Then There Was You: A Single Parent Collection

by Gianna Gabriela

  “I want you in my bed tonight,” I whisper in her ear, slap her teasing little ass, and lift my chin at Dane, who’s headed our way.

  “Murdock. You crazy motherfucker. How the hell are you?” Dane lifts his brows in a mystifying way the closer he gets to us. The bastard can’t take his bugged-out eyes off of my woman.

  “I’m better than I’ve been in years,” I tell him. He, too, has listened to the story of Cora’s death and how it affected me over several drunken nights. The man is very familiar with my pain as he, too, lost the woman he loved once. The bitch cheated on him while he was overseas. Now he’s like I used to be. Random women when you need them. Guard your heart against all the fucked-up beauties who will rip it out without a care.

  Those lifted brows narrow when he stands in front of us.

  “It’s a long story. One I promise to tell you, brother. This is Cora. She’s alive, man,” I spill the news to him quickly.

  “Jesus Christ. You’re Cora?” the big guy stutters as if he just pulled those words right out of his ass when he sticks out his big hand to shake hers.

  “Hi,” Cora says meekly. Gone is the playfulness. Confusion has taken its place.

  “It’s a goddamn pleasure, Cora. I’ve heard so much about you over the years. All I can say is I’m shocked and happy. I’m not going to pry, but you do owe me a talk, brother,” he affirms, releases her hand, and stands there looking as shocked as the rest of us were.

  “I know. Right now, though, I need a couple helmets. Small and medium, and Cora needs some leather,” I explain.

  “Well, come on then. I can have Janice get you everything you need,” he says, still stunned. Still staring like a gaping fool.

  We follow him through the rows of bikes to the back of the store, where he introduces Cora and Janice. While she saunters off to get what she wants, I give Dane a brief lowdown while my eyes never once leave her until she enters the dressing room. I don’t need to ask for his help. He offers it without hesitation. Another phase in my plan is complete. Now, to get my ass to the station to derive a goddamn plan to do this the right way and hope like a bitch it fails. I promised her I would do this the legal way. I never promised I wouldn’t kill him while doing it.

  19

  CORA

  Today is a dream come true in many ways. It is the perfect afternoon. I’ll never forget the look of the teenage boy I remember on Riddick’s face when he takes my hand in his and we silently walk down the pier, stopping every so often so we can stare at our palms pressed together. Every time we do, he brings them up to his lips and gently kisses the tips of my fingers. A shiver runs down my spine when I outline those same lips with a force that overthrows all my rationality to the fact we are in public. I kiss him every time he pauses. Deep and hard. Harder than I ever have before. Deeper than I did after being undeniably silly after riding openly free on his bike. All because for one day we are able to show people around us we were a couple in love.

  There are so many women in this world who simply want the attention of the man they love and never receive it. Not in the way they truly wish for. A simple arm around her shoulder, a loving gaze, a tender touch. Those small gestures go both ways in a relationship where you don’t care what others think, because the only person you care about is standing in front of you. I want to yell at the couples walking on the sidewalks, going in and out of the stores not touching, not speaking to another, the husbands or boyfriends doing the comfortable nod when asked a question, and ask them, why? Why are you standing here taking one another for granted? Do you not care that your opinion means something to her? That your simple nod or her eye roll is a waste of precious time? That man, that woman you take for granted could be gone within your next heartbeat; and where would you be then? You’d be dead inside. You’d wish you told her that dress looked beautiful on her. Or that you’d give anything to hold her hand just one more time if only she were there for you to do so. I’ve lived it for years, and trust me it is a much better place to be on this side of the fence where there is no comfort zone. There’s only time. Precious God-giving time. Of course, I don’t say any of that; but it was how I felt. How I’ll feel until I’m old, wrinkled, and struggling for that last breath, because I don’t want to let go of this man’s hand, this man’s heart ever again. Not even to take the smallest thing for granted.

