allow for conversation of any kind, including one with myself.

Breaths in short spurts. Deklan's mouth on my bare skin. The dancing. The sensations. The tip of his tongue traces stimulating paths from my collarbone to my ear, as small yet ferocious nibbles, tease the sensitive area around it while speaking words so seductive they'd make a seasoned prostitute blush.

Dirty.

Auspicious.

Hopeful.

Considering the noise level, I can't hear everything yet somehow my body reacts as if it understands each word. I push myself further into him, still feeling the pressure of his erection on my backside then take a gulp of air as the images of what this man could potentially do to me starts playing in my mind again.

Those large and capable hands continue their exploration of my body, stopping just under my breasts. Briefly, he uses his fingertips to browse the sides of the heady mounds. It's a barely recognizable touch that hits me with the force of a meteor.

Spinning me back around, I'm met with eyes drenched in a savageness that penetrates my body like a stray bullet. A through and through. I visibly tremble in his hands as the pad of his thumb pulls my lip from my teeth. The area now swollen and sore, a welcomed souvenir.

"Perfect." He says once more before dipping his head and placing a gentle kiss at the tip of my nose.

The song ends and I can't move. Deklan makes no attempt to force my body into motion, either. Instead, we stand lost in the vibrato of our heavy breathing and entranced by the unspoken indication that this moment changed our relationship entirely.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A Blast from the Past

The whistles and warbles of our audience make their way into our bubble. Included in the group of bystanders sits Jasper, perched on a fuzzy white sofa off to the side of the dance floor. He fans himself repeatedly, handing over several embellished nods of approval.

Close by, is my—soon to be—ex-friend Lake, who in turn shoots a not so subtle thumbs-up in our direction. Instead of taking the glare I give her as a warning, she sees it as a challenge and begins to slather her tongue around her own hand, mocking the scene that had just unfolded.

From the dark corner, just behind the martini bar, Labs pulls through the shadows and creeps up beside her. Hunger glows brightly from the deepest part of his translucent eyes. He ogles her body and watches her intently as she sardonically makes out with her palm, dragging her tongue all the way down to her wrist. Jasper, still seated to the side, keels over in laughter.

Next on the agenda: NEW FRIENDS!

Labs continues his progression toward his next victim, a cat and mouse scenario. A wolf to an unsuspecting deer. The egotistical Marine and my oldest friend. If I don't intervene right now, she will surely get caught.

My moment with Deklan is over as I find myself pushing away from him and making my way toward Lake who is still so busy making fun of me, she has no idea she's fallen on the radar that belongs to the dangerous predator that unfortunately for me also happens to be Deklan's right hand man.

Lake claps as I approach. "That was pretty fucking steamy and totally not like you."

"Shut up!" I pull her from the chair just as Labs reaches in to hook his arm around her waist.

"I need a drink, come on."

Down the staircase, Lake has no idea how close to becoming a midnight snack for that asshole she had been. Turning to find a very frustrated Labs, I stick out my tongue and flip him off, proud of myself for giving him a well-deserved cockblock. With a scowl, he attempts the same gesture but doesn't get far when Deklan backhands him a little less than playfully upside his head.

We get to the bar and Fink holds up his finger to the overly flirtatious blonde, signaling that she'll need to wait. The young woman follows his movements, insulted when a cold beer and a glass of ice water are placed in front of me without even having to ask for it. I smile in appreciation, then wink at the pissed off tanning bed addict, just for the hell of it. The water goes down in one long pull, hoping to dilute some of the alcohol raging through my blood.

Jasper makes his way down the steps next, followed by Deklan and a still very pissed off Labs who gives me a look that screams, "This means war" to which I reply with one of my own that says, "Give it your best shot."

Deklan approaches, pulls my beer from my hand and takes a swig. Once more Labs gets put on the backburner.

"Hey!" I swat him playfully "Get your own!"

He sips from the bottle neck then holds it out of reach. "I would, but rumor has it, the infamous Charlizzle is drinking for free tonight and as the President of her fan club, I feel as if I should be entitled to some of the perks."

"I don't know about that Mr. O'Malley, if the pressure against my ass up there was any indication, I'd say you're doing a pretty good job of reaping the rewards already."

A rumble of pent up frustration fires from his chest and vastly becomes my new favorite sound. Grabbing my hips with added force he jerks my body until there's no room left between us.

When his mouth brushes against the outer shell of my ear, I gasp. "And to think what a tragedy it would've been if I actually got my dick caught in my zipper." I smile shyly at his reference to the text I sent him earlier.

Deklan purses his lips, acknowledging that he hasn't forgotten the angry words. "Go sit. I'll bring your drink over to you."

I nod, then take off to seek out the closest and most comfortable chair. My body plops into the seat as if my bones have crumbled into sated dust. Sexual frustration and alcohol sure do have a way of exhausting a girl. Not to mention the mini torture chambers on my feet that have my poor toes begging for freedom.

I lift the hair from the back of my neck to welcome the draft that comes from the side door, in hopes it will cool my heated skin.

"Let me help you with that." The deep voice comes from close behind. Deklan places my "drink" on the table in front of me. The fact that he brought me ice water instead of alcohol will be addressed shortly.

Just like on the dancefloor, he blows on the bare skin and I can't help but close my eyes to savor the feeling, distracting me from the fact that I've just been cut off from drinking against my will.

Relaxed and satiated, I could fall asleep right now with no issue. Especially, when Deklan rubs his strong hands into the kinks and knots of my neck. Help me Jesus! I don't ever want it to end.

"All right enough of this shit!" Jasper snaps his fingers so close to me I have no choice to open my eyes. The look of envy and desire on his face has me smiling wide.

"When did it get so packed in here?" I ask, trying to pull myself back to reality.

"Well baby girl, you would've noticed if you weren't having a fully clothed orgasm over there. Even I blushed when you moaned Deklan's name. Somewhere inside of you my friend is a porn star waiting to break free. I say, let her out baby girl! Let. Her. Out!"

"Yea, how 'bout no," Deklan states harshly. "She's going to be doing none of that. We're just keep her right where she is, if that's okay with you." He glares at my friend in a voice completely absent of humor.

"Oh my god!" I bury my face in my hands. "Please, this time I'm serious! Kill me now and make it quick!"

Deklan presses his lips into the side of my face. "Sorry babe, but I can't let anyone kill you. I haven't even gotten started with you yet."

I smile in spite of my embarrassment. "Is that so?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact it is." Another peck to my cheek and my body relaxes, that is until Lake's voice brings me back to reality.

"Shots?" She questions enthusiastically to our group.

"Hell yes!" I roar with my arms in the air like I've just crossed the finish line of the Boston Marathon. All heads turn simultaneously in my direction.

"What?" I ask, incredulously. "No shots?"

Laughter erupts. Deklan places a kiss on my forehead, lowers my arms to my sides.

"Think you maybe had enough, Dove?"

"Think you can maybe kiss my ass, Deklan."

"All day and night." He grumbles seductively into my ear.

Well then.

Fink lines up the shots of tequila.

"Well, I have to take one now. We wouldn't want to upset Mr. Cuervo."

Deklan grins. "Oh no, we wouldn't want to do that.

Turning to the bar, "Swallow, lick, suck!" I yell to the group, holding up my shot glass to toast my friends.

As the liquid spills down my throat, I lick the salt from my wrist and pop the lime in my mouth. My eyes close as the tequila tickles its way to my stomach, the effects seem to hit me immediately. God, this is going to hurt tomorrow.

Suddenly, Deklan's tongue is on my skin providing a whole new sensation. Concentrating on savoring the next step, he sparingly shakes the salt onto the small pool of moisture. With the lime in one hand and the shot glass in another, he tosses back the tequila like a pro.

"Swallow." The whispered word tickles inches from my skin.

"Lick." He murmurs dragging the tip of his tongue along the patch of salt on my neck. I grab onto the bar top to brace myself from the ultimate crash.

"Suck." Satisfied that he's worked me up to the point of explosion, he pops the lime in his mouth then backs away. The longing on his face causes me to whimper. Pleased with himself for inflicting such torture, Deklan props his elbows on the bar top, smiles then glances down at his growing erection. "Don't worry Dove, it's painful for me too."

"I have to pee." I blurt out.

Tipping his head back on a laugh, he chuckles loudly, pointing to the restrooms, "I'm pretty sure they allow that here."

My body continues the familiar tremble, aftershocks from what I'm sure was the first orgasm I've ever had with my clothes still on. Second if you count the one Jasper said I had when Deklan massaged my shoulders.

Tequila rushes through my veins, adding unnecessary heat to my most sensitive areas. Each step I take has me wanting to cry out in pleasure. My lady parts almost can't bear the friction that comes from putting one foot in front of the other.

The lingering slickness of Deklan's saliva glistens on my neck as I make my way to the little girl's room. Shutting the door with a little more force than necessary, I don't bother to lock it behind me.

Okay, breathe Charlie!

To squat over the toilet is never an easy task. Add to that a blood alcohol level bordering on toxic, it's damn near impossible. A gutty cackle breaks me from my concentration, almost sending me to the floor. I look up to get a good look at the pervert that rudely barged into my personal space.

"Jesus, Lake, you almost made me piss myself!" I shimmy back into my panties.

"I'm sorry." She stifles another giggle. "I saw you walk in here and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

A forceful hiccup escapes, causing me to sway sideways until I'm leaning against the side of the stall.

"I wasn't." Hiccup.

"Barfin.'" Hiccup

"If that's what you think." Hiccup.

"I can see that, and I'm surprised really. You drank a lot tonight, I'm not quite sure how you're even standing." She holds her hand out, but I swat it away.

"Obviously, I'm able to stand just fine with the help of my friend here." I pat the wall beside me and lean against the grayish colored metal that seems to have lost much of its sheen throughout the years.

"OOOH! Look!" I squeal and point to the written words, etched in black permanent marker next to where I stand. "Let's call!" I say excitedly and reach for my cell.

Lake laughs before pulling the phone right from my hands. "Charlie, no, that's been there for years. I'm pretty sure Wendy's mom changed her number when she realized her services were being advertised on the wall in a bar bathroom."

"Fiiine." It's more of a whine than an agreement but I pull myself together anyway and walk over to the sink to wash my hands.

The reflection of my face in the mirror before me is horrifying. The image staring back at me is psychotic, it looks like I steal women's underwear without their knowledge.

"What the hell, Lake? You've been letting me walk around like this all night? I look like I just escaped a brothel that was in the basement of a mental institution." My face is flushed, the sweat from dancing begins to revert my hair back into a disaster of curls. Mascara dribbles down the corners of my eyes. I'm a sickly raccoon sitting on the doorstep of death.

"I feel like Cinderella when the clock struck midnight and she turned into a hot mess." I gaze in disgust again at my reflection. "Yep, my horse drawn carriage is now definitely a mouse pulled pumpkin."

Lake makes her way over to me with her makeup bag in hand. "Here. I'll touch you up a little, but you look fine. We all look trashed and if it makes you feel any better, Deklan doesn't seem to mind your crazy hooker appearance, DOVE." She dabs a light pink lip gloss on my lips and holds a paper towel to my mouth. "Blot."

All freshened up and ready to go, Lake and I hook our arms together and make our way back to the guys. Jasper, the guru of time management, took our bathroom break as an opportunity to prowl the crowd for anyone interested in a little trip up Brokeback Mountain.

A successful attempt, I might add, as he's currently sitting so close to his new friend, all rules implying one should respect another's personal space have gone to hell in a hand basket.

Lake laughs, she too takes note of Osmosis Joe as he fuses himself to his new conquest. "Wonder how many times he's used the word 'literally'?" Her statement has me cracking up as she throws a couple more jabs at our friend, without his knowledge of course, and the two of us continue in a fit of laughter until we come across Labs.

Tossing an almost empty drink back, he sucks on a piece of ice, swirls it around in his mouth and spits it back into the glass. Casually perched on a stool that's almost too small to fit his stature, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that he's spewing something irritating and off colored to Fink as he performs his ritualistic counter wiping with his trusted hand towel.

Lake's breathing picks up, her eyes dilating as they land onto the ice sucking douche lord. Here we go. My friend with her kind heart and dire need for romance, has already fallen in love without speaking as much as a full sentence or even knowing his real name.

I'm telling you, when this girl falls, she falls hard. And with Labs? She might as well just cut her own heart out now and stick it in a blender. Save herself some time and energy. Seems a reminder may be in order. Nothing a little mention of Big Breasted Bradley won't fix, I'm sure.

Just as I'm about to shove her unsuccessful quests for love in her face, Deklan catches my attention. Not surprisingly, seeing that my brain is like a magnet to his existence.

My heart melts at the vision of him and I realize; who the hell am I to give advice on falling in love? Not for anything but I've felt like I've been free falling from the sky with a broken parachute since the day Deklan moved into my neighborhood. Lake wants Labs? Then so be it, I guess.

Labs is an ass and she'll have to figure that out on her own. But Deklan? He's genuine. A true man that welcomes the opportunity to protect the things in life that he cares for. And God, he's so unbelievably handsome, the magnitude of his good looks combined with the rarity of his personality is almost unfathomable.

At some point throughout the night, he decided it best to ditch the navy-blue button-down, opting for the soft white V-neck he wore underneath. An excellent decision, if I do say so myself. As he leans onto the bar cross armed, the material hugs tightly around his biceps and even from here, I can see the veins mapping his forearms, a roadmap that leads straight to my long-abandoned lady parts.

Lost in the sight that is the object of my affection, I hadn't noticed right away that he had company. In an instant, this all too familiar feeling of dread takes over my body.

"Who the hell is that?" I snap to no one in particular.

I can't see her face from this angle. The only identifiable trait from where I stand is the long black hair shining almost unrealistically under the bar lights. Like silky ribbons, the overly conditioned tendrils land effortlessly right at the lowest part of her back. Absentmindedly, I pull on a strand of my own hair, silently wishing it possessed such capabilities. No one's hair is that shiny, right?

Involved in a pretty serious conversation, Deklan no longer looks like his playful self. Instead he's pulled down his serious mask, the one he uses for work and to beat the shit out of psycho ex-husbands and occasionally to put his best friend in his place.

Mr. I'll-Kill-You-With-My-Bare-Hands is back in full effect and he seems to be devoted to every spoken word coming from Shiny Head's mouth.

Green with envy, I curse my parents once more for the frizzy hair gene and continue to glower in their direction. Jealous and drunk, I do not have a good feeling about this.

"I'm sure it's no one important, Charlie. Look at him, random women are going to talk to him at times. But I've seen the way he looks at you and I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

Lake is speaking but I'm not really listening. I can't. Possessed by a bitter demon ready to avenge my dilapidated self-esteem, my feet take on a mind of their own, heading directly into the fire.

Inches away from my target, the profile of the mystery woman comes into view. The demon possessing my extremities opts for a sudden exit and my feet stop abruptly in their tracks. I almost fall to the ground when the familiar fragrance hits my senses.

"No!" I shake my head. "It can't be."

My hand clamps down over my mouth. The pressure of my palm over my lips serves to muffle my words and hold back the vomit that attempts to make its way forward.

"Gypsy."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Loss of Control

"Who's Gypsy?" Lake asks. Until now, I had forgotten she was next to me. I stay quiet and unhook my arm from hers. Doing this sort of wobble walk maneuver, my legs search out for anything sturdy enough to hold up my weakened body.

"Charlie? Did you hear me? Who the hell is Gypsy?" She tries again, still I can't answer.

As if sensing my devastation, Deklan's eyes snap to mine. Worry stretches across his handsome face, the face that I now know will never belong to me. Not when the Gypsy's of the world roam around, sucking all the attention from socially awkward, mediocre looking girls with unmanageable tresses, like yours truly.

Unaware of the reasons behind my angst, Deklan motions for me to come to him but I'm stuck, invisible shackles pin me to the ground below.

He chucks some words over his shoulder in her direction, though I can't make out what he's just said. Gypsy, ever the clever attention hog, picks up on the fact that he's no longer under her spell. Whatever he's said has her focusing her attention on me.

Slowly, the woman who spent more time in bed with my own husband than I did, turns to reveal her true identity. Shock resonates in her eyes for a moment, but she quickly pulls herself together and curls her lips into the satanical smile I remember so well.

"This can't be happening!"

Gypsy isn't Gypsy. Gypsy has a name; a real name and I know it well. Gypsy is Aliza, the she-devil herself. The revelation knocks the wind out of me. I'm lightheaded. Sick. Angry. God, I don't even know what's going on. I latch on to yet another bar stool to keep myself upright.

"Charlie, you're freaking me out. Are you okay?" Lake's voice drips with concern as Deklan pushes through the few people blocking his path, heading my way with long hurried strides. Bending to get a good look at my face, he's practically shaking my body to get me to speak. "Dove, talk to me, baby. What's wrong?"

My voice is low and barely recognizable. "It's uhh...she's umm." I still can't get the words out.

Caught in the middle of some twisted game of tug of war, Lake pulls on one arm while Deklan grabs the hand on the other. Being the rope sucks!

"Don't worry, Shrek. I got her." I stumble to the right.

"The hell you do." I head back to the left.

"Listen, why don't you go back to Sluts 'R Us over there and let me handle MY best friend."

It's almost unnoticeable but I watch Deklan's face contort in confusion then immediately change back to concern. The desperation in his eyes loosens Lake's grip and she finally concedes with a compassionate smile and a subtle nod.

"Come on, let's get you some water." He wraps my fingers with his and guides me to a barstool. Throwing a hand in the air in the direction of the bar, Deklan motions for Fink.

"Is she okay?" Fink asks, worried.

"Does she look okay?" Deklan snaps before adding, "I think she's had too much to drink." Fink is silent, obviously taken aback by such a rude approach, as am I for that matter.

"Instead of standing there, can you get her some water?" Deklan's tone is tight and uncalled for. I want to tell him to cut it out, only I still can't produce intelligible sounds.

Fink nods, choosing not to acknowledge the way he was just spoken to and fills a glass with ice in a hurry to meet the demand.

While he waits for my water, a wretched cackle comes from my right. Aliza stands from her current seat and scoots down a few chairs until she's next to me. Leaning forward, she keeps her head low, careful to stay out of Deklan's line of sight.

"Would you look at that?" She whispers deceitfully in my direction. "Looks like I've had both your men." Her slithering voice penetrates the last piece of the wall I've left up around my heart.

"It's great that you're such a generous little thing. What is it they say? Oh right! Sharing is caring." Her infamous Grinchy smile is plastered all over her recently botox-ed face.

"See ya later..." She pauses. "...Carol."

Aliza wags that one little finger, still primed with an overgrown, fire engine red fingernail in my direction then reaches forward to grab her purse from the bar top.

Her evil words give me all the strength I need to snap myself out of my funk. Before she can pick up her belongings, my hand jumps forward and grabs on to her wrist with a force that turns my knuckles white.

Lucifer's whore tries to pull herself from my grip, her eyes wide with surprise when she realizes that right now, she's no match for me or the amount of adrenaline and hate raging through my bloodstream.

Still with a vise grip on her wrist, I stand from my seat, towering over her in her seated position. It's not only menacing, it's borderline psychotic. Unadulterated anger replaces the alcohol that up until a few minutes ago barreled through my veins. With my free hand, I sink my fingers into the back of her shiny little head. Tangling the all-too-silky strands in between each finger, my one goal is to cause pain. Never an advocate for cruel and unusual punishment, for her, I quickly make an exception.

When the individual strands start to visibly get plucked from her scalp one by one, the sensation excites me.

Choosing to ignore the gasps and whispers coming from those around me, I hold her hand to the bar, satisfied that she couldn't wiggle free if she tried. Overcome with every horrific emotion that I've spent so much time keeping at bay, it seems the only way I can deal with it— the betrayal, the deceit, the lies, and above all the nauseating smell of her sparkling stripper perfume— is to slam her face forward.

Over and over again, I ram her head into the edge of the bar's solid oak countertop. Standing taller for better leverage, my hand grabs hold of another chunk of hair, pulling her head back this time far enough that she has no choice but to look me in the face. Then, satisfied with the stream of blood pouring from her nose, the words I've been waiting years to say, fall from my mouth.

"My name is Charlie you stupid, stupid, bitch." For good luck and just because I feel like it, I force her head into the bar once more. A splatter of blood cascades over my top and causes me to smile as the spray sets in. Like a kid that just broke the piñata at a birthday party, I've just broke her face in a sick sort of celebration. Content with the damage done, I bring my lips to her ear.

"Take it easy ...Alicia." Giving her a taste of her own poisonous medicine, I muster up enough slime in my voice that has me sounding nothing like my usual self then grab my clutch, ignoring the look of shock on everyone's face. It's not as hard as you'd think it would be to pretend not to hear the anguishing sounds coming from that disgusting skanks mouth. Which is why I don't even hesitate when I strut away, push the door open and hold both middle fingers in the air.

Charlizzle...out. Christ, my inner voice is still drunk.

Once positive that I can no longer be seen by patrons of the bar, away from all windows, doors and emergency exits, I make a break for it. Happy to leave those torture devices scattered on the sidewalk, I kick off my shoes and take off running down the dimly lit street. The fit of my skirt restricts me from making necessary strides, so I hike it up enough to allow for more movement. My lungs burn as I continue my spur-of-the-moment marathon, but the effects of adrenaline give me the energy needed to keep going.

Past the courthouse and the post office, there's one question prodding my overly worked brain—What am I really running from? The answer to that requires far more psychological analyzation than is currently available. Thus, as I stumble upon the moldy looking moss-covered statue of a guy riding a horse, the giant water fountain that the same homeless man bathes in every Wednesday from April to October, and the nearly empty, save for a few stray cats—downtown green, I conclude that the only feasible answer to such a monstrosity of a question is—everything. Right now, I'm running from everything.

I don't really care where I end up, as long as it's far away from Finks, from Aliza and her blood smeared face, and from everything that reminds me just how warped and catastrophic my life has become.

An older man, with a scruffy gray beard and coffee colored skin, hurriedly puffs a cigarette on the steps of a rundown apartment building. The smell of the expelled smoke permeates my senses, breaking down any resolve I once had to stay away from the cancer-causing sticks of happiness.

I never said I quit-quit. My pace slows and I'm all too aware of the shitful job I'm doing at convincing myself that I'm not technically falling off the nicotine wagon, rather just hopping off to stretch my legs for a few.

"I'll give you five dollars for one of those".

The man looks at me hesitantly, his kind almond shaped eyes don't quite match up to his rugged and unkempt appearance. Not that I should be judging anyone based on looks, seeing that I am the one out of the two of us with crazy jungle hair, blood spattered clothing and bare feet.

After several passed seconds of silence, where I can only assume he spent mentally characterizing me as one of those harmless crazy people as oppose to those violent crazy people, he holds out a cigarette for me to take.

"You lost sweetheart?"

Taking the proffered tube of tobacco, I place the filter between my lips and let the cigarette bob up and down as I speak. "All my life, sir."

He produces a match, strikes it and lights the tip. Shivering, either from the abnormally cold evening air or the fact that my body is probably going into shock, I inhale the comforting plume of smoke and walk up the crumbling concrete steps before me.

"Is this seat taken?" I ask on an exhale. The cloud of smoke doubles in size from the cold air alone. Pleased, the creamy fog provides a blockade, excellent for hiding the defeat in my eyes and the anguish in my heart.

Scooting over, he gives me a quizzical look. "So, if ya don't mind me askin', you make a habit of running around city streets in no shoes? You in some kinda trouble?" Blowing a smoke circle bigger than my head, he continues, "I don't have a phone or nothin' but I can try to get you some help, if you need it." Another ring travels into the air and I'm almost too mesmerized by it to really listen to what he's saying.

"You really shouldn't be walkin' these parts at this time of night. Ain't nothin' good gonna come to you when you do. Take it from me sweetheart, daylight makes this place seem like the Taj Mahal, the sun goes down and it suddenly becomes Skid Row. You best be gettin' out of here before someone who ain't as nice as me decides they want to use you to make some quick paper."

With the cigarette pinched between his thumb and index finger, he points it at me then out to the empty street, I watch the ashes drop like snowfall onto the step below.

"May look like nothin' goin on but trust me, in them shadows is a whole lotta action you'll be wantin' no part of." Taking the last drag, he blows a few tinier circles into the air then flicks the spent butt into the empty road. It's no secret that this part of the city is off limits, taking first place in most gang related murders per capita, I should've thought better of it when I decided to go full blown Forrest Gump.

"How'd ya end up in these parts anyhow? I ain't even close to bein' a snob but I myself would've found someplace better to run to."

How did I end up here? Well isn't that a story for the masses. I refrain from my immediate reaction which is to say— I just kept runnin'and runnin', opting instead for, "I wasn't really thinking to be honest. I just needed to get away that's all." Trying my best to mimic his cloudy rings, I fail miserably.

My shoulders shrug in acceptance of the fact I'll never be an accomplished smoke ring blower then my eyes take in our surroundings for the first time since stopping to chat. We already know the stairs are a mess as there seems to be more crumbled steps than intact ones. But it's the windows that really grab my attention. Most are boarded up with plywood, others with duct tape or empty shipping boxes. If they're not covered with arbitrary items, they're broken and if they aren't broken, they are draped with cartoon character bedsheets used to improvise for actual curtains.

