The Finish Line

by Stewart , Kate

  And two days ago, with the help of the US military, we assassinated the five heads responsible for the movement before we immobilized and imprisoned the rest of the key players. And with that war officially over and the bullets coming too close for comfort, and a long exchanged look with my brothers as we all let out a sigh of relief when we made it into the air, we concluded that the war we waged years ago was over for us as well.

  We’d done our part, risked our lives, and the lives of those we loved long enough taking back control of a corrupted government. We won far too many battles to consider our efforts a failure. And what we fought for were the people we once were and will become again, world citizens—Cecelia, the daughter of a single, struggling mother, and me, an orphan left in the wake of a greedy white-collar emperor who turned out to be a man with a heart a lot like mine. Our worlds collided as those people, and since, we’ve manifested a different reality. One that we worked a lifetime toward.

  We have enough birds up to continue our legacy or let it die out—the choice is theirs.

  The sad truth is, there’s already a new and unseen threat coming because there will always be more. No one can rule the world. In good versus evil, there will always be two sides, an opposition.

  “Tobias, does this mean what I think it means?” Her blue eyes search mine for answers as to why we’re here, and she knows, but I know she needs the words.

  “It means we’re in negotiations,” I whisper hoarsely. “I’m sorry, Trésor. I’m sorry I scared you.”

  She pulls away, and I can clearly see the worry I’ve caused—small black rings under her eyes.

  “Sean?” She asks, her voice shaking, too afraid of the answer as she runs her hands up and down my chest.

  “He’s fine. He’ll be landing in Charlotte in a few hours. He’s going to make a full recovery. Everyone’s okay.”

  She nods, her posture relaxing substantially as her hands continue to roam. “Okay.” She bobs her head. “Okay.”

  “I told you this was going to be—”

  “Doesn’t make it easier! After seven fucking years of this, I’m losing my mind! Tobias, our luck is going to run out one day soon—you narrowly made it out of this one. How many times do you have to risk your own neck to see your crazy plans through?” She shrieks all of this out, examining me like I just fell off the jungle gym in a schoolyard. She brushes over the cut beneath my eye, and I grip her hand before kissing the back of it.

  “We got them, Cecelia. We got them. We did it, baby.”

  She gazes on at me, her lips parting with my revelation.

  “It’s really over?”

  “Yes, it’s over.”

  She lets out a long, relieved breath.

  “We lost signal on our way to the airstrip. We were fucking running to the plane when I sent you the message. We got detained at the border for a full goddamned day before Tyler got it sorted. And by the time I could reach you, you were already in the air.”

  “If you want to reach me, Frenchman, then maybe you don’t put yourself in these positions like some stupid Rambo commando. You’re too old to be taking these risks!”

  Unable to help it, I toss my head back and laugh, hard, which earns me two angry fists against the chest. I grip her arms to stop her assault, and she smiles up at me begrudgingly. “God, I hate you.”

  “I love you, too. And how many times do I have to demonstrate that I’m. Not. Fucking. Old?”

  She clasps her hands around my neck, pushing up on her toes and pressing her perfect tits to my chest. “Maybe one more time.”

  “Only one?”

  “Or two.” Her face falls of all pretense as she lays her head on my chest and grips me tighter. “God, I was so worried.”

  I tilt her head up. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Never again, Trésor. I swear to you.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that be—”

  I kiss her soundly to cut off her snarky reply and she draws me in further, a moan escaping her throat. Briefly, I indulge my desire and sweep her sweet mouth with my tongue before I still her, intent on my purpose. “We’ll get to that.”

  “Okay.” She glances over my shoulder. “Tobias, this house is a dream.”

  “Is it?”

  “You haven’t seen it?”

  “No. I came straight from the beach to you. I was waiting for you.”

  Her eyes soften. “Come see. You’ve waited for this day for so long.” She grips my hand and I manage to pull it away just in time.

  “That can wait, too. As I said, we’re in negotiations.”

