“What are you thinking about?” Brazen asks, as if he doesn’t already know.
I don’t bother to answer.
“Come here,” he sweetly tells me.
I’m in his lap within seconds.
“You’re thinking about the other day.” It isn’t a question. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it, too.” His hand goes to my jaw before he pulls me in for a kiss.
“Slow is hard,” I admit. “Even for someone who’s never experienced fast.”
Brazen stiffens beneath me, and I know I’ve somehow put my foot in my mouth.
“What?” I probe. “What did I say wrong?”
“You didn’t say anything wrong. Promise.”
“Then, why did you go tense beneath me?”
Brazen sighs as his fingers trace my lips. “You’re young, Noah.”
“Yeah, and?” I’m well aware of my age.
“Young and innocent. I want you to be sure before we take things to the next level physically. I don’t want to rush you, and I’m afraid I might have done just that.”
“If I remember correctly, I’m the one who rushed things. You were the one who made me slow down. It was perfect, and I won’t let you show regret about it now.”
“I don’t regret anything. I’m sorry, Noah, but you brought up your inexperience, and I was reminded of the reality.”
He shakes his head, looking shameful, and I hate it.
“And what exactly is the reality? We didn’t do anything that I haven’t already done myself. The only difference was, this time, you were really there, and your voice wasn’t just in my head.”
“Noah … wait! What? What are you saying?”
Me and my freaking mouth! Whatever. I’m not embarrassed. I’m attracted to Brazen, and he’s been the star of all of my fantasies since we met. I’ve touched myself most mornings, imagining something very similar to what we did the other day. Except, in my fantasies, I would get off by his hands and another part of him inside me.
“Maybe you thought the other day was some sort of masturbation magic, and I just instinctively knew how I liked to be touched. However, that wasn’t the first time I’d gotten myself off. I might not have loads of experience, but, hell, Brazen, I’m not even a virgin.”
That last part totally just slipped out.
“You’re not?”
Oh, yeah, he totally thought I still had my card.
“No, don’t get any ideas. I mean, your impression of my innocence is pretty spot on, but, no, I’m not a virgin.”
“Huh,” he muses aloud.
A ringing from Brazen’s desk impedes his thought. He leans forward with me still on his lap and reaches for his phone. His eyes apologize as he answers it, interrupting our conversation. I see Sunday’s name on the front of his screen.
“Hello?” he answers. “Sunday, slow down.”
I’m practically thrown from his lap as he leaps from his chair.
“Where are you?”
My ego is bruised more than anything else.
“I’ll be right there.” He doesn’t even look at me before racing to the door.
“Shit! Noah, I’m sorry! I have to go! You can go home for the day.” He doesn’t halt his pace once as he throws the excuse over his shoulder.
Something in his movements, in his voice, within the emotion on his face tells me not to ask questions. Obviously, something happened, and she needs him right now. I can understand that, but deep down inside, there is a small piece inside of me that feels left very much on the outside when it comes to him and his best friend.
Brazen told me to go home for the day, but I find myself sitting at his desk, unable to leave. I roll a pen across the cluttered surface, thinking. The fear in his voice during that phone call rings through my head.
Sunday and I aren’t best friends. She’s not going to call me to go have a girls’ night or start dusting off the skeletons in her closet for me, and I’m okay with that. She’s sarcastic, and I like the playfulness she sparks in Brazen. When those two are together, it’s clear that they have a genuine friendship.
I’m worried though.
Minutes tick by into hours without any sign of Brazen returning.
I can’t sit back any longer. With a wild hair up my ass, I call an Uber and head for Brazen’s. When I arrive, his car is parked in the driveway. They’re here. On shaky legs, I walk up to his door. I don’t know why, but I already feel like coming here was a mistake. Yet I still find myself at his front door where I can hear them yelling as I knock.
Sunday and Brazen.
I can’t make out the words, but it’s clear that the voices belong to my bosses.
The door flies open, and Brazen stands before me, looking like I’ve never seen him before. With one hand behind his back, his nostrils flare, and toxic anger pours from him. I take a step back, filled with anxious jitters. The second he realizes it’s me and not whomever he was expecting, he softens but only a little. There is movement behind him, and when Brazen turns to see what captured my attention, I see what he’s hiding behind his back. Shiny metal catches my eye, and it doesn’t take me but a glimpse to know that he answered the door, holding a gun behind his back.
I take another step back, pausing my retreat when I see Sunday.
He couldn’t have done that to her. There is no way.
She flees from my view, but I’m positive of what I saw.
Sunday—bruised, battered, and bloody.
“Now really isn’t a good time, Noah,” he tells me.
“I can see that.” I click my tongue.
“You can’t be here,” he insists.
“Give me one good explanation for what I just saw, and I’ll walk away without another mention of this. You damn sure need to give me something because I can’t just walk away and pretend I didn’t see what I did.”
“Some secrets aren’t ours to tell. This is one of those.”
“You’d better tell me something because, right now, I’m not even sure I should be leaving Sunday alone with you.”
