by Xavier Neal
“Meena wait!”
He rushes my direction but the moment his hand attempts to make contact, I growl, “Touch me and you’ll lose those precious dedos you need to insure your children don’t lose a father too.”
My words as well as my delivery stagger him backwards.
I sharply turn and storm out the front door, not bothering to look back.
Not bothering to give him the satisfaction of seeing the tears falling from my eyes.
Guess I should’ve seen this coming.
Happiness with him in my life has always been temporary.
I open the front door to see the absolute last face I’m in the mood to this morning.
Wyatt grins widely and shows me the box in his hand. “Got milk, bro?”
My expression remains unamused. “Why the hell are you here?”
He pushes past me to let himself in. “Is that really anyway to treat the man who brought you fresh baked cookies by some of the world’s best pastry chefs?”
His path continues straight for the living room, but I try to stop it. “Not in the mood, Wyatt.”
“For cookies?” Wyatt spins around to face me. “Have you been eating too much of the other kind?”
The reference to Meena churns the bile in my stomach that hasn’t stopped since the moment she walked out the door.
Out of their lives.
Out of mine.
He instantly notices no change in my stoic expression. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” I lie. Before he has a chance to question anything, I inform him, “And my kids are watching T.V. in separate rooms right now. You can try to bribe them with cookies if you want. They’re not pissed at you, so they might actually answer.”
Wyatt drops the box onto the coffee table. “Why are they mad at you?”
I don’t respond.
“And where’s Meena? I didn’t see her car.”
My silence remains.
“Is she gonna be back soon? I want her to try these peanut butter, butter pecan sticky cookies that literally melt in your fucking mouth, bro. We’re talking one of the best orgasms on your tongue outside of sex.”
Hearing Meena’s name so close to something I’ll never feel again shoots the vomit up my throat.
I’m gonna be sick.
Fuck, I am sick.
Doesn’t matter if I wanna hit 0 about this whole fucking nightmare.
It’s real.
It’s the truth.
It’s the grim reality I can’t control, alt, delete and make disappear.
Wyatt flops onto the edge of the couch. “Why do you look fucking green?”
I ignore his question, swallow the vile taste, and scold, “Watch your mouth. My kids may be refusing to talk, but they’re hearing works just fine.”
Regret about screaming where they could hear last night swarms around me fiercely.
Lynk wouldn’t face me to say goodnight.
Sage refused to kiss me.
Both could barely muster up I love yous.
And it’s my fault…I know.
I get it.
But they don’t understand. They don’t understand what I was going through. They don’t have to like me for me to love and protect them.
Wyatt leans back against the couch, props his feet on the coffee table beside the box, and states, “I’m only gonna ask one more time. Where’s Meena?”
“She quit.”
Wyatt’s jaw hits the hardwood. “What the hell do you mean she quit? Why’d she quit?”
My hands curl around the back of the couch.
“Why did she quit?” He glares at me. “What did you do, bro?”
“Why does it have to be my fault? Why couldn’t she have fu-” I catch the aggressive language creeping back into the conversation. “Why couldn’t she have messed up?”
“Did she?”
I glance away.
“Did she actually mess up or did she not do something you liked and you blew it up out of proportion?”
“I don’t do that.”
“You do that all the time! It’s your MO!”
Uncomfortable by his accusation, I look away again.
“Nate…Nate is the uptight one. Check list asshole. Pax the unpredictable one. Me? Obviously, carefree and willing to literally roll with just about anything. And you? You’re a control freak.”
“I am not-”
“You are the definition of control freak, bro. And what’s worse is you don’t even realize it most of the time! What do you think you’re doing when you hack into our phones or our bank accounts then scold us about what we’re buying or looking at?”
My vocal chords tangle tightly together.
“You’ve got this warped definition of what it means to protect people, Holden, but we get it. You don’t fight with your fists, you fight with your fingers, just like you don’t think about shit in colors, it’s black and white like a throwback computer.”
“1s and 0s.”
“Yeah that. But you’ve changed with Meena around.”
I shake my head in denial.
“No? Then why don’t I feel like the CIA is spying on me in the shower anymore?”
The reference rolls my eyes.
He chortles at my reaction. “You think I’m full of shit? Alright, humor me. What was the name of the festival you don’t remember me being at this weekend?”
