by Shay Savage
“And what did you say?” Nora asks when I don’t continue.
“I…I didn’t work it out in my head before I said it. The words just…just came out on their own. I didn’t think. I just…”
“Spoke from the heart?” Nora’s voice has lost all of its harshness, sarcasm, and contempt.
“I thought I knew what I was doing,” I whisper as I put my head in my hands. “Now…now I’m…”
“Now you’re still afraid to fuck it up but for a completely different reason.”
I try to breathe steadily, but it’s becoming more difficult. Everything Nora is saying rings true, and the whole idea makes me nervous. This isn’t how I planned all of this, and the idea of changing course now is unfathomable.
“You know, baby brother—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“—you might be a romantic at heart after all.”
“That’s adorable, Nora. Really.” I sigh as I look up from my hands. “Please enlighten me more.”
“I will.”
“That was supposed to be rhetorical.”
“Too bad.” She grins as she looks me up and down for a minute. “When you take away all the bullshit and bravado, you’re actually a good catch, Nate. If I can see that, she will too. Stop playing all these games, and just be you. Sit her down and tell her everything. If she’s the right one, she can handle it, and you won’t be left with a heaping pile of Catholic guilt weighing you down for the rest of your life.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. Maybe Nora’s right. She suddenly reaches out and grabs my chin, tilting my head towards her.
“You need some sleep,” she says. “Are you sleeping well?”
“Not at all,” I admit.
“Yeah, I can tell.”
“I’m fine.”
*****
“What are all the little yellow flowers near the stream?” I ask as the hay wagon passes a small creek on its way back from the Sugar Shack to the festival grounds.
“Marsh marigolds,” Cherry says immediately. “They’re so pretty, but they don’t last long. They’ll be gone in a week.”
“So smart.” I tighten my arm around her shoulders and press my lips against her temple. I look into her eyes and then bring her hand up to kiss the back of her knuckles.
Little gestures seem to be working, which is good. I’m afraid of what will come out of my mouth if I open it too much. After my little heart-to-heart with Nora after that first family dinner, I’ve gone from feeling completely confident to completely terrified. Over the weeks, Cherry keeps asking questions—questions I deflect—and I know I’m going to have to start answering some of them.
Before, it was a calculated move. Now, I avoid answering because I’m afraid it will send her running, and she’ll never speak to me again.
When the wagon stops, I take Cherry around the festival booths, play some games, and then we watch the fireworks while sitting on a blanket. I constantly look over at Cherry, wondering what she’s thinking and trying not to be completely paranoid that I’m going to do something to fuck it all up.
As the last of the fireworks fade away, I pull Cherry to her feet and then tighten my grip on her hand as we walk back to the car. We drive to her apartment, open a bottle of wine, and then everything begins to spiral out of control.
I’m not even sure how it happens.
One minute, we’re on the couch, and I’m prepared to push her away, make my excuses, and get out of there. The next, I’m carrying her to the bedroom with my dick threatening to tear right through my zipper.
My head is filled with her astonishing beauty, the smell of her hair, and how amazing it feels to be with her. Nothing exists but the soft touch of her skin as I caress her breasts and taste the hint of wine and maple syrup on her lips.
The scent of her sex is intoxicating. I’m tempted to go down on her, but I’m also sure that if I do, I’ll come on the floor. I don’t want to do that. I need to be inside of her.
Maybe for round two.
She reaches down and strokes my dick while I watch her expression. My ass clenches as she pulls back the foreskin, and I wonder how much experience she’s really had. I’m likely the first uncircumcised man she’s encountered, and she seems fascinated. When her tongue runs over her lips, I get a mental image of her taking me in her mouth, and my cock jumps.
“Don’t look at him like he’s ice cream on a hot summer day,” I warn her. She stammers a bit but doesn’t have a witty retort for that one.
I don’t take the chance, opting instead to take control of the situation, get on top of her, and press her to the mattress. I take my dick in my hand, running it over her flesh for a moment before I enter her.
The feelings that sweep through me are positively overwhelming.
For a moment, I can’t breathe or think. I’m pretty sure my heart stops beating altogether, and the world around me disintegrates, leaving nothing but the connection of our bodies behind. My head spins, and my muscle tense as pressure builds in my center.
I hold myself there, dick throbbing, unable to move for fear I’ll come on the spot. The sensations rushing through my skin are incredibly strong, and I wonder if this is what it feels like to be hit by a tidal wave.
Finally, I move. Ever so slowly, I pull back and then move forward again, filling her completely. Cherry moans, wrapping her legs around my hips, and I almost lose it again.
She begs for more. She actually begs for me to fuck her harder. I answer her, spurring her on, but I don’t even know what I’m saying. I can’t comprehend what’s happening and have to act totally on instinct—the instinct to give her whatever she wants. I grip her shoulders and thrust hard. I move rhythmically, still dizzy from the sensations running through my body and the emotions running through my mind. I feel her clench down on me as she cries out my name, and I couldn’t feel any more elated if God himself opened the heavens above us.
