Free Flesh: A Romance Novel

by Daya Daniels

  The night air hits me, salty and warm on my skin when I step out. In the distance, people talk and laugh, and music floats over from the beach. I walk across the lawn and head up the stairs, taking a beat to observe the beautiful red, white, and blue flag that flaps in the breeze in front of this house.

  Peeking through the window, the house is mostly in darkness, but the den is lit by one single lamp.

  It’s just getting up to nine o’clock.

  I know I promised everyone I’d meet them down on the beach, but I’m exhausted. My body feels like lead and my chest feels heavy like I’ve slid out from beneath a truckload of bricks. I just want to go to bed and wake up to a new day tomorrow.

  I push the front door open that’s slightly ajar. In the kitchen on the floor there’s an empty cooler. God knows where the beers that once were in it went. My guess is that the boys had already had their friends here to kick over the July 4 celebrations. I drop my keys down on the counter and slump against it, spreading my hands wide, staring at the floor.

  The stereo in the den is on playing soft music.

  Heading out of the kitchen, I kick off my flats and remove my sweater, looking out the back door that’s open. I pad along the wooden floors and peek out through the screen to see Trav sitting there in his chair alone.

  “Trav,” I say, pushing the doors open and heading out onto the porch.

  He glances over his shoulder at me and smiles.

  My brows knot. “Why are you still here? The boys said they were taking you down on the beach.”

  He holds a hand up. “Don’t get upset. I was tired. I told them I wanted to stay. And then I just wanted to watch the fireworks from here with you, so I waited.”

  I run my fingers through his hair and take a seat at the table next to him. “You’re in a good mood,” I point out.

  “Yeah.” He laughs. “I’ve had a good weekend, Callie.” He faces me.

  “I’m glad.”

  “It’s been one of the best that I remember.”

  I spot the boys down on the beach in a big crowd, laughing and shouting. I see Kira too, Ivy and Greg’s daughter in the bunch. To her left are Ivy and Greg. I shiver at the sight of them. Noah is leaving in a few weeks anyhow, so his and Ivy’s tryst will be over. Hopefully.

  Next to them are Jace and Pippa. I have no doubt that all of them are probably drunk by now, judging by all the empty bottles that litter the porch out here.

  This beach is more crowded than I’ve ever seen it and the sound of the water rushing in is still loud over sounds of the people on it.

  “I’ve always loved this view, Callie, since I was a kid.”

  “I know,” I tell him, reminded that Trav grew up in this house.

  He reaches out and caresses my cheek. “You’ve been crying.” He holds my gaze and encourages me to sit in his lap.

  I shift from my seat and make myself comfortable there. I meet his eyes, then rest my head on his shoulder and listen to his breathing.

  “You’ve been different lately,” he says.

  “I haven’t, Trav. I’m fine.”

  He grunts and looks away from me.

  My insides liquefy and my breathing becomes shallow when those metallic marbles of his land on me again. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to say. Could I even say the words if I had to? I’d NEVER say them. The guilt of everything is eating me alive like a rebel flesh-eating disease.

  I force myself to laugh, brushing his comment off. “Trav, what are you talking about?”

  He exhales. “I don’t know, Callie. You’ve always been so good to me—sacrificed so much. Even when I was gone for months on end and you were left here to take care of the boys. You never complained, not once. And even after the accident, you gave up your career to take care of me.”

  “I guess it’s in my nature to take care of everyone, Trav.”

  “Yeah.”

  I exhale when a warm breeze washes over us. The party on the beach seems livelier.

  “You’ve given me so many wonderful years, Callie, and three sons who’ve grown up to be incredible men. So many fun times and priceless memories. You’re an exceptional mom and wife. And often, I think after maybe the first ten years of us being married, that’s all I might’ve ever seen you as. Maybe that’s even all you saw yourself as.”

  “I don’t know, Trav.”

