Kestrel

by A. M. Hargrove

  “Dozens?” I squeak.

  “Dozens.”

  “When you say that, do you mean—?”

  “I mean even more than I can count, dear girl. Now, your turn.”

  “Two,” I squeak again. Shit. No wonder he has no interest in me. He wants a woman who knows her way around a man. I hardly know my own way around myself.

  His teeth skim over his lower lip, but he utters not one peep as he inspects me. He releases my wrist and his hand reaches behind my head and tugs my hair out of my ever-present ponytail. Where is this going? Once my hair is freed, he threads his hand in it, grasping a chunk of it as he pulls my head back.

  His voice comes to me as a murmur, as though he’s thinking out loud, when he says, “Your hair is a most unusual color. It reminds me of the sun when it bursts through the dawn, its golden rays mixed with streaks of oranges and reds. It’s quite lovely, Carter. Why do you hide beneath all this frumpery?” He shakes his head. “There’s a stunning creature concealed in here somewhere, begging to be released. And if I’m correct, there’s may be a passionate one hidden here, too.”

  “Right. I’m not passionate. I’m a nerd.”

  “Only because you choose to be.”

  “No. Even before. When I was in high school. And college. I was always a nerd. The girl everyone made fun of. Especially the guys. That’s how I got pregnant.”

  He changes in an instant. Gone is sexy Kestrel and in his place is Mr. Serious. But his eyes have softened when he asks, “What do you mean?”

  I shrug. “In college. Thanksgiving break. We were all home and hanging out. I had way too much to drink. The guys made a bet. I was unaware, obviously. Not to mention, I was a virgin. A good thing too, because I was hammered. So, I handed in my v-card, in exchange for an embryo. I didn’t find out until the following semester. Talk about the shock of the century. I mean, who the hell gets pregnant the first time they have sex, right? And I really couldn’t remember all the finer details, if you know what I mean, other than who the lucky guy was. My poor parents—they really struggled with it. I felt terrible. I know it was such a disappointment to them. I was the kid that never did anything bad. But I knew I couldn’t get rid of it or give her up. So I ended up with Ells. And went to school. I had her in August and went to classes the following week. I would go to my car to pump my breasts when I had time between classes. Can you imagine? Gah, it was awful. Am I really telling you all this?” I scrub my face with my palm.

  “Yeah, you are.”

  For whatever reason, embarrassment plows into me like a freaking tidal wave. I move to jump up, but I’m locked in by the steel band of his arm.

  “Where are you going?”

  I look around frantically. Anywhere, but at him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I collapse on top of him and bury my head against him. “I’ve just told you shit I’ve never told anyone else. And now I’m appalled.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because! That’s why.”

  Jeez. Where did the diarrhea of the mouth come from?

  “Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

  “Oh, and how would you know that?”

  “I have a lot of history with issues, you might say.”

  “Hmph. Well, I’m ashamed of what I just told you. Those are my deepest secrets and it’s humiliating. I can’t believe I told you all of that.”

  “Never say you’re ashamed. Some bastard took advantage of you. He’s the one who should be ashamed.”

  He’s so adamant; I lift my head so I can peer at him. That’s odd hearing it from him. But I’ll take it when I can get it.

  “Tell me you get this,” he says.

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “So, what do you want to do today?”

  “Huh?” Does he think we’re spending the day together?

  “Carter, do you need to have your hearing checked? I asked what you want to do today. We’re having a Carter/Kestrel get to know each other day.”

  “Oh.”

  Then he slaps my butt.

  “I have a great idea. Why don’t I take you shopping?”

  “Nope. Bad idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Two reasons. One, no money. And two, I hate shopping.”

  “Hmm. I see. What size are you?”

  He’s so nosy.

  “That’s a very personal question.”

  “I’m a very personal guy.”

  “I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve shopped, I have no idea.”

  “Why don’t you hop in the shower and I’ll put some coffee on.”

  “I have a better idea. Why don’t I go home and take a shower and you can pick me up in an hour.”

  “No.” He still won’t let me out of bed.

  “No?”