Jesus, my life may be messed up but at least I don't have to string Tweety Bird across my window just to get some privacy. I try to remind myself of all the things I should be grateful for before turning my attention back to my new acquaintance.

"You live here?"

"Something like that." He doesn't elaborate and I figure it best not to pry. Seconds go by and he surprises me when he chooses to explain further. "Fell on hard times after 'Nam, I get by though, don't you worry about me."

I try to muster up a comforting smile though it's not that easy. Here we have a war vet, a man that fought for freedom and he's living here? Geez, I know some people make their own beds and have to lie in them and everything but sometimes I really don't get this country.

With a weak smile that goes nowhere near his eyes, the smoke ring blowing, Vietnam veteran looks up to the sky. Gone are the twinkling stars from earlier, replaced with nothing but black and darkness. Even the stars seem to run and hide from this part of town.

Without as much as a second thought, I reach for my clutch and pull out the matching slim insert meant to serve as a wallet. When I hand him a twenty-dollar bill and my business card, there's a mixture of both gratitude and confusion in his expression.

"What's this?" He scans the front and back of the card before flipping it between his fingers.

"That's my business card, I won't be there for a while, but you can call my office and they can help you find a place to live, get medical care, whatever you need, okay? Just tell them Charlie sent you, I'll let them know you're coming"

"And the money?"

"That's for the cigarette and your company." I wink and stand to my feet.

"You don't have to pay me for the cigarette sweetheart, I stole them from my cheatin' ex-wife." This time his smile lights up his whole face.

Brushing the remnants of concrete dust from my bottom, I can't help but laugh. "Touché my friend." I make my way down the steps and tip my imaginary hat in his direction. "It was nice meeting you, I didn't catch your name"

"Frank." My new friend holds out his hand for me shake.

"It was lovely to meet you Frank, but I should probably head back." I shake his hand firmly.

Figuring now is the time to face the aftermath of my temporary lapse of sanity, I cast my eyes toward the path that I came from and ready myself for what should be called, "The Ultimate Walk of Shame." The light from the furthest lamp post casts a gigantic shadow that stretches across the length of the barely lit street. About ten feet tall, the dark veil is very obviously heading in my direction.

Clearly, my hiding skills need work. No longer willing to play the game, I stand still and wait for the formidable phantasm to reach me. It would be pointless to run anyway, not only is Deklan far more physically fit, he also has the slight advantage of having shoes on his feet.

"What the fuck, Charlie?" Deklan pants as he stomps his way toward me. "I've been fucking everywhere looking for you, what the hell happened back there?" He roars, his face partially lit with a blend of golden light and misted night shade. Before he has the chance to totally close the gap between us, Frank stands tall, ready to avenge my safety.

"Easy there Godzilla, don't take another fuckin' step. You might look like a fuckin' grizzly bear, but I've taken down far worse and a lot uglier. I suggest you stop right the hell there before I show you what this crazy old man is capable of. And just so we're clear, I ain't got nothin' to lose buddy...not one thing to lose."

"Listen, motherfucker, I don't know..."

Cutting Deklan off, my voice grows louder to drown out Deklan's hateful words. "Aw, that was so nice Frank, thank you. But it's okay." I motion with a placating hand. "I wasn't running from him, I promise."

Not totally convinced, he takes a few cautious steps back, lights up another cigarette and keeps his eyes trained on Deklan as he approaches the disintegrating building.

"Who the hell is this guy anyway?" Deklan thumbs in the direction of my new friend.

"That guy has a name and it is Frank. I can't believe you are being so rude. You should apologize, after all, he wasn't the one chatting up some bargain-basement stripper with fake tits and a plastic forehead."

"Dove, it's not what..."

My hand flies forward, not ready to hear the excuse just yet. "Say you're sorry."

Deklan looks at me. His voice low, a grumbled mess of agitation and disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"

I answer with a single look, warning him to test my patience.

Frank sits on the steps now. Gone is the threatening expression from moments before, instead is a face lit with amusement as he watches me put Deklan in his place.

"God damn it, Charlie." Deklan shoves a hand through his hair then rakes it down the front of his face for added dramatics. "I'm sorry." He mumbles inaudibly before adding, "Better?"

"That was quite possibly the worst apology I've ever witnessed. And why are you still looking at me? You already know my name is Charlie and you can shove any apology you have for me right up your ass. But him?" I point to the steps. "That's Frank, and he didn't need to be treated so impolitely."

Deklan grits his teeth. "She's gonna kill me, Lord." Tipping his gaze back toward the sky. "She's really gonna be the absolute fucking death of me." He gabbles to himself and inhales a breath full of aggravation. Maybe now would be a good time to tell him that my own family has been praying to God the same exact way for years on my behalf, each time with marginal results.

Finished with his superfluous prayer, Deklan eventually turns to Frank.

"I'm sorry." He states monotonically and I think to myself briefly that Hitler himself would've sounded more genuine. Back to me again, his eyes soften, concern and worry etched deeply into the tiny crinkles between his brows.

"You scared the shit out of me." And that's all it takes for the guilt to crash into me like a tidal wave, wiping away my resolve where all I want is to reach out to him, touch him, feel the comfort of his body and the safety of his arms. But I stop myself before I let it get that far. I'm not giving in. I need to resist the pull. Need to avoid the zing.

"Are you okay?" He asks, this time with his hands secured on my upper arms, scanning my trashed appearance. When his eyes land at my feet, they narrow into tiny little slits before he closes them shut entirely.

Ladies and Gentlemen fasten your seatbelts, we're about three seconds out from detonation.

One

Two

"Charlie, where in the ever-living fuck are your shoes?" Three.

"Oh, um... I kicked them off after I smashed your girlfriends face into the bar."

A robust chortle comes from beside us. One of those sounds so contagious you almost can't help but to follow along and laugh yourself. I don't of course, because I'm not so sure Deklan won't stroke out, but I want to...badly.

"You got your hands full with this one, Marine." Frank mentions, shaking his head in delight while dying out his cigarette at his feet. He stands to gather the little bit of his belongings into his hands. Until now, I hadn't even realized how tall he was. Surpassing Deklan's height by at least two inches, this guy had to be a force to be reckoned with in his day.

"You ain't kiddin'" Deklan sneers. "But how did you know...?"

"Come on boy, I may be old but I ain't dumb. I could tell you were one of us just by looking at the silhouette of your shadow. Once a Marine always a Marine, eh?" He snickers toward Deklan then regards us both by tipping his head forward.

"Take care you two." He starts, "And Charlie, go easy on the boy here. If he's seen anything near the shit I seen out there..." the words trail off when his eyes gp to the sky. "Well let's just say, he's been through enough." With a quick pat on Deklan's back and a brief squeeze to my shoulder we're left to figure out this mess alone.

"Semper Fi!" Deklan's voice carries down the sidewalk halting Frank in his steps. Turning to face us one last time, he snaps his feet together, stands at attention and gives a goodbye salute. Deklan immediately does the same.

With a small nod and an easy smile, Frank, the veteran from 'Nam, smoke ring blowing extraordinaire and my new friend, disappears into the night. And before the sound of his footsteps can fade along with that of his silhouette, a barely perceptible, OOH RAH echoes in the distance.

Chapter Thirty

What Makes the Man?

Deklan carries me back to his car. My feet, cracked and chafed from my sprint through the city streets, weep with happiness when they're lifted from the ground. Of course, I have to convince the impossible brood that I'm up to date with my tetanus shot before he actually agrees to take me home. Can you believe he was really going to bring me to the hospital?

As if I'd shatter, I'm placed into the passenger seat with careful precision, buckled in and instructed not to move. I rest my head against the seat and close my eyes, wanting to tell him that there's really no need for his tyrant-like commands but I'm so freakin' exhausted, moving or even speaking seem to be out of the question.

What started out as one of the best nights in a long time, had quickly turned into a complete nightmare.

"You wanna tell me what happened back there, Rocky?" Deklan's voice brings me out of my daze.

"Rocky?"

"Yea, Rocky. You know...YO ADRIAN!" Deklan attempts his best Stalone impression before continuing. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure you broke her nose."

"Good." Her injuries are of no concern to me. Besides, I'm sure she'll just use some other dirty cheating husbands' money to buy a new one.

My head tips back again, aware of the quiet but cautious laugh coming from the man beside me.

"So, I take it you two have history?"

"Yea, well historically she fucked my husband through my entire marriage, so I guess you can say that."

The car's eerily silent, the harsh words marinating into Deklan's brain. Thinking about her comments gives me a sudden burst of vengeful energy. My body jolts forward until I'm sitting sideways with my back against the door. Ever present is the sting of soon to fall tears burning the lids of my eyes "And you."

"And me what?" He asks defensively.

"She told me she's had you too. Commended me actually, on my generosity." I stare directly into his eyes. My vision slightly obscured by the now free-falling proof of my sorrow.

"What do you mean generosity?"

"I mean, she praised me for my ability to share the men in my life. Thanked me for my willingness to offer up those that mean something to me." My voice breaks and I slam my head into my hands. "God, I'm so stupid. I hate myself for being so naive. I swore I'd never do this again."

Deklan's hand falls to my lap but I pull my legs away. Defeated, his voice is more demanding than compassionate as if he already knows the answer to the question he's about to ask. "You swore you'd never do what?"

What am I supposed to say? I promised myself I'd never fall in love again, but that I might have anyway. With him, nonetheless? No, I can't go down that road, even when there's something in the way his gaze burns into my skin that tells me he not only wants me to go down the road but to take off running, not giving a damn if I wear shoes or not.

Sensing the fact that I don't intend on elaborating, Deklan speaks up. "Charlie, I swear to God, I've never touched that girl." He pulls on my wrist, hooks a finger under my sopping chin, and attempts to turn my head to face him.

Afraid of the lies I'll see in his eyes, I quietly shake my head no. Unhappy with my refusal he does eventually give up on getting me to look at him but keeps his fingers at the base of my chin anyway.

"You have to believe me, Dove. It's not what you think. Look at me and tell me you believe me." I can't.

"Please." Deklan begs, his voice trembling as he tries to keep himself together. Finally, I let him tip my face upward, let him see me for what I am. A broken disaster. A complete and total lost cause.

Exhausted, I nod but turn my head back to the window to avoid the intensity of his stare.

"I believe you." I whisper so low there's no way Deklan heard me, the only proof the words had been spoken is the tiny fog on the cold glass window. I use the tip of my index finger to draw a small heart in the condensation and admire it for a moment.

As I drag the same finger in a line straight through the middle of the image, breaking it into two, a picture drawn to scale as to what I'm feeling, Deklan's voice has me stopping halfway. "I hope so Charlie. God, I hope so." I leave the window heart alone and think to myself that maybe there's hope for my real one after all.

Bob Seger's, We've Got Tonight fills the void left behind by unspoken words. I let the melody sink in and it doesn't take long for my body to relax to the pacifying words.

Deklan starts to sing. His voice; velvety rich, strong and smooth, an excess of adjectives that could be used to describe him as just one single entity.

"What is with you and all this old sappy shit, Deklan?"

He smiles as he drives along the winding night road. "I like all kinds of music Dove, but it has to have some meaning behind it. Every song I play, whether in the car or at home, has to mean something to me."

"Every song?" I question him scathingly, finding it hard to believe and thinking back to days when I blasted Limp Bizkit's Nookie through my car speakers, with little sentiment.

"Every song." With so much determination in his voice, I quickly forget about my brief infatuation with Fred Durst and the backwards red hat.

Motivated to refute his admission, I point to the speakers. "Okay, so what about this one?"

"What about it?"

"Well, what does it remind you of?

It's quiet for a minute. Deklan staring through the windshield as he drives us through the early morning darkness. He doesn't say anything until we reach a stop sign, pausing for longer than the standard three seconds that my driving teacher Byron so adamantly instructed.

The stillness of the empty night coupled with the smoothness of Seger's voice is unsettling, the perfect segue for undeclared words that can either make or break a person. Finally, he turns to me, brushes a knuckle along the side of my face and says, "This one reminds me of you."

Is it possible to fall in love this fast? Is this even love? No. My inner voice shakes her head. It can't be. I stopped believing in love. It doesn't exist. But if I didn't know any better, I'd say what I'm feeling right now seems a hell of a lot like it.

Zoned in on the silk textured sounds of Deklan's voice, he sings passionately, each of the lyrics that he admittedly recites when he thinks about me. Fighting it seems impossible. The need to embrace it, trumping all warnings of trepidation.

I face Deklan, his eyes intently on the road. He doesn't turn to me or even attempt a sideways glare in my direction. He doesn't speak either. His face unreadable but somehow peaceful, sated even. Motionless.

Then he holds his hand out. Open palmed, he settles it at the top of my thigh. It's a silent gesture. A simple appeal that I willingly bestow my faith in him.

I stare at the inside of his hand. Study the length of his fingers. The intricate patterns of his palm. Momentarily mesmerized by the swirls and swivels of his fingerprints, the very details that make him who he is, and I let it all sink in. This man is offering every part of him and I'd be a fool not to take it all.

A slight scar sits below his ring finger. The imperfection reminding me once more that he's real, breathing, and as alive as they come. I inhale deeply, fully knowing what it means to take his offer.

Then I place my hand in his. Relinquishing my once broken heart. Giving him everything I have left of my soul. A smile spreads across his lips as he exhales in relief and he sings again, this time with more conviction.

Deep in my soul I've been so lonely  
All of my hopes fading away  
I've longed for love like everyone else does  
I know I'll keep searching even after today  
So there it is girl, I've said it all now  
And here we are babe, what do you say?  
We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow?  
We've got tonight babe  
why don't you stay?

We pull up in front of my house and sit in silence. The song ended minutes ago, and he's made no attempt to play another. Small caresses to my hand with his thumb send visible tremors to my extremities. The tiny circular motions propel droves of hyperactive butterflies straight to my stomach.

Turning to him, I use my free hand to stroke the stubble on the side of his face. He closes his eyes and relaxes into my palm. The weight of his own demons seems to be resting against my skin as Deklan, for just this once, lets himself free of a lifetime of stress and worry. Giving me, Charlie Cole, the moppy headed emotional rollercoaster, the chance to hold all of it, just for him, just for a moment. Something a man like Deklan likely never does.

Stroking my thumb along the corner of his mouth, I gladly absolve him of the terror of war, the duty to protect, and this inherent need to look after others before looking after himself.

Watching the tension fall from him is almost my undoing and in this moment, it's clear that I'd likely do anything for this man.

"Deklan?

"Mmmhmm.".

"Why do you call me Dove?"

A smile spreads across his face, eyes remain closed. Small kisses pepper the inside of my hand and when his lips press against my palms, you'd think I'd just picked up a handful of live firecrackers.

I squeal when he nips at the heel of my palm playfully. "Took you long enough to ask." He kisses my wrist, then my arm. I'm barely able to acknowledge the act when his lips are on my shoulder, trailing across my collarbone and eventually landing in the crook of my neck.

"I don't know..." I struggle with words, speaking in a heavy satiated whisper. "I guess part of me was afraid you didn't realize you were saying it. Or maybe you say it to all women. Who knows?"

Suddenly, he has my hands pinned against the window, his nose and mouth pushed into the side of my face. His breathing is full of want as he trails his lips upwards then down to the base of my chin. The restrictive position of my arms pushes my chest forward and I'm instantly being crushed by Deklan's solid body. Who knew suffocation could be so sweet?

"You think I call every woman that?" He nibbles on the lobe of my ear.

"Uh? Ahhhhh." At this point I don't care if he called me Beavis as long as he doesn't stop what he's doing. He nips again and I'm braindead.

Somehow, I'm able to muster up a few working brain cells, and as luck would have it, they happen to be the ones responsible for coherent speech.

"When you call me that...Oh God...Mmmm," I shiver as his bottom lip drags back up to the sensitive spot below my ear. What was I saying again? Oh yea! "When you call me that, I feel safe. It's weird, I know. Suppose I just wanted to hold onto it for as long as I could."

I'm released from my submissive position against the window and the sexual deviant that I didn't know resided in me, begins to protest. That is until his hands grip my thighs and Old Faithful herself decided to relocate to my underwear.

Free to use my own limbs, fingers and newly regenerated brain cells, I take my thumb along the stubble of his jaw, hoping to pass some of the electricity swarming my body off through touch.

"Mmmm." He expels a satisfied mumble. "I'll never stop calling you Dove, Charlie, because it's exactly what you are to me." He shifts in his seat, studying me more attentively than he ever has before. He swallows hard and his grip on my thigh tightens.

"There was a RECON mission in Afghanistan that turned into a clusterfuck of a nightmare. Several weeks before, one of our men was taken. A few days later, videos began streaming along the DarkNet. Akmhed Aljari, the man responsible for several terrorist attacks on U.S soil in 2011, praised his god while he held a serrated knife to the soldiers' neck."

Deklan's hold on my legs loosens as he brings a hand to his head, running his fingers through his ink black hair.

"God, I remember seeing the look in the kids' eyes, I'm not sure he was even twenty-one yet. They demanded we release one of their men and remove our troops. Threatened that they would not only remove this kid's head on video, they would stream it across the web and get it to all major news outlets by the end of the week. Two weeks before that, they did the same thing to four servicemen they took from both the U.S and Great Britain, all who ended up butchered a day earlier than the deadline. But we don't negotiate with terrorists, right? Well that whole notion is simply semantics really."

Deklan leans back in his seat, gazing through the windshield as if he's reliving the moment in real time. I want to reach out to him to tell him he doesn't have to rehash such horrible images, but stop myself as he continues.

"We might not negotiate but we figure out other ways to get what we need. Like, send out a secret team to find them, kill them then take back what belongs to us. My team was that team. The best team..." Pride and passion sit behind his far away glance, though if you look closely there's far more sadness in his eyes than should be allowable for a man of his age.

"At any rate, the mission was highly classified, no one other than a few military leaders and POTUS himself involved. We worked closely with an Afghani ally who gave us the location of the target. Only he wasn't an ally, more like a radical extremist. Our intelligence was off. And so was our location."

Deklan closes his eyes and swallows hard.

"If you haven't figured it out by now, it was a trap. The only thing I remember is my buddy's voice, yelling for me to get down. Then the most mesmerizing flash of light, I remember thinking this is it, this is the light they talk about. Crazy as it was, it was almost peaceful, until the sound of another blast brought me back to reality and I realized we'd been hit."

"I lost consciousness soon after. When I came to, the buzzing in my ears was maddening, drove me so crazy that I wanted to rip my own head off my body. Could barely hear anything other than the guttural sounds of agony coming from my left. Once I managed to pull myself together and crawled over to what looked like nothing more than a heap of bloody flesh, I realized it was Labs. He was coughing up so much blood, so much fucking blood. I held his dirt covered face in my hands and screamed into his expressionless face. 'You die on me you fucking asshole and I will bring you back and kill you myself'. He tried to smile then, and I noticed he was lifting his arm to try to point to his leg. That's when I saw it. A piece of shrapnel tore straight through his thigh, the gash so big I could actually see the bone. I ripped off a piece of his fabric from what was once his fatigues and tied it tight into a tourniquet before I went to check on the rest of the team."

"Two of our other men were gone, only identifiable by torsos and dismembered limbs. Labs and I were the only ones to make it. He was shot in the chest as well and I took a bullet to the leg. I must have been in too much shock because I didn't even notice. Somehow, I managed to carry him back into the Humvee. The entire drive back I was barely conscious. As soon as I knew we made it into safe territory everything went black."

"The next thing I remember, I was waking up in a hospital in Germany, hooked up to a bunch of stupid machines that made thousands of fucking annoying noises. When it finally hit me what happened, I turned into an animal. A raging fucking lunatic actually. I felt like I wasn't in my own body. I lost it. The anger I had towards myself for not being able to keep my men safe was debilitating. Took an entire fucking hospital and a shot of looney juice to calm my ass down. After that, no one had the balls to tell me that they weren't sure Labs was going to pull through."

"He was in really bad shape, Dove. The bullet punctured a lung, he had aspirated blood, debris lodged in his arm, they thought he was going to lose his leg and he had severed some kind of nerve in his eye socket. The dipshit was a total fucking mess. My team was gone. And the following day a video came from Aljari's camp. They severed the soldiers head, all while he looked into the camera, defied the terrorists by telling his mom he loved him, his sister to remember him and the entire world that he was proud to serve his country."

Instinctively, I held my hand to my mouth to muffle my shock. The gasps came anyway. What is there to say, really? How do you make it better? How can you take the pain away? If I knew, I would.

I'd do anything to erase this horror from his mind and I've never been angrier at the world...at God, for the fact that I can't.

Chapter Thirty-One

Becoming the Dove

The terrible trip down memory lane took a lot out of both of us. Deklan for telling it, me for listening to it. Running out of energy, he finally grabs my hand and places it on his lap as if he needs to feel my touch to continue.

"Sorry, I know that was more than you asked for." He turned to me with sad eyes and I immediately pull my hand from his and place both of my palms on the side of his face.

"Don't you dare apologize to me, it was hard to hear, sure. But it is part of you and who you are, and I'm honored that you felt you could share that with me."

He smiles timidly then turns his head to kiss my palm.

"So back to how you became my Dove." He winks and goes on. "Labs couldn't make it to the services for the men we lost so going to represent the both of us seemed like the right thing to do. There's no funeral that's easy, you know? Death just kinda sucks all the way around but Isaac's was the hardest by far. Bastard had a wife and two little girls that he talked about constantly, going on and on about all the things he planned to do when we got back, vacations, dance recitals, things like that. He was always giving Labs and me advice too. Trying to get us both to find someone to settle down with. He was a jokester, loved a good prank but many times was the voice of reason among the group..."

"...So many people were in attendance, it was a true testament to the man he was, the father he was never going to be again. Throughout the ceremony I watched as his kids stood in front of his casket, holding a small cage in their little hands as the preacher spoke to the crowd. The speech was all about the symbolism of the dove and how it's used to represent peace, tranquility and life. He described the ceremony that was releasing this bird, as a representation of freedom, freedom of both the spirit and soul and that once the dove flew away it would mean that Isaac had found peace."

"After some additional prayers, Isaac's daughters unhooked the cage and we all waited for this symbol of his life to fly and selfishly provide us with our own sense of peace but for some reason the bird wouldn't move. Amid the disappointment on the faces of many of us, his youngest, the brave one, as he always called her, stepped in front of the cage and motioned with her tiny hands for the animal to come to her. I swear to you, I'll never get the image out of my head. With her little black bow flapping in the breeze as the wind blew her baby fine hair across her face, the dove moved to perch itself onto her hand. She cooed to the bird as if calming its nerves then looked over at her mom, her sister then back at the flag covered casket. That's when she spoke, this time her sweet and innocent voice carried over the entire crowd, 'It's okay Daddy...' she said '...be free.' And like a scene from a fucking movie, the dove flew from her hand."

"Everyone started clearing out, but I couldn't move. I sat in the chair silent, broken and fucking pissed the hell off. Guilt that I lived, and he didn't, consumed me. I mean, he had kids and a family for Christ's sake. It should've been me. At the time, I actually would've rather it had been me."

"No, Deklan. Don't say that." I look him in the eye. "Then I wouldn't have found you and I need you Deklan, more than you realize."

Deklan squeezes my hand. "The image of the dove taking off the way it did kept replaying in my mind. I missed my friend. My team. I no longer had a purpose. So many emotions were going through my head. I wanted to cry but the anger I felt wouldn't allow it. I wanted to scream but the torment that burned my throat ceased my voice. I put my head in my hands for a few seconds, trying to get myself together. Then I did something I hadn't done in years. I prayed. I pleaded with the universe and any higher power that would listen. Begged into the air to take away the pain. I needed Isaac to hear me tell him I loved him. He needed to know that I would do anything in my power to make sure his family was taken care of. It was quiet for a while longer then all the sudden, a noise came from behind me. When I turned around, I had to squint to get a better look, almost like I couldn't believe what I was seeing. And wouldn't you know? The fuckin' white dove just sat there on a headstone of another fallen solider."

"Not much of a symbolic person by nature but I couldn't knock the feeling it was Isaac's way of telling me it was time to go. Like he was letting me know he was still watching out for me, that it wasn't my fault, that he heard my pleas and took note of my promises. More so, he was telling me that he was free. I whispered 'Semper Fi' in the direction of the bird then it flew away."

"I watched for a few seconds, mesmerized by the way the bird glided through the air, how it flew through the strong winds with ease. Most importantly, how it always seemed to find its way back."

Deklan takes my face into his hands and continues.

"The day I saw you in that house, Charlie, all I could see was that dove. Your life hasn't been easy, that's for sure. You certainly didn't deserve one bit of the shit you went through, but that day Charlie, that day changed it all. You became the dove sweetheart...my dove. You were free in that moment. Regardless of how much he tried to beat you down, YOU were the one that was victorious. I know sometimes you find yourself flying around, trying to find your way, searching for where you belong. But you always make it back. Just like a dove, you effortlessly conquer the winds —and you baby—you are singlehandedly THE strongest person I know."