  “But you’re a woman—a beautiful woman.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I think you lost yourself in me in those early days and in the boys and then in me again. I don’t think you ever once thought about yourself, Callie. It used to irritate the fuck out of me. It was never in your nature to put yourself first, so it surprised me when you started doing things on Sundays for yourself.”

  I bite my lip as my cheeks heat with shame, knowing Trav thought I was off bowling or at the spa or doing some other mindless activity I lied about to get out of the house. Often, he never even cared where I went. I was that invisible.

  “And I’m glad you went back to teaching. Those kids love you, especially little Brandon.” Trav smiles. “He looks at you like he loves you to death.” He laughs. “That kid has eyes just like his dad’s.”

  You mean uncle’s...

  My eyes shift around along the front of Trav’s T-shirt, but I don’t look at him.

  He traces a line up my spine with his fingers, caressing me. “I knew you were lonely,” he whispers. “Because I wasn’t there for you and I treated you poorly a lot of those times that we did spent together. I’m truly sorry, Callie. I am.”

  Where is all this coming from?

  Trav doesn’t talk like this.

  My face scrunches as I keep my gaze downcast.

  He presses his finger to my chin, encouraging me to look at him. “And I hate these tears.” One spills from my eye. He brushes his cheek against mine and kisses my eyelids when I squeeze them shut. “I hate them, Callie.”

  I bawl in his embrace because for the first time in five fucking years, it feels like he’s really here with me, and understands, and actually cares.

  “I can feel it on you every single day,” he murmurs into the crook of my neck. “The anger. The resentment and the love you have for me. I can feel it. I know you love me so much. I’ve never doubted it and I still don’t. And as of lately, I feel the guilt. I feel your guilt, Callie. I sense your shame.”

  “Trav—” I start to say, but I can’t get any words out.

  “Shhh,” he says against my temple, attempting to calm my fit of crying. “Shhh.”

  “Trav—” The confession is on the tip of my tongue, diseased and disgusting. I can’t say it. I want to beg him not to make me say it.

  The Civil Wars’ “Poison & Wine” plays on the radio. It’s a haunting tune that’s only making me cry more.

  “You don’t have to speak, Callie.” He brushes my bangs out of my eyes, admiring me. “Callie, Callie, Callie,” he whispers, his silvery eyes peering into every part of my being. “There’s nothing you could ever tell me I don’t already know.”

  I sob even more.

  “Or haven’t known for a while.” He pulls me against him and allows me to cry. “And there’s nothing you could ever do to make me love you any less.” He shakes me a little, drilling his words into my head. “Do you understand?”

  I nod a few times, still crying.

  “Shhh.” He kisses my cheek again and again. “Shhh.”

  Suddenly, the sky lights up in vivid colors against the backdrop of the black sky and stars that are out along with the moon. Red. Blue. Purple. Pink. White. Yellow. The boom, snap, crackle, and pop of the fireworks as they explode in the sky is loud and the visions are beautiful, but not pretty enough for me to stop crying.

  The people on the beach cheer and clap as the fireworks go off.

  Trav holds me close to him. “This was all I wanted to do with you tonight, Callie—watch the fireworks together from this porch as the waves roll in.”

  I nod a
few times.

  “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”

  “Me too.” I hiccup, kissing his lips.

  “I don’t want you to be sad anymore,” he says. “I don’t want you to sacrifice for me anymore, Callie. I want you to be happy again.”

  “What are you saying, Trav?”

  “Nothing,” he whispers, stroking my hair. “Nothing.”

  We settle against each other and watch the fireworks without saying anything, just breathing, enjoying each other’s company.

  His eyes are bright like a little kid’s as he watches the night sky light up, making occasional oohs, aahs, and wows. I calm a little bit, feeling exhausted, and lie against his shoulder.

  Soon, the show is over and the noise on the beach picks up again.

  Trav’s eyes meet mine. “I’m sleepy.” He laughs, running his hand over my hair a few times.

  “Okay.” I jump out of his lap and sit in the chair next to him.

