Fast Lane

by Kristen Ashley

  Selecting a house like that.

  Who was he now?

  Where had he been for the last six years?

  What had he been doing?

  “No, no,” I said out loud. “I do not care.”

  I rolled up my window but got the sound of the ocean back after I snatched up the CD Preacher had given me, opened my door and got out.

  There were steps down to the front door, which jutted out to the side of a house built into a rise by the beach, and the door at the bottom of those steps had a big, nine-paned window that took up the top of it.

  When he walked up to that door, he’d see me.

  This nearly had me turning around, but I didn’t.

  I didn’t because Preacher didn’t get to make decisions for the both of us.

  Colossal decisions that caused pain and heartache and large chunks of lost time.

  Decisions that meant he thought he could stroll back into my life and be all…

  All…

  Preacher.

  And then I’d just listen to a CD and fall right into his plans.

  No.

  He didn’t get to do that.

  And he needed to know that.

  And then this needed to be done.

  I stood at the door, pressed the doorbell, and steeled myself when I saw his big body coming down a short hall.

  It didn’t occur to me I’d see him too, and therefore see he had on jeans (again) and a tee (again) but bare feet.

  And his hair was messy.

  That was a sexy look on a good-looking guy.

  And Preacher was a very good-looking guy.

  All right.

  Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

  It was too late.

  He was opening the door.

  God, his face.

  He looked so…

  Happy.

  “Cher—”

  I held out the CD to cut this off at the pass, deciding at the last minute not to throw it at him.

  “I don’t want this,” I declared.

  He looked down at the CD then up at me.

  “No,” he stated. “You want this.”

  And then he’d hooked me with an arm around my waist and dragged me inside.

  Lyla and McCade:

  [McCade is now lounging on the daybed with his beer, two cats and Lyla, taking up most of what had seemed a rather large piece of furniture, but now does not. She’s still sitting cross-legged on it, but he’s curled around her at her back, so her hips are tucked against his lap and stomach, and he’s up with his head in his hand on an elbow in the surfeit of pillows.]

  You want this. That was a smooth line. (McCade)

  [Twisting to look at him] It was goofy. (Lyla)

  [McCade’s brows go up] Goofy?

  Yes.

  It worked on you.

  [Lyla rolls her eyes, but she offers no argument.]

  [McCade looks to me and grins] That line got me Jesse.

  It got me Jesse.

  [McCade looks to his wife and speaks softly] Yeah.

  [Her expression softens in return]

  You know, you got to tell your story at the bar already. (Lyla)

  Jesse’s got the chili in hand. (McCade)

  [Lyla sighs and returns her attention to me]

  We’ll just pretend he’s not here. (Lyla)

  [Off tape]

  That might be impossible.

  [McCade explodes with laughter. Lyla fails to fight a smile.]

  The short hall had his tee and mine on the floor.

  I had his mouth on mine, his hands on my ass, and my fingers on the belt at his jeans when I sensed we were in a bigger space.

  I opened my eyes, slid them right and spotted a couch.

  I tugged him by his belt toward the couch.

  He broke his lips from mine and started guiding us to some stairs.

  “Preacher,” I snapped.

  “Cher, I am not makin’ love to you for the first time in six years on a couch.”

  I took his hand and tugged him my way, saying, “Who cares?”

  He tugged harder at my hand and I went flying, slamming into him.

  His chin was nearly in his throat with the way he was looking down at me.

  “I care,” he growled. “Haul ass up the stairs.”

  “Preacher.”

  He dipped and the tip of his nose touched mine.

  “Haul. Ass. Up. The. Stairs.”

  “I forgot how bossy you are,” I clipped.

  He looked to the ceiling. “Fuck me.”

  I threw my hands out to the sides and cried, “I’m trying!”

  Another growl came with no words and then I was over his shoulder and he hauled my ass up the stairs.

  [Off tape]

  This is actually very sweet.

  See? That’s what I was goin’ for. (McCade)

  It wasn’t sweet. It was hot. (Lyla)

  [McCade grins]

  I was goin’ for that too.

  He tossed me to my back on a bed.

  I did not bounce because Preacher was on me.

  I forgot to be mad he was so pushy and willing to do whatever he wanted to get his way, and all the ramifications of that, including the good ones I was currently experiencing, when his mouth again came to mine.

  Preacher, me, a bed and six years in between, things were pent up.

  My hands collided with his.

  I was interrupted in unbuttoning his jeans when he pulled my shorts over my hips.

  I was barely able to scrape the edges of my teeth along his nipple before it wasn’t in target range anymore because he was dragging my panties down my legs.

  And then we were both naked and I had a mind to get my mouth close to something else when I was crying out because I was going up.

  He was on his knees in the bed.

  And he was holding me to him, front to front.

  “Legs around me, cher,” he rumbled.

  I did not quibble.

  I wrapped my legs around his hips.

  He had one arm around me, one hand between us which meant when he bore me down, he was positioned to take me.

  And when he filled me, I let out a breath it felt like I’d been holding for six years and my forehead dropped to his.

  He wrapped his other arm around me, his hips started moving, and I held on with my limbs as I gazed into his eyes.