His lips press against my forehead before looking back at me once more.

"You're my dove, Charlie. You've thanked me before for everything I've done for you, but I never got the chance to say it back. Maybe one day you'll realize, that day you saved me too"

The chance to respond is taken from me when he presses his mouth to mine. Smooth and silky lips place gentle kisses on each corner before taking my lips to his, nibbling just a bit, waiting for permission to continue.

Gently stroking my jawline with his thumb, he doesn't push to go further, content with the purity of it all. The kiss is passionate but tamed. Desperate but cautious.

The idea of him holding back for the sake of my wellbeing only makes me want him more. My hands come up to grab the collar of his shirt, and I twist the material into my fists, pulling him in closer. The need for him to devour me is all consuming. When I open my mouth to give Deklan the permission he needs, he lets out a low grumble, a moan that pings at every one of my nerve endings. It sounds almost pained as if trying to maintain self-control. I smile against his lips and let my tongue escape to find its way to his. With the battle of willpower gone, it's seconds before he's pushing my hands from his collar and pulling me flush against his muscled physique. My entire body is on fire. The synapses in my brain snap at rapid speed with each lick and flick of his tongue.

He tastes like heaven. A faint hint of beer lingering in the velvety feel of his mouth. Deklan takes his time kissing me. When his teeth nip at my lips, my nipples stand to attention. When his mouth sucks gently on my own, my arousal thickens.

Sharp gasps of pleasure escape me as he holds his hands firmly to my face. My arms come up to wrap around his shoulders. I glide my hand up and down the nape of his neck, pulling him further and further into me like I'm physically starving for his body. He breaks away.

"Charlie..." he whispers into my mouth.

"Stay with me Deklan?" I lick at his lips. To taste him is euphoric. My mind frantically searches for a way to savor the salty notes of his mouth. I will never forget this exact moment, the first time in my life that I've tasted perfection. I free my hand to open my door and stop when I realize he hasn't answered me. I look at him. A pained and tortured expression shadows his face.

"Deklan?" I bite my bottom lip, feeling them swell from his delectably vial attack. Seconds pass and silence lingers. I scan his eyes, trying to get a read on him. Did I misinterpret this?

He takes a deep breath. Another indignant growl rolls from his mouth. But he never moves. Never speaks.

Never loved me.

At least not the way I do him.

I get out of the car and walk up to my home. Tears of rejection tumble from my eyes. There will never be a worse feeling than the feeling of being unwanted. I slam the door shut, hoping that the loud rumble of it slamming against the frame will distract my aching heart. I anticipate and prepare for the necessary boom but the noise I'm looking for never comes. When I spin around, I'm just in time to watch as Deklan puts his arm up to block the violent crash. His silhouette fills the entryway. All muscle and corded veins.

The moonlight highlights the structure of his jaw while his eyes glaze over in desperation and need. Torn between restraint and release, you can almost see the angel and devil on his shoulders engaging in an epic fight to the death.

I open my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself, to inform him there's no need to feel contradicted. His uncertainty on what we are or what would should be doing, is surely not welcome.

The words are quickly lost.

In one long stride he reaches me, places his finger over my lips then uses a knuckle to soothingly wipe the tears from my face. My eyes close instinctively at his touch. My breathing caught in my throat.

Oxygen...I need oxygen. Though, there appears to be a shortage.

I attempt shallow breaths, but the thrashing of my heart and the wailing of my pulse don't allow it. I consider his eyes and practically wheeze out my most heartfelt confession.

"I can't breathe when I'm around you, Deklan."

His eyes soften while a finger trails from the corner of my eye to my lips. He leans in, his mouth inches away from my own.

"Then let me breathe for you."

This time he's far less timid as his tongue plunges into my mouth, kissing me with such desperation and need that my knees buckle and give out. Everything around me melts into a kaleidoscope of colors and unfamiliar formations. A convoluted mixture of feelings. A speckled mess of real versus fiction.

The only constant is Deklan.

The only feeling is love.

Noting my weakened form, he wraps one arm around my waist, his other hand continues to caress my jaw. My hands scamper down to the hem of his shirt and I find myself pushing the soft cotton upward until I'm greeted with the bare skin of his stomach. My palms rub all over the impenetrable sinew that is his torso, my fingers trail to his back then savagely, my hands kneed the muscle of his shoulder blades all the while craving the feel of the discernible bulges. Each muscle that flexes under my touch seems to be calling me.

"What are you doing to me, Dove?" He moves on from my mouth, licking the side of my neck down to my collarbone.

"Mmmmm." It's a sensational feeling.

We're a jumbled tangled mess as he backs me up to the sofa, drops a hand to the small of my back and leans forward. He cradles the back of my head then slowly lays me onto the soft surface.

I don't think I've ever seen his eyes drenched with such emotion as he handles me like I'm the most precious thing in his life. And when he looks at me? Yea, I can stay like this forever.

Standing tall above, he and I lost in each other's eyes, his breathing is erratic, I'm captivated by the struggle. When he bends forward, he drags his face along my body, taking in my scent, lingering on the sexual aroma that is pouring from my skin.

Longing and want. Need and desire. Each emotion volleys back and forth between us. In a frenzy to pull his shirt from over his head, I take it upon myself to help him out. When his torso gleams in the soft lighting that is cast by the streetlamp into my living room, I can't help but steal a moment to take in the view.

My Adonis.

Mine.

Careful not to put too much my pressure, he brings himself down to lay his body over me. As if my hands were magnets, they jump to his chest and eagerly rub the smooth and refined texture of his skin. The ache in my lower gut is so strong, I wonder if I'll pass out before anything major happens. It's an unfamiliar urge that happens to feel so right, even if the reaction of my body is foreign to me. I know without a doubt this is where I belong.

Deklan traces a large hand down the length of my body, pushing into my skin with unabashed desperation. He's careful not to break the kiss as he grazes a firm knuckle down the center of my panties. The warmth of his hand against the moisture puddling from my center sends a greedy moan of longing into the air. He pulls away slightly, leaving our lips not exactly melded together but just barely touching.

Never taking his eyes away from mine, he uses his hand to spread my legs.

"You're gonna know soon, Charlie. Real soon you're going to know what your body is capable of when it's in my hands."

Tickling a finger over my sexual lips, I gasp at the sensation. "This..." He presses harder into my center. "It's going to crave me."

His hand slides into the waistband of my underwear, uses two fingers to spread my swollen lips. "When I'm not here, it will ache for me and when I'm near you it will beg for me."

He kisses me thoroughly again, breathing for me just as he promised he would. "And I'm gonna give it to you. All of it. Because this..." He brings my hand to his erection "This already does exactly that when I'm around you."

He brushes his fingers along my inner thigh. I arch into his touch. Pushing myself upward, needing more, wanting more. More. More. More. Whatever this feeling in my stomach, it's now on its knees begging to be released.

"You ready for me, angel?" He asks as he continues to brush his fingers so close to where I need them. The teasing is too much to bare. I lift my hips for heavier contact, but he pulls away.

"I'm gonna need you to use your words, baby. I need to hear that you want this as bad as I do."

"God, Deklan, Yes. Please. Just stop messing with me."

His lips curl into a mischievous grin.

"Frustrated, are we?" He lets out a sultry chuckle. "Well consider it payback from all the times you've driven me out of my fucking mind."

"Please, Deklan, I'm begging you" I'm practically panting.

"You never have to beg Dove, everything you want I'll give to you willingly."

He slides a finger into me, stroking my most sensitive spot with his thumb. "Jesus Christ, you're soaked." I've never heard a voice so wild. My legs open wider as if they have a mind of their own. They must because I'm certainly not controlling them. Concluding that I no longer own my body, I give myself to Deklan freely, to do with it as he wishes, to take from me what he needs.

With his other hand, he pulls my shirt over my head.

"I like this." He whispers, as he traces his finger around the white ruffle. In one swift motion, with the skill of a magician, the bra is off me and my breasts are totally exposed.

Every erogenous zone on my body is awakened. He kisses down my neck. Uses his tongue to create a spit slackened trail to my swollen breasts. Taking one into his mouth, he begins to flick the bud with his tongue at the same time hooking his fingers inside of my core.

Like a pirate on a mission for hidden treasure, he's found the "X" that marks the spot. The most intense sensation plummets through my body. The tender kisses down my chest making way to my stomach, the feel of his fingers moving in and out of me and it's all too much to bear.

I grab onto his forearms and prepare for the earth to shatter. If this is how my life ends, I will now die a happy woman. I can already feel the quake in my legs, every muscle in my body clenched in a tense knot. Oh God, I'm so close!

Then he stops.

I pant in confusion, rotating my hips, try in haste to get friction.

Deklan's body tenses above me. His finger traces around the puckered skin of a scar making his eyes glow with a rage that I know isn't directed toward me. His jaw ticks in his own telling way and I don't have to say anything for him to know who gave me such a disfiguring blemish.

For a few minutes Deklan does nothing but brush his hand over the once shredded area.

"Deklan?"

He brings his eyes to mine,"Yea, baby?"

"Promise you won't break me?"

The entire atmosphere of the room changes in an instant when he jumps off the couch, leaving my body bereft of his warmth and protection.

Increasing the distance between us, Deklan paces the length of my living room then brings an arm to the back of his neck. Turning away, he grips at his hair aggressively as muscles flex with regret, anger, uncertainty.

I sit up, hold a throw pillow over myself, and for the first time since meeting Deklan, feel ashamed of not just my body but who I am in general.

"Deklan? What's the matter? Did I do something? Is something wrong...with me? "

Stretching his arms into his T-shirt, he whips his head around prepared to scoff at the comment. When he sees the sincerity of that question in my eyes he stops and in a flash is kneeling next to me, stroking my hair from my forehead.

"Fuck, Charlie. No! It's just...I just can't do this."

Hear that? That's the sound of my heart breaking into millions of rejected pieces, ice replacing the blood in my veins. This is what I get for letting it thaw in the first place.

"What do you mean you can't do this? You think you should've thought about that before you shoved your fingers into my pussy?"

Anger sizzles from his expression at my choice of words but I don't care.

"It's just timing. Christ, I don't know, Dove. I just can't fucking do this right now, okay? I gotta go." Deklan makes his way to the door, leaving me half naked and forgotten, with nothing but a throw pillow to hide my devastation.

"So, this is what you do?" The agony of feeling less than perfect pitches high in my voice.

"You get me to trust you, to practically give myself to you, to fall head over heels in love with you and you leave because you don't feel like the timing is right? Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to open up to people, to trust people? No, you obviously don't because if you did you should've just ended this in the car. Hell, you would've let me be after the hospital all those months ago. You wanna go? Then go. But don't give me some bullshit excuse about bad timing. I've come to learn you've got a good set on you, so why don't you man the fuck up and tell me what we both know is true... I am just too fucked up for you."

"Don't fucking say shit like that, Charlie" He walks back towards me, reaching out to touch my face. Angrily, I smack his hand away.

"DON'T!" I yell in his face. "Don't fucking touch me." My voice cracks, I've lost all resolve. "You're right Deklan, it is bad timing. So why don't you just go?"

"Charlie..."

"Deklan just go... please"

The request begs for him to leave before I breakdown. The need to save my dignity perseveres. I've no choice but to take my half-naked body and walk away.

In my bedroom, I wait to hear his footsteps. Wishing more than anything that he'll wrap me in his protective arms and promise me he didn't mean any of it.

I hold my breath in anticipation of his comfort and long to feel his warmth. It never comes. Instead, I listen as the door shuts. Hear him check to make sure it's locked. Realize that he's gone. And break because he left me.

I fall to my bed in defeat and curse God for giving me this life, Johnny for forever ruining me for anyone else, and Deklan for stealing my heart and walking away with it. I pull the covers over my head and sob into my pillow until the sunlight creeps through the curtains of my bedroom window.

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, it's hard not to replay the events in my head.

Bad timing? Who says that? You wanna know bad timing? Bad timing is when the most attractive man you've ever laid eyes on, not to mention the most genuine, singlehandedly helps you see the light at the end of a very dark and dismal tunnel, decides he needs a break. When that man is physically commanding your body, ready to send you over the edge to euphoria, catapulting every cell that comprises your being into unbridled ecstasy then suddenly stops and blames it on bad timing. THAT is bad timing.

Fuck Johnny! And fuck this stupid scar!

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Past is Real

Five years, 11months and 1 week AGO

"There are plenty of ways to die, but only love can kill you and keep you alive to feel it."

I first read that quote the day after I got the gash on my stomach. Found it on a domestic violence blog considering my options. And my God, if they weren't the truest words I'd ever read. That day was my one and only ever attempt to leave Johnny, and it was three weeks after Max was born.

I can remember the morning was so cold and the sky so dingy and gray. The irony of it all made me laugh. Indeed, it was an exact replica of how I felt. Frozen. Dead. Hopeless.

I bundled Max up and drove into town. He had a checkup at the doctor, so we went there first. The plan was to get a clean bill of health and then figure my way out of the giant mess I had gotten us both into.

"He's perfect," Dr. Roy, the old timer pediatrician said as he handed my son back to me. His hair had whitened significantly since he took care of my brothers and me, as did the whiskers growing from his ears. Unfortunate body hair aside, he was a good doctor even though he could've splurged on a decent nose and ear trimmer.

"He is," I said with a smile that didn't quite meet my eyes. Dr. Roy looked at me suspiciously as if he sensed that something was wrong but stayed silent. Thanking him once more before any further inquiries, I promised to stop by for a visit with his wife Violet and swaddled my perfect newborn back into his embroidered baby blanket. When I looked down at the personalization, delicately stitched in silk white thread, I started to shake.

JUAN MAXWELL CRUZ Jr.

"You'll never be like him Maximillian. Mommy will make sure of it." I kissed the crown of his peach-fuzzed head and strapped him in his carrier. Walking was difficult. Johnny really got me good the night before.

I probably shouldn't have asked him to change Max's diaper right when he got home from work, but I was just so tired, and the post-partum had been making me feel like a stranger to my own body. All I wanted to do was go for a walk to clear my head, but when he told me leaving my kid behind would make me a bad mom, I decided against it.

It was my worst nightmare come true when I woke up to Max on the floor wailing. It took a few groggy minutes to bring myself back to reality just in time for Johnny to fly into the room and grab Max from the floor.

"What the hell did you do to our son?" He screamed in my face. The pitch of his voice only served to make Max cry louder.

"I don't know. I must have dozed off, I'm so tired Johnny, I haven't slept in almost two days"

Apparently, I had fallen asleep rocking Max in an effort to get him to stop fussing. God, I felt like the scum of the Earth already, and now I had Johnny only ensuring me of my incompetence.

SMACK! The backhand across my face blurred my vision for what felt like eternity. Once the fog cleared, I realized Johnny had just hit me while he held our infant son in his hands. Until that point, Johnny's abuse had always been emotional. Sure, he was aggressive sometimes with his words, but he had never gone down the physical road.

Tears dribbled down my face as I held my hand to my cheek to ease the throbbing.

"You dumb bitch, you're the kid's mother. If you can't handle that then I can have someone here to replace you within the hour." Max screeched in Johnny's hold.

"Please give me my son, he needs me."

Johnny pulled Max further from my reach. "He doesn't need you Charlie. He needs

a mother that can take care of him."

I replied to his hurtful words between sobs. "I can take care of him. I would never do anything to hurt him."

Johnny placed our son in his bassinet, the intensity of my baby's cries was killing me. The pain I felt from not being able to console him was beyond unbearable. Launching myself from the couch, I made my way toward my infant son, stopped by a closed fist punch to my side.

Grabbing my arm and pulling me down the hallway toward the bedroom, Johnny dragged my body as if it were a sack of potatoes along the hallway's carpet runner. The thick fibers of the material burned from the friction that came from being yanked violently to my very own temple of doom.

I knew his intentions and couldn't let myself submit. Not this time anyway, no matter the repercussion. I needed to get to my baby. Doing my best to pull away from him, the stars in my vision kept me off balance, causing me to fall onto my stomach in the hallway, briefly releasing me from his hold. Using the chance at freedom to my advantage, I scurried back to Max but stopped when a steel toe work boot began to repeatedly pummel itself into my side, knocking the wind clear from my lungs. Intense coughing spasms followed the vicious blow, making it twice as hard to catch my breath.

Max's violent cries turned into a steady stream of whimpers. The sound of Johnny undoing his belt drawing my attention. Trying to escape the inevitable pain, I took off on all fours, crawling like a scared animal in a frenzied rush to escape my predator. He grabbed me by my foot and spun me around, my back flopped painfully against the ground just in time to watch the brown leather belt come whipping down onto my stomach. I held up my hands to cover my face as I cried out in pain.

"You think I'm gonna come home from work every day and deal with this shit? You've lost your damn mind, BITCH!"

SNAP!

One after another, Johnny laid powerful blows to my stomach with his belt. Alternating each whack with a kick to the side. An intricate pattern of rage and hate. I could almost hear my skin stretch itself into angry welts as he continued to pound his fury into my flesh.

When I curled up to protect myself, he'd kick so my body would straighten. My torso was his canvas, the belt his brush and he was creating a masterful calamity. The abusive artist and the submissive muse.

Blow after blow, the belt ripped through the material of my shirt. His vehement lashes only ended when the metal buckle impaled my stomach, hooking into my flesh. I sobbed uncontrollably until I passed out from the pain.

It was my first night in hell and it would also be the last time I'd cry for years to come.

Then there I was, the next day, looking at the blanket, fingering the thick threaded inscription, fixed on what is arguably the most eternal connection between a father and son...the namesake.

I didn't know what to do or where to go. What I did know was that when I left that morning I was never going back. I pulled out my cellphone in search for Christopher's contact information. I found the number and pressed send.

"Cole." His rough but familiar tone stilled my rapid heartbeat. His voice was like coming home after a long day at work, comforting and secure. If anyone could help me, it would be him.

"Chris?"

Taking note of the urgency in my voice, he switched from dutiful detective to protective big brother. "Pip! Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I don't know. I think I need to..." There was a knock on the window that caught me so off guard, I jumped from my seat, the jolt sent my hands flailing in surprise and my phone flying to the other side of the car.

Lauren, the receptionist from the pediatricians' office stood there, a white envelope pinched between her fingers. Eyeing me with understandable wariness, she slipped the envelope through the crack of the open window.

"You must've dropped it on your way out." The young college student said with a forced smile.

"I don't think that's mine." Doing my best to calm the tremors in my hands, I hurried to slide it back to her, as if something inside me knew whatever was in that envelope was poison.

My brother's frantic voice was coming somewhere from the passenger side of the vehicle. I couldn't make out what he was saying other than a string of loud expletives intertwined with jumbled words.

"But it has your name on it." Lauren insisted, sliding it back through the opening. The two of us playing Hot Potato with the dreadful parcel before she ran back to the building, skipping her turn.

"Charlie?" Christopher's voice echoed once more. I couldn't answer him. Not yet. The fear consuming me had turned me inoperative. My body shut down. Fog threatened to devour my vision as I stared at the envelope that shook in my hand, Johnny's handwriting neatly transcribed across its front. I opened the door to vomit, emptying my stomach into the freshly paved parking spot. My fingers quivered over my name. My name written by his hand.

"Jesus, Pip! ANSWER ME!" I shook my head as if he could see me.

Opening the envelope and unfolding its contents, I peeled the folds of the papers apart, exposing an official copy of my testimony to the grand jury. On the last page was a note. A statement really, more demanding than the commandments themselves

Try to leave again and see how well you can raise a son behind bars. Dinner at 6:00?

-J.

Chris spoke a few more times from the speaker. I leaned over and searched blindly for my phone, when I found it, I put it to my ear.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I...um...I had a little car trouble, but it seems to have fixed itself on its own. Cars huh? Damn things always give you trouble right up until you ask for help. Anyway, sorry for bothering. Talk soon, okay?"

"Pip." My brother demanded.

I disconnected the call.

Later that night, Christopher stopped by and gave me the locket. He never mentioned anything about the phone call, but his eyes told me he didn't believe one ounce of the bullshit excuse I threw his way. Instead, he clasped the sparkling trinket around my neck and looked into my eyes.

"Wear this and never take it off. You never know if you're gonna need something to remember me by. I love you Pip. Always have, always will. "

"And I love you, big brother. Always did, always do. This is beautiful Chris, but I don't need this. If I want to see you, I'll just call you. Stop being so cryptic all the time and just come around more. I miss you bro." I gave him a playful slap on his shoulder.

With a forced smile he leaned forward to kiss my cheek. "I miss you too kid. I'll always miss you"

He stopped at Max's bassinet, placed a lingering kiss to his forehead, held his tiny fingers in his hands.

"Goodbye, Pip," He made his way to his car and waved before driving away.

Christopher was killed the next day.

Chapter Thirty-Three

If it makes you happy...

I've counted sheep, said the alphabet forward and backward and couldn't tell you how many bottles of beer are left on the wall, all while once again rehashing the nightmares of the past. Sleep is obviously out of the question and there's only one thing that's going to make me feel better.

I have to go to Max.

The constant ringing of my phone on the end table didn't help my quest for shut eye either. Last night, or early this morning, depending on how you look at things, I was not only rejected but any shred of hope I had for romance was demolished by the heart-breaking bulldozer known as Deklan O'Malley.

I didn't even care that my yoga pants seemed to beg for more time away as I stepped into them abruptly before packing a bag and calling Pete. Skipping out on most of the details of course, I asked for him to check on the house and grab my mail. When he asked when I'd be back, I told the truth "I really don't know."

Rhyme or reason, both long gone as I hurriedly pack my car. Just throwing everything in the backseat, I'm in a race to get the hell out of dodge. With a quick look in my rearview, noting the similarities to a mother raccoon, I slip on my oversized Chanel sunglasses and shift my car into reverse.

The sound of a clenched fist on the trunk of my car rings in my ears. I panic. This isn't happening!

Fight or flight? From experience, I've come to learn that it doesn't seem you can have one without the other. So, I put my foot on the gas and slam on the pedal until it sends my car rocketing into the street.

Petrified, I look into the rearview expecting to see Johnny only to find the reason for my quick departure instead.

After my mind convinces my palpitating heart that I'm not in danger, I slow the car. My knuckles blanch white on the steering wheel and short panic-stricken breaths leave my lungs as Deklan comes to stand at the window.

"Jesus, Charlie you almost killed me."

"I'm sorry, I just thought you were...." My words fall short. "Never-mind." I shake my head. "I just got scared."

"It's okay, I suppose I deserve it after everything." He glances down at his shoes, shamefully kicking dirt back and forth with his size twelve sneaker. Right now, he looks so much like a little boy being scolded for eating dessert before dinner, it's hard to imagine him as the ferocious fighter I know for certain that he is.

"Listen Dove, about last ..." I put the car in drive and roll forward.

"Charlie, I can explain..."

"Save it." I pick up speed, unwilling to be near him right now.

Under my control, the car rushes forward, as fast as it can, considering we are in a residential neighborhood. The physical beast that lives within the highly trained Marine has no trouble keeping pace beside me.

Jesus, is he part Cheetah?

"Where you going? Can you just stop the fucking car and talk to me?"

"I'm going out of town for a few days, and there's nothing to talk about. Take care, Mr. O'Malley" I roll up the window and push on the gas with full force. My tires screech as my car catapults forward leaving Deklan as nothing more than a shrinking image in my rearview mirror.

✽✽✽

The drive to the beach isn't long in theory but too long for a woman drowning in thought. Some people like to be alone and have time to think. I'm not one of those people, at least not today. As excited as I am to see Max, I can't get Deklan out of my mind.

I thought I was in love with Johnny all those years ago, but those feelings were nothing compared to what I feel for Deklan. Felt for Deklan? Ah shit! Who am I kidding? FEEL. FEEL. FEEL.

How did I let myself get here? How the hell did I allow my heart to open for this man who apparently does not feel the same way? Ugh! My soul cries out in silent anguish, my heart physically hurts from his rejection.

"I need a distraction." One of the perks of driving alone is that you can talk to yourself without people getting all judgey. Reaching forward, I turn the knob all the way right. The music blares through the speakers and I'm hoping the intense volume can give me a much-needed reprieve from my thoughts.

In hindsight, the technique really only worked for a good thirty seconds, until my screwed-up mind went directly to the man that taught me to think about the music and find meaning to the lyrics.

As one of the rare few that refuse to subscribe to satellite radio, finding it ridiculous to pay for something that historically has always been free, I switch from FM to AM. On a mission now to feel nothing, Rush Limbaugh himself rambles on about tea-parties, leftists, and government cheese? I'm not too sure about the last one as Mr. Limbaugh's monotonic voice has well passed served its purpose in jumbling my thoughts to a point beyond comprehension.

With the beach house just around the bend, I press my finger firmly into the power button of my car stereo and bid farewell to Mr. My-voice-will-put-you-to-sleep.

After exchanging a few pleasantries with Bobby, the gated community's long-time security officer, I pull my car up the cobble stone drive and find comfort in the image before me.

