The Wicked Collection

by Vivian Wood

  You really are an ugly ring, she thought to herself, and instantly felt even guiltier. Who cares about the ring? It’s the intention that matters.

  That was the other thing. What was Will’s intention behind this? Had she been too subtle in the hints about her tastes? Was this all just stupidly materialistic on her end? It felt like he'd intentionally chosen a ring he knew she’d hate.

  What in the world are you doing?

  27

  Ryan

  Ryan took another swallow of coffee as he sat on his tiny balcony. With just the little steel table and chair squeezed onto the space, it was a small slice of a retreat, but it was his. Papers from the US Marshals were fanned out before him, held down by his phone.

  There were a number of urgent vacancies available around the country. All immediate openings were for overseeing WitSec persons or hunting fugitives. Clearly, there’s a reason so many of these posts are going unclaimed. He thought back to what Lieutenant Stevens had said about the Marshals program being starved for new recruits.

  He enjoyed the work with Li, but it wasn’t particularly challenging. That adoration of exotic cars just didn’t have the same pull in him it seemed to with other men. Plus, it was very much considered a training post with no promise of long-term or full-time employment. He was technically a contractor with zero stability. Ryan pushed another paper with an opening description under the pile he’d already pored over.

  If he left the car post, would Poppy even care? Maybe it would be easier for both of them, and she could slide right back into that pre-packaged life with Will.

  Ryan shook his head. Melodramatic much?

  Still, he felt like shit after the way they'd parted the other day. He’d returned from the corner shop with Americanos plus bagels and lox, Poppy’s favorite, and they'd eaten in silence. When he’d made an excuse to leave, she’d barely looked at him.

  Since when did they connect best in the bedroom? It was exactly what he’d been afraid of—their friendship falling apart. And for what? Some good times between the sheets.

  No. Some fucking incredible times between the sheets.

  His phone lit up with Sarah’s name. Funny, he didn’t even feel a stir of excitement. Granted, he’d been breadcrumbing her at best since the tubing trip. It’s not her fault. She doesn’t deserve that. He knew he should break it off with her, but he couldn’t. He’d never been good at walking away from relationships, even casual ones, but this one was particularly thorny.

  The lies have to stop, he thought. The lies to yourself, and the lies to everyone else.

  It was obvious he wanted Poppy. Obvious to him, to Will, and hell, it had to be obvious to Poppy, right? She was all he could think about.

  The phone began to ring, and it made his heart race. He wasn’t ready to have the talk with Sarah, not yet. His nerves settled when he saw it was the strange “1111” number that could only be Eli.

  “Yes, Mr. President,” he answered.

  Eli laughed on the other end. He always sounded funny calling from the office. “Just making sure you’re okay,” he said. “After you nearly drowned in, what was it, six feet of water, Navy SEAL?”

  “Those rapids are a trip when you’re a six-pack deep,” Ryan said. “Why are you calling me from the Big House, anyway?”

  “You mean the White House,” Eli said. “I’m sure there’s a whole orchestra listening in, so let’s keep phrases like ‘Big House’ to a minimum, huh?”

  “Right, right,” Ryan said. “So, what’s up?”

  “You mean besides the whole world keeping an eye on me like a grumpy schoolteacher? Not much. I could use some discourse on the real world, though. Tell me how civilian life is treating you.”

  Ryan considered a safe play, but the events of the past few weeks overwhelmed him. If he couldn’t talk to his brother about this crap, who could he vent to? “More drama over here than Afghanistan,” he said.

  “Oh yeah? I said no disturbances,” Eli said coolly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, talking to one of the interns. But really, what’s up?”

  “It’s… I don’t know, man. My ‘love life’ if you want to put a term to it.”

  “Oh, I see,” Eli said. “You falling in love, finally? Who is it? That Sophia girl who’s always tagging you?”

  “Who? Oh, you mean Sarah—no, not her.”