Instantly, I start to answer despite the fact he’s right. I don’t know the answer.
That is new.
“Or how many 5 star reviews did the hotel Nate and Ainsley stayed at this weekend have on…fuck, any of those travel sites?”
My fingers clamp the furniture tighter.
“Fuck it, where did Pax get his coffee this morning?”
Dismay darts into astonishment.
Sonofabitch! Why the hell can’t I answer any of those questions? Four months ago I could’ve, without hesitation. And now? Now I didn’t even know two of my best friends weren’t in the fucking city.
“That’s right, Mr. Robot,” Wyatt mocks. “She makes you human. She makes you treat us like we’re people instead of accounts to follow. She stopped letting you just be a spectator in life and got you into the game!”
Another wave of dread drowns my ability to speak.
“Now, what’d you do to piss her off?”
A lump forms in my throat threatening to choke off all my breath. “I didn’t know where she took the kids yesterday.”
Wyatt’s expression doesn’t move.
“They’re my kids, Wyatt!”
“Okay…And?” His callousness causes me to growl. “What’s the big deal? You knew they were with her. You knew she didn’t take ‘em to fucking Mexico. What’s the problem?”
“I should always know where they are! I should always know they’re safe!”
“They were safe! They were with your girlfriend!”
“She’s not their mother!”
“Like hell she isn’t!” He snaps so harshly I’m stunned silent. “Meena loves those kids more than their own mother ever could or wanted too!”
“Don’t talk about Beth like that!”
“What? The truth?” Wyatt shoots up to his feet. “You don’t wanna hear how imperfect we all knew she was? You don’t wanna hear that she would’ve never loved those kids half as much as Meena does?”
“Wyatt…” I warn.
He shrugs. “Lie to everyone else, bro, but you can’t fucking lie to me about this. We all know what happened before she died.”
Of course they do. They’re family. And just like the secrets they’ve trusted in me, they’ll take it to the grave.
“But you have to stop punishing yourself for a warranted action.”
“How is cheating ever warranted?”
“When your fucking spouse is already cheating on you!”
The accusation isn’t surprising nor incorrect. “How did you know that?”
“Because she tried to sleep with me
.”
His confession curls my fist. “What the hell did you just say?”
Wyatt nods, folds his arms across his chest, and repeats, “Beth tried to sleep with me. More than once.”
“Before we were married?”
He shakes his head in spite of the fact I wish he wouldn’t.
My hands rake through my hair and pull the few strands they manage to anchor onto.
Why am I not more surprised?
Why am I not really surprised at all?
What the hell was so wrong with me?
Why didn’t she love me?
Why didn’t she love them?
Why did I have to push away the woman who did?
“Look, you’re one of my bros, Holden. I would never do that to you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Because you live in this unrealistic Beth bubble you’ve built. The guilt from the one moment you let yourself accept the fact your wife wasn’t who you needed her to be and hooked up with someone else has forced you to have blurry Beth vision, but that shit needs to end. It needs to fucking end now. You have the hottest piece of ass I’ve seen come your way in like a decade, devoted to your dick, your kids, and your life. You may have some hang ups on the terminology used, but she is their mother, the same way she basically is your wife.”
My body braces itself against the couch again.
“Take a couple lessons from our man Jigga. Put a ring on it. Remember you have one of the hottest chicks in the game. And avoid bitches named Becky.”
The rap reference successfully causes me to smile for the first time since she walked out. “You do know that wasn’t actually her name.”
He shrugs, his infamous playful expression appearing back on his face. “It could’ve been.” We exchange another brief smile and he sighs, “Just fix this shit with, Meena.”
Wyatt’s right. Completely 110% percent right.
Yesterday, I was nothing more than agitated from a long day at work and lack of…people I love being in my presence. In the back of my mind I knew they were somewhere having a good time. Bonding. Making better memories than ones they’ve had over the past couple of years. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind for one moment my kids weren’t safe. She’d give her life to protect them.
To protect me.
Fuck, why doesn’t life have a task manager I can bring up to help end runaway bullshit thoughts like I had yesterday before they get out of hand?
All of a sudden there’s a faint ding from The Beast in the other room.
“You working?” He questions, dropping back onto the sofa.