The Cole Family beach house looks the same as it always did, or at least for as far back as I can remember. Nautical blue siding hangs from the large colonial home with white shutters that make the oceanic color pop. The variety of wildflowers that line the walkway in all their yellows, purples and reds, send a soothing floral fragrance through the air that does wonders to calm even the most stubborn bundle of shaky nerves.

As always, the grounds are meticulously landscaped, thanks to my mothers' major addiction to the Home and Garden network. Bushes swirl in intricate designs to create a whimsical barrier, separating our yard from the next. I note the rock garden has been expanded significantly since my last visit, just enough for a small pond, stocked with hyperactive koi fish and leaping baby frogs.

But out of all of it, absolutely nothing tops the country white gazebo wrapped in green cascading ivy and the palest of pink roses. At night it glows like an enchanted fairy haven with hundreds of white twinkle lights radiating a soft yellow aura.

When I was a kid, I thought it to be the perfect place to get married. In fact, I had it all planned out, I'd wear a flowy white dress that blew gently with the hum of the beach breeze and a pink flower crown in lieu of the traditional veil. I'd marry the man of my dreams in front of a small group of family and friends and dance my first dance with my soulmate under the stars as they blink down upon us in congratulations.

Obviously, things didn't quite work out that way.

Deciding it best not to dwell in the would'ves and could'ves of life, I head up the walkway and push the front door open. Placing my sunglasses to the top my head, allowing my eyes to adjust, I call out into the spacious entryway.

"Hello? Anyone home?"

With a thud, my purse lands at the bottom of the spiral staircase, and I take off in search of my little ball of happiness. From the kitchen and out through the French doors that lead to the balcony, I lean over the edge.

Between the soft white sand, the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks and the feel of salt in the air, I know I've made the right decision by coming here. The gentle breeze hits my face and I close my eyes. This is exactly what I needed.

I let myself take a few deep breaths before the most infectious sound of laughter echoes from a distance. Excitement has my heart beating intensely. I smile.

Bailey, the families' Great Dane, comes into view first, he chases the small green ball that flies out before him with effortless strides. His massive paws splash up water along the coastline, sending Max into a fit of laughter as the spray smacks his face.

In a rush to get down the steps, practically face planting when Bailey comes barreling into my legs like some kind of crazed sumo wrestler, I allow her a few good licks then stand up straight and head toward Max, who's been easily distracted by an all too enticing giant pile of mud.

"Maximillian! I squeal with a voice so high pitched and full of excitement.

"MOMMY!" Forgoing the mound of wet dirt, he picks up speed and heads straight toward me with arms wide open.

I copy his motions, taking quick strides of my own to meet him. Once he's in my arms, I don't know how I'm going to be able to let him go. A small piece of heaven lingers within each tendril in the form of saltwater air.

My world. My light. My son.

Could it be possible he grew in such a short time? It sure seems that way as I comb him over with my eyes, taking in every inch of small frame, attempting to study him in such a way that it would be nearly impossible to forget this exact moment.

"Come on, let's go surprise Gigi and Papa" I say, grabbing Max's hand. It's not the time to feel sorry for myself. I have everything I need right here with me and I need to enjoy it.

We start walking forward just as my dad is approaching. A look of concern and worry strewn across his face.

"Thank God!" He huffs in relief. "Bailey came back without Max and we panicked. Let's get back to your mother, she's probably alerted the coast guard by now."

"Sorry, Dad. I wasn't thinking. I was just so happy to see him." Dad kisses me briefly on my cheek then guides us back to my mother.

Down the shoreline, my frantically pacing mother scurries back and forth. Her quick worried steps kick up sand with each pass and I'm pretty sure she's just mastered the impossible feat that is digging a hole to China.

Creating a megaphone of sorts with his hands, Dad sends a booming update up the shoreline. "He's right here, Mary!"

Only after several signs of the cross and prayers to the high heavens does she take off at lightning speed in our direction, acknowledging me with a death glare at the same time pulling Max into her arms.

"Gigi, you're suffercating me." Max mumbles, his face flattened into her chest.

"It's suff-O-cating, and don't be dramatic, you wouldn't be talking if I was."

"Sorry 'bout that Mom."

She gives me the once over, ultimately deciding that something significant must have happened to spark this out of the blue arrival and lets me off the hook. "No, no it's alright." She pats my shoulder. "I'm just glad he's okay and I'm glad that you're here too. You should've called though sweetie, I would've put a spread together." Right, because how did I forget, food solves all problems.

"Relax, Mother. I'm not hungry. I just wanted to be here with Max and of course you guys too." I pull her in for a hug, but her arms push against me.

"Everything okay, honey? "

"Yea, everything's fine"

Disappointed in my lack of honesty she gives a curt nod, proving that I don't have much of a poker face these days. My dad speaks up, doing his best to break the tension that my little white lie has wedged between my mother and me within our first five minutes together.

"Why don't we all go sit? I was just about to take Max in the water. And you..." Dad points to me. "You can lie down over there and get some rest, you look like shit."

"I look like shit? You know Dad, you're a pretty successful man, yet you still use your downtime to dress like a visually compromised homeless sailor." I motion to his ridiculously poor taste in beach wear.

Mom chimes in. "I said the same thing. I mean really Marshal, I'm getting dizzy just looking at you."

My mother and I start laughing. Dad pretends to be bothered by our comments. Reality is, he's just pleased to relieve the tension between Mom and me. Even if it had to be done at his expense.

I lay under the umbrella in the clothing I wore on the drive. The gentle breeze and the sound of the ocean slowly begins to lull me to sleep. I don't bother to unpack my car, instead, I succumb to the peacefulness of my surroundings and journey off to dreamland.

Chapter Thirty-Four

A Mother's Love

"Mommy you're a sleepyhead." Max's voice interrupts my slumber. Half asleep, it takes a full minute for my mind to register that I'm on the beach. I reach for Max and pull him to my lap.

"Sorry, baby. I didn't mean to sleep that long."

"It's okay." He shrugs, unfazed by my recent state of hibernation. "Gave me time to find you this." He shoves something in my face. Between the cobwebs stuffed in my brain from napping and the fact that the object is so close to my eyes, I can't seem to bring whatever it is into focus.

That is of course until it moves.

Jumping to my feet I let out a scream. "Sweet baby Jesus, what the hell is that?"

"What does it look like?" My father asks, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

"It looks like the spawn of Satan, that's what it looks like" I step back again as the mystery creature wiggles between Max's fingers.

"It's a crab." My son deadpans, eyeing me as if I'm the one that's lost my mind.

Careful not to get too close, I lean forward to get a better look.

"That is NOT a crab!" I cautiously study it a moment longer. "Eew! Why is it green? And where is his other eye?"

"Dunno" Max responds with a shrug of his shoulders. Not bothered at all by the cyclops of sea scum in his hands. Dropping the questionable crustacean into the bucket with a little more oomph than even the one-eyed demon deserves he says,

"He's gonna be my pet."

"Oh, HEL—" Dad glares in my direction. "I mean heck... Heck no! That thing belongs at Ripley's Believe It or Not, not inside a family home."

"Charlie, it's fine." My mom interrupts. "But he has to stay on the porch."

"He can't stay in my room?" Max whines

"Absolutely not" I demand, not giving mom a chance to answer. "That thing might attack you in your sleep and steal your thoughts"

"You're silly, Mommy." Max yawns.

"Looks like it's time for a nap, bud." Dad calls out in our direction as he packs up the beach equipment.

"But I'm not."

Yawn

"Tired."

Yawn.

Leaving my parents to deal with Max's new friend, I chuckle and carry him up the steps and into the house. Washing him up quickly, I lay him down in his bed and pull the blanket over him, tucking him in tightly. Not tired, huh? I smile, as I glide my fingers across the soft blanket my brothers and I took turns carrying around with us when we were younger. It's pretty tattered and the images of multicolored anchors covering the soft material are fading but it still serves its purpose.

I watch as my sweet boy falls asleep in the room that once was my big brothers then kiss him on the forehead and make my way to my own room, sleepy and depressed.

Falling to my bed on a face plant, the pressure of the pillow against my eyes keeps me from crying. I do my best to slow my breathing. A light knocking rings in my ears and the door makes a small creaking sound as it opens.

"Honey?"

I don't move.

"Charlie, please look at me."

"I told you, I'm fine." My words are muffled when they come out. My face still very much lodged into the pillow.

"Jesus, Charlie, you promised. You told me we wouldn't do this again, you said you wouldn't keep things from me after everything that happened. Please just turn around and talk to me."

The desperation in my mother's voice only makes me feel worse. With a tear stained face, I pick up my head to look at her then bring myself to sit upright on the edge of the bed. Pulling me into her arms, my mother cradles me and hums a familiar tune from my childhood.

For a moment, I feel like a young girl again. Oh, how I long for the simplicity of my pigtails and ribbons. When the hardest part of life was falling off my bike and scraping my knees. My eyes water at the craving of sidewalk chalk and hopscotch, coloring books and nail polish. I listen to my mother's heartbeat, a rhythm just as familiar as the song she hums, and I lose myself in the memory of my innocence. For some time, we sit there motionless.

"Tell me, sweetheart. Just let it go." My mother's plea is my undoing.

Readying myself, I go into detail about everything that's happened over the past few months. Deklan is of course the focal point of my confessions when I tell her about my nightmares, about my run in with "Gypsy" and even about my recent return to karaoke.

I tell her about scrabble, the hideous cat named Hilary, and how I thought I interrupted him having sex. I confess that I was young when I met Johnny and although I remember the exciting feelings when we first began our relationship, when I think about it now, I'm not sure it was actually love I felt for him. Especially when I compare those feelings to what I feel for Deklan.

But more, I tell her about my heart, how it's broken and of my fear that it may never be whole again. We laugh together as I speak of the good times and cry when I talk about the intense pain of unrequited love.

"I just don't understand what I did wrong." I state, my head still resting on my mother's shoulder.

She keeps her hold around me, gently stroking the side of my arm with her hand.

"Charlie, you didn't do anything wrong. I think Deklan..."

"Not just with him, Mom. With my life. With everything. Growing up I did everything right, I did well in school, got a job, had good friends, avoided relationships so I could focus on a career and look where it got me." I exhale and continue.

"I have an ex-husband in jail, presumably plotting my death. There is a constant uneasy feeling they seems to churn regularly in the depths of my stomach and nothing I do seems to get rid of it. One day I'm happy, the next I'm anything but. Chaos flocks to me. Love avoids me. I must have done something because this can't be a normal way to live."

The weight of my words crashes into me, heavy and forceful. So much so, I have to lie back onto the bed for fear my head will roll clear off my shoulders. My mother plops herself beside me. We both stare ahead, looking straight at the ceiling. It's silent for a while, not necessarily expecting an answer but secretly hoping she has one. An anecdote for these seemingly resistant strains of distress and dejection.

"Oh, sweetie. Don't for one-minute think that anyone's life is easier than yours. Different, maybe, but not easier." Mom leans up on her elbows and looks down at me. My arm is draped over my eyes, a pretty crappy attempt at shutting myself out from the world and more importantly the hurtful truth of the words yet to come.

She lifts the arm until I'm exposed and vulnerable, feeling almost naked and hating that my emotions are on display.

"We all struggle with things, Charlie. Some of us worse than others. I do believe God gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers. It's a little cliché' but true nonetheless."

Using the sleeve of my shirt to wipe my face, I turn in her direction. "Well I'm not sure what I believe in anymore. I feel so lost. Forgive me a head of time 'cause this is gonna sound kinda crazy, but as bad as it was when I was with Johnny at least I knew my place. It was a despicable place, but I knew where I stood. And now? Now it's like I'm lost in the world's largest corn maze waiting for someone to douse it in gasoline, light a match and send it in flames. And you wanna know the worst part? I don't know if I'm just waiting for someone to strike the match or if I'm hoping for it."

"How much more I can take mom? My plate is full. Shit, it's overflowing and half the garbage on it doesn't even look appealing. But somehow it ended up being my plate and now I'm responsible for clearing it. And I'm full mom, so fucking full, like elastic waist sweatpants that taper at the ankles full, I can't take another bite."

Mom chuckles lightly at my analogy trying hard not to scowl at my choice of words. Reaching for my hand, she strokes it gently between hers.

"Charlie, I know you think I'm naive when it comes to certain things in life and sometimes maybe I am but when your brother was killed, my entire life flipped upside down. I know sadness, baby girl. Me and desolation? Yea we were best friends for a while after that. I wanted to die Charlie. And if I'm being honest some days I still do."

I look up at my mother, the woman whose fingertips hold the power to cure my aches and pains and do nothing but stare at her in astonishment, floored at the revelation that she's in fact human and feels things too. No! Not my Mom! She's stronger than me.

"Relax, love. I'm not going anywhere. It's just a feeling, one that I have to deal with and one that likely will never go away. But when I look at you and Nick, your Dad and Max, I am constantly reminded that even though such horrible things have happened, there is still so much good in my life. Christopher's death took a part of me that will never be replaced but as time goes by, more of the good stuff eases the pain that comes from missing him. And believe me, I miss that boy something fierce." Moisture fills the rims of her eyelids and she turns her head slightly to pull herself together, staring off into the distance and speaks.

"Nothing is easy, Charlotte Rose. It's not meant to be. Those people that give off the facade that things are perfect are usually the ones hiding the most grief and misery. The grass isn't always greener sweet girl, so don't you ever, ever wish you were anyone but you."

She lifts herself from the bed, makes her way to the door and opens it slightly.

"No one wants relationship advice from their mother. Hell, I know I never did." She steps one leg into the hallway, her fingers clamped around the edge of the door. "But I saw the way that man looked at you, Charlotte, the way he took care of you. If those weren't the eyes of a man in love, then love would simply not exist. I think you need to stop being so goddamn stubborn for once and hear him out. Your heart will never heal unless you do."

With that, she shuts the door behind her, leaving me to my thoughts. After a few more minutes of wallowing and heavy thinking, I clean my face and head downstairs, having already convinced myself that I'll call Deklan in the morning.

✽✽✽

After dinner we make our way to the living room. Mom and Dad cozy up on the couch while Max and I snuggle into a makeshift bed on the floor. Of course, Bailey insists on laying at our feet.

With a bowl of popcorn shuffling back and forth between us, we sit together as a family and start the movie. My fingers twirl in Max's hair as he yawns and cuddles closer to my side. "I love you, baby boy." I tell him with my lips pressed against the crown of his head.

The movie ends and the credits role. Dad lifts Max from my chest and carries him up the stairs to his room. I kiss my mom goodnight and head to my own room, exhausted from the flip flop of emotions I'm experiencing on a minute to minute basis. I stop to check on Max and place a gentle kiss onto his forehead then look up at the familiar surroundings.

"'Night, Big Bro. I miss the hell out of you." It's a whisper into the air before turning off the lamp on the end table, watching as the moonlight illuminates Max's innocence.

My feet pad along the hardwood, down to my room, the locket around my neck grasped tight in my hand. Seconds after hitting the pillow I'm out like a light, my necklace still entwined around my fingers.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The Fear Within

Peaceful in my bed, comforted by the warmth of my blankets, my house is quiet, only the occasional sound of a settling floorboard to be heard. I turn to my side. Then to my back. I can't ever seem to get comfortable anymore. Maybe it's the mattress? In a half groggy state, I note to consider buying a new one the following day.

Finally, I flip to my stomach and gather an extra pillow into my arms. Minutes later my eyes close. Off to dreamland I go. For a few hours, my body is relaxed and for the first time in a long time, I'm content.

✽✽✽

An unfamiliar noise startles me, sending that feeling of peace from earlier to dissipate into the air. It's cold. So cold I can see my breath.

Then the noise again. Not loud but not quiet either. Trust me, I know them all. Each sound, each creak, each squeak. I know which branches hit the house when the wind blows and that every night around 2:00am, the wooden planks of the floorboards settle. And how at 4:00am the early morning has the fallen leaves scratching across my porch.

"Max?" I call out concerned. He doesn't respond.

The house is quiet once again and I do my best to shake off the uneasy feeling. This time I force my eyes shut, convince myself my imagination is running wild, as it has so many times before. My body begins to relax.

CRASH! The noise returns. I jump and sit upright.

The house is mostly dark. The tiniest bit of light streams from a hallway lamp. I stare at the door frame and listen once more.

Nothing.

Nothing except the blood pulsing in my ears that is.

Ba-dump

Ba-dump

Ba-dump

Bravely, I scamper to my feet, in a hurry to check on Max. I run up the stairs and find him sleeping peacefully.

Instantly, I breathe a sigh of relief.

I flick on another light, this one bright, illuminating a good portion of the house and take a quick look around. Nothing looks out of place. I check the windows then the doors. All locked. Movement from my left stills my heart. I turn my head slowly, ready to come face to face with the unwelcome intruder, exhaling in relief when I realize it was nothing more than a shadow of a stray cat outside on the lawn. Stupid freakin' cats!

"Get yourself together, Charlie!" I whisper-shout to myself and make my way back to my room.

For the second time tonight, I toss and turn, on a mission to find comfort and security. Who knows how long it takes? But I finally manage to doze off.

The noise returns. This time I can't lift my head or gasp in surprise. The all too familiar feeling of pressure around my neck restricts such movement.

It's him.

He's here.

The grip grows tighter, his hands shake with fury, clenched with ruthless force around my throat. He squeezes so that his fingers intertwine with each other in the front of my neck, crushing my windpipe. My breaths—what's left of them—come out in short wheezes.

Ceremonially, he lifts my nightdress, exposing me from the waist down then grunts something inaudible, dirty, and appallingly wicked. The sudden cool breeze against my legs taunts me. The pressure of his manhood against my backside tells me he's in the mood to reminisce.

Johnny's come to take a sadistic walk down memory lane. Or as I like to call it, a stroll down my own personal nightmare on Elm Street. There's a bell that sounds in the distance. Maybe not a bell—a gong. Whatever the sound, it echoes and vibrates and protrudes a sound of foreshadowing horror. I hear laughter too. Not the happy kind but more of a creepy clown cackle. It's a fit of maniacal hysterics. A show of pure psychosis. A warning that the end is vastly approaching. Death is knocking at my door, waiting to gain entry.

He leans forward and whispers into my ear. The words slathered in a crazed kind of rasp, drenched in deceitful slime. I can't quite make out what he's saying but the goose flesh on my skin tells me it wreaks of revenge and satanical promises. I try to listen, but my vision becomes blurry, restricting the use of the rest of my senses. Sounds travel miles from my ears as my eyes roll into the back of my head and the sensation of finality clouds my senses.

Then with one final squeeze, he takes the very last thing that belongs to me....

My life.

✽✽✽

Frantic, I gasp and sit upright, panting like a dehydrated dog. That nightmare being the most realistic to date. My eyes are still closed as cold sweat drips from the nape of my neck, and my face is wet from tears I didn't know I cried. Another quiet sob leaves my throat.

This is never going to end.

A lifetime of danger sits tall in the distance and my train is barreling right into it, letting me off in the center of Devastation, USA. The tortured sounds that escape me are muffled by warmth and safety. My body relaxes instantly at the welcomed comfort. It's still a dream for sure and for that I don't want to wake.

"Shhh, Dove. It's okay. Breathe, baby. I've got you."

"Deklan?"

"Yea, angel. It's me, it was just a dream, Charlie. I promise, it was just a dream." He rocks me in his arms, repeating the words over and over as if he's trying to convince himself as well.

I push away from his body and allow my eyes to focus on his face. It's Deklan for sure, but he looks terrible. His skin is pale and dark circles house themselves beneath his eyes as if he hasn't slept.

"I don't understand. When did you? How did you?" I rub my eyes with the heel of my hands.

Deklan twirls his favorite uncooperative curl around his finger. "I talked to Pete. He told me where you were. Then I called your mom and asked her if I could come and see you. I left her about five messages before she finally decided to answer my call. She gave me hell by the way, called me a bunch of names. Eventually though, after some persistent begging, she agreed and gave me the address."

I smile at the thought of my petite little mother going toe to toe with Adonis himself then look into Deklan's tired eyes.

"I'm sorry." We both say in unison. I start to plead my case but his finger at the front of my lips stops me.

"Charlie, please, you have to listen when I tell you, you did nothing wrong. There was just a lot on my mind, some things I needed to straighten out. I promise I'll explain it all to you soon but right now I just want try my best to get you to forgive me and get back to what we had." He smiles at me devilishly; the look sends my lady parts into a desperate frenzy.

"And if I'm being totally honest..." The playful yank at the wayward curl has me paying extra attention. "I'd really like to get back to where we left off the other night." He wags his eyebrows flirtatiously, crumbling my resolve and turning my cheeks a flaming pink color while I crack a sheepish smile.

So many questions run through my brain and all of them will need to be addressed at some point. Just not now. Now is for other things. Now is for us.

Instead of delving into some emotionally charged tirade, I lunge forward and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him into me in hopes that somehow his heart will beat for my own struggling one. I kiss his forehead then his cheeks, his nose then finally his mouth. With his eyes shut tight, he expels the purest sigh of relief.

"Did you mean it?" He asks, using his thumb to rub gentle circles at the furthest corner of my lip as the rest of his fingers settle against my jaw. I can't help but close my own eyes at the sensation.

"Mean what?" I ask on a strangled whisper, nuzzling myself further into his touch and seeking more contact.

"When you said you loved me?"

My eyes widen as his jaw ticks from anticipation as if anxious for an answer. An answer that I suddenly find myself ready to give him.

"I think you should know by now that I never really say anything I don't actually mean."

"Isn't that's the fucking truth?" He pauses and pulls my face forward until it's inches from his, then speaks in that husky tone that drives me wild. "Say it again."

Three words. That's all. Only three.

Words that I'd sworn off forever, now rest at the tip of my tongue. Each word; one syllable. In theory, they're all incredibly easy to pronounce but quite possibly the hardest ones to say.

Those three little words. Seven simple letters and seemingly and infinite number of possible scenarios where they may or may not be reciprocated.

I inhale and exhale slowly, pull him closer and place my hands on the side of his face, making sure my eyes are directly level with his.

"I love you." I say with shaky breath. "I do, Deklan. I love you so much. I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with and I'm still trying to figure out who I am, what I stand for. But I've tried so hard to push these feelings I have for you away and they only seem to come back stronger than before. I have a lot of faults and at times a terrible self-image. I don't feel that I deserve you or your love. I mess up a lot—like a lot. Push people to their limits to test their loyalty, sometimes even pick fights just to get even the smallest taste of passion. I've spent so many years feeling unwanted that I don't really know the love of a man. And as the days go on, it becomes clearer that I never have. I'm competitive and I'm stubborn. And I'm not quite whole. I don't know if I have anything to offer, or if you even feel the same way but I want nothing more than to be yours if you'll have me. I may not have much to give but believe me when I tell you, I love you Deklan, and it's with everything I have left."

Instinctively, I bow my head to avoid his unreadable gaze. No longer ashamed, as I've said what I needed to say. Regardless though, it's hard to feel relieved when staring into the face of possible rejection.

With my head down, my body begins to shift so that I can stand from the bed. Time to gather my bearings and remind myself to keep my head held high. Just as quickly as my bare feet hit the plush carpet surrounding my bed, I'm yanked back down to the mattress.

That's when Deklan crashes his mouth into mine and time seems to stand still as the passion behind his kiss warms both of our bodies. Our tongues lap against one another in a show of famine. Desperation stealing my ability to breathe freely.

Moving his hands to my waist, he flings my body up and over as if I weigh nothing at all, positioning my bottom to sit right on top of his growing length. Fast to have my mouth back on his, he lowers himself to the pillows and pulls me into his arms. There are nibbles and licks, absolute delirium and an appetite for carnality that I've never known.

And for the first time, I know he feels the same way. He hasn't said anything back, hasn't declared his love with words, but he doesn't have to. I have been and always will be a firm believer in the idea that actions will always speak louder. And these actions, the grinding of his hips, the soft drags of his hands along the length of my thighs, they are speaking volumes.

I straddle his hips, my legs stretching wide around his lean waist. With one hand caressing my jawline, he uses the other to force my T-shirt to rise at the hem. The touch on my bare skin sends that familiar zing vibrating through my body. He smiles against my mouth, proving that he's felt it all along too.

"It's your last chance, Dove." He looks up at me with lust filled eyes, a fistful of my shirt in his hands, gripping the material so tight he may rip it clear off my body. The thought of him taking me like the untamed animal that sits just beyond his gentle expression has something wild igniting from within.

"Tell me, Charlie. Tell me you want this as badly as I do." He pushes his hips upward, hitting the sweet spot between my legs. "Because when I start Dove, when I do what I've been wanting to do to you for a while now, there's no way in hell I'm gonna be able to stop." He breathes through his nose heavily, taking a little more than a playful bite from my shoulder before kissing me passionately once more. We're both totally unhinged when he breaks apart.

"And for fuck's sake, do it soon because I can't hold back much longer."

