Beautiful Elixir (Beautiful Oblivion #3)

by Addison Moore

  “Remember I told you I had a few secrets of my own?” I lean into her as if I might steal a kiss.

  “Yes.” Her voice is low and raspy. Her lids flutter as she inches her lips toward mine.

  “This is one of them.”

  Crime of Passion

  Kennedy

  Up until this point in my life I have been complacent with so many things. I had let my earthly riches become my treasures. My financial wealth flourished while my heart was stripped anemic. I had let the sins of the past erode the very jewel of my existence, the true prize reserved for the fortunate, love. But looking at Caleb here, in front of his mother’s suburban home—his entire body filled with the weight of worry for her—shows the exact compassion, the exact measure of goodwill and caring that I’ve been yearning for all my life. Could Caleb be the one to pull me out of this black and white world I’ve thrust myself in and bring color back through that four-letter word I’ve never thought I was worthy of? To offer up the abundance of life’s true riches like muscle over bone? I believe so. I believe Caleb and I could have the power to hew an entire new heart for the both of us that beats as one, his life and mine merging through the perfect gift that is love. That could happen. And that is not a lie.

  Caleb slowly opens the door as if I’m in for some big reveal. The outside of this house reminds me of Charlie’s parents’ home. They live just past Sherman in a decent neighborhood with equestrian amenities. The inside of her home is painted various shades of yellow, and no matter what time of day it is, you always feel like it’s a little too early in the morning.

  “Here we go,” he whispers pushing the open door half way before offering a lazy grin. He butts his shoulder against the door until it gives a few more inches. “I’d say ladies first but, trust me on this one, you’ll want me to pave the way.”

  I follow him in, and the sharp scent of aging newspapers bites my nostrils. It’s dim, and, for a moment, my eyes have a hard time adjusting, then I see it and give a little gasp.

  Caleb reaches back and picks up my hand, giving a gentle squeeze as if it were an I-told-you-so and an I’m-sorry all rolled into one.

  Stacks and stacks of newspapers rise like towers in the narrowed hall. Plastic shopping bags sit lopsided with their bellies full of this and that. The mouth of one bag sits open, and I can see the tags from the dollar store. Loads and loads of bags and boxes, dishes piled in random places, bowls with spoons peeking out the top are strewn out everywhere. Books create precarious leaning towers, clothes rise up like mountains as Caleb leads me through a tiny trail, small enough to dictate that one foot steps over the other. We enter the living room, and the bags and stacks and dishes expand into a city of clutter, turning this cavernous space into something just short of a landfill.

  “Mom?” Caleb’s voice booms over the condensed debris filling every sacred gap in this dark, depressing home.

  I want to scold him for letting her live this way. And she has three sons? Not to sound like a sexist ass, but had she a single daughter, this shit just would not fly.

  An older woman, tall with long, gray hair—not too unkempt—comes out reasonably dressed, her features virtually unblemished by time. A small curly haired mutt, adorable as all hell curls around our legs.

  “Hey, Boons.” Caleb gives the dog a quick pat.

  “Who is this?” His mother’s eyes brighten a shade of clear October sky. I can see where Caleb gets his baby blues from.

  “Mom, this is Kennedy”—Caleb pauses looking back at me with a stiffer resolve as if he were putting up a wall, still unsure of what my reaction might be—“my client.”

  A quick frown comes and goes. It’s the truth I suppose, and he is in the business of laying out the facts. Now I’m half tempted to bed him to see if he’ll refer to me as his fuck buddy.

  “Nice to meet you.” I extend my hand, and she offers a soft-as-air shake.

  “Martha.” She bites over her lip, giddy at the prospect of meeting me—his client, and I can feel myself blush. “And this is my dog, Boonsborough.”

  “Nice to meet you, Martha—and you, too.” I glance down and wink.

  “Where was the fire?” Caleb gets right down to business. “Did you call 911?”

  “The kitchen and no. I managed to handle it. I don’t even know why I called. I’m so sorry to have interrupted your important day. It was selfish of me.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I’m quick to reprimand. “It’s family first in my book. I’m just glad Caleb offered to bring me along so I could finally meet you.”

