by Layla Hagen
Peeking through the window at the blinding sunshine, I take the clothes I'm planning to wear in the living room and then head to the shower. Once I step in and let the warm water spray over me, I become aware of how sore my body is, especially between my legs. Damon's smell still lingers, but the overwhelming aroma of lemon from my shower gel washes it away. I'm visiting my parents and would rather keep my nocturnal activities a secret. I step out of the dorm in a flimsy dress and ballerinas, ready to soak in as much sun as possible on the way to my car, only to immediately start shuddering. Okay, total misjudge of the weather. The sun shines bright, so I can practically picture myself on the beach, feeling the grains of sand scratch my skin lightly, but a rush of cold wind prompts me to hurry to my car. I'll just throw something warmer on once I get to my parents’ house. I've left enough clothes there.
I get into my car, and as the engine roars to life, I inspect the parking lot through the rearview mirror, checking if the coast is clear to leave. It is, but that’s no surprise, given that the cars’ owners are probably sound asleep inside the dorms. Every car is empty.
Except one.
I wouldn’t have noticed it had an occupant, if he weren’t staring at me so insistently. I wince¸ as if someone just dropped an ice cube down my spine.
The person sitting behind the wheel is Gabe.
My body reacts before my brain has time to process what this means. In a haze, I drive out of the parking lot, my hands shaking on the wheel. My heart slams in my chest, a sudden heaviness descending upon the nape of my neck. The weight of fear keeps me from looking back up in the rearview mirror to check if Gabe is tailing me. Eventually, I do look up, and my stomach constricts with pain. He’s right behind me. I assess the situation as best as I can. My car is better than Gabe’s. This can give me an advantage in the speed department. I press the pedal, sinking in my seat as the car lunches forward with a vengeance. I head straight in the direction of the highway, but it’ll be a while before I reach it. Right now, I’m on a two-lane street, one lane for each direction. The only cars in sight are mine and Gabe’s. Empty shops and sleepy houses line up the road on both sides.
Gabe’s car roars from behind as he closes the distance between us. What’s his deal?
As he comes side by side with me, I realize what he wants: to drive me off the road. At this speed, a collision with anything would cause a lot of damage. I hit the gas pedal again, which is stupid and dangerous—I’ll lose control of the car before long. Right now, all I want is to get rid of Gabe. I put a few feet between us again, but as the speed indicator alerts me to my very precarious situation, I realize Gabe only needs to crash into my car lightly, and I wouldn’t just drive off the road—I would overturn.
Gabe’s about to catch up with me again when the sound of a police siren reaches my ears. Their car shows up a fraction of a second later in the distance, speeding toward us from the other direction.
I barely blink away from the police car, when I realize Gabe takes a sharp turn to the right, disappearing on one of the side streets.
When the police car passes me, the two officers inside it don’t even glance my way. They must be having an emergency wherever they’re heading, or they would’ve fined me for the speed. I reduce it somewhat, until I’m certain I have full control of the car. Gabe doesn’t make an appearance again.
It’s only after I get onto the highway that I realize how stupid I’ve been. I should have alerted the police to what Gabe did, but in my haste to put as many miles between him and me as possible, I let the chance slip.
Cursing, I pull out my phone and call Damon. He picks up after the first ring and I tell him what happened. I’m not sure how coherent I am, because fear still muddles my thoughts.
“Do you want me to drive up to you?” he asks.
“No, it’s okay. I’m going to my parents’ house. I don’t think he’ll come back. Can you tell James what happened? I want to concentrate on driving, and I don’t feel like repeating the story for him.”
“Sure, I’ll take care of it. Be careful.”
“I will.”
My heartbeat only regains its normal rhythm after about an hour of driving. I try to concentrate on the upcoming hours, and how my visit will go. I decide not to tell my parents anything about this morning.