God, I don't want him to hold back at all. With that realization, I cross my arms in front of me and pull my nightshirt up and over my head. The cool satin of the material slips completely off my body before it gets tossed into the furthest corner of my room. This time I don't let myself recoil as he stares at me. Breasts bare and throbbing with need, lips parted and legs wide, silently begging for his attention. Under his eyes, his devotion and his care—I, Charlotte Rose Cole am the most beautiful woman in the world.

I've presented myself to him and by the feel of his erection beneath me I'd say he approves. He traces a finger along the scar on my stomach as he stares into my eyes. With tender care he leans forward then places soft kisses along the damaged skin.

"Take it away." A tear falls. My voice cracks. "Please, Deklan, just take it all away."

The words are barely out before he's tackling my mouth, rolling us over and hovering above.

There's so much emotion packed into this moment it's surreal. I don't speak as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties, carefully pulling them down and tossing them into the opposite corner of the room. Now, lying in front of him, completely naked and exposed there's a sudden rush of insecurity that brings my hands up in an attempt to cover my body.

"Don't you fucking dare!" The words come in a pungent snarl of want and need, sending all sorts of tingly feelings to all sorts of sensitive places. He takes my hands and holds them above my head. Firmly but not painfully, he grips my wrists and bends forward to place a loving kiss to my forehead, one to the crease between my brow, ending with an endearing peck to the tip of my nose. Then as if running out of gentility, he torturously makes his way to my neck, his stubble scratching in its wake, abrasive and frantic.

"You—Charlie, are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, don't ever hide yourself from me. I need to see you. All of you."

Breaking our kiss, he unbuttons his jeans, then lifts his shirt over his head. Slack jawed and suddenly powerless, the sight of him has me dumbfounded. Sure, mind-fucking this man has been a new hobby of mine for the past few months. More often than not, I've pictured every inch of his body, the valleys of muscle, the way they dip and curve to create each heavenly portion, but I never imagined this.

Words attempt a retreat, but my voice box appears broken. Perfection, Deklan O'Malley was meticulously created and finely crafted. The epitome of masculine beauty. So blindingly handsome, it almost hurts to look at him.

When he grips his erection in his hand and strokes slowly, my eyes pop open wide, no longer secure in their sockets. In fact, one may have fallen out completely. I also might be drooling. No, wait...I am drooling. Salivating more like it. Pavlov's dogs got nothin' on me. I open my mouth to speak then shut it. Then repeat the process until I manage to get the words out.

"I don't think that's going to fit."

A throaty chuckle swirls into the thick salacious air, some promises of indescribable passion float by as well and it's all more than I can handle until Deklan guides himself between my legs. The swollen head of his manhood positioned just outside my entrance.

"Don't worry, Dove. I've got a good feeling you were made for me."

"Deklan?" I pant.

"Yea, baby?" He pushes in further and my body tenses at the invasion.

"I don't really know what I'm doing here, I've only been with one other person and we know how that turned out, just go easy with me please. I'm a little nervous."

Before entering completely, he leans forward, transferring most of his weight to each elbow beside my head, placing soft kisses to the corners of my mouth. The endearment is so loving and delicate, soaked in assurances of protection and trust that it makes me feel as if I'm floating.

Deklan nibbles gently on my lower lip then makes sure to look me directly into my eyes before speaking. "I won't ever hurt you, Dove. And I will gladly kill anyone else if they even try. I need you to trust me, okay? Let me make you feel the way you should've felt so long ago. Let me show you how your body is made for me. Let me erase all the bad until you can't remember anything but the good. I'm gonna take you to the moon baby, and I'm gonna do it now."

With one long stroke, he's filling me completely, the invasion so severe at first that I wince as his size alone stretches the sensitive barrier.

"Relax, baby." He brings a hand to the side of my face, struggling to maintain control. "Take a deep breath, I've got you."

I nod and comply to his tender request. Almost immediately after the tension is gone, the most pleasurable sensation rattles the deepest part of my core. Slowly and gently he thrusts into me, wrapping my legs tightly around his waist, hitting a spot inside I didn't know existed.

It doesn't take long for him to pick up pace. Careful not to break our connection, he flips us around until I'm sitting across his lap. He's inside so deep, the sounds he's pulling from my lungs have quickly turned primal.

Crying out in ecstasy, using words that don't exist, he smiles with his mouth on mine and it's clear that a great deal of his pleasure comes from watching me fall to pieces. Deklan swallows each moan and devours each breathy sigh of delirium.

What I'm feeling is cosmic. Heavenly in nature and ambrosial in spirit. The sheer size of him hits uncharted territory. My legs shake. This has never happened before.

When his thumb hits my center and circles at my most sensitive area, I travel to another world. The roughened feel of his skin against the bundle of nerves has me muttering another slew of made up words and unrecognizable phrases.

This strange sensation builds in my belly as the pressure in between my legs begs and pleads for release.

"Deklan?" I look to him for guidance, needing to know that this is normal. That whatever is threatening to be unconstrained can do so, because Mother of God, I desperately need it!

With eyes full of desire and hunger, he seems to understand what I'm experiencing, more than I do myself. I want to scream at him when he picks up rhythm with a smile on his face, tell him I can't take anymore. When the fog rolls into the corners of my line of sight, I know I'm going to pass out. At the same moment, Deklan angles himself just so, hitting one spot that has parts of me leaking and every extremity quaking violently. "Dekkkklannn, I can't...Oh god..."

"It's okay, Charlie. You're almost there, baby, come on" He thrusts harder. Faster. His fingers bite into my skin as he pumps himself fervently into my center like an animal just released from captivity. "Let it go, I told you I've got you, give it to me Dove, let me feel it."

The words leaving his mouth, the sensation of him inside my body, it sends me thrashing above him like a wild banshee.

"Oh my God!" I scream, no longer having control. I am Dorothy in a sexy remake of the Wizard of Oz. My ruby red slippers clicking away as my limbs convulse. Glinda the good witch floats by gracefully with a knowing smile. Munchkins with giant lollipops tap dance on the yellow bricks and I see Auntie Em in the distance, Toto running playfully in the fields. The feeling is psychedelic as if I'm tripping on the strongest acid in the middle of Woodstock. Holy shit! I might actually stop breathing.

"Now, Charlie!" Deklan demands and my body quivers at the command, triggering his own breathing to come out faster as he thrusts in and out harder. Barely back to reality, the sensation returns. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, gripping onto him so tight until my fingernails break skin.

"Deklan, I might die if that happens to me again."

"I got you, Dove. Give it to me. Every drop. Everything you have. It's mine, you hear me? Mine." Vicious and sensual, he takes on a new angle and changes the rhythm of each lunge into my core, connecting with my most profound areas, pounding into me with abandon. A reckless man searching for his own release, sending me to paradise.

I have been in existence for a bit over a quarter of a century and until now did not know such places existed. I gasp, moan. At some point I think I may have started speaking Russian.

"Baby, I'm almost there." It's a hungry grumble, a salacious growl.

Wanting to give him every ounce of pleasure in return, I clench myself around his shaft.

"Charlie." He says my name in a struggled warning and the experience is even more pleasurable, knowing I'm able to affect him this way. Me the socially inept, sometimes introvert, with unruly blonde curls and brown eyes that take up much of my face. I'm doing this to him?

A feral sound comes from deep in his throat and it gives me the added confidence I need to take him over the edge. Not sure what comes over me, but I find myself dragging my teeth along his sweat stricken skin, gently biting the top of his shoulder. His hold tightens as his fingertips grip the flesh of my ass and thighs, marking me making me his.

Leaning forward, I lick my way to his ear then give him a taste of his own sensual medicine.

"Now, Deklan!"

The loss of control is an amazingly primal modulation, a bestial roar. It's the sound of a victorious warrior in the most dangerous of battles. I lose it all over again when his body shutters and I feel the warmth of his seed as he spills himself inside of me. When the last spurt of release hits my channel, his body twitches, tenses, then eventually goes lax. We hold each other close, both unwilling to break our unity. Flesh stuck to flesh. Body to Body. Heart to thumping heart.

When it seems we've both returned to the here and now, Deklan kisses my forehead then carefully pulls himself from me. With delicate care, he picks me up into his arms and very affectionately lays me down on the bed. Crawling up behind me, wrapping his arms securely around my middle, he places chaste, satiated kisses along my back and neck.

"That was..." I start, not getting the chance to finish.

"The best thing that ever happened to me."

"For me? Maybe. But I'm sure you've had your fair share of great sex Deklan, you don't need to butter me up, it won't change how I feel about you." I kiss the bicep that hangs across my body and wiggle myself further into his embrace.

His lips settle into the spot between my shoulder blades, dragging his five o'clock shadow along the top of my spine. "I may have had great sex, Charlie." He tells me, lips so close to my skin his words are stifled. "I'm thirty-five years old, it would be kinda sad if I didn't, but I've never made love before. I've never wanted to completely ravage someone the way I do you. Connecting the way we just did was amazing, but doesn't seem like enough. This isn't a casual fuck. This goes beyond that and I think you know it. What we have Charlie, it almost can't be explained..."

Content, I smile into his arms not expected what comes from his mouth next, "I guess what I'm saying is that I love you, Charlotte Rose Cole, everything about you. You asked me not to break you but what you don't know is that you're the one with the power. You've had my heart all along, Dove, you just didn't know it. So, I'm asking you now...will you hold it for me and keep it safe? Because it doesn't belong anywhere else, only with you." Deklan uses his hand to brush away sweat plastered hair along the side of my face.

Spinning in his arms, eyes glazed and pulse pounding, I look at this man and tighten my hold around his neck, pushing back just enough to speak.

"I'll hold your heart Deklan, for as long as you hold mine."

"Forever, Dove." The soft whisper of those two words, breezes against my skin raising goosebumps to the surface. Though it all seems soon, it also feels right, which is why my limbs become mush and I start to doze as the only man that's ever truly loved me, declares his feelings. And I let him because I will never again know a lullaby so sweet...

"I love how you don't notice the way people look at you." A finger skids softly up the middle of my back.

"I love what an amazing mother you are and how you sometimes laugh at the dumbest shit when you think no one is looking." Lips press at the sensitive spot right below my ear.

"I love how much you care about people. And how you secretly wish the world was a better place. I love how strong you are, and how far you've come in the past few months. Most of all, I love that crazy mouth of yours and how it never ever seems to shut the fuck up when it should." His touch tickles along my sides as he continues with his proclamation.

With eyes glowing in endearment, happy tears spill down my face all while my heart patches itself together after years of being shattered.

"I've loved you for a long time Dove, maybe from the moment I met you. I've never felt this way about anyone before and —fuck, it scares the shit out of me."

Laughing at his admission, I burrow myself into his arms and yawn. "Tell me about it."

Deklan pulls me in until I'm tucked perfectly under his chin.

"Shh... just sleep baby, I'll wake you up in a little while."

I hum incoherent words and feel his chest rise and fall with silent laughter. It doesn't take long for me to fall into a satiated dreamland and this time Johnny is nowhere to be found.

✽✽✽

Later, my eyes flutter open as the warmth of Deklan's kisses trail against my bare skin.

The contentment in my heart makes me feel like this is a schoolgirl crush but the throbbing between my legs lets me know this is as grown up as it gets.

"You snore." He breaks the silence while he uses his hands to rub my body.

"You smell." I whisper back, playing out our conversation from the first night he stayed with me at the hospital.

He brings his hand down to my stomach and once again starts to caress the imperfection. I do the same to the war wounds on his arms and chest. After a while, his entire body tenses, his need to know what happened sitting thick within the strained tendons of his forearms. This time I'm ready to tell him everything, owing it to him but more importantly to myself to lay it all out there, unwilling to build a new relationship on the horrors of my past.

"Max was three weeks old when it happened, cutest baby ever, but my God was he fussy." I smile at the image of my infant son while Deklan swallows hard, every muscle clenching with anger.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about it."

"No, Charlie please tell me, I want to know, tell me so I can take the pain away." The sadness that sits behind his eyes is gut wrenching. "Don't hide anything, I don't want you to try and protect me, that's my job." He says quietly into my hair.

"Will you hold me?" I ask.

He rocks me softly in his arms, curling my body into his protective embrace before whispering.

"I already told you, I'd hold you forever if you let me..."

Chapter Thirty-Six

THE GANG'S ALL HERE

Deklan flies to his feet when I'm finished with my confessions, pacing the room with darting eyes and clenched fists. Like a bull seeing red, he's primed and ready to release inhumane like torture on the matador that is Johnny.

"I'll kill him," he grunts.

The muscles of his back flex with rage and promises of vengeance.

I rub his shoulders to pacify the fury until I hear the front door of the house open. From the bed, I scurry around in haste trying to locate my clothes as Deklan's lips curl into a devilishly handsome smile amused with the panic in my expression. "Relax Dove, they were at the beach this whole time. Your mom packed breakfast and lunch for everyone so that we could have some time alone. Did you really think I would've defiled you with your dad down the hall cursing at the morning crossword?"

My body instantly relaxes, feeling like I've aged ten years in less than five minutes. "Yea, he gets a little competitive sometimes, he's weird like that."

Deklan cocks his eyebrow at me, refraining from telling the tale of the apple that falls from the tree. Something he said though, niggles at my brain. "Wait, when you said everyone, who are you talking about exactly?"

"Well..." He brings an arm up, scratching the back of his neck. "Lake and Labs took the drive with me."

The revelation has my mouth falling open. "You brought Labs to meet my parents and no one was there to supervise him?"

"Come on Charlie, he's not that bad. Besides, Lake is here."

"Exactly." Oh Lord, he doesn't even realize what a mess he's gotten us into. "Deklan, Lake already takes the cake for driving my mother insane with un-lady like comments and perverted innuendos. This isn't gonna go over well." Throwing on my bathing suit, I cover myself with Deklan's Marine T-shirt, noticing the glimmer of pride in his expression as he watches me pull the hem downward. "Hey, what am I gonna wear?" He asks, feigning frustration.

"Don't know." I shrug. "But I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty, you look way better without clothes on anyway." I lean forward and kiss his lips then make my way to the door.

"I love you too." The statement has me smiling.

"I didn't say anything"

He turns to face me, predatorily stalking in my direction, sending chills and thrills across every inch of my skin. I can't take my eyes off that dimple on his face. The same one that forms every time he gives me that lopsided smile. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his bared chest.

"You didn't have to, I know you were thinking it." He places a lingering kiss on my mouth then gently nibbles on my bottom lip.

Regretfully. I push away, leaving a quick peck on his cheek.

"Well you're right, but I gotta go before my mother calls in the local priest and the entire clergy to save the souls of our two friends. Meet me downstairs in a few."

Sprinting down the newly stained hardwood floors, practically floating down the spiral staircase two steps at a time, I jog into the kitchen and slam directly into my father. The tray of fruit in his hands goes everywhere as it crashes to the floor with a loud clink.

"Sorry, Dad." Bending over and chasing the fallen red grapes as they roll vigorously along the kitchen floor is not one of my proudest moments. "Come here you little round bastards." I grunt at the runaway fruit.

"Yea, they probably won't listen, they looked like social deviants the minute I plucked them from the vine." Dad barks impassively. "Is the house on fire? What the hell are you running around like a blind ostrich for?"

"I just found out that Lake is here and so is Deklan's friend Labs...uhh, I mean Kai. And believe me when I tell you Dad, neither of them should be with Mom unsupervised. She'll start spraying them with holy water and attempt an oceanic exorcism if I don't get to them soon. Sorry 'bout the mess but I gotta go."

Breezing past him, I slide open the door to the balcony and skip down the steps at a rapid pace. From a distance, I can see Max on Lake's lap. Unaware that she's being watched, one after another, she pops forbidden treats into my son's mouth, attempting to be sneaky so my mother won't see. Not that she would've noticed, as she seems completely enamored by the conversation she's having with Labs.

My bare feet sink into the soft white sand with each step, slowing my pace just enough that my toes indulge in the silky-smooth texture. Finally, I make it to the group, hands on my knees, gasping and heaving for air. Note to self: Add more cardio to daily routine.

Lake has a devious smile on her face as she motions to my recently borrowed shirt. Labs notices the attire too, acknowledging his suspicions with an eye roll while my mother wears a knowing grin of her own, one that I can't help returning. Then there's Max, who almost doesn't look my way for fear that I'll catch a glimpse at the mouthful of chocolate candy he has nestled in the pockets of his mouth.

"You!" I point to Lake. "Do I have to put a sign on him that says, PLEASE DON'T FEED THE ANIMALS?" I reach behind her and snatch the bag of candy from her hand then focus my attention on my offspring who swallows the last few bites of contraband before turning to me with a wide smile, oblivious to the evidence of his delinquency smeared all over his face.

"...and you mister..." I pull my son into my arms. "You know better than to let Auntie Lake corrupt you, it's not even lunch time yet."

Max wraps his arms around my neck tightly before planting a chocolate covered kiss on my cheek.

"Sorry." He says halfheartedly because we both know if the opportunity presents itself again, he won't think twice about giving into the chocolate temptation. "Look, Mommy! We're wearing the same shirt."

"And it looks pretty good on her too." The familiar voice makes my skin tingle.

Deklan casually walks in our direction, stopping to place a kiss at my temple. As always, my eyes close on their own as I lean into him, craving his affection. But more than that, he looks absolutely divine. Spectators be damned, this man is mine and I'll gawk as I please.

His presence alone screams bad boy along with a list of infernal skills that I am now personally aware of. The perfectly tanned skin that covers his solid frame glistens in the late morning sun. Once more, libidinous thoughts consume my mind. Need and want, they both intensify in seconds as I struggle to remind myself that this is not the time or the place for such insatiable behavior.

Deklan rubs the top of Max's head then brings a thumb to my face to erase the chocolate smear.

"Hey, Little Man."

"Big Guy!" Max leaps from my arms, his perfectly styled coif now a rumbled mess as he flies toward Deklan, entwining his little hands around his neck and burrowing his tiny face into the tilts of his brawny build.

Deklan nuzzles his nose into Max's hair and without thinking twice, places the same loving kiss to my son's head in a way he's done to me so many times before.

Everyone stares at the three of us in admiration as Max and I stand here, on the beach of this family home—happy, at peace for the first time in too many years to count. Everyone but Labs of course, he seems less than pleased. Ever the overgrown toddler, the Hawaiian mountain is currently using his time to make silent gagging motions while pretending to vomit as a response to our happy unit.

"I got excited for a minute, I thought you were really choking"

"Charlotte Rose!" My mother swats at the air, as if to smack the words from my mouth. "Kai is our guest and you need to mind your manners."

A cocky smile spreads from ear to ear on Labs' face as he winks, tipping himself back into his chair victoriously.

"You're kidding, right? Am I really being scolded because of a man that is nicknamed after a woman's vagina?"

"That's enough," Mom pipes in once more as she gestures over to Max who is still settled soundly in the eminence of Deklan's arms.

"But he's..."

"Charlie." My dad's voice rings firmly in my ears.

With my arms folded in front of myself, I huff a very frustrated, "fine."

Deklan moves in closer. Both he and Max amused by my little tantrum. Taking a small step forward he leans in to kiss my nose. "You really are cute when you pout."

I'll show him cute. Feeling rejuvenated, I pick up a pile of sand and give him my most devious look.

"You're smarter than that." Deklan states with a warning glare.

I smile wickedly in response. "Am I?

At barely noon, the sand is still damp from the morning condensation, perfect for creating the most phenomenal makeshift ball of dirt. Picking up on the threat, Deklan releases Max from his arms just in time for a glob of beach mud to hit him directly on the right side of his face.

"AH HA!" I lift my arms over my head in triumph and take my time celebrating the impeccable accuracy that was this direct hit with a dance that— to my dismay—looks a lot like the Hokey Pokey.

Apparently, I've taken too much time turning myself about because a ball of wet sand hits my face something fierce. Bad enough a chunk of it seeps directly into my open mouth. Gross.

The sounds of laughter coming from our spectators piss me off.

Whose side are they on anyway?

My drive for competition is set ablaze as my need to win this battle consumes me. I think up a plan. It's deceitful and dirty, but a plan, nonetheless.

Holding my hands over my recently muddied face, I let out a dramatic cry of pain. Falling to the ground, I begin to roll back and forth in exaggerated agony from this imaginary injury, listening as the laughter quickly subsides and trying my best to hide my excitement.

It's working!

"Shit! Charlie, are you okay? "

"She's fine!" Everyone but Labs—because he's yet to see the lengths I'd go for victory—answers in unison, including my own son.

Traitors! Their treasonous response to my supposed anguish only makes me cry out louder.

"My eye! Oh God, my eye!" I roll from side to side, covering my face with my hands. "Everything is black, I can't...I can't see!"

Peeking through the cracks of my fingers, Deklan's form charges in my direction.

"Don't do it, kid." My father attempts to reason with the man that holds my heart, no stranger to the lengths I'd go to claim victory.

Deklan toys with the idea of letting the scene play out, his eyes roaming from me to them in uncertainty. Eventually giving into my wretched roars of pain.

"It's just...I think she really might be hurt."

"She's not!" The group chimes in again.

My whole family has forsaken me!

"Ohhhhh the agony!" I whine dramatically.

Against the advice of my bloodline, Deklan barrels forward. For a second, I feel guilty, as I take in the sight of his panicked face. Only for a second though.

Granules of sand fly outward with each of his speedy steps as an older couple stops to hover just as he reaches my latent form, kneeling at my side.

I make a low groaning sound.

"Is she all right?" The gentleman asks in concern.

"I hope so." Worry drips from Deklan's voice. "Charlie, baby look at me. Are you okay?"

I groan once more.

"Shit! I'm so sorry, Dove."

There it is, an apology, which means one thing and one thing only ...

I WIN!

A prizewinning grin emerges as I uncover my mud slathered face from my hands while Deklan stares on in total confusion. The state of wonder only increases when I pop myself upright, peck his cheek with a quick kiss then push down on his shoulders with all my strength.

"You're forgiven." The godlike torso of the man I love falls backward until his back smacks the sand.

Long gone is the look of confusion, replaced with a playful look of revenge.

Still laid out in the sand—a heavenly sight—he swings his arm outward at my retreating body, reaching for my ankle. I jump just as his fingers graze my skin.

"You missed!" I tease and leap through the sand like a prancing reindeer, frolicking in my glory.

Our entire group is laughing, even Labs.

But it doesn't take long for our playful battle to resemble more of a sporting event than a friendly beach scuffle. Chants of encouragement for my opponent spring from the mouths of the people closest to me.

Stopping suddenly, Deklan's giant body blocks the sun and casts a shadow over where I stand. With just a few feet of beach between us, we face each other head to head. No other option but to try and get past him. One last desperate attempt for an escape proves futile and the idea of losing even a spirited game of cat and mouse tastes like vinegar in my mouth.

"Searching for your white flag, Dove?"

"HA! Don't you wish. You should know me better than that, besides rumor has it, you shoved it up your best friend's asshole!"

"You do know you have no chance, right?

"Show me what you got, MARINE!" I salute in his direction then wiggle my fingers toward myself in a way that says come and get me.

Smiling teasingly, Deklan lunges, barely missing as I scurry to the right and run as fast as possible to safety. It's to no avail. Quicker than expected, I'm swept off my feet and thrown over his shoulder, hanging over his back and in perfect view of his scrumptious bottom.

"Gee, if I knew I'd get a view like this, I would've given in long ago."

"No more talking for you." His large hand comes down to smack my rear.

I squeal from the sting and –weird enough—from the delight that seems to come from the contact. The sound of the ocean becomes stronger, telling me I'm only seconds away from being submerged in the bitterly cold Atlantic waves.

"NO! Deklan!"

He swings me around, cradles me into his arms and kisses me at the top of my head. "You don't play fair."

I smile up at him. "All's fair in love and war, Mr. O'Malley."

Shaking his head, he bends his knees until we're both completely submerged in the ocean water

When we come back up, I use my hands to wipe the wet strands of hair dripping over my face. He flips me around with ease, this time placing me in his arms so that I'm holding onto his neck with my legs hooked around his back.

Deklan waits while I push the few remaining strands from my eyes. Once my face is completely in view, his mouth is on me, savagely absorbing every ounce of love that seeps through my lips.

I feel him smile as he slows the kiss, eventually pulling back and studying my face. I reach down and cup him quickly with my hands. His eyes roll into his head as he lengthens in my hold. "Your whole family is watching, Dove. You sure that's a game you wanna play?" He says through gritted teeth.

"I don't know, maybe we should give them something to look at." I stroke him once more then remove my hand. I bring my arm out of the water and with it comes a handful of seaweed that I immediately place on top of Deklan's head until it's skirting across his face like an oceanic toupee.

"There, they can look at that." I giggle. "You look so pretty."

He grabs my wrist, preventing me from adding more briny gunk to the pile and smiles through the seaweed curtain before shaking his head vigorously, sending salt-soaked ocean weeds to splatter across my own face.

Effortlessly, I'm held by one arm while his other hand picks bits of seaweed from my hair. Looking me over from the top of my head to where my torso is submerged, his finger trails an invisible path to my mouth.

My smile is so big my face hurts "What?"

His breath tangles as he pulls me tight into his arms, inhaling deeply through his nose. "It's just...you're everything to me, Charlie....I love you so fucking much."

