King Me

by Season Vining

  “Can we sleep first?” I ask, a yawn punctuating my question. “I’m so tired.”

  He nods and pulls me from the sofa. King crawls into my bed and I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight. I tuck myself into his chest and wrap a leg around his to anchor us together. Nothing has ever felt more right.

  Hours later I wake from the deepest, most satisfying sleep I’ve had in over a year. No nightmares came to visit, no swarming darkness in my thoughts. I am warm and comfortable and as consciousness nudges me back to life, I am unwilling to move.

  “I know you’re awake,” King whispers.

  I blink rapidly, sharpening my vision, and find his emerald eyes searching mine. King slides his arm from under my head and stretches them above his head. The hem of his shirt pulls up and I’m blessed with the sight of those perfect indentations leading south into his jeans. King smiles when he catches me staring and I roll my eyes at his teasing.

  “Why did you come back?” I ask, not entirely sure that I want to know the answer. I am so thankful that he is the bigger person, coming back to talk about what happened. If it were up to me, I would have ignored his calls and made myself miserable—hiding away like the wimp I am. But here he is, a testament to the fact that he is so far beyond what I deserve.

  He places his hand on my waist as I tuck both hands under my cheek. I wonder if he can see the race of my pulse when he touches me, if he knows about the “Valentine Effect.”

  “Because I wasn’t willing to leave things how they were. You were being a coward and I came back to tell you that,” he says, his hand sliding down my thigh. And there it is, laid out for both of us to hear. “I came back because I’m not willing to stand by while you continue to torture yourself for whatever happened in your past.”

  My eyes focus on the design of his t-shirt, my fingers fidget with the edge of my pillow. I let the deep tone of his voice wash over me, letting it cocoon me from the outside world. King nudges my chin, forcing me to focus on him.

  “You are not a bad person, Laney Mills.”

  I huff and roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling instead of his kind gaze. “You have no idea who I am, King.”

  “I want to know,” he says. His words are firm and they hit me with a force that leaves cracks in the wall I’ve built around myself.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, not knowing that I have the strength to tell my story again. I want King, but I don’t deserve him or his kindness. Being the selfish woman that I am, I face him again and decide to test the waters.

  “Do you?” I ask. “Do you really want to know who I am and what I’ve done?”

  He nods, no indication of fear or judgment in his face. So, in the safety of my bed, lit by the afternoon sun, I confess my sins to Valentine King.

  “I was engaged. His name was Adam. We met my senior year in college and instantly became friends. He asked me out one day and two years later, he asked me to marry him,” I pause, picturing Adam down on one knee and a shiny diamond ring with all of our friends and family around. I believed I was happy. “I thought we were in love. Well, I was in love. We were both really focused on our education, passionate about the same things. Adam and I both agreed on a long engagement because of school. It was all so perfect—in theory.”

  King takes my hand and laces our fingers together on the mattress in the space between us. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and summon the strength to finish my story.

  “Eleven months after our engagement,” I stop as the scene plays out in my head, like it has a million times before. A sickening feeling sits like a boulder in my gut and I would rather do anything than continue. “I surprised Adam at work, only to find him screwing my childhood best friend. She was naked and bent over his desk. Our engagement photo fell off the desk and shattered.”

  King’s brows knit together, his lips pull down into an angry frown as he squeezes my hand.

  “I gasped when the photo broke and they finally noticed me there. I ran to my car in a blind rage, just needing to escape. Deciding to go to my mom for support, I headed for her house. I don’t know if my tears blinded me or if I just wasn’t mentally present, but as I turned into the neighborhood, I failed to see five-year-old Macey Keats chase her dog into the street.”

  I release King’s grip and roll onto my back, pushing both hands into my hair and pulling just enough for the pain to ground me to this time and place—instead of my past. Squeezing my eyes closed, I let my words float up toward the ceiling.

  “She was wearing a white cotton dress and no shoes. Her long, blonde hair was in braids and they were the last thing I saw before I hit her.”

