Finding Fate

by Ariel Ellens

  “I appreciate the advice,” I say and push my chair back.

  “Whoa, what are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving. The only way the bakery can survive is to be open.”

  “That too,” Colt says. “Pick your own hours. Make the hours work for you as much as you work for them.”

  “I’ve had enough business chat. You don’t know anything about me, about my family. About my life.”

  “Then let me in. I’m right here. I’ve got time.”

  I’m standing now, unsure what to do. If I leave, it’s going to be an even longer walk back to my car. One filled with regret and knowing that Colt will be staring at me and there’s nothing I can to stop him.

  So I sit, again.

  “Listen, I’m sorry,” Colt says. “I’m just being honest, Bella. You deserve more than what you have.”

  “Oh, and you have it?”

  “I never said I have a thing. All I can offer is myself.”

  I’ll take it...

  I shake the thought away.

  Come on, Isabella, stay grounded.

  “I didn’t ask to be in the position I am,” I say. “Okay? I’m trying to do what I think my grandparents would want done.”

  “That’s silly. You don’t know what they would be doing right now if they were alive. They sound like smart people. They would understand the need to change.”

  “Need to change,” I whisper.

  How true is that? I think of my mother and wonder if she’s in a drunken state yet. If she had a good sober day, she’d have a few bad days. That much I know.

  “Enough about me,” I say. “I want to know about you, Colt. Why are you here? Why aren’t you home running your businesses?”

  “First off, ‘home’ is less than an hour away,” he says. “Two, I have family here. I’m passing through. Thinking, riding, enjoying life. Sometimes when it all comes down on my shoulders, I step away before I start to crack.”

  “Before you crack?”

  “Sure. We all have a breaking point, Bella. And if we crack, we break, and something terrible can happen.”

  Colt leaves that lingering out there, leaving me to do what I want with it. I put it into perspective about his nightclub. This is my opening, my chance to just put it out there. I need to ask. I need to know. Colt’s eyes are addicting, his face gorgeous. I picture myself letting Colt come near me in ways I never thought I would allow a person... but I can’t do it. I’m not Becca-Ann, I don’t kiss first and ask later.

  “Colt, I have to ask something,” I say. “I don’t want you to get mad... but it’s something on my mind...”

  “Shit,” Colt growls. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  I sit back in my chair and watch as he stands up. He’s instantly tense and I think I’ve hit a nerve. His hands are in fists and his face is flared. He reaches into his pocket and damn my mind for thinking he’s going to pull out a gun. It’s just money. He drops a ten on the table and looks down at me.

  “Come on, we’re leaving.”

  “Colt...”

  “Stand up, Bella,” he bellows at me.

  I stand up. “What’s going on?”

  I look over my shoulder and Colt grabs my arm. He’s not aggressive but he’s so strong. I barely catch sight of the sidewalk behind me and see a thick man standing, looking just as angry as Colt.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” the stranger yells.

  “Now,” Colt says and starts to walk.

  He jumps the black bar and helps me over. I start to take a step and Colt grabs me again.

  “Get on the bike,” he says.

  “What? No. I have no helmet...”

  Colt hands me his helmet and then straddles the bike.

  I look at the man down the sidewalk and he’s pointing at Colt. He starts to yell something - You better fu - and Colt starts the bike, drowning out the man.

  “My car!” I cry out.

  “Get it later,” Colt yells back.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this but I put the helmet to my head and push it down. It smells like Colt. Is it wrong to be turned on right now?

  I look at the motorcycle as it rumbles. Colt is still pissed off and I turn my head, seeing the stranger charging at us. All I can think is that something in Colt’s past has caught up, looking for him.

  I move to the bike and climb on it. I put my hands to his sides, gripping his shirt tight as he starts to move us.

  He screams to me, “Hang on tight!” and then we’re off. He hits the throttle on the bike and I suddenly feel like we’re going two hundred miles an hour. The growling sound, the harsh rumbling, and the feeling of my body pressed against Colt’s. As we charge down the street... Colt running from his past and ironically, I am doing the same thing.

  Running.

  -Chapter 10-

  When I feel a little more comfortable, I slide my hands around to the front of Colt’s body and locked my fingers. I feel the rippling of his stomach muscles and I am able to moan, knowing he won’t hear me.

  My chest is tight to his back, my head to the left just enough so I could see. The wind must be pounding at his face and while it’s wrong and stupid to ride a bike without a helmet, Colt looks so hot. His arms outstretched, his muscles and tattoos.

  What did I get myself into here?

  I close my eyes and try to collect myself.

  Then I feel us slowing down and when I open eyes, we’re at a park. We’re towards the edge of town where they set off fireworks on the Fourth of July. It’s where all the high school kids go with their boyfriends or girlfriends and make out during the fireworks show.

  Is Colt going to make out with me?

  He stops the bike and turns it off.

  I step from the bike and slide the helmet off. I place it on the back of seat and as Colt gets off the bike, I feel myself ready to punch him.

  “What the hell was that about?” I ask, everything inside and out of my body feeling wild and raw.