When my hand comes up to stroke the outline of his jaw, he sighs in contentment as I whisper the very words that I know in my heart, he's waiting to hear.

"I know you do Deklan. I know you do."

Chapter Thirty-Seven

All Good Things

The next few hours are spent at the beach with my family. Everyone's getting along well and the sounds of laughter coming from each of us is soothing to the ear. Max is in his glory. He and Deklan spend a good portion of the day building sandcastles, while Lake and Labs concoct their own creation close by; a giant pair of boobs. At first, Lake had my mother convinced the erotic sculpture was nothing more than a set of eyes. But as she caught on to the fit of laughter, she suddenly realized she was looking at a colossal set of sand tits.

Just after noon the clouds begin to create an overcast with the largest one looking like it's headed right in our direction. Dad suggests we head back to the house, a decision we unanimously agree upon.

Packing up our beach gear, we trudge through the sand and back up to the deck.

On the chaise lounge under the awning, the breeze chills my skin just enough to cause goose bumps to spring to the surface. I shiver and pull my legs closer to my body, my chin resting on my knees. Comfortable in my cozy position, I'm brought to a whole other level of serenity when a hefty set of arms come up from behind, tugging me back and then sideways until I'm nestled deep in the plains of the torso's owner.

Deklan rocks me gently in his hold, rubbing calming circles along the length of my back. With his chin resting on the crown of my head, my cheek pressed up against his sturdy chest, we both take several deep, relaxing and freakishly in tune breaths, happy to just exist within the embrace. It's only when a Frisbee briskly singes the tip of my nose that the peaceful silence is broken, bringing us right back to reality.

"Your friend is an idiot." I mumble against Deklan's collarbone before placing a kiss at the base of his neck.

He twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. "Indeed, he is."

Max's giggles are the only thing that prevent me from delivering the coup de grace to the man that instigated the annoyance.

"Time to eat." This announcement comes from my mother, who bursts through the sliding glass door like June Cleaver on speed. With her enthusiasm for company splayed across her face and trays of food in each hand, sometimes I wonder if she purposely cooks to feed the entire town, or—like me—she has trouble scaling down her recipes. Either way, it's a spread fit for a king and each one of us salivate in anticipation.

If it were possible to explode, I probably would have. It's no secret, if you walk into the beach house you must be prepared to waddle from the beach house.

Conceding to the feast, a grunt of discomfort leaves my mouth and catches the attention of the group.

"Sorry, I am just so full." I grumble dramatically. "Like seriously, I can really use a muumuu, some orthopedic shoes right now."

Deklan shakes his head and smiles as he and Lord of the Douche Farm continue to shovel food into their mouths. If eating were required to win a war, these Marines would conquer ferociously. Realizing that the rest of the group is watching in awe, Deklan slowly lowers his fork and decides on being more tactful. The other one—not so much.

Max comes up beside me and wraps his arms around my neck. "Mommy, my belly is really full, I think I need to lay on the couch."

"Okay, baby." I drop a kiss to his forehead. "I'll carry you up to your room in a little while."

"Can Deklan do it?"

"Oh, I don't know sweetie, you'll have to ask him?" We both gaze heavily in our favorite Marine's direction.

"You two are a little pathetic, you know that?" He reaches out to rub Max's head and smiles. "Yea kid, go lay down and I'll carry you up to your room when I'm done."

Max hugs me tight and heads toward the sliding door, not before squeezing Deklan into a death grip of gratitude. Deklan smiles and kisses the top of Max's head, once again showing no uncertainties about his feelings toward my son.

This must be a dream. How can I be so lucky? Someone fucking pinch me, please! Never mind don't. If you pinch me, you'll wake me. I don't want to wake up. Or, maybe I'm just dead. If heaven is like this, I'd be okay with dying.

The little food left over gets wrapped up and placed in the refrigerator, while the last of the dishes are dried and put away. With the back of my hand, I wipe away the sweat that beads across my hairline. A heartwarming chuckle comes from behind after several attempts to blow away the hair falling in my eyes.

Inhaling the masculine aroma of his presence, I close my eyes and find myself being spun around, my gaze level with the hypnotic rise and fall of his chest. Deklan's lips meet mine and the kiss is long and passionate just as much as it's sweet and tender.

"Let's get Max upstairs." He breathes out, the words choppy and struggled.

Though I understand the agony as I'm about to lose it right here and we haven't even touched private parts yet, a nod is all I can offer as once again he's sucked the words from my brain. I scurry around the kitchen like a chicken with its head cut off in a hurry to finish cleaning before I rip my clothes off and hump his leg in front of the crockpot.

"Okay, the kitchen is spotless." I say in haste. "Let's get this show on the road." Deklan lifts Max with ease and curls him into his chest.

Up the spiral staircase and onto the landing, we walk the length of the hallway in silence, careful not to wake the sleeping bundle. At the last door on the left, Deklan tips his chin in its direction. "This it?" He asks, I nod and push the bedroom door open.

With extra care, Max is placed on the top of his bed, as the worn and tattered blanket gets pulled up and over his small form.

We both turn to walk out of the room when something catches Deklan's attention, causing him to stop briefly. My eyes follow his as they land on the ornate black frame in the corner, the words CONGRATS GRAD etched along the bottom.

"That was the day Christopher graduated from the academy."

Absentmindedly, I reach forward and trace the handsome face of my big brother with a finger, wishing upon every star I've ever seen that I had him instead of only photographs and memories.

"It was one of the last pictures the three of us took together where we actually looked happy. After that he got a job a few towns over, we kept in touch, but he was so into being a police officer, then a detective and of course all his undercover nonsense that when he did stop by it was always really quick and brief. He never liked to mix business with family, so he didn't divulge much about work to us, but I could tell that whatever he had been involved in had been wearing on him. The last time I saw him he gave me this." I grip the pendant on my neck and hold it forward. "He died the next day."

The frame ended up in my hand somehow, forcing me to gaze down at the three smiles staring back at me; three siblings— one brother, one sister, and one angel.

"Anyway, what's done is done, right? It's not like he's coming back." Tears sting the corners of my eyes.

"I'm sure he's with you every day, Dove."

I huff in exasperation. "You know what's sad? He probably is with me more now than he was then."

It hadn't really hit me how mad I was at my brother for leaving me, for leaving us. For coming and going whenever he deemed fit. How dare he choose a life of mystery and danger over one of safety? Seriously, the nerve of him to knowingly put himself at risk.

Christopher knew something bad was going to happen, it took me a while to figure that out, but that day he came to me with the pendant, he knew. Yet, he still went anyway. Selfish bastard. I want to scream even if it's to nothing but an image of him printed on thick cut glossy paper, protected by glass and framed by wood. I don't though, for the sake of my sanity and Max's nap.

Somber and sentimental, my fingers link loosely onto Deklan's, "Let's go."

The sound of the lock clicking into place once we enter my room makes my pulse race while all clothing seems to disintegrate on its own, leaving us naked and panting. In one swift movement, Deklan glides himself into me, pumping his hips furiously. Raw and unabated, he owns me, and I meet him blow for blow as he sends me to ecstasy. We both succumb to the force of release and collapse, a tangled sweaty mess of noodle limbs and swirly brains onto the comfort of crisp, white, Egyptian cotton sheets.

"What are you doing to me, Dove?" Defeated, he pulls me until my body lies flush on top of his. Naked skin to naked skin, it's not the first time he's asked that question, it's just this time I actually have an answer.

With my lips over his heart, I kiss right where I feel it beat, then continue and do the same on the scars coating the upper part of his chest and move to the ones on his bicep. "I'm loving you." I tell him barely getting the words out before I'm fast asleep.

✽✽✽

The heat from Deklan's gloriously nude body, singes me in the most pleasurable way. How long have we been sleeping? Against my body's wishes to remain motionless, I lift my head to glance at the clock on the nightstand. Forty-five minutes doesn't seem nearly long enough to rest these excessively sexed bones.

One of my hands is trapped under my body, the other, I use to wipe the sleep from my eyes. When I do, the sheen glistening off a small puddle in the crease of Deklan's vascular forearm catches my attention.

In tune with the universes' ploy to make me feel perpetually awkward, Deklan begins to stir, his head lolling forward, his chin dipping in the pool of my sedation.

I wince when he opens one sleepy eye then smile because I don't know what else to do.

"Hi." I give him a thumbs-up.

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Inattentively, the heel of my palm smacks my forehead. Some women are notorious for their role in seduction. They possess a skill that has men lapping up scraps from the palms of their refined hands. Not your girl here though, nope, sexual couth falls far down on the list of my well mastered abilities.

It's the husky and sated laugh that comes from my counterpart that has me wallowing in my despicable quirkiness. Doing his best to hide his enthusiasm, his eyes spot the manmade pond left by yours truly, pulling the corners of his mouth downward in confusion. Or maybe disgust. I can't tell exactly because I'm looking at him with one eye closed. Removing the arm that was cozily splayed over the small of my back, he swipes away the moisture and eyes me carefully.

"Charlie?"

"Yea,I'm here."

"Did you drool on me?"

"It appears I did, yea."

"Christ, St. Bernard run in your gene pool?"

Glowing with embarrassment, I burrow myself into the blankets

"Charlie?" Deklan hovers, his prominent silhouette even more foreboding thanks to the shadow that stems from the streaming daylight. He wiggles his fingers over my sides, attempting to get a response. Briefly, I pull the blanket off my face. "Fuck you!" I laugh and cover up once more.

With one quick sweep of an arm, the covers are ripped off completely and I find myself strewn across his brawny form again. Holding on so tight, his skin seems to fuse with my own. Still, I refuse to look at him for the sole purpose of salvaging the last sprinkles of my dignity.

"Fuck you? That's what I get for sticking my face in an ocean of your spit? A fuck you?"

"Well if I recall correctly you stuck your face in a lot of other places a little while ago and didn't seem to have a problem with any of them. I'm already embarrassed enough, okay. Can you just leave it alone please?"

"Hey." Deklan nudges at my side. "Charlie, look at me"

With his fingers on the base of my chin, my eyes are guided gently upwards, stopping when they reach his beautiful face.

"Don't ever be embarrassed around me, okay? Even if it means you shower me with your saliva when you sleep."

"Shut up." The devilish grin has me poking hard at his chest.

"You know? You're not being very nice to me, which is a really bad decision on your part, considering I can pretty much do whatever I want with you now that you're mine and all."

"Yours?" I ask with a glare that can zap a hole through flesh. The idea of being owned or perceived to be an object that requires ownership sits like lead in my stomach. Even when he does his best to iron out the lines in my brow, nothing about that sentiment feels appealing.

Mischief clouds his expression, the more I grow frustrated the more he becomes amused.

"I truly adore you, Charlie. But yes, you are mine." He states lovingly and some of my anger dissipates into the sex-soaked air. With ninja like precision, I hardly feel the change in position when I'm flipped to my back and pinned beneath this glorious body. Deklan's tongue pokes out, hanging from that highly talented mouth like my own personal academy award, tricking me into thinking it's about to be used for pleasure.

Wrong.

His true intentions flicker behind his eyes in the fashion of a windblown candle wick.

"DON'T!" Instead of sounding stern, the demand falls out as a playful chortle. No match for his strength, I wrestle halfheartedly to break free of the possessive hold.

"Now, I shall speak the language of your people."

One long tongue lash slathers the side of my face. "I'm serious Deklan! Stop!" I try to push him off, a failed attempt.

"You like to drool on me?" He teases. "You wanna cover me in your spit? Well I'm gonna give you a taste of your own medicine."

There's slurping and licking, lashing and slapping all under the pretense of torture. Covering every inch of my body, skilled fingers tickle themselves into the soft mounds of my flesh. Laughter fills the room when I ultimately concede under what I believe to be extreme duress. "Fine, fine, I'm yours okay? Just let me go!"

The answer to my plea comes in the form of those hardened fingertips, tracing the length of my legs, twirling the circumference of my kneecaps and leisurely skirting from the inside of my thighs, straight to my desperate middle and grazing my mound teasingly before dipping a finger into my wetness.

"Goddamn." The word is spoken almost painfully. "You are so fucking ready for me. I want you to always be ready for me, Dove. I'm going to say it one more time, so it gets through that thick fucking skull of yours." Leaving me empty, he brings the offending fingers to his mouth, indulging on each sex-soaked digit as if it were the sweetest candy known to man. "...this is mine."

Once he's had his fix, he reconvenes by greedily probing my core, this time with unrestricted vengeance. The quick paced movement, the pain, the pleasure, it's all too much. Just too, too much. Taking, taking and taking until I have nothing left. No thoughts, no words, and no worries. I am unequivocally his and as he pumps his hand at my center with the speed of bullet, he knows it.

"So, tell me Dove, are you mine. Do you belong to me?"

"Yesss!" A snake-like hiss slips out through clenched teeth. Long, drawn out, and shaky.

At my admission, his mouth crashes into mine. Teeth clatter and tongues fight.

Desperation to become one unit, identified in the heady growls and insatiable moans. I bite back a pleasurable groan when I feel the tip of his erection enter, the intrusion is welcome as my legs spread wider to accommodate the painstakingly slow thrusts. On the verge of entering nirvana, at the brink of finding euphoria, he stills with a bite to my lower lip that stings something fierce.

"Good." He speaks into my mouth, eyeing me with the promise of total devastation. "Because I'm yours. Now, come."

The erotic demand sends my legs into a seizure like frenzy. Violently, my body shudders, inner walls clenching around his hulking shaft to the tune of my pulsing heart. Tension in the form of corded veins creeps up the length of his neck, the muscles in his forearms go rigid, stiff like thick tree trunks, solid like rock. He bites my bottom lip and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Fuck!" At that, he releases inside me, injecting me with warm spurts of his seed. Over and over the sensation wrecks us both until we are no more than a pile of useless flesh, incapable of voluntary movement.

Stuck in our bubble of bliss, we cling to each other in a way that borderlines on desperation. As if we both share the same thought at the same time, all good things must come to an end. The mutual notion has us holding on harder, latching on longer. The shared fear that the cosmos has more tricks up its sleeve remains unspoken, yet the weight of it lives vicariously through our despairing embrace.

"I'm awake!" Max's voice fills the room.

Oh, Universe! You're a tricky little bastard.

"Mommy, I said I'm awake!" The second declaration has me on a frantic scavenger hunt to find my clothing, knowing full well that the mind of a five-year-old works consecutively with the patience of an imp prone to ADHD.

"I heard you, baby. Mommy will be right there, okay? Just go downstairs and find Auntie Lake. I'll be down in a few minutes"

"Okay, Mom. Oh, and Big Guy, are you gonna be down soon too?"

"Yea bud, we'll meet you down there." Deklan speaks to the door, grinning like a fool.

Silent for a minute, finally Max's voice skirts through the doorframe, "Okay then, see you in a few."

I give Deklan a mortified look, does everyone know that he's in here with me? More importantly, what we've been doing? Deklan shrugs his shoulders not seeming to care. Typical man, I think. Suppose no shame comes with getting lucky.

I plop to the bed in exhaustion. Deklan smiles and comes forward to kiss the top of my head. Just like that, reality comes crashing down around us. He, on his phone checking the messages that I had hoped he would just ignore— and me, wondering how this new dynamic between Max, Deklan and I is going to pan out.

The aggravated grunts of annoyance snap me out of my excessive need to plan the future. Noting the fury in Deklan's eyes and the frenzy of his movements as he pulls his pants up with one hand, the button and zipper open and inviting, I know straight away that the mysterious message has changed our plans. Our blissful bubble just popped like an overblown balloon.

"Sorry, Dove, but I have to make a few calls, it's work. Go downstairs and I'll be there in a minute, yea?"

"Sure. Yea, okay. The cell service can be spotty here sometimes, so if you need a landline there's an office across the hall." I kiss his lips and head toward the door.

"Love you." He calls out, the declaration has me facing him at a sideways glance. "I mean it, Charlie."

I nod and smile, feeling nowhere near as jovial as I had been moments ago. "Love you too, Deklan, a little more every day." With that, I make my way down the hall and hope that this feeling of doom in my chest is a result of a few too many helpings of my mother's famous barbeque chicken and not what I fear to be warning of future devastation.

Splaying my fingers against the middle of the banister, I swing myself forward to face the stairs. Just as I did as a child, sans the greasy hands and snotty nose, I allow most of my weight to be carried by the arm secured around the wooden spindle.

Souped up on love and all things Deklan, I'm flying blind around the corner as the honest sting between my legs has me feeling used in all the right ways. Soaking up the positivity, letting go of the negative thoughts, the thump of my cheerful heart rocks out to the tune of pure excitement as my eyes close briefly, sending my senses into a frenzy.

All great sensations. All new and exciting and all...

"Labs?" No time to stop myself, I collide on a smack, landing chest to chest with Deklan's best friend.

"Oomph" May as well have run into a wall honestly. Surely it would have a better personality. The unexpected meet and greet briefly knocks the wind out of my body. Gathering my bearings, I clutch my chest to calm myself, eyeing him in a way that threatens his livelihood.

"Relax there, sweets. I don't wanna touch you any more than you wanna touch me, but I need to find Deklan." He states, out of breath.

"Well he's in the office down the hall, had to make a phone call or something. What could possibly be so important that has you running around MY house, knocking people over?"

"Are you saying it's my fault you almost sent me flying backwards down the staircase? Jesus, I don't know how he deals with you. You had your freakin' eyes closed! You know what? Never mind. Just point me in the right direction, I really need to talk to him about something."

All personal feelings towards the man aside, something doesn't feel right. An asshole? Maybe. But a liar he is not. On the contrary to most normal humans, Labs' wheels visibly turn on the outside rather than in, deftly trying to hide the truth behind this frantic behavior.

My voice softens with worry, the change seems to confuse him. "Is everything okay, Labs?"

"Um...Yea... Uh, I just need to ask him a question about my hemorrhoids, it must be the saltwater 'cause they are really screaming something major today."

Gagging at the image, I point him in the direction of the office.

"I really did not need to know that"

"Well you asked." He winks and jogs down the hall, leaving me with a visual that will haunt me until my dying day.

On the porch, everyone sits around the table enraptured by Max's attempt to show off his new "pet". Ocean demon! Mind-reading ocean demon! I think to myself, though I don't say it audibly.

Lake does her best to save face as Max answers her ridiculous questions about the seedy urchin...

No, he can't tell if it is a boy or a girl.

Yes, they usually are more reddish than greenish.

And no, they probably shouldn't smell so bad.

"Mommy doesn't like him, she said he's ugly and came from Lucifer's testicles."

My mother spits out her wine spritzer clear across the table as I bite back a laugh. At the same time my dad reaches up to smack the back of my head.

"Ow!" I rub the area and look at my son who has once again thrown me to the wolves.

"Dude, I'm your mom, stop selling me out." I tease.

Lake has tears in her eyes, her face red as a beet from holding back her laughter. "Yea well, Mommy doesn't know what true beauty is, I mean look at Deklan. What could she possibly see in that giant heap of a human?" She speaks into Max's ear.

"Ha! Ha!" I roll my eyes.

"What were you guys doing in your room anyway, Mom? I tried to open the door, but it was locked"

Oh God!

"They were playing Pictionary." Mom chimes in, panicked. Every one of us turns simultaneously, our eyes filled with questions.

Acknowledging us with a simple wave of a hand, her disapproving eyes beam into me like lasers on the verge of tearing through my skin. No doubt whatsoever, I will be getting a brand spanking new set of rosary beads when the day is over.

"More like DICK-tionary, right, Mrs. C?" Lake nudges my mother with a playful elbow.

"Ow!" Lake yells with her hand at the back of her head, rubbing up and down. Dad, always one for equality, gives my friend the infamous look, then settles back in his chair to sip from his snifter.

I'm startled when the legs of the chair tip backward and my head gets pressed into the center of Deklan's rigid abdomen. A moment passes where I do nothing but welcome the comfort. Finally, with hooded eyes, I look up at him as he gazes down at me. The kiss he places on my forehead foreshadows a conversation we'd both rather not participate in.

"Everything good?" I ask, hoping my intuition is off.

A tight-lipped smile is all he offers as he responds sympathetically. "Yea, baby, everything's good"

"Pinocchio!" Lake shouts from her seat at the table before I even have the chance to voice my own concern over his fibbing words.

"Come here." Deklan scowls at my friend then grabs my hand, pulling me to the balcony for privacy.

Reflections of glittering stars dance along the water's surface, resembling sugar plum fairies on Christmas Eve. The brisk summer air whirls between us like a whisper, while the clatter of waves hitting the rocks below sing sweet seaside lullabies along the shore.

Typically, a night like this would be perfect, though I have this feeling that whatever phone call he received is going to put a crack in our plans.

I toss my eyes to the sky full of diamonds. "What's going on Deklan? It's written all over your face that something's bothering you."

His exhale mingles with the saltwater air, it brushes across my body, a soft bristled paint brush, leaving delicate strokes of worry in its wake.

"I have to head out." My heart falls to my feet as he continues to speak quietly. "My plan was to stay and drive home with you, but some things came up with work and they need me there as soon as possible. Labs' is gonna drive back with me because the two of you would kill each other otherwise. Besides, I could use his help with a few things. Just pissed, I was really hoping to get a break for a few days."

For a while I don't say anything as I try to pull the mask of indifference over my real emotions, a terrible attempt. "I understand."

"Hey, look at me." With a hand to my jaw, his thumb landing right at the corner of my mouth, I stretch my neck back to see him in full view. "Forgive me?"

The way he asks the question throws me off guard, it feels heavier than it should, more serious than it needs to be. After all, it's not like he had a lot of time to plan his trip out here, it's reasonable to assume that work would conflict with our time together. Still, it seems like more. Convincing myself this is one of those times where I make a huge deal out of something menial, I shake off the unnecessary worry and stand on my tiptoes. Softly, I place my lips to the base of his chin then make my way up to his mouth, letting my hand skirt up the length of his forearm, over his bicep, then his shoulder before landing on the side of his face.

Deklan closes his eyes and leans into my touch. "It's okay, really. Things happen. And yes, please take that fool with you, or he's gonna find out real soon what it means to be sleeping with the fishes." I do my best to lighten the mood. "Be careful driving home, okay? Will you call me when you get back?"

He leans down to kiss me. A long, tongue plunging, breath stealing kiss.

"Ugh." Silence claws at us for a moment. "Just don't forget how I feel about you?"

Confused by the undertones of despair in his voice, I squeeze him so tight, my arms make indents in his normally impenetrable brawn.

"Why would I forget that, Deklan? You're kind of freaking me out. I'm gonna be home in like two days. Is there something you're not saying? You can tell me you know? Maybe I can help."

Deklan attempts a smile. "Really, this is not something you have to worry about. My job...remember? The only thing you should be worrying about is spending time with Max and your family. And you're right, it's only two days." His voice trails off, his mind lost in yet another heavy weighted thought, and his eyes tell me that everything is far from being okay. Still, I don't push him. Trust is something that takes work and if he believes the situation is under control, whatever the situation is, then I'll take his word for it.

✽✽✽

Deklan packs the last of his things into his car and closes the trunk. With his hat swooped to the back and his day-old stubble, the man looks more edible than freshly baked bread in an Italian bakery.

"He's really not that bad, Dove." Caught glaring at Labs in the passenger seat, Deklan hooks his arm around my shoulder, pulls my face close to his body and laughs into my hair.

I give him a quick kiss. "Yea well the jury's still out on that one." He chuckles, winks, then reverses down the driveway. Feeling empty, I'm left standing alone, unable to placate the gnawing fear pecking at my brain that the next time I see him, things may never be the same.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Heading Out

"You girls really should act more ladylike, especially when there are men around!" My mother exasperates wild puffing noises before whipping around and shoving the infamous wooden spoon into both of our faces.

She's been lecturing Lake on the importance of being demure and reserved for the past twenty minutes. Elaborating mostly on cows and free milk.

Honestly, it's done wonders so far at taking my mind off the nagging sense that somewhere beyond the mystical projection of moonlight and tranquil noises of the ocean, a giant black cloud is sitting off in the distance, glancing at its watch and counting seconds before its undeniable departure and arrival to my doorstep.

Noting my amused grin, Lake flips the bird in my direction at the same time my mother turns to scrape remnants of tonight's dessert off a glass pie dish. When the dish clanks in the sink and Mom hurriedly performs the sign of the cross, I bite back my laughter and whisper-shout to my friend, "She saw you in the window, dumbass."

"Charlotte Cole!" The deafening sounds of running water and clinking dishes were no match for the woman with world renowned hearing abilities. Elbow deep in soapy water, my mother speaks prayer in what sounds like foreign language. Lake and I giggle our way into the T.V. room to plan the night's festivities.

"All right ladies! " I proclaim louder than necessary. "Deklan and Labs are gone, Dad and Max went over to Great Aunt Vera's house to eat the most delectable ham in a can and pickled something or other. What do you say we have a spa night? We'll watch movies, have some wine and popcorn, do our nails? Just like old times."

Jasper would be so jealous if he knew we were about to be knee deep in mud masks, nail polish and popcorn. And we can't forget his holy grail of movies, the sacred "Moonstruck."