  “Jesus, Laney,” King whispers. At this moment I am thankful to not be looking at his face. I couldn’t bear to witness what I’ve seen so many times.

  “What happened after that is kind of a blur, they call it post traumatic stress disorder. Every now and then I remember bits and pieces in my nightmares, only to forget them minutes after waking up. My therapist says that my brain is protecting me from a complete mental breakdown.”

  The tears finally fall from my eyes, sliding past my temples and soaking into my hair. King reaches for me. Despite my protesting, he pulls me into a tight embrace that somehow breaks the last thread holding me together. I sob into his chest, soaking his shirt and expelling the demons that have haunted me for all these months. He holds me while I mourn for Macey, for the woman I was, for the lives I destroyed. King forgives me and consoles me. He doesn’t make excuses for what I did. He doesn’t tell me it’ll be okay. He simply holds me.

  When my tears dry up, I find myself mentally and physically exhausted. King lifts his head and props it up on his hand, studying me closely. His other hand slides under my shirt and rests on my waist, the warmth of his skin against mine thoroughly distracting me from our heavy conversation.

  “You are a complicated creature, Delaney Mills,” he says. “You carry so many burdens, and still here you are.”

  “Here I am.”

  I reach for his pendant and hold it between my fingers, turning it back and forth in the light to get a better look. It is an intricate pattern of vertical and crisscrossing lines and stars, forming a beautiful grid.

  “This is Ogoun, right?” I ask.

  King’s eyes go wide and he grins. “Yes.”

  “I totally just impressed you, didn’t I?” He nods as the pinky finger of the hand resting on my waist slides below the waistband of my shorts. It is a tiny move, but it makes me hyper aware of his movements. He sweeps the finger back and forth and chills descend my spine.

  “You did,” he admits.

  “He’s the spirit warrior,” I say. “He’s associated with healing and strategy.”

  “And protection,” King finishes. “Mamie gave me this charm when I was a kid. I never take it off.”

  Pressing it against his skin, I look up at him through my lashes. “Think it’ll work for both of us?”

  “Only if you believe it will,” he says.

  Silence stretches between us, like it often does. I’ve learned to appreciate the quiet lately, even in King’s presence.

  “Do you have anything to eat?” he asks after a few minutes. “I’m starving.”

  I laugh and roll out of bed, already missing his touch. We pass each other in the hall as I make my way to the bathroom where he smacks my ass.

  “Hey!”

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for too long,” he admits with a wink before disappearing around the corner.

  This man, in all his coolness and charm, all his beauty and faith, is proving to be more than just a resource—somehow he’s turned into my savior. I check myself in the mirror while washing my hands and don’t recognize the smiling face staring back at me. I’ve smiled more in the past few weeks than I have in the last year. Even after confessing my ugly truths, King stayed. He didn’t judge me or prod me for more information. I’ve never met anyone like him before and I doubt I ever will. He’s a conundrum, a tempered mass of s
erenity and truth and absolute peace. He exists on an entirely different plane than the rest of us, and I want nothing more than to be worthy of him.

  When I reenter the kitchen, I find Valentine staring into my empty refrigerator. He huffs and closes it, leaning against the vintage appliance.

  “Laney, you have zero food in here. Seriously, all I found were like thirty packets of instant noodles. You’re in New Orleans, where everything is delicious and you’re living on Top Ramen? This is a tragedy.”

  I shrug, not really having an explanation for my food choices. “This is not a tragedy, King. Not like Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston splitting up. Now that was tragic.”

  He looks at me, one eyebrow raised in question. “Are you being serious right now?”

  I lean against the sink and cross my arms. “I was devastated. They were so perfect together.”

  King scrunches up his face and even with the silly gesture, he is still devastatingly handsome. “Let’s go grab something to eat,” he says.

  “And what? Hope we don’t run into my Bondye Saint landlady?”

