by Freya Barker
“You’re late for work.” I point out, but Ike doesn’t seem alarmed.
“Called in already. It’s all good,” he calmly informs me, before looking at Dorian and then me again. “But I think I’m gonna head in shortly. Leave you guys to talk.” He walks up and pulls me into a hug, his face buried in my neck, where he mumbles, “I can be back here in no time. Programmed my number in your phone, so you know how to get hold of me.”
I hang on to him, not wanting to let go, but I know I have to. Got to do this on my own. Pushing back, I look up at him and mouth, “Thank you.” His immediate response is to bend his head and slant his mouth over mine in a scorching kiss that has me forget my own name. When he pulls back, my hands are tangled in his hair, and I almost involuntarily tug at the long strands. Another, much lighter kiss and with his lips still against mine, he makes me a promise that has my knees weak.
“Those kisses of yours make great appetizers, honey, but I can’t wait for the main course.”
The clearing of a throat alerts us to the fact we have an audience. My brother, no less. With a knowing smirk, Ike lets me go and walks toward the door, lifting two fingers in salute to Dorian, and winking at me.
The moment the door closes, Dorian pipes up. “Holy shitballs, Sis. Where did he come from?”
Ike
It’s hard, leaving the apartment, driving home for a change of clothes, and then heading into work. Trying to make like everything is normal, as per usual, when it’s really not. I know she needs time to sort through things with her brother—her family. It sucks, but on the drive home I’ve come to realize my presence might just muddy the waters. I’m not sure. This morning was such a roller-coaster of emotions, I’m not sure I can properly process it all.
On a whim, I turn my bike around, just as I’m about to pull into the parking lot of Maine Maritime Designs, back in the opposite direction. Florence House is on Preble Street. I’ve driven past it before and remember wondering if the beautiful old Victorian house was a residence or a business. I never realized it was a shelter, until Viv mentioned the name.
“What are you doing here? Is everything all right with Viv?” Pam’s face displays concern, but she doesn’t invite me in.
“She’s doing better. I left her at home with her brother.” I grind to a halt here, not sure what I’m doing here.
“I can’t let you in. There’s a group in session and this is supposed to be a safe house.”
Right. I never thought of that. Would make sense they’d have a no-men-allowed rule here.
“Okay, well I ...” I’m about to leave when Pam interrupts me.
“Hang on, let me grab my phone. There’s a coffee shop on the corner where we can go for a talk. You did want to talk, right?” She tilts her head to one side and I’m suddenly aware of how tall this woman is. Granted, I’m at the bottom of the steps, but at my height it is rare I have to look up at someone. “Yo, Ike. Did you wanna talk?”
“Yeah, if we can?”
Without answering she disappears inside the house, closing the door behind her. I’m about to consider myself stood up, when the door opens again and she walks out, a purse slung over her shoulder.
“That your bike?” She nods to the curb where I parked.
“Yes, it is.”
“Nice,” she responds, immediately followed by a quietly mumbled, “lucky girl.”
Trying to hold back a smile, I pretend not to have heard her last comment. We walk in silence to the small, quaint store, with two little tables with chairs butted up against the window outside. “Sit,” Pam indicates one of the tables, neither of which is occupied. “It’s a nice day, we may as well enjoy it. Let me guess: black dark roast?”
“If that means a plain coffee, then yes,” I tell her. The response I get is a roll of the eyes before she slips inside.
Interesting woman, Pam. Dark ebony skin pulled tight over an almost perfectly proportioned face, mostly gray hair she seems much too young for, closely cropped to her scalp, and the body of an Amazon. Long limbs, ample curves, but with an underlying power that can’t be mistaken. This is a strong woman, and if I didn’t have a mind full of Viv, she would be a temptation. Even if she is probably a bit older.
“What are you smirking at?” Pam walks out with two mugs and a brown bag, setting it all on the table.