  He comes forward and pulls me to him, pressing his forehead to mine and holding the back of my neck. We’re locked in an intense stare and I don’t know what to say to that fucked-up conversation we’ve just had. Or if that was a conversation at all. I just want to go to sleep. And maybe some of this bullshit that’s swallowing me up will be gone by tomorrow. But I know it won’t be. I’ll spend each day from now on living two different lives, being two different people, dividing my heart between one man and the other, robbing them both of all of me, just like Austen had said.

  Things were never supposed to be like this...

  I was supposed to just pay the money and come home every single time after, unchanged, unaffected.

  How did this happen?

  “I won’t leave you, Trav.” It’s an unbreakable promise on my lips.

  “I know.” He frowns, before he kisses me in the same way he did twenty years ago on the beach just below this house. It’s passionate and powerful and it makes me remember that the man I fell so deeply in love with is still in there somewhere. When it ends, he presses his lips to my forehead. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever loved. And you’re the last girl I’ll ever love, Callie.”

  “I love you, Trav.”

  He lets me go and gives me the sweetest smile as his eyes twinkle.

  “Good night.” I kiss him on the lips.

  “I love you.”

  I keep my gaze on him as he disappears through the doors.

  Standing, I take a few steps over to the railing and look out toward the beach for a little while, thinking. A half empty beer bottle rests there. I shrug when I realize I don’t care who its prior owner was. I put it to my lips and nearly drain the bottle, but before I can it slips out of my hand when I’m startled by a loud POP that comes from inside the house.

  But it couldn’t have...

  Open-mouthed, I stare at the shattered glass scattered everywhere.

  I break out in a cold sweat and every fiber in my body is on full alert. My mind races and my lip trembles as my gaze sweeps over everything outside—the porch, the beach, the sky.

  More fireworks?

  I’m desperate to see them again.

  Please. Please. Please.

  An engine backfiring?

  Whose car was it?

  But nothing is registering.

  And the sound doesn’t come again.

  I almost collapse right where I stand. A scream is on the tip of my tongue.

  I stare at one shiny piece of glass that’s all by its lonesome at my feet, bright and colorful as though it had been a part of something much more important at one time, something much bigger than itself, something with purpose, like me.

  My cheeks are already covered in wetness. And my hands are shaking as I bring them to the sides of my face when I realize what the sound was that had just stolen the very beat from my heart.

  “Gunshot,” I whisper.

  EPILOGUE

  Six Years Later

  Austen

  IT’S EIGHT O’CLOCK IN the morning.

  It’s Saturday which is the best day of the week for me. Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in the den, I gaze out at the waves in the distance that crash into the shoreline leaving it frothy and at the seagulls that dance above in the sky. I take a sip of coffee from the cup in my hands and inhale the cool salty air which drifts in through the crack in the window across the room.

  After moving into this house years ago, I’d made it a home. I never thought it would become what it has in the past six years. From the moment old man Morris had gifted this incredible house to me, I knew what I wanted to do with it. But I always imagined it would only be Brandon and me living in it.

  I’d built him a tree house. We spent time on the beach. I appreciated the sunrise from this very spot that always made me question what the hell I’d been doing with my life, really, until I had decided to settle down in Sullivan’s Island.

  South Carolina is an enchanting place.

  I exhale.

  The house is quiet this morning. The noise doesn’t start for another two hours, usually. I spin around and eye her boots near the door. It’s January which means the temperatures have been less than comfortable. She loves the cold weather but I’m not exactly a huge fan, since it means additional maintenance of the rose bushes and the shrubs outside. I like everything to remain green so when it’s cold, it only means extra work.

  I’d built up my architectural landscaping business and have had a lot of success over the years. Eventually, I branched out with corporate clients, developing a customer base there too. And I’d been credited with large projects which had even been featured in Home & Garden magazine. I have Arthur Morris to thank for that. He’d supported me at a time when no one else around here would.