“Always,” I mutter. “Give me a minute. I need to check that.”
Keyword is need, not want.
The last thing I want is to deal with these fucking auction sites.
It’s what consumed all my time yesterday.
It’s what put me in a foul mood.
It’s what made me push away the one person I actually, not only wanted, but needed in my life.
After the necessary protocols, I enter my office to see a new email waiting for me on the screen.
I lean over, prepared to ignore it, when the title captures my full attention.
Fresh Baked Goods!
Instantly I click it open from the sender known as ‘The Baker’ and follow the link inside.
A screen demanding a passcode to enter appears and I type in the one I was required to remember when I was given entry into the perv circle.
As soon as it is accepted, I’m granted access to an unimaginable sight.
There’s a young woman clearly unconscious, tied to a chair, legs bound at the bottom, hands behind her, mouth gagged, blouse unbuttoned, and skirt displaying the color of her panties. On the bottom there’s a countdown clock for when the auction will close while the left side of the screen is an array of bids, along with comments filled with disgusting yearning to do things with this sixteen-year-old.
And I know for a fact that’s exactly how old she is because I know her.
I know her face.
I know her family.
I know that if I don’t do everything to save her the same way I did Meena, the love of my life will never forgive me.
Fuck, I’ll never forgive me.
Seeing Mia’s lifeless body and the seconds ticking ruthlessly away, shuts my eyes tightly.
This can’t be happening….
Not again.
On a wide yawn, I flop my face into the palm of my hands. “Thanks again for letting me sleep here last night, Papi.”
My father gives me a sarcastic scowl. “Tu eres mi hija. This is your casa, Meena. No matter how old you get or how much of an adult you become, you’re always welcome.”
I try to smile despite how foreign it now feels.
With the way my chest aches, it may never happen again.
“You know that.”
“Si, but with the house already being so full with Mario and his friends-”
“Friend. The other one took his daughter home about five minutes after you left.” Papi has a sip of his coffee. “Him, I liked. He had manners. He was respectful. He-”
“Wasn’t hitting on your youngest daughter?”
My father grunts, “Voy a poner su cabeza en una caja y enviarla a ella como un recordatorio de por qué no se permite la datación.”
His graphic imagery receives a short snicker. “Papi, she’s sixteen. She’s definitely dating.”
He grits his teeth in aggravation.
“Did they spend more time together last night?”
“No, gracias a Dios. She went to spend the night at her friend’s. The girl with el nombre extraño.”
“Wren.”
“Si.”
Wren is probably the only friend she has I actually don’t mind. Her parents are a bit eccentric and the rules they have are quite lax, but she has a good head on her shoulders. She has a way of reminding my baby sister there is more to life than selfies and trying to sign her soul away to the devil. Typically, when they hang out they get into teenage trouble I approve of. Stupid online quizzes. Crappy teen movies. Late night swims in her parents’ hot tub. Unlike the time she spends with Hil, I don’t have to keep the phone pressed to my ear in fear I’ll need to help call her an uber to get home if I can’t get there in time.
“So,” my father’s hands wrap around the cup in his hands, “¿Quieres hablar de por qué estás aquí?” When I don’t make an attempt to answer he lightheartedly comments, “Not to sound desagradecido about having a hot taza de café. It’s a pleasant, change.”
Another small snicker escapes at the same time I shake my head.
“Meena,” his voice takes a more serious approach, “what’s wrong?”
My fingers slide into my thick, tight curls as I casually confess, “Just time to move on, Papi. It happens. It always happens.”
The expression on his face becomes skeptical. “Yesterday you were loving on those children so hard, I was convinced they were actually yours, but today they mean nada?”
“Of course they don’t mean nothing, Papi.”
They’re everything.
Them and their selfish bastard father I would rather pour hot coffee on than ever make another cup for.
“No entiendo.”
“Los amo. I really do.” The words continue to clog my throat. “But…love is a fleeting thing, Papi. There always comes a moment when it’s time to move on from it. Time to move forward. Time to let go of something that never had a chance of lasting.”
“And why didn’t it?”
“Because love like everything else in life, doesn’t last. It’s not any more permanent than the bills you get in the mail or the groceries you stock in the house. It comes. It goes. It never stays, so why bother getting attached to it?”