  “Let’s shower together.”

  “What? Are you crazy?”

  “Gotcha!” Then his hands are all over my ass, fondling it.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I think I’m going to like hanging out with you, Carter Drayton.” Then he smacks my butt again and says, “Go home and get yourself cleaned up. Oh, and wear something decent, for Christ’s sake.”

  I’m frozen for a second, staring at him and then I scramble out of bed. As soon as my shoes are on I head to the door but then I realize I don’t remember where he lives.

  “Where am I?”

  He laughs at me. “Hang on for a few. It’ll only take me about fifteen minutes to shower and dress. I’ll drive you.”

  “You sure?”

  “Carter, one thing you need to know about me right now. I never offer something if I’m not interested.”

  “Okay.”

  He stares at me. Finally he says, “You gonna stand there and watch me undress or you gonna give me some privacy? I really don’t mind, but I think you might get a little embarrassed.”

  He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I hightail it out of his room. For the few minutes I’m alone, I have time to think about Kestrel. He doesn’t seem like a bad person at all. In fact, he’s quite the opposite, and I find myself warming up to him. But in the end, will I get hurt when he eventually wants to dismantle Ells’ room? It has to happen. I’m not stupid. How will a single man keep a room like that in his house? Maybe I can wean myself off of it. Start out visiting it once a week, then every other week and so forth. Then when he decides to demolish it all, it won’t be so earth shattering for me.

  “Deep thoughts?” he interrupts me.

  “Not really. That was fast.”

  “Yes. I’m that way for some things, but not all,” he says with a wink. I don’t get it. It must show because he adds, “I can see I’m going to have to teach you a lot, grasshopper.”

  “What, are you a Kung Fu master or something.”

  “So, in Wiki, is your picture next to naive?”

  Jesus, I really do need a sexual innuendo dictionary. I’m pathetic.

  “Very funny.”

  We climb into his sports car. I was raised around the affluent in Charleston and have been in many expensive cars, but none like this. The doors lift up, in a wing-like fashion, to open.

  “So this car. Like what’s an Aventador?” I’m not into cars so I don’t know jack about them.

  “A Lamborghini.”

  “Ah. The kahuna of all super cars.” Leather seats wrap around me, hugging me. And the luscious smell is divine.

  “Some would agree. Others wouldn’t.”

  “Obviously you do or you wouldn’t own one.”

  He grins. “Yes, I do. She’s prime.”

  He presses a button and the engine roars, literally, to life. The rumbling of it sends a thrill down my spine. The streets of Charleston won’t do this car any justice at all.

  “I have a feeling you get itchy when you drive this thing.”

  “Your feeling is correct. Any good places you know of where I can open her up?”

  “Yeah, I think I can come up with a fe
w. But we have to drive a ways out of town.”

  “I’m game if you are. I do need some food first, though.”

  “Tell you what. Let me shower and then we can go to breakfast somewhere.”

  “It’s a plan.”

  As I bathe, I try to figure out what to wear. He’s in jeans and a shirt, with sleeves rolled up. Now I really do wish I had something cool to wear. And my hair. I tug a comb through the mass of tangled waves. I decide to braid it. This way, it will be out of my way and I won’t have to worry about it. A plain face stares back at me as I examine it in the mirror. There’s a smattering of freckles across my nose and cheeks but other than that, my skin is clear. My lips are neither plump nor thin; they’re simply average. That pretty much sums up my looks: average.

  Rummaging through my drawers, I hunt for the best pair of jeans I can find that don’t make me look like a dweeb. It takes me six pairs to decide, but the ones I end up with are pretty worn. Now for a top. I end up with a tank, and put a flannel shirt over it. Chucks are my choice for shoes and I hit the steps.

  When he sees me he grins. “You look like you’re eighteen.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “It was meant as one.”

  That stops me in my tracks. “Really?” I turn to look at him.

  “Yes. Your braided hair looks great. And I love the Chucks. The whole look, actually. Very cute. I bet you had tons of guys chasing you in college.”

  “Hardly. You know the story. Besides, I didn’t have time. A kid, you know. Pumping in the car.”

