The Finish Line

by Stewart , Kate

  “Too long. I’m surprised you remember me. You were only there one semester.”

  It’s a lie. Not his time at prep, but the acquaintance only aspect of our conversation. Someone is always listening, and we’re not taking any chances. From the second we stepped into that breakfast café twenty years ago, both slightly hungover and eager for grease in our bellies, we got personal due to a newly formed trust and respect.

  For the first time, I trusted an outsider with my plans for Roman, and he shared his aspirations as well. And together we strategized our own agenda, and together, we carried it out to the fucking letter.

  Little did I know, we would become the greatest of allies. Upon hearing his aspirations, I knew he was the perfect candidate for an underdog President. Orphaned, but from good breeding, insanely wealthy, good-looking, but could control his dick and treat girls with respect, even behind closed doors. He was one of the first of my major recruits and a damned good decision on my part. My financial backing to his campaign was ironic and brought us full circle.

  His ink is there—though it’s invisible—and he’s one of the founding fathers of the brotherhood, now sitting in the most powerful seat in the world.

  “Molly wanted me to extend an invitation to dinner.”

  “Someday soon, I’ll take you up on that.” We agreed early on that the association between us needs to stay formal until we have the bulk of our work out of the way—or unless there’s an emergency. My contributions to his campaign and our months at the same prep school for one semester our only visible tie. He’s one of the only decent men in power, and we have too much to accomplish in the next seven years for our association to taint him—should I ever get prosecuted for my crimes.

  Preston Monroe doesn’t need micro-managing, and Tyler has been preparing for this since he joined the Marines.

  “What are you up to these days, Tobias?”

  “Most recently, sir, I’ve taken an interest in Virginia.”

  “Ah. Glad to know you’re in the neighborhood. Anyone I know?”

  “You’ll meet her, eventually.”

  “I’m intrigued. So, I’m assuming you’re retiring from politics?”

  “It’s temporary,” I assure him. “I don’t golf.”

  “Well, good luck with that. I’ll be in touch.”

  “I appreciate your call, Mr. President.”

  “I look forward to seeing you at the House.”

  “You deserve this,” I say honestly.

  “Couldn’t have done it without you, man.”

  Ending the call, I glance out the window of Cecelia’s bedroom before I shoot off a text.

  ETA?

  Russell: A little birdie just parked the Audi in the driveway, keys in the visor. I’ve got two freshly hatched birds coming. Should I send more?

  Send four more. I’m not familiar with the neighborhood. And switch the old. They’re tired and bored, which makes them useless to me. I want 20/20 fucking vision. Understood?

  Russell: Got it. They’ll be there tomorrow. How’s Cee?

  Good.

  Russell: That was an abrupt answer. She can hold a grudge, can’t she? Laughing emoji.

  When I don’t respond, the phone rattles again.

  Russell: She’s giving you hell, isn’t she? God, I love that girl. Take care of her.

  Get back to fucking work.

  Russell: Aren’t you retired?

  I’m on vacation. Big difference.

  Russell: 10/4 Good buddy. I’m sure you have your hands full. Kissing face emoji.

  I pull up to see my Audi parked in the driveway, and the sight of it jars me. It’s part of what I left behind. It seems no matter how much space I put between myself and the life I was living a year ago. I won’t ever escape it.

  Today I overserved and talked the ear off every customer at the café, intent on resuming my routine. When things got slow, I busied myself scrubbing every inch of my restaurant to avoid Marissa and her questions. This morning, I all but fled, leaving him alone without a car and to his own devices so that I could try and sort my thoughts.

  Exiting the Camaro, I inspect my Audi before glancing at the lifeless house, curious as to what he’s doing inside.

  “You don’t look happy about it.” I damn near jump out of my skin and turn to see Tobias feet away from me, his black tee plastered to his monstrous build, sweat trickling down both his temples.