Which is why after some discussion, his face fills the screen of my tablet and we spend the rest of the night on video chat.

Insisting Lake place his floating head on the couch between us with a mud mask of his own on his face, I'm soon considering whether I should revoke his cyber invitation due to his persistent grumbling. "Can you two shut up please? You're literally missing the best part."

I cover the screen with a throw pillow, secretly wishing it was his actual face being smothered by the nautical cotton stuffed material.

"Hey! I can't see!" His words are muffled. Lake and I roar with laughter.

Sometime just after nine o'clock Dad walks in with a jumping, speed talking Max and I know the night is going to be longer than expected. Amped up on candy from Aunt Vera, some of it older than her, he bounces around his room like Tigger on Ritalin. From the bed to the floor. The left corner to the right corner. My eyes can barely keep up with him. Then, all bounced out with no words left in the English dictionary to speak, he climbs into his bed and just falls asleep.

Kids, I think to myself before staggering down to my room at a glacial speed. My thighs ache and my stomach muscles are sore from the earlier romps with Deklan.

On one hand, my brain tells me the hump-a-thon between he and I was a great idea, on the other hand, my body tells my brain to go to hell.

Somewhere along the way, either between the spa night and chasing down my sugar rabid son, it slipped my mind that I haven't heard from Deklan. Assuming, he's okay and trying my best to believe it, I crawl into bed and close my eyes.

As if sensing I was thinking about him, my phone dances in vibration on the nightstand. Groggy and tired I answer the call.

"Dove? Come on Charlie...I know you're there. Don't be a brat. Answer me"

"Hello, the person you are looking for is tired and grouchy, please try back another time when her vagina doesn't feel like it went to war and lost. Leave a message after the beep.... Beeeep."

His deep laugh reverberates from the other end of the line, leaving me with closed eyes and a stupid grin.

"I fucking love you, Charlotte Rose Cole, and I have to tell you that I'm especially fond of your vagina. Rest up kid, 'cause I'm nowhere near done with it yet." Sexual tension oozes through the line, forcing me to squeeze my legs tight, a pathetic attempt to ward off the throbbing between them. "Anyway..." Deklan

trails off, seemingly distracted.

"...baby I'm sorry I didn't call until now, shit is kind of crazy here but I'm close to getting it all straightened out. I'll explain everything to you when you get here in a couple days. I know you're tired, but I need you to promise me one thing before I let you go."

"Anything."

"Don't ever forget how much you mean to me."

"You're scaring me again. Are you sure everything is okay?"

"I can't go into it right now baby, but it will be...soon. Do you promise?"

I want to ask more questions, but I'd rather not talk about it on the phone anyway. Opting to trust him and wait until we're face to face, I respond to his inquisition.

"I promise."

A sigh of relief blasts the phone. "Okay, good. Now get some rest. Give Max a kiss for me. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Nite, Dove!"

"Goodnight Deklan. Sleep..." Yawn. "...well" Yawn.

Just as I'm about to hang up, his voice comes through the phone. This time softer, almost pleading. "You have my heart, Charlie Cole."

"And you Deklan O'Malley, have my soul."

✽✽✽

The next morning, Lake and I have breakfast on the beach while Max makes early morning sandcastles by the shore. It's warm but comfortable and I'm surprised by how rested I feel, the result of an entire night's sleep without one single nightmare, I'm sure.

"Smile!" Lake exclaims, the camera inches away from my face. I shove my hand in front of the lens. "Please tell me you didn't just take my picture. I didn't even brush my hair this morning."

"Eew Pig Pen! Go sit over there then."

I smile and playfully open my arms wide. "Hug me!"

She smacks away my hands. "No way Stinky, get out of here." As if we were back to being two little girls without a care in the world, we chase each other around, squealing, laughing and as carefree as ever.

We settle back into our seats to catch our breath, neither of us accomplishing much more than getting sand stuck in unmentionable crevices. We enjoy each other's company in silence for a while. For so many reasons, Lake and I will

always have a special bond. She is my soul sister. And I am hers.

From behind, a burly shadow blocks the rays from hitting our skin. Slowly it approaches, the blackish miasma growing taller the closer it gets to our beach chairs.

"Papa, you're here!" Max calls out the culprit, ruining the opportunity for shock and awe.

To my father, humor comes in the form of unexpected surprises and the occasional slip and fall. He is obsessed with sneaking up on people, most times, he falls short of succeeding.

"Nice try, Mr. C!"

"Yea good one, Dad."

Shrugging, his high set shoulders move up and down casually. "Well it was worth a shot."

Looking like a bashful child, asking for permission to stay out past curfew, he kicks sand back and forth at his feet.

"I can tell you want to say something, Dad. Out with it already, you're making me nervous."

Clearing his throat, he continues. "Right, well I came down here for a reason. My old boss is in town and asked us to join him on his boat this afternoon. And by boat, I mean floating mansion. Anyway, his twin grandkids are around Max's age and he was hoping I could bring him along."

Green. That's all I see at the mention of a boat. The Queen of Sea Sickness is a title handed over to me some time ago after an unfortunate incident that involved french fries and a shoe. Don't ask. Anyway, my body starts to sway involuntarily as my father continues to gloat about the experience of a lifetime.

"Before you even go there, I told him about your incurable urge to vomit when faced with a journey on the deep blue sea. He asked if you would be willing to give up your son for the day. I guess his grandchildren are constantly arguing and he thinks Max could be a good deterrent from the bickering."

"Sure, I guess, I don't see that as being a problem as long as Max wants to go."

"Okay great! Did I mention that we'll be staying overnight?" My father scrunches his face and winces at my bulging eyes.

"DAD! I'm supposed to go home tomorrow morning! Even if I could stay, I still have to bring Lake back. She has to work tomorrow. I don't know Dad, but I was kinda planning on spending the day and night with Max, considering you hijacked him for most of the summer."

"I understand." He says sullenly, looking like someone just kicked his puppy.

"Ugh! Fine, but you need to bring him home next weekend, we have standing plans, then pick him back up if he wants to come back."

"Deal." He flashes a winning smile. Talk about a kid in a candy store. He's anxious to see this magnificent boat but I also know my dad enough to understand that there was nothing he enjoys more than showing off his family. Plus, Max is

like his best friend. They do everything together, even more now that Johnny isn't in the picture.

"Did she say yes?" Max approaches with a sandy mustache, strings of green seaweed stuck to his legs.

Shaking my head, I turn to my father. "Bringin' the kid in as backup?"

His shoulders shake with laughter. "Strength in numbers baby girl...strength in numbers." He winks at Lake and me.

"We leave in an hour or so."

At noon, I send Max off with my parents then pack up the rest of my things. Tomorrow's calling for clouds and Lake has confessed she's not feeling too well. Probably a side effect from sucking face with a guy like Labs.

Yea, she thinks I didn't see that, but I watched in horror as they devoured each other's mouths and fought the urge to blow chunks down the front of my blouse.

But I'm not gonna go there.

We've decided it'd be best to just head home now. Without Max and my parents, it just doesn't seem necessary to stay. Plus, as much as I love her, Lake is the absolute worst person to be around when she's sick. She gives the man cold a run for its money. I've never seen anything like it honestly. Her behavior when under the weather is both mesmerizing and appalling. I'm eager to drop her off with Jasper and let it be his problem.

"You ready, babe?" I turn to my friend and give her a sympathetic look, one she returns with a venomous hiss. "Ooo-kay." I widen my eyes and singsong the word.

Worried for my livelihood, I hand over some "cold medicine," promising she'll feel better shortly.

So, okay, the medicine may be a little less for colds and a little more for sleeping. It might also be the kind of drug that warns in teeny tiny lettering that there's a strong possibility you'll find yourself naked in your neighbor's bathtub with a top hat on your head and a monocle in your left eye while quoting Shakespeare.

What? Don't judge.

They gave them to me when I was released from the hospital a few months back and I've yet to use them. Besides, I've never been much of a Shakespeare fan.

Drugging your friend may not seem ideal but believe me when I tell you it is a necessary precaution, especially when having to take an extended drive back home.

My car phone rings and Deklan's name appears on the screen. I press the hands-free button at the same time Lakes head thumps against the passenger window.

"Hey."

"Hi, babe." The greeting makes me smile. "Is everything all right? What was that noise?"

The masculine tone of his husky voice takes a detour from my ears and heads straight to the motherland of nerves and excitement causing me to forget to respond.

"Charlie, can you hear me?"

"Oh hi, yea I'm here, sorry. Lake isn't feeling well so I'm trying to get her settled." As the words leave my mouth her head topples forward aiming straight for the dashboard.

"Oh shit!" I reach out just in time to save her from a nasty bruise and force her head back onto the headrest of her seat.

"What was that?" Deklan questions curiously.

"Oh nothing" I grimace. "Anyway, what's up?" With an old coffee house napkin, I wipe the dollop of drool hanging from Lake's mouth, my face contorted in disgust.

"Blagh" I mutter, stuffing the contaminated napkin into the pocket of her hoodie, careful not to touch any germ-infested bodily fluid. "Okay, I'm sorry what were you saying?"

Amused, Deklan chuckles, probably picturing a number of insane situations I could've gotten myself into.

"I said, did you sleep okay last night?"

"I did actually, totally nightmare free for a change. I should thank you for that really. Seems like your presence in my life may have something to do with that."

"Hey, anytime you need someone to fuck the demons away, I'm your guy. Nah, screw that, I'm the only guy."

"Deklan! That was crass." I smile despite my shock.

His laughter warms me. "I can't wait to see you, Charlie."

Deciding it best not to tell him he won't have to wait long, I give him a brief answer and start to mentally make plans for the night. "Me too, Goodbye Deklan."

"Bye, angel."

With one last check to Lake's neck for a pulse, all appropriate signs of life in order, I pull onto the interstate and make my way back home.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The Ultimate Surprise

Ten miles out from Lake and Jasper's apartment, I make sure to send the standard warning to Jasper.

CODE: SNIFFLES AND SNOTS!

I wait patiently for Jasper's response to my emergency text. Seconds later my phone dings.

CODE: FUCK ME!

Next to me, the beast begins to wiggle. I grip the steering wheel and prepare myself for the inevitable bearing of jagged teeth, darting blood shot eyes and a roar so powerful, I fear the windows of my car will shatter at its release.

Then I feel it, eyes burning fictional holes in the side of my face. I sniff the air convinced it reeks of my smoldering skin.

"Hi sweetie." My fingers tremble as I brace for verbal impact.

"Did you fucking drug me?" She screeches from my right.

"I did what was necessary to save the great people of this country and their descendants to come."

She grunts, mumbles some profanities that make even my own face red then takes my phone from the car charger to plug hers in. It isn't until then that I realize that I never turned the screen off after Jasper's last message.

Maybe she won't see it.

"What the hell, Charlie?"

Then again maybe she will.

"Code Sniffles and Snots? Really! How long has that even been a thing?"

I want to lie and say it's something new we've started but I just can't bring myself to do it. "Um for a little bit"

"And what exactly is a little bit?"

I pretend I can't hear her and turn up the radio. Oh, Justin Timberlake how I love thee. Lake quickly shuts down my musical diversion.

"Hey! I was just about to bring my sexy back!"

"How long Charlie?" She asks again. This time through gritted teeth.

"Since fourth grade" I wince.

"Almost twenty fucking years?" She holds a hand over her heart "I feel so betrayed, as soon as I feel better, I'm going to find new friends. Friends that don't speak in cryptic code and certainly don't hand you sleeping pills and pretend it's cold medicine."

Lake hacks the most awful and dramatic cough in my direction, sending droplets of spittle flying toward my face. Using my hand to wipe away the sick stricken saliva, I stare at my friend in disbelief. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes, it was," She answers, swiping my phone from the dash to google her symptoms. Shit! If she's using my phone, I'm not going to be able to send Jasper the, Code: WebMD warning.

Thankfully it isn't long after diagnosing herself with Lyme's Disease that we're pulling into the garage of her apartment complex. With an over exaggerated feeble finger, Lake presses the buzzer, claiming to be too weak to take out her keys.

Seconds pass and the door flies open to the likes of a scene from a hospital drama on T.V. If I'm not mistaken Jasper even asks for her stats as he runs up beside us. Rushing her through the door, I follow them to the elevator.

"Come on, baby. I'll take care of you. What do you think it is?" Our friend asks with his arm around his patient.

The question was a big mistake and I can see in his face that he caught onto the blunder.

"I. Don't. Know." Lakes wails. Her words long and drawn out. I roll my eyes.

All but crying she says, "It might be malaria!"

Jasper's eyes grow wide as he stares back and forth between Lake and me. Placing his hands over her ears he leans around her to whisper in my direction.

"Please tell me you didn't let her google?"

"She had Lyme's disease about ten minutes ago and I had no choice, she had my phone." Then I whisper back so only he could hear. "She knows about the codes."

Jasper inhales sharply and dramatically. Removing his hands from Lake's head, one goes to cover his mouth in a show of shock. "NOOO!" He mumbles through the blockade.

The ding of the elevator saves me as I push her overnight bag into Jasper's chest.

"Welp. It was nice chatting with you both, but I have plans. God speed my friend." I give my best salute in Jasper's direction.

Once I buckle myself in, things get a little less comical and a little more serious.

Hives sprout along the middle of my chest. Surprising someone like Deklan is a pretty big deal and I want the night to be perfect.

Taking the longer way home, I'm hoping the extra time will ease my nerves. When I pass my family's church, I feel compelled to stop. Out of my car and up the steep concrete steps, I release a breath as my eyes wander the length of the intimidating structure. It's certainly been a while. After several pep talks, I shake away the unease, open the giant cathedral doors and for the first time in years, I welcome God back into my life.

✽✽✽

Incense and church candles, that's all I can smell as I pull on to my street, careful to avoid being seen by Deklan or Pete but most of all that nosy bastard Mr. Stevenson. Months ago, the smell would've made me jittery and jumpy, today I find it comforting, albeit not the romantic fragrance I planned for the night.

With a recently cleansed conscience and a new, more positive outlook on life, I pull the car into the garage and shut the door.

Keys in hand, I walk up the small steps in the garage, the best entrance because it leads directly into the kitchen of my home but before I can put the key in, the door creaks open. That's weird. I definitely locked it before I left.

"Fucking Pete!" You think he'd be a little more astute after everything that happened. Alcohol has a way of frying the brain, I guess. But I love my uncle. Not to mention I owe him my life. So, I'll give him a pass this once.

The water in the shower is warm and relaxing. Lathers of lavender and chamomile body wash slip from my body and puddle at my feet. It takes longer than normal to get myself ready, making sure to pay extra attention to all the important parts. After all, it's essential for the night I have planned.

With my robe wrapped tight around my fragrantly moisturized body, I open my top drawer. Peering over the neatly folded unmentionables, a couple things come to mind:

First; I really need to go shopping.

Second; I really need to go shopping somewhere where they don't sell underwear in packages of eight, with the sticker on the front that says, Two More Free. No more bonus underwear for me! The days of dressing my lady bits in peasant-like bloomers are now a thing of the past.

I end up with a pair of gray boy shorts with a pink lace trim and the bra to match, both are made of cotton, neither shiny, but sadly the sexiest thing I own.

The mirror in the corner catches my eye. Stepping forward, I take in the full view of myself and I'm surprisingly pleased. Not overly sex kitten, but it's daytime,so sweet and sultry will have to do.

I grab the yellow sundress that hangs in the armoire. My favorite summer ensemble. The pale yellow of the dress compliments my tanned skin and the sun streaked blonde highlights of my hair. A scalloped sweetheart neckline fits tightly across the bust, bringing the girls up to a delicate plump. The dress flares from the waist and falls a few inches above the knee. The softness of the material flows perfectly in the breeze, often making me feel like Marilyn Monroe. Who knew cotton could feel so sexy? The touch the feel and all that jazz.

One last look in the mirror and I give myself a nod of approval. Typically, I stare at my reflection with one eye closed. But not today. Today I'm confident and in love.

Before I leave the house, I light the candles and set the little gift bag down on the table. I didn't have time to cook anything, but I picked up the most amazing cannoli cake from the Italian bakery in the center of town, with every intention of eating in off Deklan's body.

A shiver of excitement runs through me as I make my way down the street. When I saunter up the walkway and onto the porch of Deklan's house I'm careful not to roll my ankles in the four-and-a-half-inch wedge sandals adorning my freshly polished toes.

Knocking briskly on the door, I use the following seconds to shake off the nerves. The curtains brush the window to the right and my heart flutters slightly. He has no idea I'm home. I can almost picture his eyes lighting up. The dimple. And the intricate vein that runs up his forearm.

Another sway of the curtains and I take a closer look...

Hilary.

The neighborhood's most hideous, gassy, and cross-eyed feline glares at me through lime green eyes. Being an often times petty person, I find myself glaring back. We engage in a showdown for longer than I'd like to admit until I pull back and realize how ridiculous I am behaving.

Normally, if Deklan were home Hilary would be right by his side. The fact she hasn't left her spot and is sending out radioactive rays through her eyeballs in my direction is telling me that maybe Deklan isn't here after all. I check my cell and notice it's close to six o'clock in the evening.

"Hmmm? His car is in the garage." I make my way back to the walkway and look up at the house as my mind races through ideas on where he might be.

"He can't still be working, can he? Hopefully he's not with the hemorrhoid king." Either way, I'm not gonna give up on the night, I'll wait.

There's a happy go lucky bounce to my step. A fun-loving stride as I turn and whistle across the street, making my way to Pete's, figuring I can ask him if he's seen Deklan or knows where he may be.

For the first time in my entire life, I feel unbreakable. Happy. Refreshed.

I feel like me.

The front door of Pete's house pushes open with ease, I take it as a sign to let myself in. Not that it matters, I never knock anyway.

No one is in the living room.

Weird.

Voices carry from the end of the hallway into the front of the house. I curiously make my way down the corridor.

"This isn't gonna be easy." An unfamiliar voice speaks up, a deep baritone of a sound. "Are you sure you know what we are dealing with here?"

One small step.

My skin pricks.

All warning bells are sounding from near and far.

The voices are muffled. I need to get closer.

"Yea, something's up. I know this fucker. He doesn't do anything without a plan. He has connections that run deep but we still haven't figured out who's the one helping him out. I'm willing to bet it's more than one person. You can't pull this type of shit off without a team."

Two small steps.

"Does she know anything yet?" My legs wobble. My mind screams to turn around.

"Fuck man, no. I've been trying to think of ways to tell her, then all this shit happened. I mean, how do you tell someone you've been watching them for that long? It's not something that comes up in normal conversation." That voice is too familiar, and my brain instantly struggles to convince my heart it belongs to someone else while my heart pleads with the rest of my body to leave it alone, begging me to turn a blind eye for fear it may break again. It's failing.

My breathing picks up.

Three small steps

"Yea and especially when you forget it's just a job and you're supposed to be undercover, but you decide to sleep with her anyway. Then on top of it, you go and fall for the chick. I mean come on dude? You had to have known there's no happily ever after here. I always thought you were smarter than that."

Labs? No. Why would he be in my uncle's home?

Four small steps.

A couple more.

Have to see.

Need to know.

Some scuffling sounds travel down the hallway.

Fighting?

Thumps and grunts and what sounds like fists hitting flesh.

"ENOUGH!" A voice booms from somewhere within the room.

"First, you cocky little punk, that's my niece you're talking about. If I ever hear you utter so much as a word of disrespect in her direction, I will rip your tongue out with my bare hands and feed it to the crows, understand? Now, I agreed to help you guys get that bastard and you did. Now you're telling me he's out?"

Pete's voice.

This time my legs give out completely, forcing me to lean against the wall to stay upright.

I close my eyes, hoping that when I open them, this will be nothing more than another terrible nightmare.

I take the last step into the corner office.

One.

Two.

I count the members of the burly pack. Under normal circumstances I'd find humor in that they are all impossibly stuffed into the smallest room of the house, giant sardines in a tiny can. The four walls almost rip at the seams as they stand shoulder to shoulder with their backs facing the door.

There's a third and a fourth too. My eyes roam to the left. "Five," I whisper. Five men stand around the desk peering down at the surface. They point and stare. Then nod and point.

Is that a map? Hunched over, strategically planning something of importance, not one of them is aware of my presence. Three out of five men sheathed in Kevlar vests, the letters F.B.I sprawled across the widest part of their backs talk back and forth amongst themselves as if they're preparing for war.

Confused and tripping over not only my thoughts but my feet, I feel like a stranger in a home I've visited more times than I can count.

It's the one on the left, the furthest one over, his brawn, build and stance. He's the one that my eyes flock to. He's the one that is about to unknowingly ruin me.

"Fuck!" The word blasts through the air at the same time his fist slams on the table before him. Pens, paper and the enigmatic treasure map, bounce and rattle, some items flying clear off the edges.

An arm full of corded veins and tensing muscles comes up to knead the tension away from his neck. My first reaction is to go to him and ease his worry. But why would I do that to a stranger? What is this pull that makes me want to take away his pain?

When his fist falls to his sides, tight and clenched, he flexes his fingers, going on to crack each individual knuckle with his thumb. A gesture I've seen before. Familiar and at the same time unrecognizable. I know the gesticulations but it's clear in this moment, I've never known the man.

"Oh. My. God!" My hand flies up, landing across my mouth with a smack.

"Deklan? No. No. No." I shake my head violently, blinded by tears. The wall does little to support my weakened body as I slide down to the floor to keep from fainting.

Heads turn to my slumped form in the doorway.

"Dove." The word falls from his lips in agony. Pain. Or is it lies? The endearment, hidden behind the apocalyptic sound of defeat is my undoing.

Hot scalding tears burn slowly down my face. "Undercover? This..." I motion between he and I, "...us? It was just a job?"

There is no way to hide the anguish in my voice. The destruction that comes from earning my love, my trust, my heart was done at the expense of earning of paycheck.

Overwhelmed by his presence and fully knowing my body is a traitor, reacting to him when it has no business to do so, I scurry back into the hallway to gain distance.

I don't look at him, choosing only to stare blankly at the combat boots taking steps in my direction. "Dove, listen to me." He reaches forward. The limitations of the room's size making it impossible to keep a safe distance.

I crab crawl backwards. "Don't!" I wail, sneering through clenched teeth, looking directly at the man that I not only love but also have quickly come to hate. "Don't you fucking come near me!" A blood-cry leaves my throat, a wailing sound of an indigent warrior, a psychological breakdown of words and convulsions.

Stunned, his hand falls to his side, he says nothing more. Cognitive function back on my side, I glare at my uncle who has the decency to remain quiet, his eyes already spilling the deep dark secrets that plagued this room for God knows how long. Whatever happened, he helped, and I don't have anything to say to the man that shares my blood, the same man that not only saved my life but has had a hand in ruining it as well.

"Case and point. We don't get involved with clients for a reason. Fucking chicks." Labs has the nerve to scoff amid it all. My relationship and well-being clearly a non-issue.

Deklan seethes with anger, this time his jaw may snap all together, his eyes are murderous and as much as I would like to see him kill Labs, I refuse to give him the gratification.

"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" From the floor to the air, one giant leap is all it takes before my palm cracks with the force of lightning, clear across Labs' face. The sting from contact and the radiating pain down my arm is so satisfying I almost whimper in relief.

Ready and willing to claw his eyes out, I fly forward again, a hawk with outstretched talons, seeking the thrill that comes from penetrating flesh.

A set of arms tightens around my waist, my legs kick and flail around in protest. Obscenities that would make a sailor blush shoot from my mouth like an assault rifle, even the guy with the baritone voice turns impossibly red and he doesn't strike me as someone that's easy to frazzle.

On a spin, I notice Deklan, Pete, Labs, and the stranger when it dawns on me then that I have no idea whose arms around me.

"Put me down now you son of a bitch. Get your hands off me." I push down on his arms to try to loosen his grip. An unsuccessful attempt.

"Not gonna happen 'til you calm down. Until I know you won't hurt yourself, or someone else for that matter, you're staying right here."

Outnumbered and out-muscled, I begrudgingly accept defeat. "All right. I'll calm down." My body goes lax. After several uncomfortably tense seconds, the grip around my waist loosens. Under the ruse of being calm and collected, though anything but, I use my hands to brush away the wrinkles on my favorite yellow sundress in a downward motion.

They used me as a ploy. A pawn. A position I'd never thought I'd be in again, yet here I am. And at the hands of Deklan?

Finally, I break, the muscles in my legs—nothing but liquid bone, unable to hold my torso upright. Limp like a tree branch after a rainstorm, I fall, not caring if I'm caught, even less worried about whether I'll ever get back up at all.

I was just a job.

The same unfamiliar arms come around to steady me. Whether I'm happy to be saved or disappointed I didn't hit my head hard enough to cause some sort of amnesia, I'll never know. In what seems like slow motion, I'm spun around, my jelly filled legs provide little assistance in keeping me upright. It's the eyes I see first as I come face to face with the man in which the arms belong to.

"Officer Bentley?"