  His face turns a bit pink. “I would’ve chased you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have. And if you had, I wouldn’t have noticed.”

  We keep chatting as we head for his car.

  “Carter, I would’ve made sure you noticed.”

  “Now that, I believe.”

  I direct him to my favorite breakfast place near the water and we sip coffee and eat the best blueberry pancakes known to mankind. I also introduce him to cheesy grits.

  “They’re much better than I thought they would be.”

  “See,” I grin. “Told ya. Now, just wait until I make some shrimp and grits for you. But the kind I make aren’t anything like what you’ve ever had.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I fry the grits cakes up and then serve them with a type of gravy and the shrimp on top. You’ll see.”

  We leave and head out of Charleston toward Wadmalaw Island. There are all sorts of country roads out there where he’ll be able to drive like a maniac.

  Once there, I tell him, “Okay, now don’t get too crazy on me.”

  And he doesn’t. But he does like to go fast. I find it’s very exhilarating. It’s a very warm day for the beginning of October and he’s taken the top off. The wind rushes through my hair and it’s the freest I’ve felt in a long time.

  Eventually, he pulls over and asks if I want to drive.

  “Uh, I’m not sure.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He’s out of the car and opening my door before I can think.

  When I’m standing next to him, he says, “I like how pink your cheeks are.”

  Hmm. Okay. That thought is with me as I sink into the bucket seat behind the wheel.

  “Do you imagine this is how a pilot must feel?”

  “Not at all. They have much more room than this.”

  “Are you a pilot, too?”

  He laughs. “No. But HTS, the company I’m with, has private jets. I’ve seen a number of cockpits.”

  “Oh.” It’s becoming much clearer to me that this man has money. Lots and lots of money.

  I pull off the side of the road and give it a bit more gas. She drives like nothing I ever experienced. Just a little gas sends her bolting. “Whoa, this thing will go, won’t it?”

  “From zero to sixty in two point nine seconds.”

  “Wow!”

  I look at the tiny speedometer and find that I’m going sixty already. So I ease up on the accelerator.

  “Carter, you don’t have to drive like a grandma.”

  “What if I want to?”

  “Do you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Open her up.”

  I give in and apply a bit more pressure to the pedal. She leaps ahead and my hands clench the wheel. This is serious business. I don’t want to go faster. It scares me. We’re coming up to a curve so I prepare myself. We go into it and it’s there I find just how much this car hugs the road. And then everything clicks. My foot presses down a little harder and the purring of the engine increases. It’s just me, the car, and the road. I could totally lose myself out here. It’s harmony.

  “Hey, crazy girl, ease up some.”

  I take my foot off the gas and at the same time check my speed. Ninety miles per hour.

  “Shit! I had no idea.”

  “I know. She does that to you.”

  “I’m seduced.”

  “What?”

  “Your car has seduced me.” I pull off the road as Kestrel laughs. When we come to a stop, I reach over to give his arm a light smack. He violently jerks away from me.

  “Hey, sorry,” I say. His reaction baffles me.

  “Jesus.” He rubs his arm first, and then his face. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”

  His face is a mask of conflicted emotions.

  “Are you okay, Kestrel?” What is going on with him?

  “Yeah. Give me a sec.”

  We sit in silence. He offers no explanations. The quiet becomes a living, breathing thing.

  “Okay, I’m sort of a speak my mind kind of girl. Talk.”

  “Yeah. Well, I’m sort of an issue kind of guy. Not quite ready yet.”

  Swiveling in my seat a bit, I face him and say, “So it was fair of you to demand all of my secrets from me but you won’t share any of yours? Is that it?”

  “No, that’s not it at all. Your situation was different. You were asking something huge from me. I’m not asking anything from you.”

  His remark stings much more than I care to admit. “I see.” I get out of the car.

  The road we’re on leads to the water. It’s only a short walk so I decide to take it. As I stand there facing the Wadmalaw River, I wonder about people. Everything is always so disjointed when it comes to relationships. Why does it have to be that way? I thought I could be friends with Kestrel. Now I’m not so sure.

