The hours passed, and at one point I thought I heard Shepley and America in the living room. Travis didn't skip a beat, and eventually our roommates retreated to their bedroom. My muscles were trembling with fatigue, and I was panting, unable to catch my breath, but the longer we were tangled together, the more I needed him. I felt insatiable, easily seducing Travis over and over, from one climax to the next until we were both exhausted.
I lay on my stomach, peeking from my pillow at my husband who was doing the same. Our pinkies were crossed over one another, the sheet haphazardly draped over the small section of our backsides. My skin was glistening with sweat, my eyes heavy, and my hair tangled all around me. Travis's free hand was above his head, twirling a caramel strand of my hair. We didn't speak, we didn't need to. We were saturated with one another, the air filled with sex, love, and satisfaction.
****
I'd been Mrs. Maddox for exactly one month when I saw Ricky and Joel, the two men who'd approached America and me at the Red--and who subsequently had their asses handed to them by Travis and Shepley. I caught just a glimpse of them as they made their way to a doorway at the end of the hall from my English Lit class. I paused to make sure it was them, and then carefully followed, being sure to remain unseen.
Once I reached the end of the hall, I peeked around the corner, watching Joel sit down behind a computer. Ricky stood nearby, a stack of papers in his hand. He seemed to be dictating to Joel. The room they were in was abuzz. Some students were hopping from one desk to the next, the others tapping away from behind their computer screens. I leaned back to see if any signage was on the door just to make sure it wasn't a small, out-of-the-way library I didn't know about. As I leaned in to try to hear what Ricky was saying, a girl I recognized from my statistics class shouldered past me.
"Excuse me," she said, in a hurry.
"Um, uh," I began.
She turned around, her expression a combination of aggravation and confusion. "What? I'm late."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I just switched classes, and I'm lost. Is this Ancient Greek Philosophy?"
"No," she said, annoyed. "This is the Eastern Star." When she saw that I didn't understand, she sighed. "The college newspaper."
My eyebrows shot up, and I mouthed, Oh as she turned on her heels to rush to her desk. I observed them for a few minutes, and then retreated back down the hall to the exit. Ricky and Joel were at the Red for information, and they'd been waiting for Travis to come back. It was fortunate one of them was stupid enough to insult me before they could question him. They could be doing a story about the Circle, or worse ... Travis's involvement in the fire. I clenched my teeth, trying to figure out how I was going to stop them from running a story. Even speculation could get students talking when they'd originally declined. College students might be hesitant to speak to the police, but a curious fellow student could potentially jar a survivor's memory.
I stopped in the middle of the hall, walked a few steps backward until my ass touched the wall, and then slid down to the floor. I perched my elbows on my knees and rested my forehead on my arms. Would it ever end? Would Travis ever be safe?
Two pairs of shoes began walking toward me, stopping just inches from the toes of my Chuck Taylor's.
"Abby?" a familiar voice finally said. "Are you all right?"
I looked up, into Ricky's eyes. His cheek was still a light shade of green from Travis's left hook a few weeks before. "That depends."
Joel and Ricky traded glances. "On what?" Joel asked, nervous.
"Where are you guys headed?" I asked.
"To ... to uh," Ricky stuttered. "Why?"
I narrowed my eyes, but before I could speak, Joel stiffened. "Are you following us? Why are you following us?"
Ricky snorted, smug. "We caught you. You thought you could sit here in the middle of the hall, and we'd pass by and wouldn't notice? You know we're journalists, right? We notice everything."
I didn't give away my confusion, I just watched them become more paranoid with every new speculation.
"Travis knows we work from the Star, doesn't he?" Ricky asked. "He heard we've been asking questions?" He swallowed. "What's he going to do?"
I stood up, allowing the tiniest hint of a smile on my face. "You'll see," I said. I turning slowly and walked away. I pushed through the glass doors and jogged down the steps, inwardly panicking. They were doing a story on Travis. They were heading out to ask more people more questions. If they kept digging, someone might crack.