  She glances up at me, brows drawn. “For?”

  My insides rattle as I grip her to me. In her eyes, I see it all, including my redemption.

  “Life.”

  “We’re negotiating life?” She cups my face as emotions swell inside me, past the point of holding it. I choke several times before I’m able to speak.

  “Tobias, what is it?”

  “I love you.”

  “I know. Please tell me what’s going on. You’re scaring me.”

  “Don’t be scared. I have a favor to ask.”

  She sobers considerably when she sees the visible change in me. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “I’m done scaring you. Completely fucking done. I’m done making you worry. I’m done plotting. I’m done with the board altogether.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “We’ll never be fully done. You know that. But I’m done with every part of the heavy lifting.”

  She swallows. “Okay.”

  I lift her hand and kiss the back of it. Her eyes fixed on where my lips caress her skin before I open her palm and place the sand dollar inside it. “I’ve been saving this for you. For today.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She runs her finger over the shell.

  “My father reminded me of a memory the last time I saw him. It was the day on the beach, the only memory I have with him. Break it in half. Right down the middle.” I cup my hands beneath it to catch the spoils.

  She snaps the dollar in half, and the contents fall in my palm. I give a nod to luck when five perfect bone-shaped doves appear in my palm. She studies the evidence in my hand and lifts one to inspect it. “They look like little birds.”

  “Kind of ironic, isn’t it? Even before I knew what my destiny was, it was handed to me by a man I never really knew. What’s even more ironic is that these birds represent the five of us.” I lift the birds one by one. “Me, Sean, Tyler, Dom, and you. The beginning and the end—even though technically they’re Doves—in the religious sense, they represent sacrifice and peace.”

  “I didn’t know that,” she says softly, studying the pieces, “that’s…really beautiful.” She lifts her deep ocean eyes to mine.

  “It’s time to change our wings, Cecelia.”

  Her lips start to tremble, and I know she’s feeding off my emotions. We’ve reached a point in our union where there isn’t an ounce of separation. We’ve been one for a long time.

  I take the birds from the dollar and set them on the balcony.

  “You,” I manage to strangle out through the ball in my throat, “you did this for me. I demanded the sacrifice, but you, Cecelia, you brought the peace.”

  Her eyes glisten as a suggestive smile plays on her lips. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Not a drop.”

  “Sorry, it’s just that you rarely get this sentimental unless—”

  “Not this time,” I close my eyes and hang my head as more emotions seep from me. All I feel for her is raging in my head and chest and refusing to be held back a second longer. “I don’t need alcohol, and I don’t need to hide anything from you.”

  “Tobias, what are you saying?”

  “Where I go, you’ll go?”

  “I’ll follow you anywhere,” she assures without hesitation, “you know that.”

  “As I will follow you. And from this day on, I never want to take a single fucking step without you beside me. I love you,
Cecelia, so much.” She cups my jaw, the evidence of my undoing, dampening her hand.

  “I love you, too. Tobias, but you’re still scaring me.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not afraid of anything anymore. And you gave that to me. There’s no opponent strong enough for us, Cecelia. You have to believe that by now.”

  “I do.”

  “God, I’m,” I dip my chin to my chest. “I have so much to say, but I don’t think I can get through it all…will you forgive me that?”

  I take a knee, and she recognizes my intent. It’s the most beautiful sight. I burn her expression and the love in her eyes into memory.

  “I…,” I hang my head. “Fuck…” I run my face along the sleeve of my shirt and see her visibly starting to come as undone as I am.

  “No man on earth has ever loved a woman more than I love you. I’ll prove this every day for the rest of our lives. I love you more than any cause, any ambition. The sight of your face over any other on earth.” I choke on every other word, frustrated by my inability to carry out my plan but too emotional to give a fuck. I’d humiliate myself a million times over because she’s shown me, repeatedly, the beauty in a bare, stripped heart. “You own me. You make me so fucking happy. You are my purpose now, and forever.”

