Clutch

by S. M. West

  “Thank fuck.”

  I giggle, threading my fingers through his hair. “You expected a fight?”

  “I didn’t know what to expect. Pansy, you’re the love of my life.”

  I suck in a breath, my hold tightening on him. “I feel the same way.”

  “I fucking love that you’re here, but I won’t be the reason you miss out on this trip.” He lifts his head, smiling and lightly kisses me. “Also, I’ve been thinking a lot over the past few days we’ve been apart, and I’ve got a theory about all your misadventures as you’ve put it.”

  “Really?” I raise my eyebrows, intrigued. “Go on.”

  “You’ve been looking at it the wrong way. All the things you did and the years trying out different paths, they aren’t failures; you were meant to do those things and learn those lessons.” He pauses, his pupils pinning me. “Because it led you to this moment. To me.”

  “Wow, look at you, Mister Insightful. You’ve given this a lot of thought,” I tease. “But you’re right. For all the things I used to regret, or wondered what the point was, they brought me to you, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  He draws me closer, his mouth landing on mine in a promising kiss. We’re in this together. Finding our way, chasing our dreams, and building a future. Together.

  There’s only one thing that could ruin this hope we’ve both discovered. His parents. If they can’t see the mistake they’ve made and recognize their son for the wonderful man that he is, can Silas withstand that kind of rejection? Will I be enough?

  The drive from San Jose to Gilroy, where my parents live, is relatively quick. I clasp Pansy’s hand all the way, and while I’m still anxious, having her by my side quiets my rioting mind.

  The closer we get to my childhood home, we pass so many landmarks, so many memories of a time when things may have been harder, but they were also simpler for my family.

  Pansy winds down the window. “It smells like garlic.”

  “Yeah. Gilroy’s famous for garlic. Have you never heard of the Gilroy Garlic Festival?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yup. Every year, there’s a garlic festival, and people from around the world come to taste all things garlic, including ice cream.”

  “What? Ice cream?” She wrinkles her nose.

  “Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

  “Hmmm, good point.” She sniffs the air. “I want to try it. I love garlic, but don’t you get sick of the smell?”

  “Nah, after a while, you get used to it.” I point to a playground filled with kids playing. “That’s where I had my first crush. Jenny Tomlin. Some might say my first girlfriend, but I never did kiss her.”

  “Really?” She leans forward, looking closely at the slides and swings. “How old were you?”

  “Nine or ten.” The driver slows the car. “And that street over there leads to my high school.”

  “Wow. I love seeing where you grew up.”

  “And this is my street.” We turn right, and she squeezes my hand as we pull up to the ranch-style home where I grew up.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes, let’s do it.”

  The driver opens the door, and we walk hand-in-hand to the front door. It feels like walking the plank. Dread, unease, and anger coil and tighten my insides.

  I use my key and enter unannounced, heading down the hall and into the kitchen. My parents are oblivious to our arrival, and right away, the truth hits me hard in the face. Here, hundreds of miles away from me, they’re living a different life from the one I’ve been led to believe.

  Instead of the staunch savers who live paycheck to paycheck, claiming the money I send is helping with the house, but not much else, they’re decked out in designer casual wear. The house is still neglected, but my mother and father look like they’re going to a polo match or out on a yacht. The contrast of their high-priced threads and the wear and tear of my childhood home is stark and undeniable.

  “Mom. Dad,” I say from the doorway.

  Guilt colors their faces, and my stomach plummets to my toes as the room feels as if it’s closing in on us. No surprise, my father is the first to bounce back from the shock of my unexpected visit.

  “Silas! What a surprise.” His booming voice is a higher pitch than normal. “And Pansy, is it?” She nods. “Nice to see you, again.”

  “Hello,” Pansy says.

  Mom follows his lead and kisses and hugs me. Her bright smile shrinks, fades slightly when her eyes meet Pansy. Her lips tremble, and with all her might, while wringing her hands, she forces her tight smile to grow, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

  “Pansy, hello.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Palmer.”