I touched my jacket pocket, feeling for the car keys. My mind was racing, wondering how to head this off; how to stop Ricky and Joel without implicating Travis-- without anything short of blackmail, threats, or bribes.
A deep voice said, "Whoa!" Just as I ran head-first into someone's chest.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I--" My stomach instantly sank.
"Hey, Abs. I was hoping I'd run into you."
"Parker," I said, accusation in my voice. I took a step to walk around him, but he gently took my arm in his hand.
"C'mon. Don't be like that." He released my arm and smiled brightly, as if the last three months hadn't happened. "Can't we just ... talk?"
"No."
"Abby. What do you want me to do? Beg? I'll do it," he said with his most charming smile. "I'll do anything. I just want to make things right. What about lunch?" I made a face. "Or just coffee. Can we just discuss over coffee?"
"Coffee?" I asked. He nodded. I looked over my shoulder to the building I'd just left behind. I felt nauseous with just the thought. "Anything?" I asked, returning my gaze to Parker. I swallowed back the bile. I was about to sell my soul to the devil.
"Name it."
I closed my eyes, already hating myself for what I was about to do.
******
Thank you for reading Episode 8 of Endlessly Beautiful! If you didn't know, I had to skip last week to give my undivided attention to our baby spawn, who had surgery last Monday. He is doing so great! Barely skipped a beat.
It's St. Patrick's Day! Shout out to all my fellow Irish(wo)men out there! And, of course, happy birthday Thomas Maddox!
I've just started writing a new novel to be released (hopefully) this summer. I'll write two more episodes of Endlessly Beautiful, and then take a small break to plug out the new novel. No worries! I will still be working on Endlessly Beautiful in the meantime! I'll just have to dedicate most of my time to my upcoming work. Stay tuned for the release of my newest title and cover in the next few months!
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Jamie
Twisted
:: Travis ::
I twisted the cold metal of my wedding ring around my finger as I stared into the Iron E gym from the parking lot. Spring was making its presence known, the rain clouds above pissing all over my car, the raindrops bouncing off the pavement in a hundred thousand tiny splashes. I turned off the ignition and grabbed the wheel, pressing my head against the headrest.
Perkins Plaza nearly surrounded me with boutiques, a golf equipment store, a small supermarket, a nail salon, a coffee shop, and in the center, Iron E gym. The thick, gray clouds made it easy to see the people walking around inside under the fluorescent lights. They were lifting, spotting, or running on one of the fifteen treadmills. Brandon was behind the front desk, flirting with the receptionist.
I clenched my teeth.
Eakins had plenty of flexible jobs for college students. The proble
m was that it was April, and most of the jobs that were still somehow available were only meant to support a weekend partying habit, not a married couple. I had scoured the classifieds. Three dozen people had held my application in their hands and had either told me to come back at the end of the year for the Christmas rush, or that they had already hired several college kids and didn't need more. The jobs on campus paid nine dollars an hour or less--nothing that could pay rent and bills with the hours I would work around my classes.
Working for Brandon and letting local cougars paw at me while they pretended to work out was the last thing I wanted to do, but the bills had to get paid somehow. Abby was on her second week of tutoring, but that barely covered the groceries and gas money.
I took a deep breath, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and slammed the door behind me, feeling the pooling rain water slosh under my feet. I knocked on the glass door and waited. There was a code box outside, and each member had their own four digit pin. It had been a long time since I could get in with mine. A man whose neck was twice as big as his head set down his bar bell and, with the telltale stick-up-the-ass-and-arm-swing walk of a weightlifter, he opened the door and greeted me with a nod.
"Brandon," the meat head called with a gruff voice.
Brandon was mid-nuzzle behind the receptionist's ear when he looked up. A wide grin spread across his face.