“I seem to be skipping work,” I open with, having decided to ignore her question. “I can’t remember the last time I did that.” I take a sip of the rich black liquid, waiting to see if she’d give me an opening. Not likely. She just holds her coffee in her hands, looking at me patiently over the rim of her mug. Well damn. “This is about Viv,” I offer.
“You don’t say? Think I gathered as much, my friend. You should know though, that I will not discuss anything that was discussed with Viv in confidence.”
I wave her off. “Wouldn’t ask that of you anyway. No, it’s more about my role, if any.” Pam lifts an eyebrow, not saying a word, just lets me struggle by myself. “She told me you encouraged her to go out with me.”
“I did say that. I assumed you were a decent enough guy by merit of the friends you keep. You haven’t disappointed yet. You handled her pretty well this morning.”
“See? That’s what I mean: I don’t fucking know what I’m doing, and she seems to have some real issues around her family. And I don’t mean just keeping her abusive relationship a secret.”
The eyebrow shoots up again. “Did she tell you that?”
“Not really, but I’ve noticed things. The way she talks about her mom, but calls her dad her ‘father’ consistently. I’ve only heard her say, ‘Dad,’ when she was talking directly to him.”
“Very observant. And astute.” Pam sets her coffee mug down and starts digging in the paper bag on the table, fishing out a muffin. “Here,” she says, offering it to me. “I got two.”
We spend the next few minutes eating. Well, Pam is eating and I’m mostly picking at mine.
“What is it exactly you want to know?” she asks, wiping the crumbs off her lap.
“I’m not sure if this is the right time to try and start something,” I admit.
“For who? For you or for her?”
That’s a fucking good question, and I take my time considering how to answer. “Both, I guess. I may not be the most stable person for the job.”
It’s obviously not the answer Pam was hoping for because her eyes narrow to slits, and she presses her lips together. “The job?” she finally says. “My friend, if you think dating Viv is a job; you can march your lily-white ass right back over to that hot as hell hunk of steel, and ride off into the sunset. She deserves better than the likes of you.” With a heave, she pushes her chair back from the table and rises up to her full height. Oh yeah, she’s pissed and is doing a good job at making me feel about an inch tall.
“Hold on. You heard that wrong.” I lift both my hands in defense.
“Really? Cause I could swear I heard those words come out of your mouth.” Her hands are now planted on her ample hips for emphasis. Fuck, I’m bungling this.
“Let me be clearer then: I’m talking about the job of looking after her. Looking out for her.” Frustrated, I run my hands through my hair. “Feels like things have gone to shit for her since I showed up in her life. I can’t help but think ...” Before I have a chance to finish, Pam leans one hand on the table, while the other hauls off and whacks me to the side of my head. What the fuck?
“You stupid, boy. You think you’re that important in her universe that you can have that big an impact on it? You’re a fool. You’re what? Forty? Forty-five? Damn, a man like you should know better than to think his way out of a good thing. Let me ask you this, is she getting to you?” She slaps her hand to her chest over her heart. “She getting in here?”
“Looks that way,” I grudgingly admit, feeling all kinds of the fool she accuses me of being.
“As I thought. Although I’d love to dig deeper as to why you’d think you can’t take
care of her—look after her—like you said, I have a shelter to run, and you have a woman to support.” With a brisk tug, she pulls her purse over her shoulder and takes a few steps before stopping and turning back. “Think about this: Is she worth the trouble?”
Fuck, what kind of question is that? “Fuck yes, she is,” I snap back, irritated as all hell. The result is a little, self-satisfied smile on her face.
“Exactly. Glad you see it my way.” With that she turns on her heels and marches at a brisk pace back to Florence House.