  “Or maybe you didn’t want to go into that house because you thought I was in there.” He tilts his head, his allure drawing me in, his stare skeptical. “Which one is it, Cecelia?” The rawness in his voice threatens to open the reinforced scars in my chest. “Stop eye-fucking me, and tell me which is it? You’re not happy about the car or the fact that you were going to have to face me in that house?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” In two strides, he’s in front of me, his presence invading. I’ve never been immune to him, and playing indifferent to my attraction at this point is ridiculous—not only that, he knows better.

  “That was my second run today. You’re not alone in what you’re feeling.” He glances at the car. “We can get rid of it, but I was the one who took it away from you, so I thought I should be the one to return it.”

  “It just surprised me, that’s all. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.”

  “Right,” he mutters in a dejected tone. I grip his forearm when he steps around me, and he stops, shoulders tensing as he lifts amber-colored eyes to mine.

  “I love the car,” I say honestly, but we both know it’s not the car I’m talking about. “I’m just…” Anger surges through me, and he reads the agitation taking over.

  “Ready to talk?” He turns and moves in, causing me to take a step back. “Fight?” Another step. Nothing in his demeanor hinting of exhaustion, though he just ran for miles. He’s pure wolf as he leans in, faint hints of citrus and spice invading my senses. “Fuck?”

  When I remain mute, his shoulders sag. He presses a kiss to my temple before he dips to whisper. “More time, then. That’s all we have, Cecelia,” he reminds me before he makes his way into the house.

  “That looks awesome,” Marissa speaks up from behind me as I pull more of the fake web and tape it to the side of the window. Stepping back, I admire my handiwork and glance around the café, satisfied with the progress. After the morning rush, Marissa and I managed to transform the restaurant with monster motif. It’s a bit premature with the holiday weeks away, but I needed the distraction.

  “Looks good,” I agree. I’ve never dreamed of being a shop owner, but I admit having a place like this is satisfying in so many ways—a place I myself would frequent as a patron. There are a few gathered around the cozy fire in the reading nook. There’s a steady crispness in the air now as the leaves on the ancient oaks opposite the parking lot rapidly turn brilliant shades of pumpkin, red, and yellow, officiating fall’s arrival. A season I used to loathe due to a few life-altering summers that I never wanted to end.

  “Now,” Marissa says sharply. “I’m going to whip us up some lattes, and you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on. I’ve been patient enough.”

  Just as she speaks, a school bus pulls up and a few dozen kids start filing out before heading toward the café.

  “Oh, shit,” Marissa says. “Did you know they were coming?”

  “No idea,” I reply, equally as taken aback just as Tobias pulls up in the parking lot, his attention shifting from me to the school bus of children piling into the restaurant. By the time he reaches the door, he’s already rolling up his sleeves. He winks at Marissa in greeting before leaning in and pressing a brief kiss to my lips.

  “Just tell me where you need me.”

  Chaos, utter and complete chaos would be how I describe the next hour. Rows and rows of school children fill every table and booth monitored by just a handful of teachers who looked to be at their wits end. Though I relieved our third waitress after the morning rush, Marissa and I, a
long with Tobias’s unexpected help, manage to do a decent job of expediting the food and drink orders—but the noise is deafening. Tobias zooms around with a bin, collecting plates like the job comes first nature, sweeping up spills and taking orders for the few stragglers who come in to dine.

  “Goddamn rednecks make us all look bad!” Billy booms from the counter in reaction to something on TV, making me jump as I began to tally up the tickets to get the bus full of middle schoolers out of my café.

  “Billy,” I scold. “Little ears everywhere. Please try to watch your language.”

  “Sorry,” he looks over to the mortified woman in an adjacent booth. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  She scoffs at his apology, and he takes immediate offense. “Lady, you live seventy years, and you can say anything you damn well please.”

  The ‘well, I never,’ in her expression as she tosses a look my way lets me know Billy’s behavior is on me. “I’ll take my check.”

  She collects her purse and begins to usher her little boy out of the booth.

  “I’m so sorry, ma’am,” I interject, handing it to her. “You didn’t eat much. I would be happy to comp your meal.”

