by Meghan Quinn
“Damn, I might have to join you on that one.”
“All right, shark diving, skydiving, or bungee jumping?”
A lightness ran through me as I realized I was enjoying my lunch with Lyla more than I’d expected. Yes, I was attracted to her, like I was desperate to be inside of her. I thought she was so beautiful, but as I sat here in the café with zydeco music playing in the background, staring at her exotic face, I felt euphoric from her company. I allowed myself to engage in the feeling. It was rare for me, but I allowed it this day.
“Not much of a swimmer. I’ve been parachuting, which was fun, but bungee jumping is more of a thrill.”
“Sign me up for swimming with the sharks. Those beasts are just some toothy assholes who act like they own the water. I would show them a thing or two.”
I believed her. “You’ve heard of shark attacks, right?”
“Eh, not scared. A little punch to the schnoz, and those fuckers would be gone in two seconds.”
“Where the hell are you getting your information?” I asked. “You know you have to avoid their mouths to get to their nose.”
“You would be surprised by my accuracy,” she responded nonchalantly. “Sweet tooth or savory?”
“Do vegetables count?” I asked.
“Oh Christ, don’t tell me you’re one of those neurotic eaters. Is that why you’re nursing that sandwich? Just eat it. Your figure will be fine.”
“I’m fucking with you,” I laughed. “What do you think I am, sweet or savory?”
Lyla studied me for a second before answering. “I would say savory. You look like a hard liquor kind of guy who enjoys a beer every once in a while, but I think you would grab a chip before a cookie. Although, I would have really hoped for you to be a sweet person.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Because I have a sweet pussy.”
I shook my head at her. “How would you know?”
“I’ve been told. Plus, I’ve heard that whatever you crave is the opposite of what you are. So, I wish you liked sweet because I like salty.” She winked at me, and I about sprung out of my fucking jeans.
Clearing my throat, I played with my water glass while looking at her from under my lashes. “I think your theory might be wrong.”
“Only one way to find out,” she said while licking her lips. “But we have time to do that. I want to know, what is your favorite Disney movie?”
The fact that she was able to change the subject so quickly from sex to Disney was slightly disturbing, but I went with it. “Beauty and the Beast,” I said, not skipping a beat.
Lyla genuinely looked shocked. “Seriously? Wow, I never would have guessed that.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well, I would have expected a burly man like you to have picked something like The Lion King or Aladdin, but Beauty and the Beast really surprises me.”
“It’s a classic love story of looking past the outer beauty and into the person’s soul.”
She sat there silent for a second and then crossed her legs, a position I would never dare attempt.
She tilted her head to the side. “Well, fuck, I’m crushing pretty hard on you right now, Kace.”
The feeling was fucking mutual. Ignoring her confession, I asked, “What’s your favorite Disney movie?”
“The Emperor’s New Groove,” she answered without skipping a beat.
“What’s that?” I asked, not familiar with the movie.
“Are you kidding me?” she shouted while placing her hands on the table. “You can’t be serious.”
“Never heard of it.”
Lyla shook her head at me in disappointment and raised her hand. “Check please!” She stood up, grabbed me, and said, “We’re going to remedy that.”
The waitress brought us our check. I laid some cash on the table and allowed Lyla to pull me to my feet. She escorted me out of the café toward Bourbon Street.
“Where are we going?” I asked, letting this feisty woman drag me around.
“My place. You have a movie to watch.”
She linked her arm through mine and leaned into me as we walked to her apartment. Her hair swayed with her steps, brushing against me, sending the subtle scent of vanilla my way. I was starting to become addicted to everything about this woman, from her brash attitude, to her exquisite body, to her sweetness. It scared the fuck out of me.
***
“You are such a Kronk!” Lyla protested, referring to the dumb but muscular character in The Emperor’s New Groove. The movie credits were scrolling across the screen as we sat on Lyla’s couch, talking about the movie. It had been funny.
“I am not Kronk,” I countered.
“You’re so Kronk. How can you deny that?”
“If I’m Kronk, then you’re Yzma,” I replied, referring to the villain in the movie who was a crotchety old hag looking to take over the empire. I had to admit she’d been the most entertaining villain I’d ever watched.
“Oh, fuck you.” Lyla laughed, throwing her head back. “I am not Yzma.”
“If I’m Kronk, then you’re most definitely Yzma.”
“Fine, you can be the quiet hero, Pacho.”
A quiet hero was most definitely not me. Maybe I was actually the male version of Yzma, with evil running through my blood.
“Hey,” Lyla said. “Where did you go?”
“Nowhere,” I lied.
Lyla eyed me suspiciously. “So, be honest. What did you think?”
“Beauty and the Beast is better.” I smiled.
“Horse shit!” Lyla said while slapping the couch. “That is complete horseshit. The Emperor’s New Groove is by far superior.”
“Clearly you lack good taste in movies,” I joked.
“Wow, way to nail a girl where it hurts,” she teased.
“Believe me, you would know if I nailed you.”
Lyla put her arm across the back of the couch, scooting even closer to me. “Is that right?”