He flinches, but I don’t care. If he did that to her, which isn’t something I really believe he’s capable of, there is no way I’m leaving her here with him. No. Way.
“You think I did that to her? That’s the conclusion you’ve jumped to?” Brazen projects sadness, disappointment, and hurt my way.
“Brazen, what am I supposed to think?”
“I don’t know. Not that though. I have to go, Noah. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
As the door is closing, my hand juts out and makes contact, stopping it.
“I can’t just walk away without knowing she’s safe here,” I tell him flatly. “You can’t just dismiss me.” I push open his door that he’s no longer holding and call into the house, “Sunday, are you okay?”
She rounds a corner and stops, not taking another step. “Brazen didn’t do this. He would never do anything like this. I’m here because I’m safe here, and he’s home because I called him. Please go, Noah.” Her voice cracks and is coated with anguish.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Please.”
Sunday moves back out of sight, and Brazen sighs, looking defeated. I don’t know what to say. My lips move, but no words come out, and then the door is closing. This time, it closes in my face, and I hear the lock click before I can say I’m sorry.
Hell.
I know he didn’t do that, but someone did.
Brazen
Sunday is taking a personal day today. When I got up this morning, I wanted to do the same.
How could Noah think for even a second that I was the one responsible for hurting Sunday? It’s pretty much the last thing I’d do. Sunday being hurt is everything I’m working against. I’m the one trying to put her pain to an end once and for all. Yet Noah believed I was capable of such a cowardly, hateful act.
I check in on Sunday in the guest bedroom before locking up and heading to work.
Will Noah even be at the offic
e, or did yesterday scare her off for good?
Despite how hurt I am about her accusations, I’ll be even more hurt if Noah isn’t waiting for me at work. The moment of truth isn’t far away as I pull into my parking spot. I envision her desk empty and what that’ll mean.
Will I chase her?
Yes. Unequivocally, yes.
Would she want me to?
I don’t know. I hope so.
However, there will be no chasing today. Noah is standing right in the entryway, as if she’s waiting for me. A tiny bit of the pressure on my gut subsides. Her hands fidget at her sides. Her face is free from makeup, and worry lines frame her profile.
So, when I reach her, the first thing I do is hug her. I pull her toward me and wrap my arms around her tightly.
“I’m so sorry, Brazen,” she whispers.
I don’t respond. I know she’s sorry, and I don’t want to make her feel worse about having assumed the worst about me. This bright, optimistic girl I’m getting to know jumped to the conclusion that I was a monster.
It doesn’t feel good.
My arms stay tightly wrapped around her, so she can’t see the pain on my face.
“How’s Sunday?”
“Sunday’s okay. She’ll be okay.” I don’t know how many times I’ve told myself that over the years, but it’s been way too many fucking times for me to believe it wholly.
Noah pulls back to look up at me despite my trying to prevent it. “Who hurt her? What happened?” She wins the struggle for eye contact.
“That story isn’t mine to tell.” I hate being so firm with her.
“Brazen, you can’t just close me off like that.” Hurt infuses her every word.
“Oh, yeah? You want me to open up to you when, yesterday, you thought it was me that put my hands on her? Isn’t that asking a little much?” Okay, that was a dick thing to say, but if my using her guilt against her keeps her from asking me about the truth, I’ll do it.
“Brazen, I said I was sorry.” Shame hangs heavy on her apology.
“I need you to know, to truly believe, that I would never, ever hurt Sunday, you, or any other woman. I’m trying to protect Sunday and keep her safe.” I look into her eyes while I plead for her to believe in me.
“I know that. I do. I’m sorry. I was just scared yesterday.”
I pull Noah to me once more and hug her again, this time without any doubt.
“She’s going to stay with me for a little while,” I speak with my chin resting on her head. I breathe in the delicious scent of cake batter that I’ve come to associate with the woman in my arms.
“Good. That’s exactly where she should be.”
An insecure or lesser woman might argue about another woman in my home, but there was never a doubt in my mind that Noah would understand the circumstances.
Thank you, Noah.
“I need to get back home. Work isn’t important today. Take the day off, too.”
“Are you sure? I could stay here. Make sure things are in order for you and Sunday when you come back. I don’t mind. I want to help.”
I kiss her, and any hurt about Noah’s assumptions floats away. Her tongue lazily tangles with mine. My hands sift through her hair. Her lips bring me comfort on a really shitty, difficult day.
“You already help enough by just being you.” I can’t pull my lips from hers as I speak, “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
She follows me outside without any protest.
I walk Noah home. I could drive her, but I want the extra time. In silence and hand in hand, we walk side by side. When we approach her house, we find Sunday waiting on the porch swing. She doesn’t stand and barely even looks up as we step foot onto the porch.
“Sun, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t have left the house,” I only mildly scold her.
She’s been through a lot, and the last thing she needs is another man yelling at her.
“I’m here to talk to Noah.” She looks up, and my anger resurfaces when I see her battered face. She shifts to face Noah. “Woman to woman, we need to talk. Alone.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell Sunday. I already know why she’s here; she thinks she needs to explain things to Noah. She doesn’t though. Not if she doesn’t want to.
