by Tempest Phan
Crash whooped. “Count me the fuck in, dude. I am the entertainment!”
Luce smiled, took a sip of coffee. “Damn. This means we’ve got a gig lined up every week for the next six weeks.”
I nodded. “Shit’s getting real.”
“Shit. Is. Getting. Real,” Crash echoed.
“I think I’ll celebrate by picking up this ugly ass lamp on Etsy.” Lucien Drake, metalcore beat-master extraordinaire who could drum at two hundred and three beats per minute, was also an Etsy aficionado, which went surprisingly well with his unhealthy devotion to tacky, mind-boggling home furnishings. He held up the laptop screen while Crash and I groaned, taking in the object of his adulation, which was indeed ugly as hell. There were shells glued to it. And actual feathers. And, dear mother of God, were those chicken feet . . . real?
I heard the door down the hall open and voices, one a tad too high for my liking this early in the morning.
“Come on, baby. Your cab is here. Gotta get going.”
I glanced over as a thin, statuesque blonde stumbled out, her hair a wild mess, but no wilder than the nest on Syn’s head. She spotted Crash on the couch and threw him a sultry look, although with the mascara running down her face and her smeared lipstick, the effect wasn’t quite as intended. Plus, I liked my girls fun-sized.
“Hey, sexy,” she cooed. “You, me, Syn do this again some time?” She glanced over to Luce and me and added, “Y’all can join too.”
Crash winked at her. Luce shuddered visibly before giving her the thumbs up and turning back to his laptop. I simply smiled at her.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Syn pushed her gently toward the door as she pouted at him. “Bye bye, sweetie.” He poked his head out, confirmed that the cab was waiting by the curb, and closed the door behind his—and Crash’s?—one-night stand.
“G-damn,” he bit out, ruffling his hair as he turned back to us. “Remind me why I do this?”
“’Cause you’re a damn manwhore, that’s why,” Luce offered.
I shook my head. Every. Fucking. Week. Not sure how he and Crash could do it, share girls like that. I didn’t think I could ever share mine.
“Fresh coffee in the pot, Syn,” Crash called out, glancing at him, the ghost of a smirk on his lips.
Syn threw him a sly little smile and bopped him on the head as he headed toward the counter where I stood. “You guys ready for tonight?”
I snorted, wrong move, as I nearly choked on the coffee I’d just sipped. “Are you?” I managed to hiss out.
“Veni, vidi, vici,” he responded, winking as he poured himself a cup of coffee and laced it with cream and sugar. Not nearly the quantities I typically dumped into mine, but close.
“Yeah, in fact, he veni-ed three times last night,” Crash countered, laughing at his own crass joke.
“Didn’t hear you complain,” Syn threw back at him.
“Focus, assholes,” Luce groaned. “So we’re doing this?”
“Doing what?” This from Syn.
“The casino gig. The Ruby Princess. You know, the one with the all-you-can-eat-crab-buffet.” He shook his head and looked pointedly at Crash. “Don’t even say it, Crash. Don’t you fucking dare say it.”
Crash’s mouth turned up in a wolfish grin that seemed to say that, hell yeah, for all intents and purposes, he was going to slide in something completely rude again.
“All right.” Syn turned slowly to me, all business now. “They attached the contract too?”
I nodded, taking out my phone.
“Cool. Send it to me. I’ll take a look after I shower. You stopping by Mama’s place today?”
I sighed. “Yeah, after my shift. I won’t see you guys ‘til the gig tonight. I’ll meet you at the bar. And by the way, Luce, did you upload our new mixes for My Girl Next Door yet?”
“As we speak, dude. We’re ready to roll.”
Still staring at the TV, Crash threw out, “Seriously, I love that verse, ‘kept her in my heart instead.’ Fucking destroys me each time I play the bassline to it.”
Fucking destroys me too, but whatevs, Crash.
“His girl came up with that one,” Syn drawled out.
I glared at him. “Like I keep on fucking saying, she ain’t my girl, Syn. Anyways, I added a new song to our WIP folder on the cloud.” I said, rinsing my mug out and tossing it into the dishwasher. “It’s called In My Veins. Let me know what you mofos think. Maybe that will destroy you too.”