  “Come in.” My mother pulls at my hand, but I don’t budge. With pleasantries out of the way, we stand in awkward silence, the air heavy with unleashed contention.

  “I’m not going to waste my time or yours,” I say with difficulty. My chest constricting as if in a vise. “I know about the POA. That’s now revoked, by the way, and as much as I’d love to hear your excuses, we’re way past that. I don’t give a fuck.”

  Their mouths gape at my directness, their eyes growing wide. My mother still worries her hands, averting her gaze to the floor, and my father folds his arms over his chest in response to my determination.

  “Silas, let’s talk.” My father uses his compassionate salesman voice.

  “Nothing to talk about. For years I’ve twisted myself into knots trying to figure out what I did to lose your love. To go from son to a mark.”

  “A mark?” Mom asks, confused.

  “Yeah, a mark, Mom. A target to take advantage of. I could go on.”

  “I don’t understand, honey. What are you trying to say?”

  “He’s being melodramatic and talking nonsense.” My father’s tone is hostile.

  My sarcastic laugh causes my mother to jump, and I fight to stay strong, to not fall for her clueless act because I find it hard to believe she wasn’t complicit in all this. She gave Bianca the POA papers, after all. “Yeah, right. Cut the shit, Mom.”

  “Silas, stop,” Dad commands and I laugh, again, despite the feeling of my guts having been ripped out.

  I don’t want to be rude to my mother. I love her, despite all this. And some deranged part of me respects my father for defending her, even if I am on the higher ground, but that’s no consolation.

  “Dad.” Sarcasm drips from my mouth. “You don’t call the shots anymore. Through all the soul-searching, I finally realize it’s not me. It’s you. All these years where I’ve struggled to figure out where we went wrong when it’s quite simple. Money. The almighty dollar has been this huge, ugly thing between us. I’m your son, goddammit! Whether I have a million dollars or I’m penniless.”

  I shake with an overwhelming surge of emotion, all my pent-up rage and hurt rolling off me. I’m letting go of the part I played in this twisted and hurtful relationship.

  Dr. Wexford and Pansy helped me realize that even if I unknowingly enabled or encouraged my parents’ behavior in some strange attempt to keep them in my life, there’s no guilt or shame in that.

  I may never understand how our relationship went from unconditional love to this scheming, conniving cesspool of lies and greed, but this demise is on them. I’ve let this eat at me for far too long. Filling me with anger and tainting every part of my life. It ends today.

  Turning my back on them, I grab Pansy’s hand, and we exit the room. Mom calls my name while dad orders her to stop, to let me go. He’ll likely retreat, to figure out a new strategy for coming at me, but this time, I won’t give. I can’t. My sanity and survival depend on holding firm.

  When we get to the door, Pansy places her hands on my shoulders and stares intently into my eyes.

  “I love you,” she says in a steady, determined voice. “I’m here for you, and I told myself that I’d stay out of it. I don’t know them, only you, but I can’t stay quiet.”

  With a short,
firm kiss, she storms back into the kitchen. I follow to a point, unable to enter. If I do, I fear that I may cave. They are my parents, I do love them, even after all this. My heart thunders in my ears as I lean against the wall and will my insides to calm so I can listen.

  “He loves you, you know. Even with the way you treat him, he loves you.” Pansy’s strong and passionate words are a balm to my blistered soul. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are? How much he’s already given you?”

  From where I stand, my mother wears a bewildered expression, while Dad sneers at Pansy.

  “We know that,” mom says, stepping closer, her hands interlaced, knuckles white from squeezing them too tight. “It’s just that we’re not getting any younger, and Silas can help us out.”

  “And he does,” Pansy says, emphatically. “He sends you money, monthly.”

  We’ve never really talked about the money I give them, but she did overhear the conversation with my mother. Even without all the details, she’s taking my side, defending me.