Her voice was seductive, practically whispering in my ear, enticing me to lean in to her.
“It is,” I responded, not really sure why I wasn’t pulling away.
She stroked my forearm. I looked down at her fingers running across my tan arms, wondering where she planned on taking it, praying she would move her fingers across my entire body.
“There is something about you, Kace, something different, something dark that kind of scares me but also intrigues me. You’re not like any other man I’ve come across.”
“That’s because most of the men you come across are foaming at the mouth, just waiting for you to strip naked,” I replied, referring to her job at Kitten’s Castle, Goldie’s old workplace.
“That’s not it. You’re honest, you speak your mind, and you know how far you can go, how far you want to go.”
“You act like you know me,” I stated, needing to feed off her energy.
“I don’t.” She shook her head. “But I want to get to know you. You fascinate me.”
The comfort she was giving me was overwhelming. I wanted to confide in her. I wanted to fucking rip my heart out, lay it on a platter, and let her watch it bleed. I wanted her to know all my sins, but the thought of her not understanding me, not getting my situation, was too overpowering. This afternoon had been one of the best I’d had in a really long time, and if I ever let her in, if I ever let her see my bleeding heart and she didn’t accept me, she would wreck me. There would be no recovering from that.
So instead of sticking around, I said, “I should probably get going.”
The hurt look on her face let me know I’d insulted her after her confession. Guilt washed through me but it was better this way, better to cut her loose before anything serious happened between us, before she could reject me.
“Thanks for the movie,” I said awkwardly as I got up.
As I moved toward the door, I heard Lyla’s feet pad across the uneven hardwood floors. Her heat pulled at me, practically tore me in the othe
r direction, but I denied myself the pleasure of turning around. I couldn’t. I couldn’t see her hurt eyes again.
“Wait,” Lyla said, grabbing my hand. She pulled me around and shoved me up against the door. She stood on her toes and leaned into me, still holding my hand around her hips. “I don’t get you, Kace. I don’t understand what has happened to you in the past that has made you so quiet, so reserved, but I like you. I want to see where this goes, and I know you feel the same way. I can see it in your eyes.”
Closing my eyes tightly, I placed my head against the door and tried to gain the courage to say goodbye, to put distance between us, but I found nothing. I was gutless.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Lyla coaxed. “Just know that when you’re ready, I’m here.” She caressed my jaw and pulled my chin down, where her lips pressed against mine.
My entire fucking body melted into her and I held tightly onto her hips, pulling her closer so I could feel every curve of her body. Her soft lips glided across mine until I opened my mouth and licked across the seam of her lips, begging for admittance.
She obliged with a moan and opened her mouth. I rolled her so she was against the door instead of me. With my hips pressed against hers, I pinned her against the door and ran my hands up her ribcage, dancing terribly close with her breasts. Her hands found the belt loops of my jeans and pulled me in closer.
A low moan escaped her throat, clouding my thoughts, encouraging me to take things further, to truly explore her body, but a small voice in the back of my head prevented me.
I knew I needed to step away. Guilt for what I’d done in the past stopped me. I didn’t deserve her sweetness, her kindness, her sexiness.
Frustrated with the shell of the life I had left, I pulled away and pressed my hands against the door, framing her face. Her lips were swollen, and her eyes were glazed from the heat blazing between us. She looked so fuckable, it took everything in me not to take her up against the door.
“I have to go,” I said softly, lowering my head so she couldn’t see the want in my eyes.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“Don’t make this harder, Lyla.”
“How am I making this harder when you’re the one walking out?”
“You don’t know me, Lyla. There is a whole lot of fucked up attached to me, and I won’t let you to associate yourself to that.” I took a deep breath and met her eyes. “Thank you for one of the best afternoons I’ve had in a really long time.”
Gripping her chin, I placed a soft kiss on her lips and then gently moved her to the side to let myself out of her apartment. Each step I took that put distance between Lyla and myself pained me, but I knew I was doing the right thing.
Lyla was the type of woman who stuck around, who could ruin a man with just one look, and if I let her in, if I let her past my walls, I knew she would fucking destroy me. Even though I was living a life of regret and pain, I wasn’t ready to endure the crushing blow she would deliver to me if she ever left. That was one kind of pain I knew I wouldn’t be able to recover from.
Chapter Twenty Seven
My present…
The community center was silent. The lights were shut off besides one that shined down on the bleachers of the Haze Room and one boxing bag. All the girls had left, and I was the last one left to lock up.
The day had dragged, the thrill of teaching the sport of boxing to others stolen from me the minute Madeline had joined the practice.
No, that was fucking wrong to say. I shouldn’t blame that innocent girl for taking anything from me. She’d done nothing wrong. It was my own fucking guilt eating me up.
I’d thought the pain would slowly ease, that walking this earth would be easier after a few years, but seeing Madeline, looking into Linda’s eyes¸ it was just too fucking much.