A contradictory feeling of nervousness and warmth rears its head. It does so every time I visit my parents since I returned. Part of me still can't get over how much they've changed. They'd entered the hospital as strangers and came out determined to save their relationship. I had heard my parents used to love each other very much, but didn't believe it. Now I do. Their priorities changed completely. Dad handed over the reins of the chocolate factory and has no plans to return to work. Mom cut back on her charity work a lot and spends most of her time with Dad and on the phone with me. They’re also determined for us to become a real family. I love spending time with them. They are finally the parents I wished for my entire childhood. I contemplate calling James to ask him if he'd like to come, and then decide against it. He makes it to the weekly Thursday dinners, but rarely has time for more visits. I don't blame him; the three hours’ drive to our parents’ home isn't much fun.
Just as I get out of the car in front of the house, the massive oak doors of the entrance open and my mother appears.
"Dani, you must be freezing." She throws me a worried look. "I'll get you a coat. Your father is in the glasshouse." With that, Mom disappears back inside. Despite the chilly wind, warmth spreads through my limbs. She really makes an effort to pay attention to me, and I appreciate it.
I make my way to the glasshouse, sucking in a deep breath when I find my father. He still bears the marks of his heart attack. He's thin, pale, and has sunken eyes. But he's livelier than I've ever seen him, smiling, and even chuckling occasionally. He's immersed in the book he's reading and doesn’t see me come in. Just the fact that he's reading a book blows my mind. I don't remember ever seeing my father do that, unless it was a book by some famous business guru. When I take a closer look at what he's reading, I do a double-take. Yep, Dad holds Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in his hands.
"Dad, what are you reading?"
His head snaps up to me. "I found this in your room. It's brilliant."
"I know," I say. He closes the book as I sit opposite him, putting it on an empty chair. "There are seven of them, and they're all brilliant."
"I'll look for the second one in your room as soon as I finish this one."
"Who are you, and what have you done with my father?" I make a mental note to scour my room and take with me every single steamy romance book I own.
"I only have twenty pages left." He put the book away, but eyes it with an almost comical longing. I'm jealous. Nothing comes close to the excitement of reading the Harry Potter series for the first time.
Mom arrives carrying a tray, one of my old hoodies and sweatpants hanging on her arm. I snatch them, throwing them over what I'm wearing in a heartbeat.
“Oh, breakfast,” Dad says. “Looks great.” He glances up, beaming at Mom. She smiles back shyly, as if she’s a tad ashamed. My parents are rediscovering how to love each other one step at a time. It’s beautiful to watch. I barely withhold a groan when I see what's on the tray.
"I made your favorite breakfast, Dani," Mom declares proudly. "Pancakes with mashed banana." Now, here's the thing. I don't have any memory of ever liking, let alone loving this. After Dad came back from the hospital, we viewed some old photo albums. In a lot of those, I was eating this awful stuff and looked happy doing it. Mom concluded I must have loved it, and makes it for me every time I'm here. It's gross and slimy, but I'm not about to tell her that. I had given up hope a long time ago that she’d cook anything for me, so this is almost a miracle. I take a bite, hoping it'll taste better this time. Nope. Forcing a smile on my face, I gulp the thing down. If my parents had a dog, this would be the moment when I'd slip him the food under the table and pray for him to eat it.
"Eat up. There's more if you want," Mom says. Okay, new resolution: I must buy my parents a dog, preferably one who likes mashed bananas.
"I just learned that Dad started reading. How about you, Mom?"
"Me, too. I found some books in your room." She motions with her head to the lounge chair a few feet away from the table. My heart stops. Lying there with a bookmark between its pages is one of the steamiest romances I own. "It's great."
"Perfect," I mumble, feeling my cheeks heat up even though Mom looks completely unfazed.
Dad reaches for one of my pancakes. "I haven't tasted these." There is no way to warn him, so when he takes the first bite and winces, throwing me a questioning glance, I bite my tongue to stifle a laugh. Luckily, Mom's looking away.