  I buy clothes, too, today. Ones I never thought I’d wear. I should say Riddick buys them for me. He whispers in my ear that he’s never been able to give me anything before and now he wants to give me everything. I tell him all I need is him. A man who I know wants to provide for both Ethan and me, so I graciously let him. The clothes at the Harley store were only the beginning of the many things he buys for me. It’s a good thing we live close to town so we can come back to pick it all up tomorrow, including the extravagant gift he bought Ethan today. I can’t wait to cherish the memory of the expression on his face when he sees it.

  All of my worries and fear of the morning were swept out to sea today. I wish they’d stay there, tossing away in the deepest trenches of the ocean. They won’t, or rather he won’t. They’ll surface like a tangling web of seaweed only to wrap around my throat and choke me as they slowly creep back in with the tide later. For now, though, I stand in this massive theater room with my mouth hanging wide open and admire what Riddick has done.

  “Oh my God.” My words are slightly high-pitched. I am awestruck when we walk through the door of Riddick’s what looks like to be his own theater room slash man cave. I coerce my heart to level out its unsteady beats as I take in the room before me. I have never seen a room more impressive in my life. Who needs to go to the drive-in movies when they have this?

  “Do you like it?” He probes from where he’s positioned himself a few feet beside me, head tilted to the side, studying my every move. He’s leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, one foot perched up on the wall, a self-satisfied look on his handsome face.

  “It’s remarkable. Ethan is never going to want to leave this room,” I acknowledge truthfully. One wall is covered with a large movie screen. A brown leather sectional couch sits in the middle of the room facing the screen. Two large matching reclining chairs are behind it. There’s a small dark, wooden bar with a few glassed in panels built into the wall next to it. They’re all beautiful. A man’s dream room. But none of them come close to what I see in the two glassed-in shelving units next to the bar. Medals. Awards. My feet move toward them, rapidly. My eyes are glistening with tears.

  “I saw these on your uniform when I searched you out. Riddick, these are… I’m proud of you.” My fingers skim over the glass delicately. There’s a medal of valor, distinguished rifleman, unit awards, and individual serviceman awards. There has to be over a hundred of them in here.

  “Do you ever talk about your time over there? The things you did or saw?” I enquire, still studying his accomplishments.

  “Not really. It’s a part of me I’ll never forget. A part I’m proud to have done, but to talk about it… No. I’m lucky enough to remember my time at war. I know many men who aren’t. Dedicated and loyal men who gave up their lives for our country. That’s something I’ll keep locked away.” He shrugs, hands still in his pockets as he, too, stares for several long drawn-out minutes. Remembering a part of his life I may never know about. A part that saddens me. A part that brings me back to my thoughts of today. Life is too short. Don’t run through it. Walk at a steady pace; live as if today is your last, and if you’re lucky to have more, then repeat. Daily.

  “Ethan will love those,” I say, tugging one of his hands out of his pocket to hold.

  “He saw them briefly the other night. In fact, he zoomed in and out of every room but one.”

  “That sounds like him. He’s a busy kid. One day you’ll be able to tell us both about each one of these,” I articulate. I would love nothing more than to hear this part of his life if he’s willing to share. Ironically, as I watch him highlight his mind on a difficult par
t of his past, his features stern, his eyes trained on one certain spot, he reminds me of Ethan. They both go deep into concentration on whatever object holds their interest. It’s a part of the two of them I love.

  “Is it crazy of me to say that I feel like I can talk to him about anything already?” His response widens my smile.

  “No. I told you parenting comes natural to some, and trust me you have what it takes to be a great dad. You’ve proven it since you first found out about him,” I say clearly.

  “I love him in an indescribable way.” I crane my neck to look up and him. His voice is so low and deep. I stand there speechless when I see tears glistening in his eyes.

  “Love for your child is indescribable, Riddick. For you to even say that is all the proof you’ll ever need for yourself. To him, you have nothing to prove.”