  Colt looks at me, licks his lips once, and then makes a move. His hands are at my face, holding my cheeks for a second before he comes forward. When our lips touch, I exhale. His thumbs gently caress my cheeks as he kissed me again, opening his lips a little. The third kiss, our mouths are open, but it’s not until the fourth kiss do our tongues actually touch. When they do, my knees bend and Colt pulls me back up. His hands move from my face as my hands touch his sides. I clutch at his shirt, trying to keep control because they want to explore elsewhere.

  The kiss is hot, the kiss is powerful, the kiss is both of us expressing our frustration for the world. We’re letting our lust for each other take away whatever pain we’re hiding. And yet, I don’t know his pain... and he doesn’t know mine...

  But the kiss is good.

  Really, really good.

  Good enough that I forget about everything. The bakery. My family. My mother. The stuff I read about Colt. It all slips away with the taste of his warm mouth against mine. He's like a comforting blanket but his hands remain at his sides still. I move my hands down to his, trying to hold them. He lets me but he won't let me interlock our fingers. Frustrated, I wrap my hands around his wrists and squeeze. The kiss gets hotter as our breathing grows. I exhale as he does, our breaths colliding and spreading across our faces. I can't take him not touching me so I pull at his wrists, wanting him to touch me.

  I keep pulling and Colt resists.

  I break our kiss and take a deep breath, moaning as I exhale. Colt looks at me with his eyes on fire, something between rage and lust.

  It's almost too much to stare at.

  "What's wrong?" Colt asks.

  "You tell me," I say.

  I pull at his wrists, again, and this time he twists and breaks my hold. He steps back towards his motorcycle and growls. He slaps the seat and bends towards the bike, shaking his had.

  Oh no... is this where he tells me he has a girlfriend?

  "Colt, talk to me," I say. "We just fled a restaurant because so
meone wanted..."

  "Enough," he says.

  "No," I say. "You just made me tell you everything, now it's your turn."

  "What do you want?" he asks.

  "Why won't you touch me? Do you have a girlfriend?"

  "No... Not at all."

  "Then...?"

  Colt stands and looks out to the road. There's something in his eyes that tells me he wants the open road. To just go. And that works for me.

  The he looks at me, looking humble. Sexy, but humble. He steps back to me and puts a hand to my face.

  "Bella, if I start to touch you, like you want, I won't be able to stop."

  "I'm not asking you to stop, I'm asking you to start."

  His hand presses harder to my face. I'm tempting him, and for the first time since we met, I feel in control.

  "You don't understand," Colt says. "I'm sorry about what happened..."

  "What did happen?"

  "It's a long story."

  "I've got nothing to do, I cut out of work, remember?"

  Colt smiles. "Christ, Bella, you're fucking beautiful."

  He moves in for another kiss and I back up. I want this but am I ready for it? There's more I should know, there really is...

  "I've got to go," Colt says. "I'll take you back to your car."

  "That's it?" I ask.

  "For today. I told you, if this starts..."

  Colt doesn't finish his sentence, he just reaches for the bike helmet and hands it to me.

  "I told you everything about me..."

  "No you didn't," he says. "And soon enough I'll tell you something about me."

  Before I put the helmet on, I ask one question. "Are you in danger?"

  Colt straddles the motorcycle and looks back at me. "Only when I'm near you."

  -Chapter 11-

  The bike ride feels endless. I don’t want it to end, ever. I’ve never been so enthralled by someone like I am with Colt. He’s mysterious, like me, and he’s holding some pain in his heart, like me. Could two pain filled hearts collide and create one heart? I hope so.

  Colt rides down the street of A-Annie’s going slow. His eyes scan the sidewalks, obviously looking for the man who wanted to come after him. There’s no sign of the man so Colt keeps going, taking me to my car. When the bike comes to a stop, my gut instantly wrenches, not wanting to let him go and not wanting to leave.

  He looks back at me, smiling, sensing how I feel. I can see it in his eyes that maybe he feels the same way too. Maybe he wants to just go... just drive. We have our memories, we can hold the good ones tight and throw the bad ones off as we go.

  I step from the bike and take off the helmet. Colt leans towards me, taking the helmet and putting it behind him. He reaches for me and I come close. His hand is on the move and he touches my hair, sliding it behind my ear.

  “There,” he says, “your hair was a little messy, from the helmet.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  We stare at each other. I want to kiss him so bad but I want him to make the move. I know he won’t make the move because he’s already warned me.

  “I swear, Bella, you’ll understand things,” he says. He leans back and gets ready to leave.

  I’m not sure what he means by it but as the motorcycle roars and Colt disappears into the distance, the horizon swallowing him whole, I know that Colt means everything. Can’t there exist a connection between two people beyond the realms of talking? I don’t need to know it all to know Colt needs someone.

  I climb into my car and start to drive, pausing extra long at the first stop sign. I could keep going straight, following the faint exhaust of his motorcycle but I know that will get me nowhere.

  And speaking of getting nowhere, that’s where I’m going to head anyway.

  I have to go open the bakery and finish working. And then I have to go check on my mother. In that order.