  Her eyes steady over mine a moment before venturing up and down my body, that sweet hint of a smile never leaving her lips.

  “I can’t remember the last time Caleb brought a girl to the house.” She waves a hand over the mess. “I can’t remember the last time any of you boys brought a girl to the house.” Her mood sours. “I do, however, remember the last time your father brought a girl to the house.”

  “All right.” Caleb pulls her in and gives her back a quick rub. Something in that simple action warms me. “We get it. You up for lunch? Or do you have plans to the torch the rest of the kitchen this afternoon?”

  She smacks him lightly over the chest. “Lunch with you, two?” She cocks her head with a nod that suggests she’s impressed. “Let me grab my purse.”

  Caleb drives the three of us to a small hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant down the street where we order combination plates and sun brewed iced teas. Out here in the wild, Martha seems completely unassuming, not a hint of hoarder written anywhere on her person. I wonder how one comes to be in such a predicament—how you give up on tossing out the crap, unloading shopping bags, putting away laundry. At what point do you look around and decide that’s it, I really don’t give a shit anymore. At what point do your grown children decide that they’re going to step in and park a dumpster in front of your place? Strangely, I feel like that house is the exact representation of my mind. I’ve collected so many of my parent’s sins, so much of their heavy, lumbering baggage, their crooked towers of grief and then added my own stacks and stacks of unopened emotions. I wish someone would back a dumpster up to my brain, and I could magically shake all of the unwanted crap out of my head. I would feel so much lighter, so very clean and light—perhaps a little empty. I think that’s what scares me most of all, being empty. All of these misshapen, unfortunate mistakes have molded me and made me who I am. What happens when I throw everything away and discover there is nothing left? I am not who I thought I was, I am nothing—just empty.

  “Tell me you’re following Solomon’s trial.” She leans in almost belligerently toward her handsome son.

  Caleb pauses from chewing his food, knocks half his tea back before answering. “I don’t want to talk about Sol.”

  She cuts a quick glance to me, taking the hint. “Oh, come on, everyone has heard of the trial. It’s all over the news. You can’t turn on syndicated television without seeing his precious face.” There’s a twinge of motherly pride in her voice, and this scares me. “Why aren’t you in that courthouse, Caleb? Your father, Abel, they’re down there every day.” She turns to me, shaking her head with the excuse before it ever leaves her mouth. “I can only tolerate small increments. The first time I saw his hands in cuffs, his feet in hobbles, I almost fainted.”

  “Mom.” Caleb’s brows knit as he covertly cuts the air with his hand. “This isn’t the place.”

  Her face contorts in a myriad of silent expressions as she slowly tries to decipher his resistance.

  “Call me later.” She says it stern as if she were merely moments from evoking his middle name. “We’ll talk. This isn’t a subject I’m willing to negate. You’ve been acting strange from the beginning.” She takes a sip of her tea and clears her throat. “So what’s new in Loveless?” She turns to me. “What did a sweet girl like you do to need a rascal of a lawyer like him?”

  I glance to Caleb and smile. “I plead the fifth.”

  Needless to say, lu
nch ended with an abrupt call for the check, and we deposited poor Martha right back to the hovel we drew her out of.

  I look at my handsome attorney as he speeds from the neighborhood which he grew up in.

  “I don’t know why on God’s green earth you would let your mother live in that filth. But I, for one, am grateful I had a chance to witness it.”

  He swallows hard, looking straight ahead, right through the road and into regret.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I’m the one who’s going to save her from that hellhole.”

  His dimples dig in, and that tender spot between my thighs pulsates. “Good luck with that.”

  “I won’t need luck. I’ll need you and a box of surgical gloves. Your mother is going to love me when we’re through.”

  A short-lived laugh pumps from him. “She’ll be too angry to love you when you’re through.” He picks up my hand, and brings it to his lips. “But I will.”

  My heart thumps once as if shooting off a flare.

  Just the thought of Caleb McCarthy loving me makes the blood surge through my veins, riotous and loud, deafening my senses. The only thing I see is Caleb. The only thing I feel is his blooming affection for me.

  I wonder if I could love Caleb.

  I think I can.

  I think I already do.