"Ms. Cole"

"What? I don't understand, what are you doing here?" Kind, compassionate eyes gaze down on me. Familiar. So much so, I know I've seen them since our last encounter. Then, as if my heart was the bullseye for the local high school's archery team, the burning sear of each individual arrow pierces my chest at the same time realization sets in. I have been looking into those eyes for months. Fell in love with them. Trusted them.

Except they weren't Officer Bentley's, they were his son's.

Chapter Forty

Shattered

"You're his son!"

The room falls eerily silent at my revelation. Stepping back to avoid Deklan's approaching form, my back hits the wall again, giving me little choice but to address the question burning my mind.

"But I don't understand. If your name is Bentley..." I motion from father to son with a shaky hand. "Why is your last name O'Malley?"

Just as fast as the question leaves my mouth, I want to take it back. I don't need his answer and I certainly don't need the moisture building up in the rim of his eyes to tell me what I already know.

"No." I shake my head. The tears burning my eyes may have just as well been pure acid as they would've likely been less painful. Deklan turns his head to avoid eye contact.

"Look at me goddamnit!" I say forcefully, spit flying from the corners of my mouth with a handful of his shirt sleeves gripped so tightly in my hands they've started to turn purple. With his jaw set tight he keeps his head turned from my face.

"I SAID LOOK AT ME!" I scream maniacally, tasting my own tears.

When he finally complies, the smallest tear trickles down the right side of his face, passing through the maze of stubble. The sight infuriates me and despite the size difference, I shake him, his body barely moving under the strength of my feebly clenched fists.

"Oh no! You don't get to cry here. The only thing you get to do is tell me what your real name is, you lying son of a bitch!" I step away, needing to get out of this house.

Deklan's hand latches onto my upper arm and I'm spun back around, my body too weak to fight against the motion.

"I didn't lie to you about my first name, it is Deklan. O'Malley is my mothers' maiden name, I use it sometimes when I'm undercover."

When my knees hit the ground, I know my body's finally given up. The searing pain of hardwood crashing against my kneecaps is blinding.

It was just a job

I was just a job.

It was just a game.

A pathetic game.

Pete, deciding to take his chances, picks me up and cradles me in his arms. Without elaborating more, he carries me from the room, my head lolling back and forth against his chest with each step he takes.

In the living room, I'm placed on the old worn out sofa, just as much of a staple in my uncles' life as his red and black flannel shirt. Funny, you think you know people. Two days ago, I thought my uncle was a recovering alcoholic, a simple man with a heart of gold. Today, he's the man who, for reasons I still don't understand, assisted in destroying any shred of hope I've been able to muster up since I met Johnny.

"I guess I need to explain a few things"

"Yea." I stare at the floor in front of me. When he realizes I'm not going to say anything or look at him for that matter, he clears his throat and continues.

"Your brother Christopher came to me a while back and told me some things about his work. Things he never shared with anyone before. At first, I was surprised he was sharing so much with me. We didn't always have the best relationship, he and I. Half-way through our conversation, I began to understand what he was doing and why he came to me. He knew there was a chance something was going to happen to him, but he couldn't risk worrying you, Nicky or your parents."

"While I can't tell you a lot of what he told me, I will tell you this. Your brother was afraid for you. You thought he wasn't around but that wasn't true. One night, stuck in one of my benders, I lost my car keys and had to walk home from the bar. Probably for the best I suppose. Anyway, it was two o'clock in the morning and your brother was sitting in his car, watching your house. When he saw me approach, he drove off, but I knew it was him. I woke up the next morning in a pile of my own vomit and just assumed I imagined the whole thing. Wouldn't have been the first time, you know?" Pete chuckles nervously.

"Right, well, he confirmed it that night he came to see me. What you don't know Charlie, is that any free moment he had, he spent watching over you and Max."

Pete stops, just long enough to hand me a tissue so I can wipe the tears and snot pouring down my face at an impossible speed.

"It's no secret he didn't like Johnny. But not liking him, he could've dealt with, it was more than that. He hated him. You may have been able to fool most people, but Chris wasn't buying it, he knew Johnny, really knew him and that's what scared him. Chris started to believe that you and Johnny meeting wasn't an accident and he was working on trying to prove it. He spent so much time trying to figure out how to protect you and be loyal to his job and that's not because he wouldn't have picked you in a heartbeat but it's because innocent lives were at stake. He was after that man for a long-time, kid. So, he sat, night after night, a loaded gun on his lap while your husband was out doing God knows what. Your brother watched the house knowing it was just you and Max inside. Your brother gave up sleeping in his bed to protect you. And your brother did all of that until the very day he died."

"I'm not sure of the exact details of this case with Johnny but whatever it was, he brought in a team to help him out, friends of his."

At my surprised expression, Pete continues. "I won't add insult to injury here, but I'm pretty sure you can surmise who those friends are. Long story short, he never got the chance to take Johnny down. But he made sure there were people around that could do it for him."

"So Deklan moved in because Christopher asked him to watch out for me? If that was the case, why did it take so long? I mean, Deklan's barely been in the neighborhood for a year, Chris has been gone longer than that."

"Well, that's something you're going to have to talk to him about. I don't really have all the answers. I went to High school with Greg, Officer Bentley as you know him, he reached out to me a while back. Somehow it came to light that you were my niece. Maybe that was Christopher's doing? I don't really know. He took care of some legal things on my behalf and in turn I agreed to help him put the bastard away for good."

With so much information swarming my brain, it's difficult to grasp it all at once. There's only one answer I need right now. The one response that will tie this all together in a dysfunctional little bow.

"Johnny's out." It comes out as a statement more than a question. The only thing Pete can do is nod.

"Charlotte." This comes from Officer Bentley who approaches with understandable caution. "I know this is a lot to handle, and I will do my best to give you the answers I can legally give you. What you do need to know is that yes, Mr. Cruz has escaped from prison and his whereabouts are currently unknown. The team has been working tirelessly on tracking him down and the public as well has been instructed to be on the lookout for Juan Maxwell Cruz. So far, we have no leads."

There's an odd sense of peace that settles over me. They say when you're caught in the eye of the hurricane, the sun comes out, the wind stops, and you're left thinking that the worst of it was over. But you're wrong. The eye is the precursor to catastrophe, the true meaning of the calm before the storm. This is going to end. One way or another it will finally be over.

"He's coming back for me."

"We don't know for sure, but if I had to assume, I'd say the chances are high, yes."

On to my feet, my legs less shaky because my newfound resolve. "Okay, then."

Pete pops up from his crouched down position. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going home. If he wants me. He can come and get me. I'm tired of running and hiding. No better way to find me than if I'm right where he left me, right?"

"What the hell are you talking about? You're not going anywhere alone." I turn as Deklan enters the room.

"Pete, can you please inform Mr. Bentley that this conversation doesn't concern him."

"The fuck it doesn't. You're not gonna just dangle yourself like a carrot in front of the horse's face. Do you even know how ridiculous that is? Nope. Not gonna happen. Over my dead body."

I step in his direction. The rest of the men make their way from the back of the house as my finger points to the ceiling.

"Well, the rafters up there look like they'd hold up nicely. Find a rope, tie it tight and take a leap, 'cause I am telling you right now, you do not get to make that decision.

Deklan follows. "Dove." I glare at him he clears his throat. "Charlie, it's not happening so get it out of your head."

"Dude, she's right." Labs voice penetrates the small crowd "If she stays, he's gonna show up. I don't know how long it will take, but he'll be here eventually."

"Exactly, and Max is with my parents on a boat somewhere. He's safe and that's all that matters."

Deklan speaks softly as my hand turns the doorknob. "You matter."

I scoff, not able to turn around and face him. "Yea, well you should of thought about that before you used me for financial gain and lied to my face. Goodbye Mr. O'Malley." I emphasize the last name he gave me with a shaky breath, feeling the heat of Deklan's body closing in on me before I even have the chance to reach the first step.

Deklan storms past his friends, disregarding all advice to give me time and space. Spinning me around, his hands dive into my hair, tipping my head back. "Don't do this, Charlie. Talk to me baby. Let me explain. I love you, please don't make me live without you."

"I'm not making you do anything, Deklan. You created this path all by yourself."

"So that's it then? There's nothing I can say or do to get you to change your mind?"

"I stopped believing in miracles a long time ago. Right around the same time it became clear that people can't be trusted. So, no there's nothing you can say or do. Now please move because I don't want to be anywhere near you."

He steps in front of me, ignoring the rage and hurt that shakes my limbs. "Okay, so you don't believe in miracles but what about the lemonade?"

As realization dawns on me, I look into his eyes as unwanted tears stream down my face, the image of the scruffy faced man all those years ago flashes through my mind before squeezing like a vise around my heart. It was him. It's always been him. "Yea, well someone once told me that one day all those fluffy white clouds would eventually turn gray and rainy." I place my hand on his stubble jaw and let myself feel him for the last time. "Looks, like today is that day."

I tap the side of his face gently, burn his image into my brain so I'll never forget, then turn and walk away. With my shoulders high and my head up, it's all a complete contradiction to the urge I have to stop right here on the sidewalk, curl up into a ball and let my body decompose into nothing more than bones, relieving me from the two organs that have betrayed me the most.

The heart and the brain.

The aroma of the candles as I make my way inside makes me sick. With a quick sprint to the toilet and I lose everything, then push myself to my legs and make the rounds to rid my home of the hopeful reminders that this night was going to be the best one of my life to date.

I blow out the candles then toss the tiny gift into the corner.

No sooner does the small bag land, do I find myself on my hands and knees, wailing sounds of internal torture escape my body. My fist pummels the hardwood floors until skin peels away from the flesh of my knuckles.

✽✽✽

The sudden banging on the door hitches my breath. "Charlie, open the fucking door!"

I can't do this right now.

"Charlie, please?"

"Your job is over now Deklan, go back to whatever life you lived before me and leave me alone." I sob through the barrier.

His voice, tortured and tired, seeps through the wood paneling. "It may be hard for you to believe, Dove, but I didn't even want to live my life until I met you. I know I fucked up, but you need to give me a chance to explain myself. Don't throw this all away, Charlie."

"Hard to believe? You wanna talk hard to believe?" At the peril of psychosis, I scream through the door that separates us. "I'd rather take a blow to the face at the hands of Johnny than feel the pain I feel right now. And it's because of you Deklan. Because I love you. I love you so much and you betrayed me. You lied to me and I trusted you. And the fact that my heart still beats for you is the hardest thing to believe of them all." Using the back of my arm, I wipe my nose.

"Why? Why me? And Max?" I stifle a sob "What do you want me to tell him, huh? Am I supposed to explain to him that the only man that every showed his mother and him true love was working undercover? That it was all just a job? A fucking paycheck?" I'm barely breathing at this point. "That kid loves you with every bone in his body. But none of that matters. They say love makes the world go 'round Deklan, but all your love did is make my world crumble and fall. So, before this gets even harder, just leave."

"Please Dove..." The angst in his voice is almost my undoing. My fingers shiver on the doorknob ready to turn it. Ready to let him back in. I twist and prepare to open. But I stop myself. I can't do this. Not to me. Not to Max. Not to my heart. My hand stills.

"Goodbye, Deklan" I say, then let my fingertips graze around the cool feel of the door, allowing them to search for his comforting warmth for one last time even if it is through this thick block of wood.

It's silent, the only sound is the thumping of an impending migraine. Assuming he's left, I rub my temples with my index finger to alleviate some pressure. That's when I hear it. The two words that will burn in my mind and scar my soul forever.

"Goodbye, Charlie..."

Chapter Forty-One

In the End

What I said to Deklan was the truth. The pain I suffered from all the years of torture and abuse at the hands of Johnny, fails in comparison to what the betrayal of Deklan's love has done to me. Breathing seems unnecessary now and even though part of me is relieved that there is a protective detail outside of my home, the other part doesn't care at all.

I end up crying myself to sleep. No blankets or pillows. I don't need their superficial comfort. I'm not cold. I'm not warm. I'm barely existing.

Tossing and turning, my dormant state looks more like an electrocution than a state of rest, making it difficult to stay asleep. I fluff my pillows and curl into their inanimate security. It's not Deklan, but it will have to do. Surprisingly, it helps. My breathing evens out. My eyes close.

The bed dips and warmth envelopes me. A feeling of pure and total elation follows the arms that wrap around my torso. It's a feeling one can only describe as true love. The kind that takes over your body, blanketing you with peace and the thought that just for a moment, everything is okay.

I exhale in relief as I savor the embrace. It's just what I needed. I was a fool to think I could live without it.

His experienced hands roam my body with reckless abandon. Kneading the soft flesh hungrily. I gasp at his touch. His nose nuzzles at the spot just behind my ear as his seductive whisper clouds my brain. All the things he wants to do to me. The promises of passion and ecstasy. It all comes out in satisfying purrs and seductive growls. I quiver as his hands continue to work their magic, giving all of myself to him, no questions asked. Willingly. Eagerly. I know that I will always be his.

"Deklan," I moan into the darkness of my room.

A finger falls across my mouth. "Shhhh."

Suddenly, the warmth is gone. His arms have unwrapped themselves and the heat of his body disappears, leaving me shivering and cold.

"Don't leave me." I stretch my arms forward, grasp at air in hopes to make contact with his body. Panicked, I cry out as his image breaks apart, fading away like dust motes.

"Stay with me." I beg "Please, Deklan... just one last time?"

"I love you, Charlie. Don't ever forget it." And just like that, he's gone.

"I love you too." I whisper into my pillow, feeling the moisture bubble from under my eyelids.

"And here I thought you forgot all about me."

"Johnny." My eyes squeeze tightly shut as his name leaves my lips, not with surprise or even with understanding, but rather in acceptance.

The accustomed grasp curls its way to my neck before he flips me over and brings his face to mine. How he got in here with the cop parked out front? I'll never really know because the look on his face is the only answer I need. No one is coming to save me.

My dream is gone but my nightmare is before me. When his eyes dribble an evilness that would bring the devil to his knees, the beat of my heart fervently thuds in my chest. That's how I know, the plan is to finish what he started, only this time he plans to succeed.

His grip grows stronger as the seconds pass. The all too familiar darkness clouds my vision as I use the last bits of oxygen to gasp for air.

He squeezes harder, discontent with my ability to breathe at all, even marginally. Inhumane vehemence and determination to end me propel themselves from the whites in his knuckles. With his thumbs, he pushes into my windpipe and like all the nightmares before, all the time's he's interrupted my inclination for peace, he leans forward, whispering in my ear.

My senses are distorted, sight and sound both coming and going to the pace of my slowly dwindling pulse.

Veins protrude from his own neck. Tendons taut, pulled tight with anger and a vow to destroy. He is on a mission to win the fight. To conquer my existence while the struggle of our time together steeps from his constricting grip.

The one-time lovers against the mortal enemies.

The mother against the father.

The Dove against the Demon.

I'm reverted to the beginning. A baby in the arms of my loving parents. They kiss my forehead and profess their love before walking away, sobbing into each other's arms. From an infant to an adult, I stand now at the altar, the same stale smell of incense lingers in the air as I'm asked to renew my baptismal promises before death ingests me.

"Do you renounce sin, so as to live in the freedom of the children of God?" The voice of the blurred man before me speaks in my direction.

"I do." My own voice comes out strangled, tinged with childlike fear.

Do you reject the lure of evil, so that sin may have no mastery over you?

"I do."

"Do you reject Satan?"

Just as Johnny's hands close tighter around my neck, stealing my last breath and the life I've come to know, I answer the only way that makes sense as I look into the eyes of the devil himself.

"I tried."

No longer at the church, back in the bowels of hell that is my reality, Johnny's voice carries over the swishing sound of blood that seems to be trying to escape my brain.

"Oh, and Charlie before you go." He places a slime filled kiss at my temple then brings his mouth to my ear, his breathing hot and evil. He's panting and excited, aroused. With his erection pressed into my leg, grunting and close to release, he finally speaks, whispering heavily in a psychotic sing-song voice as my last breath escapes my lungs. It's dark, the world has faded as the last words I'll ever hear surround my lifeless body.

"I'm the one that killed your brother."

The End.... (For Now)

(Want a sneak peek into Sins and Saints, Book 2 in the Taking Flight Series? Keep reading...)

About S. Marie Rose

S. Marie Rose is a Director for a non-profit program specializing in providing residential and vocational support to individuals with intellectual disabilities and their families. Outside of work she is busy with her two insanely hyper and incredibly active little boys who enjoy making all sorts of sounds with their bodies a little more than she considers normal. Coming from a large extended family, she is capable of speaking dysfunction and drama fluently but wouldn't trade the close-knit herd for anything. (Except Thor) Same goes for her dear friends who have long ago forgiven her for not understanding the concept of using an inside voice or laughing a little too uncontrollably at her own jokes. In her free time, she's usually writing, or reading although she also has a small obsession with Dateline (Hey there, Keith Morrison!). Though, if it's a claim to fame you're looking for, she's the proud manager of a women's softball team that makes the Bad News Bears look like Hall of Famers. Most importantly, she wants her message to be clear...always do what makes you happy with a smile on your face, a twinkle in your eye and a middle finger pointed right at all the people who ever doubted your greatness.

Acknowledgements

First and Foremost, I need to thank my parents. Without your continued support, I never would've taken this chance. The faith you bestow in me can never be repaid and there really are no words to describe how grateful I am to have you both.

My little brothers...Maybe we don't see eye to eye all the time but there is no doubt that the three of us have a special relationship, one that proves how well we've been raised and how lucky we are to have each other. I couldn't be prouder of the men you have become and wish nothing but the best for the both of you moving forward.

Of course, I cannot forget to mention my dear friends. To the very few who have stuck by me through all my life's messes, I'm not sure you'll ever know what you actually mean to me. Lisa and Liz, to the both of you especially, thank you for grounding me in my most earth-shattering moments. Our road has been long but there's a lot more to travel and I can't wait to do it with you ladies, love you both. Jillian, your support and help with this has been amazing, there's a light at the end of the tunnel, kid, we just have to keep trying to get closer to it.

As far as the rest of my family goes, the large—sometimes too nosy for their own good—bunch. I would be nothing of who I am without you. All of what we've gone through, the good and bad, has given me the strength and the tools to take this and see where it goes.

Danny-I was so young when we met, and I'll never forget the thrill that came from something so fresh and so new. It's been a wild ride, that's for sure. And, while there's no telling what direction the wind will blow either of us, just know that I will never regret giving you my heart first, as I learned a lot about the person I am and more importantly, the person I want to be. Here's to raising two great kids and a past full of some really great memories.

Lastly, but arguably of most importance—Dylan and Noah. This is my gift to you. (Although, you can never read it.) As your mother, I want you to believe in happiness and find that love that is only meant for storybooks. Never once doubt yourselves, regardless of the challenges that come your way. And remember, not everyone will like you, and that's okay because it's the people that love you unconditionally that matter most. I, my two baby boys, am one of those people. I love you both so fiercely that sometimes my heart actually hurts. My greatest accomplishment and by far the best thing to have ever happened to me was becoming your mother. Be kind always and don't ever forget to dream big. All my love forever-Mommy

Copyright 2019

Doves and Demons © 2017 by S. Marie Rose All Rights Reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

S. Marie Rose

Visit my website at www.smarierose.com

BOOKS BY S.Marie Rose

The Take Flight Series

DOVES AND DEMONS (Book One)

SINS AND SAINTS (Book Two) Coming soon to Smashwords June 2019

FALLING AND FLYING (COMING EARLY 2020)

SINS AND SAINTS (SNEAK PEEK)

My name is Deklan Bentley....

I never used to believe in fate.

Even less in hope.

If FATE were a person, he'd be an asshole and HOPE would be his psycho little brother with questionable behavior toward small animals and family pets.

That is until her.

Until the light she carried in the darkest days blinded me. Until the fire in her eyes branded my soul. Until she bulldozed through the layers upon layers of steel and titanium around my heart with her crazy hair and wide-open brown eyes.

Until I found her.

Until I loved her.

Until I lost her.

Before her, I was content living my life on middle ground, not bothering to see higher places and doing my best to avoid lower ones. Staying in the middle meant the drop down was shorter, the lack of distance of course, making life more bearable.

Bringing myself to that level of weightlessness, where I just let the wind blow me in whatever direction it deemed fit was not only off the table, it was completely foolish. Letting the chips fall where they may—just plain stupid. Trusting in some sort of higher power to lead me down an uncertain path—really fucking dumb.

Sure, I got myself in trouble, did some things and made some decisions I shouldn't have, but because I never chanced a climb to the very top, I never knew what it was like to fall so far down.

Until, I did.

Mostly, the top is for the idealists, dreamers. People that believe in the good of man. The kind of person that wishes upon stars, throws coins in fountains and blows out birthday candles with a zest for all things impossible. So, with a backpack full of sunshine and deep pockets full of rainbows, they set out for the very highest peak, setting themselves up for failure, rejection and inevitable pain.

It's hard to break those fucking climbers. The number of times they dust themselves off and ascend the mountain top of optimism is almost unthinkable. But when they do break? When they finally see that no matter how many times they climb, they just keep falling? Well, then there isn't enough left of them to put back together. I made that very climb once and for that I'll never be the same.

At the highest point, the air was so thin it did things to my brain, clogged up my thoughts and made me forget who I was. I turned into a delusional son of a bitch. Made friends with Fate and gave far more bro-hugs to Hope than I'm comfortable admitting. I put all my shiny eggs in a giant basket of wishful fucking thinking, and it was all because of her.

Fate told me that with her I had everything. Hope said that without her I was nothing.

I am no longer speaking to either.

Those lying little bastards of positivity had me convinced and they didn't just let me down, they tossed me off the highest peak, laughing and pointing as my giant body flopped along each rock and banged against each boulder.

Until her, I had always stayed in the middle because it made sense. I'm a logical person. Or was. It's all past tense now. I didn't feel more than necessary, and I didn't care more than needed. I believed enough in some type of higher power to be cautious but not enough to stop me from seeking justice. A self- proclaimed vigilante. The judge, jury and the executioner had nothing on me, and I fucking loved it.

Because what I knew then and what I still know is this...there may or may not be a God, we may or may not get to see that providential white light or pass the pearly gates and run directly into a realm full of long lost loved ones and innocent children that never should've died to begin with, but until then we'd have to battle evil.

Our fight against all things sordid is everlasting, and many aren't equipped with either the balls for combat or the stomach for revenge. If that meant I had to sacrifice my seat next to Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King and my grandfather's one-eyed brother Mervill, then so be it.

Some people aren't strong enough to go toe to toe with the devil. Some people aren't brave enough to withstand his wrath.

I was not those people.

Evil was my adversary which meant conquering it was my mission. Until the day she walked, or should I say stumbled into my life.

Until everything changed.

I'd been to hell before. Didn't just get the T-shirt to commemorate my experience but picked up the magnet and a postcard as well. And nothing will ever compare to what it was like to watch her walk away from me.

I'd survived war, had my body ripped to shreds by shrapnel, and went head to head with the nastiest drug lords and kingpins this country had to offer, yet listening to the agonizing sobs that left the lips of the only woman I'd ever truly love did me in.

I've bled for my country, for my men and for my family, but I only lived for her.

Before her, Evil was the blight of my existence just as much as it was my push to keep moving. Fighting it meant I had purpose. Destroying it meant I had power. Scrapping with the Devil was a small price to pay to ensure that those less fortunate got a chance. For the ones that had no voice I roared, the ones that were too weak, I carried.

I'd always lived off adrenaline. Things that'd make the average sucker piss themselves, were no more than a challenge for me. A challenge I was hellbent on winning. But I wasn't stupid in my decisions. Confident, yea. But not stupid. I knew what I was capable of and believed in my abilities. I didn't think I was impenetrable, I just never let anyone get close enough to try.

Physical pain was doable.

Emotional pain was not allowed.

Now my goddamn heart was bleeding. Another sign that I climbed too damn high, exceeded the mountain top and headed straight for the fucking clouds—and I did it all for her.

As my feet pound the pavement below, I put much needed distance between myself and the life that just minutes ago had slipped through my fingers. Her cries seem to go louder as each mile passes. The heartbreaking sounds become my motivation, forcing me to sprint faster. Run harder. Sweat beads along my hairline before spilling down my face, obscuring my vision and muddling my thoughts. How the fuck did I turn into this? Internally broken and irrevocably shattered. A lovesick fool that would die to stop the pain I've caused, surrender to the devil himself to see her smile again.

And that—my willingness to abdicate to all things wrong in the world— is what scared me most. I was a lot of things before her, but a sucker wasn't one of them. There was a time when I used to be a warrior. When I used to be invincible.

Once upon a time I was motherfucking Superman.

Until she became my kryptonite...

BEFORE YOU GO

I want to thank all of my readers for helping me along with this journey. While the process is still new to me, I am happy to be able to share this experience with each and every one of you. Making you proud is my number one goal, so stick with me and we'll take the ride together.

As always, please don't forget to leave a review. I love honesty but rudeness is unnecessary so if you're happy and have something constructive or positive to say please do so. If you didn't like the story that's okay too, I still think you're awesome!

Also, I absolutely love hearing from you guys, email me anytime at smarierosebooks@gmail.com.

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