“Thumbs up,” Crash yelled.
Syn slapped me on the back as I walked by him on my way back to the bathroom. After a quick shower, I headed out to the café where I slaved nearly a full day catering to our town’s elite businessmen, in the financial district. It was also bankrolled by Davenport, just like everything in this fucking town. The worst was when the Iron Man himself would stop in, which wasn’t often, but wasn’t never, either. He never pretended not to know me, nor to know me. I was simply . . . nothing in the context of his world. But it grated that this was how, where, he’d see me.
But no Davenport today, and I headed out to my mom’s. I only had an hour before our gig at the bar started, the bar where I usually pulled a second shift, but never on gig night. I was still stuffing my sandwich into my mouth as I got out of my car and ambled toward her mud-colored rambler. A real leap of faith it had been to move out. I couldn’t keep as close an eye on her as I used to, but I’d try to stop by every other day, at least. And at some point, moving out had to happen because being stuck with her in that tiny place had begun to impact my own faculties. There was only so much I could take.
I unlocked the door and walked through, calling out for her softly. The TV was on. It sounded like her crime show. But she didn’t respond. I looked over to the couch. She was slumped over.
My heart began to beat erratically as the hair on my neck prickled with a sense of foreboding. It was likely nothing. She’d always fall asleep in front of the TV. Nevertheless, I walked briskly over and kneeled down next to where she was. A rank, acidic smell assaulted my nostrils just as I put my hand on her shoulder to gently wake her. She gurgled and fell back against the sofa. Terror gripped my chest. A trail of vomit on her chin, all over her lap, down the sofa. Her eyes were glazed over. Opened pill containers littered the table. I picked one up. It was empty.
“Mama! Mama,” I cried more urgently, but she only made that terrifying sound, her eyes rolling back. “Fuck,” I yelled, as I held her to the side as she began to vomit some more. “Fuck fuck.” I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.
This can’t be happening.
In spite of her strangled hold on my life, in spite of the hell on earth that she’d made it, I couldn’t lose her. Not yet. Not like this.
It took less than ten minutes for the ambulance to come. It took another thirty for the ER doctor to tell me she’d be fine. Forty-five for me to admit to myself that she’d tried to end her life. An hour for the boys to come rushing to the hospital to be by my side.
And here we were, now, in the hospital waiting room. All three were sprawled nearby, as if this were the most normal thing to be doing on a Saturday night, as if I hadn’t fucked them out of an important gig with my depressing bullshit. I slumped further into my chair, wondering how I’d ever get my life under control.
My phone vibrated.
BELLA:
Goodnight, my Damien James. Sleep tight!
ME:
Kisses and bites, sweet baby girl. :)
Syn placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, looking over grimly at me. I shut my eyes.
Bella
I touched the sheets next to me, and they still felt warm. Lukas hadn’t left too long ago. Nearly a year by his side, and I was still not used to the fact that he just didn’t sleep through the night, ever. A faint light shone in the hall and I knew he must either be working or painting in his study.
The clock registered a quarter past midnight. Today was my birthday. Twenty-three. Four years since I’d last held Damien. Ho
w was that even possible? I stretched before reaching down to grab Dame’s hoodie off the floor. I threw it on, jumped softly off the bed, and headed out of the bedroom to search for Lukas.
As expected, he was in his study, his attention on a thick manila folder spilling documents across his desk. I watched as his fingers, still blackened with charcoal, drummed softly against the wooden surface.
I stepped into the room. He looked up at the sound and smiled slightly at me, taking off his reading glasses.
“Hello, love,” he said, his voice soft and smooth as whiskey on the rocks. He held out an arm, and I scurried over to him as he wrapped himself around me and pulled me onto his lap.
“What are you doing up, sweetie,” I whispered to him, pulling his head to my chest.
He sighed deeply. “I can’t sleep.”
“Do you maybe want to talk about it?”
He looked at me again, reached out to gently touch my hair. “Working on a case I took on pro bono.”