  “Get your hand between us,” he murmured.

  “No, honey, I want—”

  “Baby, this is gonna go fast. There’s been no one but you. Get your hand between us.”

  [Off tape]

  There was…?

  Nope. (McCade)

  [Lyla is silent, but her silence shares she did not also abstain.]

  I let her have that too. (McCade)

  [Lyla turns to her husband and rests her hand against the salt and pepper beard on his cheek.]

  [Whispers] Preacher.

  [McCade to interviewer] I didn’t like it, and I imagine you can sense that’s an understatement. But if it happened while she was figuring herself out, she needed that too.

  This is maybe the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.

  [McCade grunts. Lyla lets her hand drift away from his face and looks to me]

  Me too.

  I didn’t know he was coming back, you see.

  Let’s move on. (McCade)

  Okay, honey. (Lyla [quietly])

  Preacher was right.

  It went fast.

  For him and for me.

  Too fast.

  I hadn’t even recovered when I wanted it back.

  Yes.

  I wanted it back.

  And then I wanted it to go on forever.

  God.

  It was so stupid, coming here.

  I slid my cheek down his in order to tuck my face in his neck.

  He fell forward which meant I was on my back and he was on me.

  “Lyla,” he whispered in my ear.

  “This doesn’t
change anything,” I announced.

  For a beat, he was still.

  Then everything felt good when his body started shaking with laughter.

  He lifted his head, framed mine with his hands and looked down at me.

  “Baby, you didn’t drive seven hours to hand me a CD,” he pointed out.

  “I felt the drama of the gesture would make my point,” I returned.

  “Your point was to come and get a dose of your man.” He grinned arrogantly. “Mission accomplished.”

  “Preacher—”

  “Don’t,” he rasped, resting his forehead to mine. “I’m still inside you, cher. Don’t. Please.”

  I closed my mouth.

  “Thank you,” he whispered and touched his lips to mine.

  I closed my eyes.

  He rubbed his nose against mine.

  I opened my eyes.

  And seeing him, smelling him, feeling him, connected to him again, tears filled them.

  “Baby,” he murmured, sliding out and rolling us to our sides.

  But he did this clamping me to him with his arms and legs.

  “This was a mistake,” I mumbled, staring at his throat.

  “How’d you find me?” he asked.

  “Loretta,” I told him.

  “Sendin’ her flowers tomorrow,” he muttered.

  I tipped my head back and he took one arm from around me to cup my head, rubbing the wet on my temple with his thumb.

  “I felt rage,” he said.

  “Wh-what?” I asked, confused where these words came from.

  “Sittin’ there, in the witness box, lookin’ at him. Sittin’ there, doin’ the same at her. Rage. I can guarantee you’ve never felt that, Lyla, and I hope with all that’s me you never do. It’s consuming. It eats you up. It is no exaggeration to say it’s a damned miracle I didn’t fly outta that box and tear them limb from limb.”

  I had wanted this for so long.

  And now I had it.

  Therefore, I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to offer him the chance to give it.

  Thus, take it.

  So, I slid my hands up his chest and held onto his neck, trying not to do it too tight, whispering, “Preacher.”

  “It was not good, cher.”

  “Honey,” I breathed.

  “It was so not good, I was not good for you. I was not good for the band. Lyla, they killed my brother.”

  God.

  They killed his brother, he heard it and he spent years making it so they’d pay.

  And then he did, and they tore him apart.

  Again.

  I said nothing, just held on to him tight.

  “I had to make you go,” he said. “I knew it was all gonna come to a head and I had to make you go. You had to live your life. You had to figure it out. You were wrapped up in me since you were seventeen and I knew I’d go there. I knew it was all about to go down one way or another and what I was holdin’ back in me would break loose. I knew what bein’ back in Louisiana, seein’ them again would do to me. And I didn’t want you around that. I didn’t want you around that for so many reasons, my head felt like it would explode with all of them. You’d never find you. You’d always be all about me. Until I made it so you weren’t and never would be again.”

  Although I understood this, I was not at one with it.

  But I’d get into that later.

  “Where did you go?” I asked.

  “The woods,” he answered. “Where no one was. Where I had to drive for twenty minutes just to get to the town limits. Another ten minutes to hit the grocery store. I cleared trees. I built a cabin.”

  I was stunned.

  “You built a cabin?”

  “Yeah. You buy a book, you read it, it tells you what to do, you do it. First year, I was in a camper with a generator, cuttin’ down trees, movin’ dirt. Next year, foundation, framing. You get the picture.”

  “You built a cabin.”

  “Yeah.”

  “By yourself.”

  “The electricity and plumbing were tricky. There’s codes. But I wasn’t on the moon and I got money so hired a coupla guys. Other than that. Yeah.”

  “You built a cabin.”

  He stopped talking.

  “Where?” I asked.

  His mouth moved in a weird way.

  Oh boy.

  “Where, Preacher?” I pushed.

  “About two hours from your house.”

  I felt my eyes get big and my word was high-pitched. “What?”

  “Dumb luck you moved to Phoenix a coupla years later,” he muttered. “Though I didn’t know that at the time.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope.”