I belong here.
Eyes closed, heart pounding—I can barely breathe as I move against her, feeling the pressure building deep inside me. It cascades through my abdominal muscles and drops lower, rushing through me like a tsunami, like a tornado, like an answered prayer.
I collapse on top of her, panting and unable to move. I’ve never felt like this, not ever. I don’t want to pull out of her at all. In fact, I’d love to just stay right here until I get hard again so I can start all over.
Why did I wait this long? Why? Strategy? Fuck strategy. I don’t care about any of that shit any more. I just want her. I want to be with her. I want to be inside her. I want her to stay with me forever.
I barely manage to stop myself from telling her I love her right then and there.
Why not? Why not just tell her right now? Yeah, sure—it’s considered bad form to tell someone you love them right after sex, but dammit, I just don’t care.
I make stupid, post-coital small talk about the quilt on her bed, but it’s a stall tactic. I just want to find the right words. I should tell her how I’m feeling, shouldn’t I? I’m about to open my mouth and spill it all when I hear my phone go off.
Fucking hell.
Somehow, I know it’s Antony even before I head into the living room, grab the phone, and see his name on the screen. I consider throwing the phone into the sink and turning on the garbage disposal, but it’s only a fleeting thought.
Antony O: We got a problem boss.
“What else is new?” I mutter under my breath.
What?
Antony O: Im at the house. Where you at?
What’s going on?
Antony O: Better you hear it in person
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Can’t you just spit it out?” I mutter softly.
I’ll be there in a bit.
I drop the phone and head back to the bedroom to get dressed. Cherry’s gaze drops to the floor when I tell her I have to leave, and I hope soft, gentle kisses will make up for it in some way.
“You could come back.” The lo
ok of disappointment on her face burns through my soul.
I continue to apologize on my way out the door, promising to call her in the morning. As soon as I say the words, I regret them. They sound absolutely trite and awful. Again, I have to stop myself from telling her not to worry because I’ve already completely fallen for her.
I’ll have to get back to her soon just to make sure I haven’t screwed everything up.
Chapter 17—Surveillance
Driving back from Cherry’s apartment, I can’t stop smiling. I feel positively elated and even turn up the volume on the radio and sing along with some goofy pop song. I think about my recent trip to the jewelry store, the extravagant purchase I made, and wonder if I should return it and get a bigger diamond.
No, Cherry wouldn’t want something too outlandish.
I can see it in my head. Next weekend is the last day of the Maple Syrup Festival, and I know exactly where I want to be when I drop down to one knee and ask her that momentous question. I can see the expression on her face as she smiles and accepts my proposal. I can hear the cheering from the townsfolk all around us.
When I get home, Antony is standing in my office, leaning over some documents spread out over my desk. He glances at me, his expression grim at first, but then I see a slight smile emerge.
“Well?” I ask as I toss my jacket onto the couch. “What’s going on?”
“You know your shirt isn’t buttoned right.”
“Fuck you.” I glance down at the misaligned buttons. I can’t help but grin a little when I think of the reason why, so I don’t do anything to correct them. “Don’t give me that shit. Why did you call me back? What’s up?
“If you remember, you asked me to follow up on Cherry’s doctored documents.”
“Did you finally find something?” The idea of being able to tell Cherry we made progress on finding her parents makes me smile even more. I can imagine how excited she’s going to be if we have names to give her. Maybe her parents are even still alive and here in town.
“It took a lot of digging, but yeah—I found out a couple of things.”
“What?” I move to Antony’s side.
Antony pushes a document across the desk, and I lean over to look at it.
“What is this?” I ask, frowning.
“This is the original original birth certificate,” Antony says. “This is the birth certificate used as a template for the one we found in the records office.”
I look over the paper, trying to understand what it means as I read the name.
“Cherice Montgomery? Is that her real last name?”
“No. Check the date. Cherice Montgomery was born in 1946 and died back in the seventies. I did check out her records, and it looks like the social security number Cherry has on file matches Cherice Montgomery’s.”
“So, who was this woman?” I wonder if Cherry might have been named after her grandmother. “Was she related to Cherry’s aunt?”
“Not as far as I can tell. Virginia Bay doesn’t have any siblings who lived to adulthood. Her father had one brother, and her mother was an only child. Father’s brother had a son, but he died from some heart defect as a child. No living relatives as far as I can find.”
“What about great aunts or uncles?”
“Well, I went back a bit, and there are always distant relatives, but no one I can find had any contact with Virginia Bay and no one who’s related to Cherice Montgomery. My guess is that she was just a random dead person the forger picked out to use for the documents. We do that all the time when we’re giving someone a completely new identity.”
“Any indication of who altered the records or why?”
“The only thing I know for sure is that it wasn’t us. If we were going to doctor up official records, we’d do a good job of it, not this bullshit.”
“So, who else could it be?”
“My gut tells me it’s got to be a crime family—it’s the only thing that makes any sense. It has to be someone who isn’t concerned about breaking into a government building controlled by us, and that’s a limited group of people.”