  * * *

  Technically it’s already too cold to host an outdoor event, but there is one last reason to party this fall, Reese and Ace’s one-year anniversary is upon us.

  Brylee and I fuss over my stepsister’s makeup while Demi fashions her hair into a crown of braids.

  “Easy with the blush.” Reese swats my hand. “I don’t want to look like a hooker.” She winces up at Demi. “Ooh! Sorry! No offense.”

  “None taken.” Demi shrugs it off. Demi is one of the mellowest people I’ve ever met. Unlike the ever-excitable Brylee, who has been known to piss her pants like an over-stimulated Chihuahua with nothing more than a lame joke, or Neva and her regressive, hostile, I-hate-all-mankind attitude. Demi for sure qualifies as the most normal of the bunch, excluding Reese and me of course. Okay, just Reese.

  “How’s this, Reesie?” I ask, handing her a mirror.

  “Lovely. I’ll look perpetually embarrassed tonight. Now I know how you feel.” She hands back the looking glass, and everyone in the room stops breathing at her seemingly callous remark.

  “No, it’s okay.” I try to shake it off. It was a blow actually. Reese usually doesn’t plunge the knife when I’m not looking.

  “God, no!” She slaps her hands over her mouth ruining Brylee’s forty-minute perfect pout. “I meant because of that stuff you said about his mother. You said it was hard to look at and that you secretly felt embarrassed for her.”

  “Oh yeah, right.” I give a hard blink. I did say that. But still, my mind went straight to the video porn starring yours truly. “Um, tonight’s actually my first time at a huge public event since the incident. I really don’t think I want to take away from your special day.” I had no intention of going all along.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” Reese jumps to her feet. “There is no way in hell you’re backing out. You are the strongest, kickass person I know, Kennedy Lynn Slade.” A tiny smile tries to break free, and I twist my lips to avoid it. I secretly love it when Reese gets angry with me and tosses out my middle name like a punishment. “You did nothing wrong. Keith exploited you without your knowledge. He’s the one who should be embarrassed.” She shrinks back a bit. “By the way, Warren gave me the heads up. Keith is planning on stopping by.”

  “It’s a small lake.” I shrug as if it means nothing. I’m not entirely sure why Reese still talks to Warren. That’s Reese in a nutshell, always wanting to see the good in people, even those who’ve tried to hurt her. I’m not that altruistic. “All the more reason for me to avoid the situation.”

  Reese gives a quick unmitigated grin that spells out pissed far more than it does happy. “You’re coming, and you’re staying late. You have more balls than all those men who will be in attendance put together. You are not a victim. You are the champion of your cause, and you will power through this rough season of your life and come out the other end a victor.” Reese irons my robe flat with her hands. “And I, your true sister, will be there for you every step of the way.”

  “Aw!” Brylee breaks out in spontaneous applause, inspiring Neva and Demi to follow with the ironic slow clap.

  “Hug her, or I will,” Neva growls, her face done up like a Goth Bratz doll.

  “Done.” I pull Reese into a tight embrace. “You’re right, Reese. You are my one true sister.” There aren’t a lot of subjects that Reese stays silent on, but Kam is one of them, and for that I’m eternally grateful. But as good as Reese is at suturing up old wounds, I’m good at scratching them until they reopen. I can’t seem to drown Kam into the recesses of my mind—instead she corks her way up day after day. She and my father are my two favorite ruminations—Caleb, too, of course, but in a far more pleasant way.

  I send Reese off with Neva and Bry, promising on the life of my unborn children that I will, in fact, make an appearance. I dress quickly, not putting too much thought into it. The old Kennedy, the pre sex tape version, would have painfully labored over coupling just the right dress with a complementary pair of designer heels. My purse and accessories would have been another contention entirely. I do miss the carefree me of yesterday, and yet a part of me finds those apparel-based musings shallow and careless now.

  I smooth my hand over my plain, black dress, my Louboutins the only worthy addition to my look for the night. I don’t feel like dripping with diamonds. I don’t feel like I deserve the sparkle of a single ring to accentuate my blight. Tonight I’m aiming to impress about as much as wallpaper with a fruit basket repetition.