  It was then I stopped talking.

  “Looked at maybe thirty patches of land in ten different states. My patch, there’s no view, ’cept trees. Nothin’ around, ’cept critters. Not close to anything, not far away either. Nothin’ in my world was close to perfect then. But I got out of my truck on that land, and for the first time since you walked away from me on that beach, I took a clear breath. Maybe it was because the forces of nature knew, soon, you’d be livin’ two hours away from that patch.”

  That was the most romantic thing I’d ever heard.

  “I look at it as a sign,” he muttered.

  “Preacher—”

  “It was physical,” he said fast. “Hard work. Got up early. Moved all day. Chopping shit. Hauling shit. Hammering shit. Ate when it occurred to me. Fell in bed at night after a shower and a sandwich and was so worn out, I’d be asleep almost before I pulled the sheets over me. Downtime, when it was rainin’, or it was snowin’, I wrote songs. I read books. I did nothin’ but stare into space. On occasion, I took time. I climbed to the tops of mountains and screamed at God. I went to a lake and fished and wept that Baptiste barely got old enough to get good at tying his shoes, much less a fishin’ line. I got to a point where I was so deep in the anger, I didn’t think I’d ever go down that mountain except to buy food. Then I thought maybe I wouldn’t even bother doin’ that. I’d plant a garden, hunt and fish and my clothes could rot on me. I wouldn’t see you again. We wouldn’t make babies. I wouldn’t see the band again. We wouldn’t make music.”

  I said nothing.

  Just held his neck.

  But maybe now I was doing it too tightly.

  I just couldn’t stop.

  “And then one day, I’m walkin’ to the woodshed to get wood, and there’s this fawn standing there, staring at me.”

  I pressed closer automatically.

  “Little body. Big ears. All legs. Legs that are spindly. Black eyes. Curious. Lookin’ right at me. Not scared at all. Babies, they’re not scared. They aren’t until you teach them how to be.”

  I didn’t like where this was going, although fascinated by it, but I knew whatever was coming, I had to take it so he could give it, and then hopefully…

  Be free of it.

  Thus, I remained silent and started rubbing my thumbs through his beard at his jaw.

  “Don’t know where her momma was. I’d stopped walkin’. And it was just her and me and the trees and the woodshed. She was so dainty, I got hold of her, I could break her neck. Tear off her legs. But something that beautiful, that precious, that thought wouldn’t even enter my head. And in that moment, lookin’ at that creature, I’d put myself in the path of a bullet to spare that fawn. If she was in danger, I’d go to the mat fightin’ if it meant she got away and was safe.”

  Oh God.

  My man.

  My beautiful man.

  “Then,” he went on, “all of a sudden, she starts and her momma’s barrelin’ over the rocks and scrub, eyein’ me. And momma gets cautious as she gets close, rounds up her baby, and when they clear the rock, they race off. And I stood there a long time when they were gone. It was cold as fuck, stays cold up on that mountain clean into July, which was why I was goin’ to get wood. But I didn’t move. Because all I could think was, I wish
ed Baptiste had that. A momma barrelin’ over rock and scrub to get him out of harm’s way.”

  He drew in a shaky breath.

  I held mine.

  “And I wish I had it.”

  I shoved my face in his throat.

  “But we didn’t,” he said. “And then I stood there thinking, ‘So what now?’”

  I slid my arms around him.

  “They took my childhood and they took Baptiste’s life. I get big, get strong, I’m not someone my mother can slap around, kick and pinch and take a hunk of my flesh between her fingers and twist until I taste blood, I’m bitin’ my tongue so hard not to cry out. Someone my father can beat down. They start fuckin’ with the Williamses because I’m there more than home and they can’t make me come home anymore. I’m not scared of them anymore. And with me not bein’ scared anymore, what’s that gonna mean to them? I heard it. They knew I did. I told that cop. They knew I loved my brother. They knew.”

  He stopped talking and I didn’t start.

  So, he continued.

  “They start dickin’ with me, both of ’em, and I know they’re workin’ themselves up. They’re gettin’ tweaked. Then one night, Mister Oscar comes in while me and Shawn are hangin’ about, watchin’ the TV, and he takes me outside and he gives me two thousand dollars in cash and the keys to a piece-of-shit car, and he says, ‘Go, boy. Get out of Louisiana. Now. Drive.’ I looked at his face and I didn’t think. I took the money and the keys, and I got in that car and I got the fuck out of there.” He blew out a breath and finished, “I wasn’t seventeen.”

  “You didn’t tell me that part,” I said softly.

  “In the end, that’s Shawn’s story to tell.”

  I shut my eyes tight, as with them, his folks, it always just got worse and worse.

  “Lyla, baby, look at me.”

  I took my face out of his throat and looked up at him.

  “The thing about that was, Oscar gave me my freedom. I was free. I missed it. From that minute, I was free. And I made music. I made friends. I made a pretty girl love me. I went all the way around the world. I got my brother in a proper casket in a proper grave with a proper marker. I built my own fuckin’ house. And except for that last, they knew I did all that. And there I am, standin’ alone in some trees.”