  “Really? I mean, I’m not Facebook stalking you or anything, but you two have looked pretty chummy these past few weeks. She’s cute,” Eli added.

  “Yeah. She’s a great girl.”

  “So it seems the SEALs couldn’t slow down your playboy roll after all then. What’s the flavor of the month’s name?”

  “Poppy.”

  “Poppy? Like, the Poppy? The one who’s been your best friend forever?” Eli was clearly shocked. That couldn’t be a good sign. If the President of the United States thought this was dramatic, what would everyone else think?

  “Yeah, how many people named Poppy do you know?” He was on the defensive, but couldn’t help it.

  “Okay, chill out. How do you… what… does she… doesn’t she have a boyfriend?” Is that the best you can do?

  “Technically, kind of a fiancé now,” Ryan said.

  “Jesus, Ryan. You need to walk away from that.”

  “I can’t,” he admitted. “I think I’m in too deep now.”

  “How far has it gone?”

  “Um, well, ‘all the way’ I guess you could say.”

  “You’re sleeping together?”

  That’s an understatement. “Yeah,” he said.

  “And that Sophia girl? You at least broke it off with her, right?”

  “Not exactly…”

  “Shit, Ryan, you’ve made a mess.”

  “It gets worse.”

  “How does it get worse?”

  “Well, I know you never knew Poppy that well or anything. And I didn’t know this either until really recently. But—”

  Ryan didn’t know if he should tell Eli or not. But it wasn’t like Eli would go blabbing around town, and already there was a weight lifted off of Ryan’s shoulders just by sharing this much. “But what?” Eli prodded.

  “She was a virgin?” It was out now.

  “What do you mean she was a virgin? Wait, isn’t she your age?” The confusion in Eli’s voice was thick.

  “I mean the other night…”

  “Ryan, stop.” Stop. He wished he could.

  “I’m in deep,” Ryan admitted. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “And it’s not just the sex?” Eli asked.

  “No,” Ryan said, nearly offended.

  “Calm down, I was just asking. Because, you know, the whole taking someone’s virginity thing can be a trip for some guys—”

  “Eli, come on. You know me better than that.”

  “You’re right. Sorry. But what about your friendship? I mean, you two have been glued at the hip since you were kids.”

  “I know,” Ryan said. “I know. I’m—I’m not even sure there will be anything left after all of this. But I need to find out. I’m willing to risk it.” It was true, though the first time he’d realized it.

  “And Poppy?”

  “I need to find out if she’s willing to risk it, too. Once and for all. This has gone on long enough.”

  “You’re telling me,” Eli said. “I have to tell you, I always wondered. In high school and everything. You seemed almost too close, you know? I figured you were boning like mad and just keeping it a secret for whatever reason.”

  “Boning, Eli? Really? Is that how the POTUS talks?”

  “It is when he’s talking to his brother and wants to give the phone observers something to gossip about.”

  “I just, I don’t want to hurt anyone. You know? Especially her. And Sarah. They—neither of them deserve any of this.”

  “If you really want this,” Eli said, “if you’re sure, go for a grand gesture. Women love that sort of thing.”

>   “You mean like a proposal?”

  “No, you idiot! Besides, isn’t she already engaged?”

  “Oh. Yeah,” Ryan said.

  “I mean—sorry, I don’t mean to make light of it. I just mean, not anything like that unless you’re really, really ready for it. I know you’ve been tight with her for years, but there’s no reason to jump straight from friends to marriage.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “If this all works out, if you end up together, enjoy it. You know? Date! Have fun. Make up for some of those lost years.”

  Lost years. Ryan had never thought of it like that. Had they really wasted so many years? In a way, maybe Eli was right. But on the other hand, no time spent with Poppy, whether it was just friendship or not, felt wasted.