I gnaw on my lip as I consider this, and I don’t like the only answer that makes any sense.
“You mean the Ramsays,” I say quietly.
“I don’t know who else it would be.”
“Why would the Ramsays alter Cherry’s birth certificate?”
Antony says nothing, and I don’t like the way this information is sitting with me. My stomach tightens up a bit.
“This goes back over twenty years,” I say. “There was a lot going on back then. The town hadn’t even been divided up yet, not officially anyway.”
“That’s around the same time the treaty between the Orsos and the Ramsays was created, yes. Division of businesses, territory—all of that was done around that same time.”
“So why would the Ramsays plant a forged birth certificate in our files?”
“Obvious, isn’t it?” Antony shrugs one shoulder and taps his finger on the paper. “It’s because they don’t want us to know who she really is.”
“And who is she?”
“That’s the big question, boss.”
“There is only one answer,” Pops says. “You know it, too.”
I glare at Pops, wondering why the fuck he’s up this late in the first place. I don’t remember him coming into the office, let alone loitering around next to his own portrait on the wall. I’m about to tell him to fuck off and go to bed, but Antony speaks first.
“How much do you really know about her, boss?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I ask, ignoring Pops as he rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure you were right there when I brought her to our family dinners.”
“Yeah, I know that.” Antony rolls his eyes. “I mean, are you sure the story she’s giving you is the right one?”
“Get to the fucking point.” I don’t like Antony’s tone or the implications that go with it. I know Cherry. I just slept with her for fuck’s sake, and there’s no way she has any idea about any of this.
“You know how much this family means to me,” he says, “and that includes you. I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t check things out more. When I found the birth certificate, I had some suspicions, so I followed her today.”
“You followed Cherry?” I narrow my eyes at him. I hadn’t told him to do anything like that, and I’m not happy he went behind my back.
“Yeah.” He chews on his thumbnail and watches me carefully. “She went out before the festival.”
“Where did she go?”
“Just to the store around the corner from her apartment,” he says. “Where she went isn’t the issue.”
“Did she see you?”
“No, she didn’t see me. She didn’t see the other guy either.”
“What other guy?” All concerns about Antony acting without my consent become irrelevant.
“While I was following her, I realized he was following her, too. So, I followed the follower.”
“What?” My head is starting to spin again and not in a fun way. “Who is he?”
“Well, I couldn’t see him well, so I got the license plate.” Antony pauses for a long moment. “It’s a rental, a west side rental. I had Reid’s new hacker kid dig into the rental records to see who it was rented to. The license on file says John Smith, which is clearly bullshit.”
The knot in my stomach tightens.
“Who is he really, and why is he tailing her?” I can barely get the words out.
“Maybe it’s the same reason you are,” Antony says with a smirk.
I glare at my cousin. I don’t like where any of this is going, and I don’t need his fucking attitude right now.
“You want me to break your jaw?” I ask.
“No, sir! Sorry, boss.” Antony straights his shoulders and looks down at the desk as he collects himself.
“Get on with it,” I growl.
“I did some more digging, and I got the
dude’s picture. He looked a little familiar, so it didn’t take long to figure out who he really is.”
“Well? Who is it?”
“Remember the dude who came into the club with her?”
“The one you smacked into the bar?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s the guy following her?” I stare at Antony as he nods definitively. “But we ran him out of town!”
“Apparently, we only ran him to the west side, not out of town entirely.”
“You’re sure?” I try to picture the guy in my head, but I can’t come up with anything more than a vague image. “You’re sure it’s the same guy?”
“Yeah, it was definitely him. There’s more though. The guy used to live on the east side, but when he came back to town, he moved into a place on the west side. On top of that, I’m pretty sure he works for the Ramsay family.”
“How could he be tied to the Ramsays?” I narrow my eyes, wondering if Antony is trying to draw conclusions out of thin air or if he’s on to something. This is all starting to sound a little paranoid. “He was just a random internet date.”
“Was he?” Antony raises an eyebrow.
“What are you implying?” I don’t like Antony’s tone—not at all.
“Not sure yet, boss, but I do hate a coincidence.”
“If you’re suggesting they somehow staged all of that…” I can’t even finish the sentence. Cherry isn’t the type to be involved in such an elaborate set up, is she? “Maybe he’s stalking her. He was pissed when he got thrown out. It could be as simple as that.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think that fits. He never approaches her, always keeps his distance, and doesn’t intervene in anything she does. If he wanted her attention, he would have approached her at some point. This looks like something else. I don’t know if he’s trying to get info on her or if he’s there for her protection.”
“And you think he’s working for the Ramsays?”
“I’m positive about that. After we ran him off, he abandoned the apartment he had on the east side and moved to the west side. The house he moved into is owned by one of the Ramsay’s shell corporations. He’s been living there over a month now, and when Reid’s hacker checked the rental car, it was paid for out of one of the Ramsay’s accounts.”