  Her eyes shimmer and spill over as I pull the ring from my pinky, lifting the diamond into her line of sight. Her breath catches briefly, her eyes drifting from the ring and back to me as I gaze up at her and blink, clearing my vision.

  I’m so fucking gone.

  “I didn’t steal this,” I manage to say, with a slight lift of my lips.

  Her lip quivers with her reply. “Non?”

  “Non. I earned it.”

  She slowly dips her chin.

  “And I’ve earned your trust?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your loyalty?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve earned your faith?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve earned your heart?”

  “Wholly.”

  “Your body is mine?’

  “Yours. Only yours,” she swears.

  I push the ring onto her finger.

  “Make me king?”

  One month later

  I hang my favorite photo of our wedding day and polish the matte solid white frame with my dust rag. It hangs just next to a floor-to-ceiling window, giving ample view of the sea. It’s a black and white candid of Tobias kissing my ring finger as I gazed on at him, a woman utterly in love.

  We were standing just outside the arched doorway of the little church where we recited our vows. It was just the two of us, the priest and his designated witnesses, and it was perfect. We honeymooned at home and then informed our family and friends after, most of whom are due here tomorrow for a delayed reception. Tackling the last of the boxes that finally arrived from overseas, I set out to finish my task. For the last month or so I’ve been nesting in a dream-like state, pinching myself mentally, not only because of the palace we now reside in permanently but also because of the shimmer of the three-carat teardrop diamond on my finger and what it means—a cure for the sickness I’ve harbored for so long, a lasting end.

  In the last few weeks, we’ve settled into a routine, taking long walks on the beach, visiting our new town, eating seaside, introducing ourselves to our new life. What I thought would be the hardest part of all of the adjustment was truly unplugging from the life we’ve lived since we left Virginia. A life where we’d been fully immersed in the brotherhood, making calculated moves and setting into motion dozens of Tobias’s schemes. I’ll never fully understand the way he’d constructed it all, but that’s some of the mystery of his genius.

  And after doing years of grunt work and stepping back, I can clearly see the bigger picture, each note he chose to compose the most mind-boggling symphony. I married a king and a legend and all he sees in his reflection is a flawed man.

  He slept for days when he got home. It was as if he finally felt relief enough to grant his body and mind the reprieve. There’s a peace inside him now, in his fiery eyes, and honestly, I never thought it would come, not so soon anyway. I feel the same contentment, knowing that for the most part, he’s winning his battle with the guilt that’s plagued him for years. This morning was another turning point. I woke to the sight of him naked, tangled in white cotton, his eyes roaming my face, my body with urgent need as I roused, facing him on my pillow.

  “Puis-je demander une faveur de plus?” Can I ask for one more favor?

  “What is it you want now, my needy Frenchman?”

  “Un autre trésor.” Another treasure.

  Taken completely aback, I burst out an incredulous laugh. “We got married five minutes ago, and you already want a baby? Want to try a little marriage first?”

  “Non,” he says softly, pinning my wrists and settling between my legs, his eyes dropping down to my breasts and beyond, before bringing them back up to mine.

  “I’m still on birth control.”

  He dips and kisses me. “Stop taking it.”

  “You’re serious?”

  He gives me the dip of his chin, his eyes filled with hope. “Tu apprendras à notre bébé à aimer comme toi.” You will teach our baby to love like you do.

  “You love just as fiercely, Tobias.”

  When I lifted and kissed the crease of worry between his brow, our discussion ended with a little baby-making practice. Minutes after he spilled himself inside me, I joined him in the bathroom while he showered, his eyes searching mine when I opened my vanity drawer, took out my birth control, and tossed it into the trash. The light in his eyes, the joyful upturn of his lips, and the look we shared in those seconds is one I will never, ever forget. No part of me thinks we’re rushing into anything. We’ve put our life together on hold long enough, but a ticking clock is no threat to us, not anymore. We’ve accomplished so much, come so far—now is a time of celebration, and that’s exactly what we’ll do.