  I scuttle to the window, but all I can make out are the huge white circus tents cluttering up the lawn, leading all the way down to the lake like snow. As soon as my mother got wind of this shindig, she conducted a party-planning coup and took on the bulk of the responsibility and, much to Brylee and Neva’s relief, the bill.

  Caleb is my date tonight, unofficial that is. I made it clear that I would need the presence of my “attorney” to help navigate the minefield of hatred, the morbid curiosity that I’ll undoubtedly have to sift through this evening.

  I head out and shiver into the damp night air. It’s cold out, icy in fact. My mother has enough vertical heaters under those tents to burn the mountain down and take half the country with it, but, as for now, my teeth are chattering on Caleb’s porch as I knock like a beggar, about to steal the first jacket I see.

  The door swings wide, and my teeth stop chattering, my body electrifies with a heat wave of its own. Oh my wow.

  Caleb is a demigod in his inky dark suit. The cut is a little sharper than those he wears to the office. His blue satin tie gleams in the light and sets off his eyes like sirens. I can’t drink him in quick enough, that dark stubble, that dark, glossy hair, those cut features of his that demand the attention of—well, hell, everybody.

  “Nice suit,” I say. I am a class A liar—a skilled perjurer. This city turned country litigator never really stood a chance with me. Caleb is not wearing a “nice” suit. He is wearing a damn fine suit that makes me want to push him against the wall and commit a bodily assault, perhaps a little bodily harm via biting, some clawing for good measure, too.

  His eyes wander up and down my body svelte as an elevator. “My God.” He offers a dramatic pause. “You are far too gorgeous for your own good.” He gives a crooked grin and those naughty sweet nothings come back to me, swift and heated.

  “I suppose this is the part where you rattle off the carnal checklist of the things you’d like to do to me.” A girl can hope. “I believe it involved a very special seat that you’re holding for me.”

  He gives a peaceable smile, his dimples blinking on and off like Christmas lights.

  “No checklist for now.” He say
s it quick, his eyes nailed to mine. “But if you’d like, I’ll fill it out in detail for you later. It’s grown by miles.” He leans in, his mouth so close to mine my lungs refuse another breath. “My face is eager to greet you. Feel free to lounge as long as you like. My tongue is especially anxious to show off a few tricks for you. I have a game plan spanning head to beautiful foot that will take hours—days to complete, if you’ll let me.”

  I swallow down my lust. His lids are heavy, his breathing already erratic. If I didn’t promise Reese the future ova and sperm that will knit in my belly, I might have considered knocking his cocky self back into that cabin. For now I’ll simply settle for putting him in his place.

  “I don’t like game plans, Caleb. I like spontaneity. I like the whiplash kind of affection that comes with it. And when and if I let you bed me, there will be no premeditated head to foot fun loving involved and lots and lots of impromptu fucking.” He winces a little when I say the expletive and this excites me far more than any vibrator ever could. I touch my hand to the rough stubble on his cheek. “But you will not be so lucky counselor. I don’t know what makes you think I’m all that easy.” I pinch my eyes closed. “Don’t answer that.”

  And with that we head to the ball.

  * * *

  Millions of twinkle lights, five-star catering, a band with a hit on the top one hundred—beluga caviar, Belgian chocolate, and a tower of Dom. My mother has checked off all the luxurious boxes to make sure this is an unforgettable high society event. Reese and Ace may have eloped, but they are paying in spades for that sin right about now. This is exactly how my mother threatened to host Reese’s pending nuptials to Warren. It didn’t matter who the groom was, my mother wanted her five hundred thousand dollar night.

  At first, Caleb and I go virtually unnoticed, but the upper crust of Loveless can only be fooled for so long. Slowly, the titters begin. The small cliquish groups of women huddle and whisper as we pass them by. An entire legion of side-eye is cast my way. It’s actually not as bad as I thought it would be. I experienced something similar last fall when I wore white after Labor Day to a prominent event much like this one that my mother dragged me off to. No one short of a country club prima donna follows those silly rules anyway. And believe me, my mother’s country club is filled with silly rule-following prima donnas. The only difference being that my big faux pas on this occasion included me wearing nothing but my vagina—a penis, albeit small and a bit deflated, as my only accessory.