I rested on the bleachers, my head in my hands and my elbows relaxing on my legs. I was at a loss, probably the lowest point of my life. For once in my life, I truly felt like I was at a crossroads. When I’d thrown my last punch at Marshall, I didn’t really have options because Jett had been so desperate to keep me around, but now that he had Goldie. There was really no reason for me to stick around.
I’d made a commitment to Justice, to staying here and helping the center succeed, but what was I really doing to help? I was empty, I was lifeless, I wasn’t helping anyone.
It was time for a change.
A soft knock rang through the silent room, startling me for a second. Linda was standing in the doorway, clutching her purse. Taking a deep breath, I stood and said, “Hi Linda. Did Madeline forget something?”
“No,” she said while looking around nervously. “Um, do you have a moment to talk?”
“Yes,” I said warily. The nervous tension coming off her threw me for a loop.
With her purse held closely to her body, she walked up to me and visibly shook. The hand holding the strap rattled against her shoulder, and she scanned the room as if she was checking for someone to pop out of the corners.
“Are you okay?” I asked, feeling a tingle crawl across the back of my neck. What was in her purse that was so important that she was clutching?
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
My stomach bottomed out, my pulse quickened, and I instantly felt ill. “What are you talking about?” I asked, sweating.
“You were the man at the bar, the man who killed my husband.”
I could feel my skin turn white, my breathing grew at a rapid rate, my body became a complete void. I was physically unable to answer.
“You don’t have to admit to anything. I can see it on your face.” Her hand continued to shake as a tear ran down her cheek. “I knew it was you. I didn’t know at first. I had no clue who would kill my husband, but I saw someone who resembled you at the funeral, and I had an inkling. Then on Madeline’s birthday and at Christmas, I saw you sneaking presents to our doorstep for Madeline. You thought you went undetected, but I knew it was you. The moment I heard about Justice and the classes you were offering, I knew I had to make contact.”
Alarm bells were going off in my head. I stepped back and bumped into the bleachers. Linda didn’t look well. She looked almost sick, like she couldn’t believe she was going to do something out of her element.
“Linda—”
“Don’t, please don’t speak.” She held up her hand. She reached into her purse and I felt like I was going into shock. I’d waited for this moment, for my last breath, but I didn’t want my life to end. I didn’t want this to be my last minute on this world.
In slow motion, I watched Linda whip something out of her purse, and I flinched as she pointed it at me.
“Take them,” she said, pushing what was in her hand in front of me.
My vision blurred as I tried to figure out what she was handing me. I looked down and saw a pile of construction paper. At closer work, I saw crayon marks drawn across them in a child’s writing.
“Take them, Kace,” Linda repeated herself.
Obliging her request, I grabbed the folded pieces from her and then sat down on the bleachers. She sat next to me, still shaking but letting go of her purse. Relieved she wasn’t here to take my life, I started sifting through the papers.
Colors ranging from pink to blue to green were scattered over contrasting paper and each were addressed to “Dear Sir.”
They were homemade cards from Madeline.
“What are these?” My vision started to blur from the tears that clouded my eyes.
“They are thank you notes from Madeline. She wrote one for every gift you’ve ever gotten her. She would give them to me to mail to the man who gave her such precious gifts. It’s time that you read them.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, my eyes burning from holding in my emotions. I opened the cards and read what was inside.
Dear Sir, thank you for my mini purple horse figurine. I named him Clyde. I love him.
Dear Sir, I like purse. Thanks.
Dear Sir, baki
ng with mom is fun. Thank u for the apron.
Dear Sir, I like my shirt. It’s big now but mom says I will grow.
Dear Sir, magnets are fun, I like to hang things on the fridge, thanks.
Dear Sir, I wish I could thank you in person. I love my necklace. It’s so pretty.
There were tons of cards, but the last one I read was what allowed the tears that clouded my vision to finally fall. I set the cards to the side so I wouldn’t get them wet, placed my head in my hands, and let my emotions overtake me.
Kindly, Linda rested a hand on my back, rubbing me soothingly like any mother would. I’d never truly cried, never let myself feel so much emotion, but at this point, I couldn’t block it out. It hit me all at once.
Shame, anger, and regret sent me into a tailspin of depression. I didn’t want these cards. I couldn’t justify having them, not after what I’d taken away from Madeline. I could give her everything in the world except the one thing she deserved: a father.
“I’m sorry, Linda. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” she asked, still rubbing my back.
I looked at her as if she was losing her mind. I pulled away and ran the backs of my hands over my tear-soaked cheeks.
“Why am I sorry? You just said you know I killed your husband, and here I am, living a perfectly normal life. I should be rotting in fucking jail right now. Why haven’t you called the cops?”
“Kace, why would I call the cops on you? You protected us.”
Confused, I sat up and asked, “What are you talking about?”
Linda reached into her purse again and pulled out a thin leather album. She handed it to me and nodded for me to open it. Curious, I flipped open the page and was met with ghastly pictures of Linda, beaten and battered to the point where she was almost unrecognizable. Bile rose in my throat as I continued to turn the pages. Flip after flip, there were pictures of Linda with bruises, burns, cuts.