  “We won’t be back,” the woman snaps, handing me back her check expectantly.

  When Tobias appears at her table, I see the immediate change in her posture as she drinks him in.

  “Want me to bag this up for you?”

  She shamelessly eye fucks him before speaking. “That…would be nice, thank you…?”

  “Tobias. Avec plaisir, salope.” With pleasure, bitch.

  It’s all I can do to stifle my laugh.

  “Oh, that’s beautiful. French?”

  “Yes. Sorry, I forget my English sometimes,” he drawls out, playing innocent foreigner. For a few seconds, I get lost in the sight of him in pedestrian clothes, standing in the middle of my café. Jutting his chin, he gestures over my shoulder with the knowing upturn of his lips as Travis rings the bell behind me. “Order up, boss.”

  I narrow my eyes. “I’m aware, Frenchman. When you’re done here, table three and six need bussing as well.”

  “As you wish,” he concedes.

  Turning to grab the order, I’m stopped by the heat in his voice. “Oh, Cecelia?”

  I glance over my shoulder to see the smolder in his eyes as obnoxious laughter and cafeteria level noise sounds around us both. “Yes?”

  “Je n’aime pas me réveiller sans toi. Je préférerais de loin me réveiller en toi.” I don’t like waking up without you. I would much rather wake up inside you.

  “There goes that French tongue again,” the woman scolds. “You know it’s rude to say things that others can’t understand.”

  Ignoring the self-important bitch, he keeps his focus on me.

  “Tu as l’air un peu stressée. Je peux t’aider à te détendre. Avec ma langue, et ta chatte.” You’re looking a little stressed. I can help you relax. With my tongue, and your pussy.

  Lips parting, I do my best to conceal my shock. “As-tu perdu la tête?” Have you lost your mind?

  “Pas ce que tu avais en tête? Après tu décideras où ira ma langue.” Not what you had in mind? Then you will decide where my tongue will go.

  “We can discuss this at ho—”

  “So, if you’ll just bag that up,” the woman interrupts, hating that I’ve stolen her thunder.

  Her little boy, who looks to be around seven or eight, climbs out of the booth, watching our exchange with interest. Tobias leans down and whispers to him, and he giggles before he speaks up, mimicking Tobias perfectly. “Le pleck, le spit.”

  I toss my head back and laugh. Was it so long ago I was mimicking him the same way poolside at my father’s house? Then we were at odds, fighting our attraction, denying our chemistry, the tension just as thick. When we were apart, it seemed like an eternity ago, but when he’s this close, it doesn’t feel that way.

  “Tu m’as manqué, mon trésor.” I’ve missed you, my treasure. The sincerity in his tone combined with the look in his eyes has my heart galloping, and visions swirling of the days he barely made it out of his Jag in my father’s driveway before I was in his arms and our lips were colliding. A collection of days and weeks when our time was stolen, a time where we freed ourselves to openly love each other without uttering the words. A plate shatters behind me, breaking our spell.

  “Did you just teach my son some sort of French curse?”

  Without answering, patience thinning, Tobias grabs the loaded plate from her table. “I’ll get this taken care of.”

  She eyes me suspiciously as he walks past. “That English seems to come and go so conveniently.”

  “Funny how that works,” I agree, sauntering off and following Tobias through the double doors, zeroed in on his ass when I notice the label on his jeans. “Wranglers?” I can’t help my laugh. “Planning on riding bulls anytime soon?”

  “This is all they had in my size,” he explains in defense as he heads into the kitchen. “Not much to choose from around here.”

  “You can’t do that,” I change the subject.

  “Why should we let all that French you learned go to waste?”

  “Not funny.”

  “I disagree,” he says icily, dumping the contents of the woman’s plate into a box.

  “You didn’t have to help, you know.”

  He cocks his head. “You know damn well I’m not irritated because I’m helping. I wanted to.”

  “Well, you don’t have to play dirty to talk to me.”