  “Well, we can’t stay locked up here forever. Plus, I don’t buy that she’s involved. The woman can barely keep up with her glasses, much less run an underground group.”

  “Things are not always as they seem.”

  “Did you find that wisdom in a fortune cookie?”

  I throw my hands on my hips and glare at King, which only makes his smirk grow.

  Lunging for him, King sidesteps my advance. I chase him around the small table and finally catch him on the other side. Or rather, he lets me catch him. King throws me over his shoulder and flops me down onto the bed. He crawls over me and suddenly the laughter dies off in a sea of lust. His thick arms cage me in as he hovers over my body. Our eyes hold each other in place. When his tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, there’s a fluttering of nerves in my center.

  King captures my lips in a soft kiss. As much as I crave him, I keep this kiss gentle and yielding. I hope that it speaks all the words that I can’t say. He rests his forehead against mine again as panting breaths fan across our faces. His silver pendant hangs down between us and I close my eyes to silently pray for protection.

  “Thank you,” I whisper against his lips.

  He lifts his head and looks at me, puzzled.

  “For what?” King asks.

  “For not running away.”

  He places one more kiss on my lips before crawling off of my body. “Come on. I’m starving.”

  _______________

  We share a roast beef po-boy at Court of Two Sisters and try to come up with a plan. It’s extremely hard to concentrate with gravy running down my arms or dripping off my chin. King doesn’t have a drop anywhere.

  “How the hell do you do that?” I say, gesturing to his clean face.

  “Years of practice.”

  I grab another stack of napkins and try to clean myself up while King stares off above my head. I can almost see the wheels turning in that gorgeous head of his.

  “I think our first objective should be to find out if Cas is involved the Bondye Saints.”

  “Right, but how do we do that on the down low?” I ask.

  “No clue,” he answers, taking another bite.

  “What do you think would happen if we just outright ask her?”

  King puts down his sandwich slowly, like it’s a delicate bomb set to go off. He looks at me with a frown, the tendons in his neck pulled tight. “I think that a whole new world of hurt would be brought down on our heads. The fact that we have this information, and they don’t know we have it, can be to our advantage.”

  “Do you think Mamie would help us?” I ask.

  “It’s a start,” he says. “We can try Marie again, too.” I blow out an exaggerated breath and roll my eyes. “What?”

  “She seems to be a BIG fan of yours. I’m sure you can coax some information out of her,” I say, tossing my last napkin onto my empty plate.

  King reaches over, grabs the seat of my chair and pulls me close. He leans in, his lips at my ear. “I don’t know if you noticed, but Marie is a BIG fan of yours too.” He places a kiss on my neck and my only reaction is to hum in agreement. “Think you could handle both of us?”

  My mind instantly fills with vivid images of King and I and Marie, naked with tangled limbs and hands everywhere. It sends a curious wave of lust crashing through my body, settling in my panties. I’m shocked and a little embarrassed by my reaction.

  “Umm,” is all I can say. The images start to fade and my brain function returns. My eyes dart around the cafe, wondering if I look as guilty as I feel.

  King lays his hand on my leg, his long fingers curling around the inside of my thigh. He slides it up toward the edge of my shorts. “Don’t worry. No one knows the dirty things you’re thinking right now—except me.”

  Heat blooms in my face and I slap his hand away. “You’re going to pay for this,” I warn with an embarrassed smile.

  King straightens and leans back in his chair, so casual you’d think he didn’t belong anywhere else. “I look forward to it.”

  The busboy slides between us to clear the table, cutting the sexual tension and allowing me to refocus on our goal.

  “I think we should split up. I’ll go back to Marie and you go to Mamie. We can meet back up after,” I say.

  King shakes his head. “I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

  “Hey, I can take care of myself. Plus, I’ll be with Marie,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows.

  “I guess so. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your game anyway.”

  “Ha. Ha,” I deadpan.