"Tell us about your first week. How is the accommodation?" Dad says, skillfully avoiding Mom's gaze as he puts the pancake back on my plate. I wet my lips, inhaling deeply. After years of silence from them, this feels weird. But then I remember that Mom reads steamy novels and Dad devours Harry Potter. Asking me to tell them about my week is the most normal thing I’ve heard since walking through the door.
“The bedroom is on the small side, but we’ll manage.”
“Hopefully Heather doesn’t snore,” Dad says.
Mom elbows him. “It’s Hazel.”
“I know that.” He flinches in his seat, throwing me an apologetic look. “I swear I do. I’m just bad with names.”
“She doesn’t snore, Dad.”
“So you moved in with Hazel. Go on.” Squaring his shoulders, a sharp breath whooshes out of him. He suddenly looks very business-like. I imagine this is how he used to be in meetings, recapping what had been discussed and prompting everyone to move forward. Since he got out of the hospital, he alternates between trying to play the cool dad and moments of lucidity when he realizes he has no idea how to do that. For some reason, this puts me at ease from my own difficulties in communicating with them. Even adults have to wing it sometimes.
I grin and start telling them about the classes, my crazy schedule.
"Wait, why are you taking so many classes?" Mom asks.
"Well, I just want to try out as many as I can, so I figure out what I like."
"Oh, I see," Dad says. "It's time you lost that chip on your shoulder. You dropped out of your London Uni after one semester because you didn't like your subject; so what?" When I don't answer, he continues, "Dani, listen. Everyone goes through a soul-searching period at some point in their lives. Don't sweat over this. You’re young; you have time to figure things out."
"But—”
"You are the most responsible kid I know,” he says. “You have a huge trust fund and chose to live in a dorm and drive a cheap car. Ask James what he was doing when he was your age."
"I know what he was doing," I say. James was the only person in our family to burn his trust fund, and he managed that in three years. "But I missed my grades for Oxford, all because I was too busy rebelling against you and Mom," I challenge.
Mom folds her arms, leaning back in her chair. "Well, you were bound to rebel. Most teenagers do that for years. I was one of them. I gave my mom hell. Your months of rebellion were nothing in comparison, really."
I eye her suspiciously. "You were very alarmed at the time."
"We'd become used to you being a good kid. You just threw us in for a loop." She and Dad exchange a gloomy look that tells me they haven’t fully forgotten those months, but want to let the past go.
"Just enjoy college." Dad winks at me and Mom nods in approval. "Anyone up for a game of charades?"
"Sure." As Mom brings the game, I add, "Damon's back. He's at Stanford, too." Dad goes rigid, and Mom pauses in the act of reaching for her chair.
“He’s not fighting anymore,” I add quickly. “At all.” My throat goes dry as the silence stretches and my parents exchange furtive glances.
“Good for him,” Mom says eventually. As she drops in her seat, I grow uneasy.
“What are your intentions regarding him?” Dad asks. His tone is now all business.
“We went on a date. He seems changed,” I say. When skepticism stretches on both their faces, I add one last piece of information, hoping to soften them. “He works for James.” Instantly, their eyes widen. I bite my lip, imagining how they will grill my brother about this.
“We can’t tell you what to do or not.” Uncertainty tinges Dad’s tone.
“Just be careful,” Mom says.
Well, all in all, not the worst reaction.
We focus on the game of charades after that, playing it for hours. Mom babbles about her newly discovered love for reading—she’s devoured most of my steamy collection—then tells me all about organizing James and Serena's wedding. She pretends to be upset they don't help her much, but I know she's secretly happy they're letting her do whatever she wants. The sun is almost setting when they walk me back to the car. I'm still wearing my hoodie and sweatpants, and I've decided to keep them on so I won't freeze my butt off.
"Hey, we should all go to the factory soon, like we did when I was little."
"Your dad still tires very quickly, so he won't leave the house for a while," Mom says apologetically.
"But we can give you a set of keys. Maybe you can go with some friends,” Dad suggests. “It closes to the public at eight o'clock; I can tell the guards to keep it open for you and your friends."