  “True,” mom casts her eyes at my father before shifting her gaze to the floor. “But, we’ve given him so much…”

  “That’s enough, Alice. We don’t answer to her, nor Silas. Who are you exactly?” My father’s cutting tone does nothing to Pansy. She doesn’t flinch or back down. In fact, she squares her shoulders, standing taller.

  “I’m the woman who loves your son. I’ll love him for the rest of my life. I know this as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow.” Pansy points to my mother. “And as sure as I know that one day, maybe not tomorrow or the next, but someday, you will regret this.”

  Dad nears Pansy, looking to intimidate, and I push from the wall, ready to step in.

  “I know your kind,” my father says. “You’re in this for the money. That’s the only thing you love. Are you the reason he’s cutting us off? I’ve worked long and hard to provide for my family, and now it’s his turn to step up. Did you talk him into turning his back on his family?”

  He curls his fists and takes another step. Instead of backing down, Pansy inches closer to a man nearly twice her size.

  “See that’s your problem, right there. Life isn’t a game of checks and balances. Silas is your son, not someone to pay you back for the money and time you gave for the privilege of being a father. You expect to be paid back with interest. It’s not enough for you to be proud of your son’s accomplishments or what a wonderful man he has become. No. you’re blinded by dollar signs, you no longer see your son. If only you could see what I do. Silas – not his career, or his bank account – your son, his love, is priceless.”

  Her words knock the air right out of me, and my heart explodes. Pansy then turns on her heel, stalling when our eyes lock. Her stern expression evaporates, and a big, bright smile spreads across her face. Taking my hand, she guides me to the waiting car. We’re speechless as the driver exits the subdivision, and once on the highway, I break our silence.

  “Pansy, that was …”

  “The truth,” she’s quick to say with a light kiss on my cheek.

  “What you said… it made everything they did bearable. Does that make any sense?”

  Nodding, she snuggles into my side, and having her near to my heart is all I need to settle mind, body, and soul. “Yes, it does. And I’m so sorry that what I said didn’t make a lick of difference. You may be hurt and sad that you’ve lost your parents, and you’ve every right to be, but you’re not alone.” She pushes into sitting, twisting to face me and cupping my face in her delicate hands. “You haven’t lost your family. I’m your family. The guys in the band, Bianca, Jorge, Lucia, we’re your family.”

  “I know.”

  Covering her mouth, I kiss her, taking my time. Our kiss is long and languid, my lips lingering at the corner of her mouth. I can’t bring myself to break away from her fully.

  I’ve no doubt we’ll survive the time apart. Her speech to my parents obliterated any uncertainty, albeit small, that I may have had. Nothing will get between us. Now all I have to do is figure out how to get through the next six months without her.

  One month later

  Our time apart is filled with long hours, endless lab notes, and countless chores. At first, I’m fascinated and eager to learn, even if some of it is monotonous.

  No surprise, the best part is when I get to dive, and despite the barren ocean floor, which is the reason why we’re in this part of the world, being in the water makes it all worthwhile.

  On top of that, it doesn’t help that I miss Silas like a lost limb. No matter how busy or happy I am, there’s a part of me that’s removed from it all.

  Four weeks. That’s how long it takes me to face the truth. By the third week, I know in my heart of hearts that I won’t last, but I rationalize the urge with the strong need to give this expedition a fair shake.

  But toward the end of week four, I finally talk to Vinny despite how much I dread it and fear that he won’t understand. He loves research, and in some strange way, he enjoys the long grueling hours in the lab.

  No surprise, Vinny is more than understanding and points out that the trip was a success because I now know that research isn’t for me. When I hop on the plane, I still feel somewhat guilty for leaving after a month and can’t thank him enough for having me on the trip.

  During the flight, I make peace with the fact that research isn’t my thing, and that doesn’t mean I’m a quitter. Research is an unavoidable part of being a marine biologist, and I won’t shy away from doing the work.

  “Uruguay was not a failure. I narrowed down my interests, eliminating those fields that involve only research.”