"Maddox!" he exclaimed, holding out his arms. "The fuck, man? What took you so long?" He grabbed my right hand in a tight handshake, and then pulled me in, tapping his shoulder to mine, patting my back with his free hand. The douche bags always went for the bro hug. "Are you filling out an app or what?"
I nodded.
Brandon turned, reaching out toward his receptionist and snapping his fingers. "An application, Steph. Now."
Steph turned her back to us and bent over, pulling open a filing cabinet and fingering every file.
Brandon back-handed my shoulder, chuckling and nodding toward Steph's ass like a twelve-year-old. I didn't smile, or frown; I just concentrated on appearing indifferent.
Steph found what she was looking for, and trotted over to Brandon with pen and paper in hand.
"Found it," she said, waiting for praise from her boss.
"You're great," he said. "Isn't she great?"
If fucking a married man with a pregnant wife is an admirable accomplishment. "Yeah," I said, clearing my throat. "Filing is hard."
Steph dipped her chin a few times in dramatic nods, appreciative that I understood her plight.
"You wanna fill that out in my office?" Brandon asked.
"You got an office?" I said, only half joking.
Brandon puffed out his chest. "Right this way. Steph," he said, snapping at her again. "Water."
She nodded, rushing away to fetch us waters.
As predicted, his walls were covered in posters with ripped, half-naked fitness models. I was hesitant to sit down in the chair opposite his desk, sure he'd jerked off there every night. A corner of my mouth turned up, remembering Abby's similar disgust over my old couch the first time she'd visited the apartment. I'd come a long, long way since that night.
Steph brought in two glasses, and then nodded when I thanked her. She kept her eye on Brandon as she turned around, as if he didn't already know she was dying to be bent over his desk. Again.
"Married," Brandon said, shaking his head, staring at Steph's ass until she closed the door behind her.
I sat down and placed the application on his desk, clicking one end of the pen with my thumb and filling out the information as quickly as possible.
"What made you do that?" he asked. "She must be hot."
"How long have you owned this place now?" I asked without looking up. I didn't want to punch Brandon in the mouth for talking about my wife, so I chose to change the subject.
"Four years," he said. "Three years with Joan." His chair creaked as he leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. "She signed it over to me in the divorce."
"Oh, yeah. I forgot. You inherited it."
"Kids inherit things from their parents, Maddox. Joan opened this place with her ex-husband, but then I fucked her brains out and she gave me anything I wanted. This place was a shit hole--for old bags and fatties. I married that geriatric, made this place into what it is. Now it's mine. I bring in triple what Joan ever did."
I scribbled down the little legitimate prior work history I had and then signed my name, sliding the paper toward him. Brandon rambled on forever about the history of the gym, still having to deal with Joan, and how pissed she was that he'd gotten one of his girlfriend's pregnant. Now Jaci was his wife, and Brandon made her--at seven months pregnant--deal with Joan so he didn't have to.
He was an all-around piece of shit, and he was now my boss.
I gripped the arms of my chair and listened, trying to think of Abby, the wedding, our new life together, anything that reminded me that having to be in the same room with Brandon every day would be worth it. I glanced at my watch, feeling exhausted just by resisting the urge to snatch his tongue out of his punk mouth. Brandon had been describing how awesome he was for nearly two hours.
Steph knocked on the door and peeked in. "I've closed out. I'm going to head home."
Brandon waved her off. "I'm going to take Travis out for a drink."
"That sounds fun," Steph said with a hopeful smile.
I stood. "I hate to cut you off, man, but I've gotta get home."
"Oh right," Brandon said, his voice thick with condescension. "Married life. When can you start? It won't take you long to build a clientele."
"Next week," I said. "Monday."
Brandon stood and held out his hand. I took it, feeling like I'd just sold my soul to Satan.
"I'll start you off with the Betties," he said.
"The who?"