  “Yeah. What about you, Angel? Is there anything I need to prove to you?” I become flustered when he locks his heated eyes with mine. Immediately turned on and forgetting all about the outside world once again for I don’t know how long as his warm lips kiss the back of my neck. Grazing ever so gently. Seducing as he makes his way up to my ear, pulling my lobe between his teeth. The love I have for this man impacts my body in the most pleasurable ways. Warmth. Breathtaking.

  “No. You’re beating heart is all the proof I need. Now, are you going to show me this one room you’re talking about?” My words are barely perceptible. I’m positive it’s his bedroom. The one I have yet to see. The one he has yet to make love to me in.

  “My heart beats for you, Cora. I’ll show you this room. If that’s what you want.” Every single one of those words sends an impatient shiver through me. That, plus the way he presses his erection into my back and grabs me by the hand. He flicks off the light in a rush and pulls me down the hall, where he briefly shows me his office, another bathroom, and a massive guest room. We then make our way up the stairs to the top level. I gasp, loudly, lose my footing, almost crashing to the floor when I see what looks to appear that the entire top floor of his home is his bedroom.

  It steals my breath away. Shiny Hardwood floors. A workout area complete with a treadmill, free weights, and every other machine you would see in a gym. Images of a hard, rippled chest of muscles with Riddick dripping in sweat flash through my mind as my mind’s eye visualizes him running bare-chested, shorts hung low on the treadmill. Sexy as hell.

  There’s a living area space with a couch and a chair. A fireplace with a brown rug with lavender swirls. Pictures. So many pictures are covering the walls. Of him, me, and us. My body becomes frozen. The only thing I feel is the rapid thump of my beating heart that wants to leap out of my chest and position itself inside every single one of those photos.

  “Oh my God, Riddick. These…That…” I stumble my words once the understanding of what he has done wears off. He professionally had these done somehow. All of these were taken on an old camera of his. I point to the photos all in neat little rows. My words lost in my throat.

  “They’re everything, Angel.” The way he says my nickname, so low, so sweet, so full of desire has me placing my hands across my chest to slow my erratic beating hub that’s working its way to an earth-shattering, time-stopping fullness of all things eternal. I have photographic memories now. Not ones that have lived in my head. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. Get on my knees and thank anyone who will listen. These photos undo me, and I give in to the weakening of my knees, allowing them to buckle from underneath me. I don’t hit the floor like expected. How could I when he swoops me into his arms and carries me across the room to his bed? The comforter, matching pillows, and rugs are the same design, too. Brown with lavender. He did this for me. All of it.

  Gently, he lays me down on the bed. Kneels before me to remove my new leather boots. Once he strips himself of his own, he simply presses me down on the bed, his strong body following. Our gazes are locked. Our memories are held. We don’t need the words of our past to taint what we share. The bad recollections of the sparse stolen nights. The brief hallway glances in school. The sneaking around. None of that means a thing when what we have is here and now. Our son. Our love. Together. That wall of photos is a wall that means more to me than any word either of us could ever say. I fall asleep in his arms after bawling like a baby, and he lets me.

  I woke up a few hours ago with an exquisite ache between my legs. After crying myself to sleep the other night, Riddick stripped me of my clothes. Made love to me slowly and again the following morning. Last night, he fucked me over the back of the couch with my hands handcuffed once again while he worshiped me with his tongue, driving me mad and out of my mind. He seems to take his role as a cop to the extreme with those cuffs. I told him so. I also reminded him that two could play at that game and the day will come where I cuff him to his bed to torture him, keep him from being able to touch me like he has done to me. He challenged me to try, and I will. I’ve gone so long without touching him that the need to do so any chance I get is rooted deeply in me. It’s the same for him, though. The need, the desire to worship and to please. I’ll figure out a way to hook him into my trap, to seduce him, drive him wild until he has no choice but to beg me to take the cuffs off.

  And now, here I sit flicking my eyes from the stairs to the clock. The actual time that never really exists is mocking me as I stare at the hands slowly ticking beside Riddick’s bed. It’s been two days since we had our fun day. Two nights of staying here, hanging out and being a family. Our days spent on the beach with Dane surfing and protecting us while Riddick works, our nights spent tucked away in this home. And two days closer to my birthday. You would think I would be dreading turning thirty. Instead, I’m dreading the day for reasons that are taking over my existence. Beating the shit out of my heart and my mind.