  “You sure about that? Because we haven’t had a real conversation since I got here.”

  “And now is not the time.”

  “When would be a good time?”

  My silence only angers him further as he grabs a plastic bag and shoves the box inside.

  “I’m adjusting, Tobias, and I’m thankful for the help, but need I remind you, you’re a billionaire, not a busboy.”

  “And you’re a millionaire, not a waitress. What the hell does that matter? I’m whatever you need me to be.” He studies me for a second before closing his eyes and placing his hands on the metal countertop, seeming to muster up some patience. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, full of disappointment. “I’ll be out of your way when I finish up with the tables.” He gathers the bag, and without another word, walks through the double doors.

  “Condom or a knife?” Marissa nudges me, sidling up to me at the counter, my focus on Tobias, who’s drawing with a little girl in the reading nook while he chats with her grandmother. We got a secondary rush after the kids left, a rarity. Despite our conversation, Tobias stayed to help us out, bussing tables without a word while running circles around Marissa and me.

  “What?”

  “Condom or knife. The ex-dilemma. When they first come back, you don’t know whether to fuck them or kill them, am I right?”

  “Nailed it,” I chuckle, clearing the counter of some plates. “If you only knew.” Which she doesn’t and most definitely never will. That’s the crux of being in a relationship with a man like Tobias.

  Restless, I spent last night in my garden planting spring bulbs as he typed away on his keyboard in one of my patio chairs. Every so often, I would catch him staring at me, and I would return it. After I showered and dressed for bed, I found him waiting there for me. When I clicked off the light, he wordlessly pulled me into his chest. I knew he was there to help me combat whatever dream my imagination would muster up. I hadn’t dreamlessly slept since he’d arrived.

  “I’ve never seen a man that pretty in real life. It’s like he’s not even human.”

  “Trust me, he bleeds.” I’m one of the rare few who knows where his scars are.

  “So, are you glad he’s back?”

  “I want to be, but we’re beyond complicated.”

  “Scared of getting hurt again?”

  Tobias doesn’t hurt. He murders hurt, he makes hurt seem like a trip on a merry-go-round, and I got off his ride eight months ago.<
br />
  Latching a newly loaded napkin dispenser shut, I look to see him keeping rapid conversation with the older woman. “I gave him an ultimatum almost a year ago, and he’s just now coming around.”

  “It’s always like that, right?” Opening the register, she exchanges some of her tips for larger bills and pockets the money in her apron. That one simple act brings me back to a different time and place. Triple Falls, smiling Selma and her tortillas. A lifetime ago.

  “It’s always like what?”

  “You finally get it together enough to get over them—live without them—and bam, they show up on your doorstep expecting you to feel the same way. My momma always said, ‘Don’t ever count on a man to realize his wrongs on your emotional timeline ’cause men always take way longer to come around and deal with their feelings. They’re emotionally stunted.’”

  “Never have more truer words been spoken.” It’s taken my stunted Frenchman too many unforgivable years to come around. That’s what I’m having the hardest time with. More than that, I’m not sure my heart can handle another spin on his merry-go-round.

  “Well, better late than never, right? I swear I’ve never seen eyes like that in my life. I don’t know how you’re handling this.”

  “Stop staring, or he’ll know we’re talking about him.”

  Not even a second later, his eyes lift, and he smirks.

  Bastard.

  We both burst back into motion, which makes us look even more ridiculous. “So, you’re playing mouse with that lion? No offense, but it looks like he could swallow you whole.”

  I scowl.

  “Sorry, but it’s the truth. I feel the tension between you two, and you look like a geyser about to blow, and he…well, if a man looked at me like that, I would probably strip naked without being aware of it.”

  She nudges me, and I nudge her back—hard.

  “Oh, testy. Yeah, definitely holding out on him. You don’t look freshly fucked. You just look…fucked.” She giggles, and I glare before winding up and snapping her with my rag.

  “Ouch!”

  “Tell me why I hired you?”

  “For my sparkling, no-bullshit personality?”