Sunday is always thinking about what’s best for me, and she knows keeping this from Noah will put a strain on my relationship with her. Still, that doesn’t mean Sunday should have to rip out her heart to someone she just met.
“Go home, Brazen. This isn’t up to you. You won’t change my mind.”
I kiss Sunday on the cheek, and she softly hisses in pain.
“Sorry.”
She nods.
“I’ll leave you two alone, but I’m not going far. And, Sunday, I’m driving you home.” Then, I turn to Noah. “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.” I kiss her on the lips, leaving these two girls with all of Sunday’s secrets.
Noah
I sit next to Sunday on the porch swing. The mood is heavy, and her emotions are high. I can practically feel the outrage, anguish, and despair radiating off her.
“I got married young,” Sunday begins.
But I interrupt, “You don’t have to do this. Brazen’s right; you don’t owe me any explanations. I just want to know you’re okay.”
“I like you, but I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for him. I owe Brazen the world, and I don’t want to make anything in his life more complicated. Him keeping this from you will make things harder between you two.”
There is so much conviction in her voice that I have no choice but to let her continue.
“I was too young when I got married, and I hadn’t known the person I was dating long enough. I married him at nineteen after only knowing him for four months.” Sunday’s eyes are closed as she speaks. I’m not sure if she’s trying to remember or forget. “I got pregnant almost immediately after we began dating. I was scared and came from a strict Catholic family. Matt proposed to me, and I didn’t give him an answer right away, but my parents gave me an ultimatum.”
I take Sunday’s hand as she trembles.
“Marry Matt and make things legitimate, or they would disown me.” She shakes her head and blinks the tears out of her eyes. “So, I married him. I liked him, and our relationship was going well. I was pregnant with his child. At the time, I thought that we’d grow to love each other, and in pleasing my parents, everyone would end up happy.”
“But that didn’t happen?” The answer is abundantly obvious, but I guess one never knows what to say in a difficult situation. My heart breaks for her and the impossible situation she was put in.
“No, happiness was gone from the moment I said, ‘I do.’ Once I was locked in, Matt changed. He became demanding and controlling. His behavior escalated fast, and I knew pretty quickly that I had made a huge mistake.”
“I’m sorry, Sunday. You couldn’t have known though. You just wanted to have a family and one that included your parents.”
I’m starting to understand why Brazen was protecting her story so fiercely. He’s a good man, and his relationship with Sunday proves that.
“Don’t be sorry for me. It doesn’t do anyone a bit of good. Everyone goes through shit.” She pulls her hand from mine and runs it through her hair. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes once again. “I lost the baby. She died during childbirth. This sweet, innocent little human altered my life completely, and she never even lived long enough for me to hear her precious cry.”
I reach out for Sunday, wanting to pull her into a hug and tell her that everything will be okay, but I settle on putting my hand on her leg as I try to fight back tears.
“A week after I left the hospital without my little girl, Matt beat me for the first time. He blamed me. He said I didn’t eat right during the pregnancy and didn’t take care of myself well enough, which was crap. He’d monitored everything I ate and everything I did. To avoid fights, I’d followed his every direction during my pregnancy.
He said I wasn’t strong enough to bring his child into the world and that I had killed our baby.”
“Sunday, he was wrong. You don’t believe those things, do you?”
“No, I don’t now. If anything, if it was something during the pregnancy that harmed our baby, it was all the stress he put on me to be perfect. But, as he beat me in the pink nursery that I had meticulously set up for my firstborn child, yeah, I did let his hateful garbage seep into my mind.”
“I want to kill him.” I’ve never said something like that about anyone, let alone someone I’ve never met, but Sunday’s husband is truly a horrible monstrosity of a man.
“Honestly, Noah, I’ve contemplated that idea many times. I’m pretty sure Brazen has, too. That day, as Matt beat me until I couldn’t see, couldn’t walk, and couldn’t even breathe, I knew, even if I lost my parents, I couldn’t stay with him. As he hit me and kicked me, I got lost in my head, planning my escape.
“I left him two months after that day, and my parents haven’t spoken to me since. Matt, however, won’t sign the divorce papers and has done everything in his power to keep us together on paper. I have a restraining order against him. I’ve increased security at my home. I’ve gone to the police. None of it matters. He doesn’t care about consequences, and nothing I’ve thrown at him sticks.”
“You left him, and he’s still hurting you?” I ask, feeling pained, wondering why she didn’t go to the cops this time.
All the evidence they need is on her face, which I would think would be enough to get him locked up on domestic abuse. I don’t ask. The last thing she needs is me prying into places she doesn’t want me to pry.
“Despite everything I’ve done to prevent it, he always seems to find a way to get to me. I came home the other day, and he was in my house. Just sitting on my couch, as if that was where he belonged. He screams, he manipulates, he orders me to come back to him, and then eventually, he lets his fist do the talking. I’ve left the marriage and him, but every time he puts his hands on me, the beating gets a little worse. I’ve felt very helpless for a long time.”
“How are you going to make it end?”
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