  Arthur had become sort of a father to me. He spent most of his time in Virginia where I’d visited him a few times over the few months I’d gotten to know him better. And just when I felt I was building a solid relationship with the old man, he’d admitted to me he was dying from pancreatic cancer.

  I’d always wondered why he’d given me this incredible home with a private beach which could’ve earned him a cool million-plus bucks if he put it on the open real estate market. He gave me the same answer each time I’d asked. Arthur wanted a family to live in this house since he and his wife had failed to have children of their own.

  Arthur made me promise him that.

  Dragging my fingers through my hair, I spin around to find a little person making their way down the stairs.

  “Daddy.” Madison jogs across the room. When she makes it to where I’m standing, she lifts her arms.

  I place my coffee cup down on the side table, pick her up and cradle her to my chest. I run my fingers through her mahogany locks and stare into her big blue eyes that always remind me of the ocean just outside our doors.

  “Yes, sweet pea,” I say.

  She cups my chin, scratches my beard like she always does with her tiny hand, then kisses me on the cheek. “Are you going to make waffles?”

  I laugh. “Of course.”

  “Yay.”

  “Where is your brother?” I ask in a playful whisper.

  “Hunter is still asleep,” she says, blinking slowly. “I didn’t wake him up because this is our time, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  She giggles a bit as I stroll across the den, taking my cup with me, and into the open-plan kitchen, still with her in my arms. When I make it to the fridge, Madison puts her finger on a pink square which marks that her birthday was a week ago.

  “I’m five years old finally, Daddy.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  She pouts. “I hate that Hunter’s birthday is on my birthday too.”

  You can blame your mom for that and her propensity for having twins.

  “You will have to learn to share,” I whisper. “I thought you had a great birthday party.” I make a funny face, pouting.

  She smiles. “I did. And I loved that every
one came, and they gave me sooo many presents.” She throws her arms up in the air.

  I laugh at her excitement.

  “But, if I didn’t have to share my birthday with Hunter, I’d have more presents. Don’t you understand?”

  I move around the kitchen and get the tea kettle boiling. “I guess I do,” I tell her. “But you will always be grateful you have your brother, Madison.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I have lottts of brothers. I don’t need any more.”

  With a huff, I place her down, admiring the heated wooden floors at our feet which I’d laid myself all those years ago when I was restoring this place. They still look good.

  Madison dashes across the large kitchen. Her bare feet slap the floors until she makes it into the den where she crash-lands on the sofa that’s already crowded with toys. She finds her favorite purple blanket and wraps herself in it getting more comfortable. She clicks the 4K TV on and soon the silly sound of cartoons becomes background noise.

  This house is alive these days, filled with love, family, and a cat named Blue.

  I snatch my coffee cup up from the kitchen table and take a few more sips, appreciating the warm liquid which also helps to wake me up a bit. My eyes narrow as I sift through all the mail laid out here. I pick up a copy of the Lawyers Journal—a local publication. I tap my finger on the front page. It’s a photograph of Greg and Ivy.

  They’re in a tight embrace. Greg is wearing a three-piece suit, donning an expensive watch, and Ivy is in some sort of designer dress that makes her look like she’s headed to a fucking tea party. Her green eyes are wide, and her smile looks like it’s been permanently stitched on her face.

  “All bullshit,” I mutter, then look just over my shoulder to make sure Madison hadn’t heard me. She’s deep into cartoon watching.

  Greg had recently been named partner at his law firm. His career is looking up.

  Ivy still has her spa business in Mount Pleasant, but she’d given it all up to be by Greg’s side, supporting his efforts as he runs for a seat in the senate. So, Kira, Ivy and Greg’s daughter, runs the business now.

  I’m not particularly close with Greg. We’ve always had our differences. It was difficult to get him to publicly admit he’s Brandon’s father. He vehemently denied he’d even slept with Raine, which just seemed ridiculous, especially because he knew he had. But nothing about his attitude surprised me.