"Betty Rogan and Betty Lindor. They smell like moth balls and have more wrinkles than a starved elephant, but they pay double so they can work out together and ogle the guys. They'll love you. Start you off decent money-wise, too. They'll ask you to lunch your first day. Go with them. They'll pay your rent for May. Here," he said, holding out a small booklet and another piece of paper. "This is our policy handbook and the contract. The handbook talks about your pay and commission. Don't tell me about your tips. I don't want to know how much you made or how you got them. A perk of working at Iron E."
So that's how he keeps his employees. He's a fucking pimp.
"Thanks," I said, rolling the papers and stuffing them in my back pocket. "See you Monday."
I shouldered past Steph and walked across the empty gym, pushing out of the glass door. The sky was dark, and small lakes had formed in the parking lot, reflecting the tall lights that peppered the plaza. The Camry sat in the center of one of the larger pools.
"Fuck," I said under my breath, pulling my keys out of my pocket. I fished out my phone from the other pocket, and looked at the display. I'd missed eleven calls. "Fuck!" I growled, dialing and holding the phone to my ear.
"Travis?!" Abby said, sounding panicked.
"I'm sorry, Pidge. Brandon talked forever and I couldn't find a good place to tell him to shut the fuck up, and--"
"Trent's been in an accident," she blurted out.
"Another one?" I said, shocked. "Is he okay?"
"They were hit by a drunk driver. They're in the hospital. Thomas is on a plane home."
"So it must be bad," I said.
"He's in bad shape. Cami's worse."
"I'm coming home. I'm coming now."
"Okay. Be careful. Don't drive too fast in the rain."
"I'll be careful. See you in a sec. I love you."
I pressed the red End button and ran to the Camry. My hands shook as I twisted the key in the ignition. "Goddammit, Trent," I said, racing home.
****
Thank you for reading the tenth episode of Endlessly Beautiful! Sorry about the confusion of Cake last week. Hopefully you've gone to the Table of Contents to find i
t! (Hint: it is now episode 8)
Join us next week for the Season One finale! You won't want to miss it!
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Have a great week!
Xoxo
Wrecked
::Travis::
The hospital's emergency room doors swept open with a rush of air, and I squeezed Abby's hand, pulling her through the threshold. Exhausted mothers holding sick babies were sitting alongside frail old men, and a group of skateboarders sitting around a friend who was holding his wrist against his chest. Moaning, whimpering, babies crying, cell phones ringing, and announcements over the PA system made me want to bail.
Beyond the borders of the waiting room, behind secured, double doors each with small, rectangular windows, came a muffled ruckus--a man swearing and yelling.
I nodded and looked to Abby. "That's Trent. We've gotta get back there."
Abby wasted no time with the receptionist. "Hi, ," she said, glancing down at the nameplate, "Gladys. We're looking for Trenton Maddox."
"Are you family?" Gladys asked with her nasally voice, unimpressed with the urgency in Abby's voice. Twin beaded chains hung from her oval glasses. Her thin lips pursed and wrinkled between responses. She'd probably worked around ten years more than what her empathy could survive, and didn't give two fucks that my brother was hurt or that Abby and I were worried about him.
"He's my brother," I said. "He was in an accident."
"Oh, the drunk driver," Gladys said.
Abby narrowed her eyes. "No. He was hit by a drunk driver."
"I know," Gladys said with a sigh. "He refuses to go to his own exam room."
"So Cami is hurt, too?" Abby asked. "How bad?"
"I can't give out any information. I'll let them know you're here. Have a seat."
I balled my hands into fists, but before I could lose my shit, Abby grabbed my arm and led me to a short row of chairs not yet filled with the sick or injured. I sat, not realizing that my knee was furiously bobbing until Abby pressed her palm down on my thigh. I propped my elbow on the armrest, and then pinched the bridge of my nose. The wait was agony. Trenton had already been in an accident with someone he cared about. Even though he'd survived, I thought it would kill him. If he survived this one, too, and Cami didn't ... I wasn't sure how he could come back from that.
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