  We step onto the sidewalk, both of us scanning the street. For what? I don’t know. Everyone in New Orleans looks a little suspicious. “I’ll drop you off at Marie’s and head to Mamie’s. Call me when you’re done,” King says.

  “Okay,” I agree, kicking at the street sign post. For all my big talk, I feel anxious about being apart from him. “You be careful.”

  King slides his pendant back and forth. “Always.”

  I try to seem confident as I head through the store and down the dark hallway to see Marie again. When I enter her room, I find her alone. Marie is leaned against the counter reading a magazine. Today, she’s in a maxi skirt and tank. A wide headband tames her wild curls.

  “Hey, Marie,” I say, hoping that I don’t sound like I am trying too hard.

  “Delaney! To what do I owe the pleasure?” she says, setting down her magazine.

  “I was just in the neighborhood,” I say, but my voice goes up at the end and it comes out like a question. Her eyes appraise me and she smiles back slyly. This girl can see right through me.

  “Lucky me,” Marie says. “I just made some coffee, you want some?”

  “Sounds great.” I follow behind the counter and into her apartment.

  “So, you’re staying in The Quarter?” Marie asks.

  “Yeah, not far from here. Right above Bon Amis books. You know the place?” I take a seat at her kitchen table.

  “I do. Cas Duvernay has been a friend of my mother’s for decades.”

  “That’s cool. For a big city, New Orleans seems to have small town connections.”

  Marie laughs and pours two cups of coffee. “You’re right about that. Everybody knows everybody, and all your business too.”

  “So Cas has connections to Voodoo then?”

  “She used to be more involved when I was younger,” Marie says, placing both cups on the table. “After her husband Miles died, she kind of fell off. Miles was really involved, very close to Papa Voodoo from what I hear. Cream and sugar?”

  “No, just black, thanks.”

  Marie sits across from me, a pretty, but practiced, smile firmly in place. Thoughts of King and I’s conversation from dinner flash through my mind and I have to look away. My pulse races and I feel as though Marie can sense the change in me.

  She leans forward, tucking a stray piece of
hair behind my ear. Her fingers linger on my skin, tracing the curve of my neck before falling away. “How is your research coming? Found what you’re looking for yet?”

  I swallow the hot coffee, uncrossing and re-crossing my legs under the table. “Not exactly.”

  “Is there something I can do for you?” she asks. I repress a smile as she runs her fingers through her curls and looks up. Her question is loaded with innuendo and genuine offers.

  I smile and lean closer. “Well, since you asked... I’m looking for more information on the Bondye Saints.”

  Marie’s posture straightens and she shifts in her seat. In a flash, she appears to relax and I know that she’s hiding something.

  “Ah, they’re not so important these days.”

  “These days? So they used to be important? How important?”

  “Back in the sixties, they held a few positions of power in the community. But they supposedly discovered an ancient spell and broke off in this ridiculous quest for power. That led to the abduction of a local girl,” she says with a sigh. The kidnapping story from St. John’s Eve snaps into my thoughts. “Leaders tried to keep it contained, but the authorities became involved. After that, the members of the Bondye Saints were ordered to disband or they would be shunned. As far as I know, they have.”

  I sip my bitter coffee and shake my head. “I don’t think that is the case at all. I’ve run into some people who very persuasively asked me to stop looking into them.”

  Marie’s eyes widen as her nervous fingers tap against her coffee cup. “Really? Well, maybe you should listen then.”

  “I’m not scared, Marie. I just need to know who they are and what they’re up to. Call it a gut feeling, but I just know the Bondye Saints are back and they’re going to be trouble.”

  I place my hand over hers and squeeze. She pulls away quickly, as if my touch burned her. I can almost see the protective wall come up around her.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” she answers, all the charm gone from her voice.

  I stand, recognizing the moment my welcome is over. “Thanks for the coffee. I guess I’ll see you around.” She nods, not meeting my eyes as I walk past. I make my way through the store, but before I reach the exit, she calls my name.