  And now, as I unpack our things in a palace I never imagined I would reside in, a place so far removed from the one-bedroom apartment I shared with my mother in Georgia, I can’t help but be grateful for the road that took us here, to this point. A point of appreciation that’s only been made sweeter because of the nature of the road we traveled. When Delphine died, Tobias had packed up her house alone, carefully preserving the belongings of three lives, two of which had ended far too soon. I can’t at all imagine that, and the fact that he’s gone through so many hardships by himself, trying to be strong for those around him while never really having any one constant of his own. From the looks and weight of the boxes, it seems he couldn’t bring himself to throw a single thing out.

  Opening a cigar box, I sort through pictures and fixate on the image of a young Delphine and a man who I assume was her husband. They’re in the backseat of a car, Delphine sitting across his lap as they gaze at each other with smiles, undeniably in love.

  It’s a visual of the love that broke her, and I can only be grateful I didn’t suffer the same fate.

  I came so close.

  I know most of her story, but not the details, and it saddens me she cut her life, and herself, off from possibilities when he left her. I’ll always have mixed feelings about her, about the role she played in my life and the threat she was to me. But I also identify with her in a way because of the loyalty of her heart. If I hadn’t pulled myself together, I might have turned out just like her, letting lost love ruin me to the point of no return. She’d lived as a casualty of love, and her path is proof that even the strongest of women can fall victim to its destruction. Thankful for the time she had with Tyler, for the healing it brought both of them, I place the photos back into the box to keep them away from prying eyes. Lifting the lid on a Nike shoebox I falter when I see the matchbox car sitting on top of a stack of folded drawings. Lifting the car to my line of sight, my heart begins to bleed.

  “I know what I’m holding. I know her worth.”

  It’s an ec
ho, this part of my heartbeat that thrums in my chest, an echo of a life I lived long ago and a man I loved whom I spent my rainy days with. My love for him is still so distinguishable, and for that I’m grateful. Tobias told me years ago in Virginia, that he was happy I was the woman to love him, and I can’t help but to feel privileged because of it, as selfish as it may be. Running a finger over the hood, I reminisce about the star-filled nights we spent exchanging whispers and refusing to acknowledge the guilt those memories evoked. I can’t forget my second love, and I never want to. I still carry him with me—through time.

  “His favorite,” Tobias says softly, speaking up from behind me. Turning, I see him standing in the frame of the doorway, his eyes fixed on the car in my hand. “Even when he was little, he knew what he wanted. It was like he saw his future. Looking back now, as far as I can remember, as crazy as it may seem, I believe he did.”

  “I believe it, too,” I say, staring down at the car. “There was something about him that was so…it’s indescribable.”

  He joins me, glancing down at the shoebox, and I can feel the sight of it is painful for him, but he doesn’t back away.

  “I was trying to sort things out before everyone gets here. I’ll put this in a different room.” I move to close the box, and he stops me. “Don’t, Trésor. I’ve spent a lot of time remembering…the wrong things.” He gently plucks the car from my hand before he kisses my ring finger. The hurt I can feel rolling off him stings, the longing, the piece of himself he’ll never get back. He’ll never stop grieving his brother, and I’ll never ask him to because in truth, I don’t think any of us ever will.

  “You can tell me,” I say softly. “Whatever you’re thinking.”

  He clutches the car in his hand and nods. “I know,” he says softly. “I’m thinking of him in his pajamas as a little boy with a smart mouth.” He gives me a sad smile. “I’m going to go take a walk.”

  “There’s a storm coming.” I nod towards the window.

  “I’ll make it quick, wife.” I beam at the title as he presses a kiss to my lips before he leaves the room, lingering sadness in his wake. Heart heavy, I watch him descend the stairs before looking back at the box, my curiosity winning over my need to recapture the peace I felt just moments ago.