  “Yeah. But a grand gesture like what?” He’d never felt the need to do something like that before. Then again, all of his former relationships had been easy and casual. The women had never acted like they expected anything more. Of course, maybe that was normal. What else would a girl expect if she dated someone who was constantly on tour?

  “Something real,” Eli said. “A genuine step forward, together. Just talk to her, Ryan. Make a declaration.”

  “A declaration, huh? There’s some polititalk for you.”

  “You know what I mean,” Eli said.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “I said no dist—oh. Alright.” Eli’s voice was muffled as he barked at whoever was in the office. “Hey, Ryan, I have to go. But keep me posted, okay? And I don’t want to see any more smoochy pictures of you and that Sophia girl online, okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Go govern the free world,” Ryan said.

  “Talk later.” Eli was gone.

  He kicked his feet onto the balcony railing and started mulling over ideas. Scenes from cheesy movies flew through his head. Skywriting from a plane, hot air balloon rides with champagne, a penthouse suite at the fanciest hotel in D.C. filled with flowers.

  That’s way over the top, he thought. Worse, it wasn’t Poppy. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t them.

  He sat up and knocked over the last of his coffee onto the papers. He knew what to do.

  28

  Poppy

  Poppy sucked in her breath and filled her lungs as she pulled up to her parents’ house. It was the last place she thought she’d go, but it was funny how when your world falls apart you seek out childhood comforts.

  “Of course you can come home!” her mother had said over the phone.

  “And Dad?” Poppy had asked.

  “He doesn’t get home from the ba—he won’t be back until night,” her mom said. She caught herself, but it was no secret her dad spent all day at the local dive.

  Poppy climbed the steps and tried to ignore the cobwebs. Even though she’d just been there recently, the house still seemed smaller and shabbier. The incredible shrinking house.

  She didn’t knock, just walked right in. That was a first in nearly fifteen years. It felt like home again—but only for an instant.

  In the living room, her mother was perched anxiously on the edge of the couch. She held what seemed to be a scarf in mid-crochet in her hands. The hook looked deadly. On the recliner was her dad.

  Her mom offered a tight-lipped smile, but her father just glared at her. On the television, canned sitcom laughter broke out.

  “What are you—what are you doing…”

  She couldn’t choke the words out.

  “Will called, honey,” her mom said.

  “Will? Why? When did he—”

  “To ask for your goddamned hand,” her father said gruffly.

  “The start of last week…” her mom trailed off.

  “Came down here. In person,” her dad said. Anger boiled right below the surface. “Called first. Like a gentleman should.”

  “He was very nice,” her mother said softly. She looked, yearned, at her daughter. Poppy could see a bruise, faded to violet, that hugged her mother’s eye. She’d done a shoddy job with the concealer.

  “Shut up,” her father snapped to her mother without looking at her. Poppy scanned her mother’s body, or what she could see of it, and saw what looked like strangulation marks that peeked out from the turtleneck.

  Her mom’s mouth slammed shut.

  “Your mother is right about that, though,” her dad said. “He was nice. Brought flowers and candy for her. Bourbon and cigars for me. From Cuba.”

  Poppy nodded and took in the rules of the game. She couldn’t remember if she’d shut the front door completely, or if it could easily be pushed open if she had to run. Why did you wear heels? What were you thinking?

  “That boy of yours promised us, promised us, you’d be taken care of. He’s got some crazy idea, for some strange reason, you deserve that. A kept woman.” Her dad shook his head, and his wiry gray eyebrows quivered with him. “Even offered your old man a job with a ‘real up-and-comer in the TV industry.’ That’s what he said. And you know what?”

  He looked at her like he expected an answer. “What?”

  “I believe him. I don’t know why, but he wants to take care of you. Of all of us.” So that was it. Will had cornered her in the way she least expected. He got the monster of her childhood in on it, and they came at her from both sides.

  “Dad,” she started. “I—”

  “You what?” he asked and stood up. She was taller than him now. When did that happen? However, those childhood scars ran deep. He tore terror through her with just his tone.