  “Pardon?” the steward asks.

  “Nothing.” I blush embarrassed to have said it out loud.

  The rest of the flight is short and when we land, I quickly determine that São Paulo is intimidating. It’s beautiful, but bustling and I feel like every bit the foreigner that I am. Thank goodness for Bianca. She’s planned everything. My hardest task is finding the driver at the airport.

  The driver navigates the traffic and people like only a native could, and once, at the hotel, I deposit my luggage and change quickly.

  Trojan’s final tour, Odyssey, has officially kicked off with South America as their first continent on the circuit. This is their third and final night in São Paulo before moving onto Lima. Silas has no clue I’m here.

  Standing to the side of the stage, Trojan sings to a sold-out crowd, and I have the best view in the house.

  I’ve been to concerts before, and some have been amazing, but this is different. Surreal. Standing on stage, even off in the wings, the energy is palpable and electrifying. I’m feeding off the continual buzz of the crowd like I’ve been plugged in. The adoration of the fans is intoxicating. I now understand what Silas means when he says performing live is a high. There’s nothing like it.

  Of course, the charged vibe is also from the guys. They’re on fire, each of them oozing an animal magnetism that rivals the raw and sexy sounds of their music and words. Trojan is on their final encore, and they’re dripping wet. They must be exhausted, but they’re going strong.

  Silas stands front and center. Tall and muscular. Day old stubble, faded jeans molding to his unforgettable ass, and glistening bare chest. His shirt abandoned long ago to the roar and screams of thousands of women. Wet, blond hair plastered to his head. Beautiful.

  “São Paulo, you’ve been fucking awesome! This is the last song of the night!” he yells into the microphone as the crowd screams. “We’re playing this one for the first time. It’s a special song, releasing tomorrow. Our final release.”

  Again, the crowd hollers with excitement. “This one is “Clutch,” and it’s for the love of my life.”

  My hands shake as I bring them to my lips. Perhaps it’s my movement, or maybe he senses me, but Silas glances off stage in my direction. Did he see me? No, he turns back to the crowd.

  But like a boomerang, his head whips back in my direction. Eli a
nd Jared have started to play, but Silas just stands there, blue eyes pinning me. Transfixed.

  I beam and wave like the crazy fangirl that I am. He still just stares. With a pointing gesture, I urge him to start singing, to get back to his fans.

  Jared yells his name, stepping in beside Silas to figure out what has him frozen. Jared’s gaze lands on me, and he smiles warmly before bumping Silas’s shoulder, breaking the trance.

  A slow, sexy grin skates across Silas’s face, and he winks at me with a slight chin dip. My knees weaken, and my insides melt. He turns to the crowd, and the throng roars as the music picks up again.

  Something magical happens as a lull or hush falls across the stadium the second Silas’s sexy voice sings the first few words. The song has a faster tempo than I expect, it’s not hard rock or a ballad, but rather something in between. Inspiring and beguiling, the lyrics bring tears to my eyes and my insides heat with a stirring low in my belly.

  Again, he’s captured our relationship, not only through the words and tune, but there’s also an emotion to his tone and vibe of the band. The ideal refrain of holding on, knowing when to let go, but never losing the love.

  Happy tears stream down my face at the limitless love washing over me. I’m so far gone that I can hardly see clearly. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, taking deep breaths and trying to get a hold of myself as the song comes to an end. The guys say their farewell and exit the stage.

  Silas runs straight for me, scooping me in his arms. His lips kiss every part of my face, tears and all.

  “Hey, you,” he murmurs in my ear, his face pressing into my neck.

  “Hi.” My voice is shaky and hopeful.

  My stomach flips as he kisses me over and over again, working me into a mindless mess. All control lost. Combustible need.

  His lips move to the side of my jaw, my neck, and the tease of his stubble along my skin intensifies the heating sensation growing low in my body.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Is that any way to greet me?”

  “Please tell me you’re here, not a dream.” He nips at my ear.