“Oh . . .” I said as he reached back to rub his neck. I crawled off his lap to stand behind him and started to work the tension from his shoulders. I could feel the thick knots underneath the tight muscles and knew he must be stressed. He sighed, this time in relief. “I didn’t know your father’s firm took on pro bono cases.”
He shrugged. “The firm doesn’t, but I do. I call it my ‘privilege offset,’ which never fails to infuriate said father.”
This took me back to the day when my dad had sent in someone to help Damien. Of course, it had been my dad’s fault that he’d been incarcerated in the first place, but the point remained that a young lawyer from a prestigious firm had volunteered to help a no-name kid. And I’d been eternally grateful for it.
“A privilege offset?” I placed my head over his shoulder and leaned my cheek against his. I could feel the light stubble against my cheek, slightly rough, although not nearly as rough as Damien’s. I felt that familiar pang in my heart again, realizing that it didn’t matter what I was doing. Every thought, every memory always led me back to my first love.
Lukas took a deep breath, reminding me that he was the one here, now.
And then he laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just exhaustion, and something akin to a broken heart.
Privilege offset.
“Yeah. I take on hopeless cases so I can live with my own overstuffed, privileged arse and sleep better at night.”
Lukas never slept.
I ran my hand gently through his hair, massaging his scalp, as he let his head fall back, breathing another sigh of relief.
He continued, “Cases that no one wants, where the client would have no means to pay for the bloody representation, certainly not from such a firm as Stone Law. Cases where things are obviously so wrong they make me want to fucking scream.”
I shook my head. And the tears nearly fell as I folded the memories of Damien back inside my heart and thought about my devil-may-care, arrogant lawyer, who, underneath it all, was so much more than that. Lukas’s own eyes were glassy, and my heart was suddenly flooded with deep affection for him, despite, despite . . .
“And this one, Bella, this one, I’m at a loss for. I don’t fucking know what the hell is wrong with this world, with these fuckers . . . There are monsters out there,” he whispered.
“But their victims aren’t defenseless, thanks to you. You’ve got this,” I said softly as he pulled me back into his arms, knowing the words felt so insignificant.
My tears began to fall in earnest. My heart was broken, broken for our world, and yet full, so full for this man who had everything but still noticed the fucked-up imbalance in it.
He cared. Cared so deeply, in spite of the cockiness and bravado. Cared so much that this was how he spent his spare time, taking on cases that would have been lost or forgotten, hopeless cases that those of his ilk typically turned a blind eye to. But he took them straight on. No matter that this would never balance out the deeply burdened scales of justice, he did it anyways.
“You are amazing, Lukas,” I said softly. “Such a big heart beating inside this chest of yours.”
“Hush now,” he whispered back. “Can’t let that get out and ruin my hard-earned reputation for being a twat.”
I laughed through my tears and pulled him in for a kiss. When I leaned back to catch my breath, he reached out to wipe the tears on my cheeks.
“Sweet Bella, I love this gentle heart of yours, and the fact that you understand. Our kind doesn’t usually.” He breathed in deeply before continuing. “Speaking of, how did your fundraiser for the community pantry go this week?”
I ran my hand across my nose and responded, “We blew away our goal and some. And that was before I even matched the donations. Also meant to tell you that some Viscount Something matched them, as well.”
“Good on his over-privileged lordship,” he smiled. And then, his expression serious again, he murmured against my ear, “Don’t ever change, my love.” He leaned in to kiss me, a soft, gentle peck. “But listen to me, all maudlin on this momentous day.”
“Oh? And what momentous day is this, Counsel?”
“A minx I know is turning twenty-three today.” He pressed a kiss against my lips before letting go of my waist and reaching down by his desk. It was then that I noticed a large package wrapped in golden foil.
“Still too young for me.” He smiled.
I thought back to one of our first exchanges. He knew the exact moment I remembered it too, if that endearing smirk on his lips was any indication.
“Your old man has something for you, love. A little something now, and a little something later.”
He handed me the slim, hard rectangular package. I smiled and slowly unwrapped it, knowing from the shape of it that it must be one of his paintings. I remembered a boy who’d given me something he’d made, too, on my eighteenth birthday. I shook my head, trying to ignore the bitter pang.