"Okay, I don't need keys then."
"No, you should have your set,” he insists. “It's yours, too, after all."
I'm grinning ear to ear when Mom brings me a set of keys. "Is there any chance you can visit me on campus any time soon?"
“Only after your father feels better."
“Okay. I just don't know if I'll be able to make it this Thursday to dinner. I'll come next weekend for sure, though."
“Good." Mom grins, pulling me into a hug. "I can make more mashed banana pancakes."
"How do you eat that stuff?" Dad mouths to me, and it's all I can do not to burst out laughing.
I return my mother's hug tightly. Trying mightily to keep a straight face, I suggest innocently, "Guys, what would you say about buying a dog?"
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Damon
"The factory is ours for the night. I'll give you a tour," Dani says. It's been two weeks since our first date, and between my work and her crazy schedule, we haven't had time for a second one. We hang out in classes, during breaks, and half-clandestine night escapades, but I've yearned to have her all mine for an entire evening again.
The police said there isn’t anything they can do against Gabe for the stunt he pulled with the car. James says they’re simply following the law. I say they’re incompetent, and told them so to their faces. In the meantime, we keep an eye out for Gabe. Dani’s been beyond brave through all of this. If something happens to her, I won’t be able to live with myself.
As we step inside the building, her eyes are alight with excitement. Her happiness has more to do with this place than with me. "When's the last time you were here?"
"Last year, when they added a museum to the factory. When I was, like, four or five, my dad used to bring me here every Sunday. It was my happy place. I was surrounded by chocolate and had the undivided attention of my family. Well, almost. Dad was working, but at least we were all together. Then things between him and Mom got worse, and our weekly trips stopped."
"How are your parents now?"
"Huh, you'd think Dad has had a heart transplant or something. They are so in love; it's just weird, but I'm happy for them. Look, this is the main entrance to the museum."
"I thought we were going to see the factory."
Dani shakes her head, unlocking the front door. We step inside. "The museum shows the entire production process, but we'll see it through a glass. Come on."
We spend the next hour touring the museum. Dani gives me the entire history of the company besides telling me about the processes. She knows everything inside out. I only half-list
en to her, because I am fascinated by the expression on her face. She's more radiant than I've ever seen her. This place is good for her. "You love it here."
"Yeah, I do. I know it's strange, but I feel more at home here than in my parents' house." She smiles as we move to the next room. Before speaking, she hurries to the small chocolate containers, taking a few pieces. So far, there was chocolate in every room, and Dani indulged in it every time. She closes her eyes after popping the chocolate in her mouth, savoring it. When she opens them again, she catches me staring at her.
"Quality control," she says confidently.
"How much chocolate can you eat?" I ask.
"That is a question you must never ask a woman."
"Duly noted." The tour ends in a room with flowing chocolate. There is even a plate of waffles. "How come the river is still flowing this late?" The word ‘river’ isn't fitting, but that's what the shield says. There are actually two small rivers, running on both sides of the room. There is a railing on either side.
"I asked someone from maintenance to stay late today. They'll turn it off after we leave."
"Ah, I see. Asking for favors because you're the boss's daughter."
Punching me playfully in the chest, she leans over the railing, dips a waffle in the flowing chocolate, then takes a bite. I follow suit. The chocolate is warm, not hot, and it's good, but I've never had much of a sweet tooth. Watching her enjoying it is more fun.
"You’re no fun; you barely ate. I should come here with Hazel. She appreciates all of this. What's the point of visiting a chocolate museum if you don't eat chocolate?"
Leaning in from behind, I push her hair to one side, revealing her neck. "Tasting you." Dani squirms under my touch, goose bumps forming on her arms. "Can anyone see us here?"
She giggles nervously, leaning her head on my shoulder, looking up at me. "No."
"Are you sure?" My cock already throbs in my jeans. I press myself against her. She lets out a sigh, reaching behind her, popping my button open. Then she slips her hand inside, palming my cock. I can feel the slight tremor in her arm.