  “I love that boy, you know that?” her father asked. The surprise on her mother’s face was almost comical. “Love him like my own flesh and blood.”

  Poppy searched for words, but none came. She’d never heard her dad say that word before. Not to her mother, and certainly not to her.

  “You do?” she asked her mom, incredulous. She’d always acted indifferent about Will.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that—”

  Poppy was surprised at how much she could read into those five short words. For once, her mom’s voice was smooth and strong. She didn’t like Will.

  “Don’t act like a bitch,” her father said sharply. “Always rurnin’ everyone’s good time. Jealous is all,” he said to Poppy. She hated how he said that. Rurnin’.

  “I just meant—”

  “One more word,” her father warned her mom. Is that what happened? Did Mom try to help me, tell Dad she didn’t like Will? And he let her have it, because of me?

  “Any time attention’s off her – well, you know how your mom is.” She couldn’t believe what he said.

  Poppy couldn’t find the right words. Her mom? Jealous? Petty? Her dad was really reaching.

  “And the job? It would be a real boon, I know it,” he continued.

  “Dad, I—”

  Stop stammering like a little girl. “And your mother’d be a whole lot happier. A lot safer. With me working.”

  There was the rabbit punch. “I… I…”

  “But only if y’all get married, of course,” her dad said. “You are getting married. Aren’t ya.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I don’t… you know, it’s all really fast?” She could hear her voice lilt up, like a child’s. “Both of our careers are just starting. You know? Maybe, I mean… I think it might be better if we took some time? Just—”

  “Don’t you bullshit me. You’re gonna marry that boy. If you got any goddamned sense in you.”

  “I don’t… ”

  “Where’s that ring?” her father asked suddenly. She glanced down at her bare hands. Thank God she’d slipped the box into her pocket. “Put it on. Show your mom,” he demanded.

  She slid the ring onto her hand. It felt cold and foreign. Poppy held out her hand limply.

  “Closer,” her father demanded. “Can’t nobody see it from here.”

  She took a step toward him.

  “Your mom, you goddamned idiot,” he said.

  Poppy changed directions, but kept watch
on her father from the corner of her eye.

  “Now, ain’t that something,” her father said. Poppy and her mom both nodded.

  “I said ain’t that something,” he repeated.

  “Yes.” Their voices blended together. Fear made a beautiful medley.

  “You keep that on, like you’re supposed to.”

  “It’s loose,” Poppy said.

  “What?”

  “It needs to be resized.”

  “Bullshit. It’s fine. ‘Cause you don’t eat enough is all.” Her father slouched back down into his chair.

  “Do you want some supper?” her mom asked. Her voice was soft but her knuckles were white as they clenched the crochet hook.

  “Um—”

  “Well, would you look what time it is!” her father said as Shameless came on. “Bourbon time. It’s five o’clock here.”

  Everyone acted like he hadn’t been drinking the whole day. He’d always counted down the hours, the minutes, until five. Not drinking “the good stuff” until then somehow made it okay in his head. Although now that she was grown, Poppy'd figured out he pounded down beers all day because they were affordable.

  “Pour your old dad a glass?” he asked her.

  Is this a trap? He’d never asked her to pour for him before—probably because she never filled the cup to the brim.

  “No?” her father said. “Alright, then.” He shot up from his chair like a lightning bolt and it took her aback. She didn’t know he could still move like that.

  The door was only a few feet away, but she was frozen in place. Her muscles tightened up, held her hostage, but also braced for the hit.

  He moved straight toward her, a dare scrawled across his face. Don’t move. Don’t move. She didn’t know why, but it was a mantra being drilled into her head.

  He came close, uncomfortably close, but veered away at the last second toward the old buffet where he kept an assortment of glasses and Wild Turkey. It was a game of chicken, and she’d won. “You want one?” he asked her as he raised the glass that threatened to spill toward her.