As I peeled back the foil on what was indeed a framed painting, I recognized myself, although a much, much prettier version. Lukas must clearly see me differently than what reality dictated.
But what made the tears fall in earnest was the figure wrapping me in her arms, our heads against each other. I recognized the ink black hair spilling from a loose braid, the large, brown almond eyes whose shape was so reminiscent of mine.
He’d painted my mom, ageless in death, her soft beauty dripping from the canvas, making my heart bleed at both the happiness of seeing myself, all grown, standing next to her, and the violent pain that this would never, ever be.
“Oh, Lukas,” I whispered as the tears ran anew. “I love it . . .”
I gently set it down on the floor and turned toward him, bringing his head down for a deep kiss. Some girls wanted diamonds on their birthdays. He knew me better than that.
***
I was putting on my earrings when Lukas stepped into our bathroom. Our eyes caught in the mirror. I lost my breath for a second while I took him in. He wore another of his custom-made black Italian suits, slim and perfectly tailored, of course, with a silvery tie, the color bringing out the steel in his beautiful eyes. He smiled at me.
“Breathtaking, love,” he murmured, walking toward me, holding a triple strand of pearls that he gently draped over my neck, fingers lingering, sweeping down and over my collarbone as he closed the platinum clasp.
I gasped. “Oh, Lukas.” I suppose with him, it was both a painting and the baubles, after all. Of course, a girl wouldn’t have to choose.
“You look ravishing, as always. Happy birthday, love.”
I turned to throw my arms around his neck.
“Why, sweetie? You shouldn’t have. You already gave me the best gift last night!”
“And I very much enjoyed how you thanked me for it. Perhaps I’m angling for a repeat.” He kissed my temple as I shook my head and laughed. He sighed and added, “But unfortunately, not now. We must be off.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” he punctuated that with
another kiss, smearing my lipstick just a tad. I reached up to wipe the red from his lips. “Couldn’t possibly be late to your own birthday dinner, could we?”
I smiled. Lukas had mentioned a quiet dinner at one of my favorite L.A. restaurants, but as we flew down the freeway, I realized something was off.
“Lukas, we are going the wrong way.”
“Ah, surprise . . .” He pulled in front of a large estate. As he drove into the cobblestone circular driveway, I noticed a row of parked cars on the side. One of the four valets, or rather footmen, lining up the stairs leading up to the double french doors walked over to open my door and help me out of the car. And here I thought my father’s house was ostentatious. He had nothing on this place. Lukas walked over to gently wrap an arm around my shoulder and lead me into the palatial residence. The valets opened the doors and we stepped in.
“Happy Birthday!” echoed out from all around me. I let out a surprised laugh, a yelp, really, as Lukas winked at me.
Realization dawned on me. He’d thrown me a surprise party. “Oh, Lukas.” At least a hundred people were looking at me, smiling, and all the faces finally registered. There was my father, and Lukas’s. And here was Lynda. My fellow volunteers from college, from the community pantry. Friends from high school, friends from college. One face, however, was missing; this I realized with a heavy heart.
And in my heart of hearts, I knew I’d rather have had a quiet dinner with Lukas than be the center of attention at a crush like this.
I smiled nonetheless and laughed out my thanks as Lukas and I walked in and my friends crowded us. Lynda ran toward me and drew me against her in a tight hug, telling me how much she’d missed me. I started laugh-crying uncontrollably. Lukas kissed me gently on the temple before walking away, not wanting to intrude on our reunion. When I glanced back, he was standing near my father, leaning in and nodding intently as my father spoke. It struck me for the first time how genuine their mutual respect and affection for each other were.
Later, after having spent over an hour making the rounds and greeting friends new and old, I realized that I hadn’t seen Lukas since his heart-melting toast just before I blew out my candles. I left to look for him, walking down a wide corridor lined with painted portraits of his ancestors. I heard voices from what looked like a large study, with windowpanes for walls. Lukas was facing his father. His body was rigid, tight, and the hand gripping the back of a large wingback chair was vise-like.