  I hear his footsteps crunching on the road. He’s behind me when he says, “Do you know anything about me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you Googled me? Done any searches on me?”

  “No. Why?” That’s a strange thing for him to ask.

  “So you don’t know anything about me, or the Hart name?”

  “No! Why? Are you a serial killer or something?” Panic edges my voice. He’s scaring me.

  “You’re safe, Carter. You have nothing to worry about in that regard.”

  He puts my mind at ease, somewhat, but why would he ask me that?

  “Then why did you want to know all that?”

  “The Hart name was pretty newsworthy about a year ago. That’s why.”

  “Oh. Well, I don’t pay much attention to the news.”

  “Do you know anything about HTS?”

  “No.”

  “Damn. You really should be more conscious of your environment. I could be a serial killer. You should’ve investigated me before I came into your home for dinner and checked out your furnishings.”

  “Well, I didn’t. Honestly, it never crossed my mind.”

  “Shit. That’s very careless of you.”

  “Maybe so. Why should I know HTS?”

  “Again, it was in the news a lot, too.”

  “So, tell me.”

  We look like we’re in a face-off. Who’s gonna beat the other to the puck?

  I finally say, “You can either tell me, or I’ll Google it. What would you ra
ther have me do?”

  “My father was a mobster and my mother shot and killed him last year when he tried to kill my sister-in-law.”

  “The fuck?” Who the hell is this guy?

  “My brother is the owner of Hart Transportation Services. My father owned Hart Entertainment. You wouldn’t recognize the name, but it was comprised of a lot of casinos in Atlantic City and Las Vegas. I worked for my dad. I now work for my brother. The reason I’m in Charleston is I’m opening up the southern division of HTS.”

  I’m trying to get past the part about his father being a mobster. And he worked for him? What does that make him? And why did he practically jump out of the car when I touched him?

  My unfiltered mouth gets the best of me when I say, “So is HTS involved in illegal activities, too?”

  If it were possible, his emerald irises would turn me into a permanently frozen block of ice. That’s how cold his gaze is. I have never been chilled by a look from someone until now and I will never forget how it feels. Without saying a word, he turns and in long, angry strides, heads back to the car.

  When he gets halfway there, over his shoulder he calls back to me in a clipped tone, “If you would like a ride back to town, I suggest you get your ass in the car. Otherwise, you’re on your own.”

  Jogging to catch up with him, I say, “You wouldn’t leave me out here.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t I? Care to test me?”

  His tone lets me believe he would.

  “Okay, maybe that question was inappropriate.”

  He doesn’t stop. Nor does he answer. Body rigid with anger, he continues walking.

  “Look, I’m sorry.”

  No response. In desperation, I reach for his arm, and when I touch him, he reacts violently. It’s almost like my hand burns him. He slings my arm away so viciously, I’m afraid it’s injured.

  “Jesus, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” he asks.

  “No,” I say, rubbing my forearm.

  “Let me look. I won’t hurt you.”

  I’m sure he can tell I’m skeptical. My body trembles as I stand there. He bends my wrist and elbow and there isn’t pain.

  “I’m sure it’s only a slight bruise, if anything,” I say.

  “Carter, I’m so sorry. You’re right. There are things about me you need to understand.”

  We walk the rest of the way to the car and when we’re inside, he says, “Without going into too much detail, my father was a monster. He adopted my brothers and me—there were three of us—as young boys. But what he really did was he stole us from our mothers. He’d pick out women who worked in his casinos, all of whom had gambling problems. He’d let them run up huge debts and then he’d go to them with his solution.” He wiggles his fingers as if they were quotations marks. “It would be a payoff of their debts in exchange for their sons. The adoptions were legal, but not ones the women truly wanted. We were abused and brainwashed. He was a real son of a bitch. So I have a lot of issues, and touch is one of them. I’ve gone from craving it, to being afraid of it, to dealing with it, to vacillating between all three. I’m at the point now where if it catches me off guard, I react a little crazy to it. I’m really sorry I hurt you. It was not intentional. I hope you understand that.”