  I’m also berating myself for lying. I may have kept things hidden from Ethan to protect him, but I have never lied to him. That is, up until the other morning when we picked him up from Aaron’s.

  We told him we were going to move into Riddick’s home at Ethan’s pace, gradually. Well, unbeknownst to me, my son’s pace is faster than the quickest animal on the planet. He was ready before Riddick and I were done telling him our lie. Now I’m consumed with guilt. Thinking that how we decided to handle this was a mistake, that we should have kept sneaking around, but Riddick wouldn’t listen to me. His decision was already made that the two of us were done hiding our relationship and the last person we should be keeping it from is our son. I understand what he’s saying; what I can’t seem to get through the thick head of his so it will penetrate into his brain is I’m worried out of my mind that all of this is too much for Ethan. My parents, Vivian, and even Riddick have all told me that it’s not. However, Mom did tell me she would think I had lost my motherly touch if I wasn’t worried.

  So now here I am, wanting to curl up in a ball while Riddick does the father-son talk or whatever it is he’s doing down there while I stare wide-eyed and rubbernecking like a chicken about ready to get its head cut off. We have to keep the truth from Ethan; so given our current circumstances we told him what we thought he would want to hear. Of course, I left out the part of his parents sleeping in the same room.

  Chaos is my life right now. It’s utterly filled with it. I’m being pulled in too many directions. Losing my mind over all of this to the point I’ve made myself physically sick. Of course, I’ve hidden it from everyone. The sweaty palms, the increase in my heart rate. Cold hands and feet every time Riddick walks out his door to meet with the FBI, only for him to call or come back telling me nothing. It’s police business now. My time to give my statement will come soon, or so he says. It’s also the first time he will meet my mom. At a damn police station of all places. They want every family member’s recollection of that dreadful night on paper. Mom, Dad, and Vivian know everything now. All of it has been done over the phone once again. I’m thankful they’ve been busy at the hospital, where security is tight. Vivian has been staying there, too, all of th
em sleeping in between delivering babies. I want this all done and over, so I can get back to my job, our patients. My life. Helping bring a child into this world has been something I’ve wanted to do since the day I gave birth to Ethan. It fills me with joy to see a newborn take his or her first breath. To see the look of pure, unconditional love on the mother’s face when she holds her child for the first time. The tears of joy, the promise of protection from the father.

  The FBI wants my mom and Vivian to give statements tomorrow. I’m going to hate reliving that horrible night in more detail when I give them mine, especially in front of Riddick, but the strength I have to bring justice offsets the horrible memories I’ll never forget, no matter what happens to my brother. It’s terrible of me to admit to myself that I hope he dies. That he’s shot straight through his dark chest and rots in hell for what he has done.

  And let’s not forget I have to be fingerprinted to prove I’m who I say I am. It’s bullshit that we have to cut our way through that giant ball of red tape before they look for the worthless prick. I’m so mad about it that my usual confined temper will probably flare like a bunch of defective fireworks and shoot off in the direction of whichever officer takes my prints. Idiots.

  “Mom. Henley is here for my lesson,” Ethan hollers from the top of the stairs, bringing me out of my somber slump. I jump off the bed before he can reach me. Straighten out my t-shirt and shorts and smooth out my still damp hair.

  “Wow. This room is sweet.” He heads right toward the weights, struggles as he tries to lift one, only to drop it right back down. I cover my mouth to stifle my laugh. My son is not perfect, but he sure is adorable.

  “Yeah. It’s pretty amazing,” I say.

  “Is that you and Dad?” He points to the pictures on the wall.

  “It is.”

  “Man, look at his bare arms. I like him covered in tattoos better, don’t you?” Ethan takes his time looking at every photo. I admire his features. So young, so full of life.