  Lucky for me, I don’t find a line of people waiting at the locked door. And the few customers I actually see (mostly people picking up orders) don’t say a word about the place being closed. It pains me to imagine not a single customer has come to bakery while I had it closed. Maybe Colt is right... maybe there’s just so much that needs to change...

  I check my phone every couple minutes, wishing he’d text me, but he doesn’t.

  When it comes time to close, I do so in a hurry, wanting to get it all over with. Half the battle is now done, the other half needing to see my mother.

  There’s a piece of me that still acts like a child. A piece that believes happiness can and will exist for everyone. A piece that believes bad days come and go with no worries and with nothing remaining. What that means is I expect to find my mother happy, alert, and sober. Just like I did the other day.

  I know better, but as I park in front of the old house and I open the old door to the house, the childish piece of me wants to believe it.

  The first thing I notice is the house stinks of cigarettes.

  I make fists.

  My mother better watch herself today. I’m not the usual mood right now, thanks to Colt. His unwillingness to touch leaves me burning, looking for anyway to release my frustrations at life.

  “Mom?” I yell.

  I hear nothing in return but the sound of something clanking together. I rush towards the kitchen, the first thing I do it look at the floor to see if it’s clean. It’s not. Why would it be?

  I turn and see my mother standing at the stove, holding a pan in each hand, picking them up, and slamming them down to the burners.

  “Mom?” I try again.

  This time her head whips around.

  She doesn’t need to speak to tell me it’s not the day I had hoped for.

  “Isabella! You’re here...”

  “Of course I am,” I say.

  I walk towards the oven and see the kitchen window above the sink open. On the ledge rests an ashtray with a lit cigarette. Most of the smoke is going out of the kitchen window but there’s plenty lingering.

  “You shouldn’t be...”

  “Don’t tell me what I shouldn’t do,” my mother snaps.

  I freeze in place and look to the pans. The one in her right has something small and charred in it. The other is empty but smoke is rising of it from the intense heat. I catch the subtle hint of oil burning and something really nasty and burnt.

  “What are you cooking?” I ask.

  She looks at the pans and drops them for good. Her hands reach for the knobs to turn the burners off. She turns around and points a yellow stained tip finger at me.

  “You made me burn my fucking dinner.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be. My pork chops, ruined.”

  “They were burnt before I got here.”

  “Don’t tell me a thing,” she growls at me. “How was your day?”

  My mother never asks me that. She never cares to know about my day or any other detail of my life unless it involves knowing how much money is in the cash register at the bakery.

  I don’t answer the question, my eyes on the search.

  “Oh, don’t play your mystery finding game with me,” she says.

  She opens the cabinet next to her head and pulls out the bottle. The label is mostly peeled off, typical, but today the liquid is clear. That’s a change, but not a good one at all.

  “Here, watch,” she says and twists the lid off. It hits the counter and then falls to the floor where it almost sticks thanks to the filth. She takes a big swig of the drink and then smacks her lips together.

  “I’m going home,” I say. “I just wanted to see if you were having a good day... like the other day...”

  “Oh, because I wasn’t drinking?”

  I don’t answer that question. It’s obvious.

  “It’s not the drinking that separates us, Isabella, okay?”

  “Goodbye,” I say and turn.

  I can’t view this anymore. Not after the afternoon I had with Colt. More than ever I want to be on the back of his bi
ke and just leave the world. Forever.

  When I get to the entrance to the kitchen, my mother calls my name. She yells Isabella in such a sweet, innocent way, it hurts more than the neglect and the drinking because it gives me a hint of what life could have been like.

  I pause.

  “You never told me how your afternoon was...”

  “Fine,” I say. “Just fine.”

  “So closing the bakery and sneaking away for hours is just fine?”

  Now it’s my turn to spin around, my finger in the air, pointing at her like a gun. I probably look just like her but I don’t care right now.

  I’m speechless for a second, debating on what to do.

  “You have no idea,” I say, keeping calm.

  “I have no idea? You don’t know what it’s like... now I have to do it all by myself.”

  Okay, no more calm.

  I charge at her, wanting to slap her. My own mother.

  “I do everything,” I say. “I go there, I work, I bake, I sell, I clean up. I do it all.”

  “You read recipes and sweep the floor.”

  My eyes are filled with tears. I don’t want to cry but I’m losing it. “I need a break. I can’t do it anymore.”

  “What? Is it a boy? Sneaking away, like you’re in high school?”

  “Better than getting pregnant in high school like you.”

  Oh, that hurts her.

  She comes at me and the alcohol saves the day. She trips, stumbles, and reaches for the table even though its way too far out of reach. Down she goes again, to the floor. This time she manages to get up, which surprises me. When she stands, she wobbles, but holds herself.

  “You’re ungrateful,” she says. “You’re lazy.”

  “That’s why I’ve been holding the family business together on my own, right?”

  “I manage the books.”

  “You take the money. And by the way, if you keep that up, we’re going to be shut down soon. Enjoy.”

  We both freeze and now she’s crying too. It’s probably a sad sight to see, mother and daughter crying basically for the same reasons but still can’t find the middle ground to hug each other.

  “The business is dying?” my mother asks.