Somehow, I feel like I’ve just been put over the knee and had my lily-white ass spanked.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Viv
As expected, my talk with Dorian on Monday was rife with tears and recriminations, both his and mine. He was unable to get over the fact I hadn’t told him and still refused to give him details. What’s the use? It would only rile him up more. The hardest for me was when he asked how it is possible that someone like me would put up with it for so long. Yeah, that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? Truth is, I was already feeling unsure of my place in life and was searching for an anchor. When I met Frank, I looked up to him: friendly, attentive, stable, and all mine. It’s not like he started on me right away, that happened gradually, and it was difficult to let go of the person I thought I knew. By the time I knew I was in trouble, when things got really bad, my relationship with my brothers was almost non-existent. We hardly ever talked. It felt like I was eroded, the person I had been was simply no longer there. It took some serious wake-up calls, in the form of hospital visits, and finally a concerned hospital social worker, to force me to have an honest look at my life.
It’s fucking embarrassing, that’s what it is, dragging along the garbage of a twelve year relationship where you allowed yourself to be humiliated, belittled, beaten on, and chewed up and spit out. I did that, I allowed it, and I have to own that. Bringing it up with family just seemed like such a minefield, I chose to keep it from them. After all, what would be the point to making them feel bad when it’s all over? And didn’t that just come back and slap me in the face.
Owen is off stewing somewhere, mostly avoiding me like the plague. Dorian is furious and devastated in equal parts, and I still have to tell the others. And Mom. Jesus, Mom—not like she needs this shit on top of what she’s been dealing with lately.
Dorian did drag me to the police station, demanding I tell someone what happened, instead of sitting around waiting for them to come to me. That was an interesting experience. Let’s just say it took a while for someone to take an interest. I did walk away with a promise someone would be in touch with respect to the charge pending in California. I finally got that temporary restraining order, which seems a bit futile, if you ask me, considering Frank never was one to follow rules he didn’t like, but whatever. The officer explained that it would give the police an added handle on him.
Haven’t heard or seen him, though. Not in the last two days. Nor have I seen my brothers, other than a call last night that I was expected at my parents’ house tonight to have a family meeting. This is supposed to be to deal with Mom’s finances and the house, something that does need to be dealt with in the short term, since the facility where my father now lives costs a pretty penny. Yet a nagging feeling that I’ll be walking into something else altogether is persistent.
Which is why I’m hiding in the kitchen. It’s Wednesday, so the baseball boys will be in here later. Normally my cue to go, since I don’t work late on Wednesdays. Then there’s the matter of Ike, who’s tried to contact me several times these past few days. Not that I’ve responded, my total and embarrassing breakdown on Monday still too fresh in my mind.
“There you are!”
Owen walks into the kitchen, disturbing my thoughts. I shooed Dino out of here at eight, half an hour ago, telling him I’d handle any stragglers dropping in for a late meal. Owen stops just inside the door with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. “You were supposed to be at the house half an hour ago,” he says accusingly.
“I forgot,” I offer lamely, causing him to huff incredulously.
“Hiding is not your style,” he accuses, hitting a sore spot, because it is. It’s been my style longer than anyone knows and it’s eating me alive. “Good thing Nolan cancelled last minute, he couldn’t get up here in time so we’ve rescheduled to Sunday. Tried calling, but you weren’t answering.”
That would be because I’d turned off the sound after Ike called for the third time earlier tonight. I don’t tell Owen that though. “You did? I didn’t hear my phone.”
“Vivian. You can’t avoid us forever. Dorian told me what happened. We think you should pull the Band-Aid off and tell Nolan and Aaron at the same time you tell Mom.”
I shake my head as panic has bile rising up to my throat. Owen walks over and puts his hands on my shoulders. I’m frozen on the spot, fighting down the nausea at the thought of facing my family. Seeing the disappointment and pain on their faces.
“You’ll have Dorian and me at your back, Sis. I know you’ve tried to shove this down, but isn’t what happened on Monday proof enough that you can’t will this away?” He pulls me in, and for a minute, I let myself feel safe in his arms before I push back.
“Does Lydia know?” I ask, watching as his eyes flit away before returning.
“I told her. I’m sorry, Viv, I ... I was upset, she noticed.”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “I’m not angry. Actually, I’m a bit relieved. She gonna be there on Sunday?” Lydia is good with Mom, and I’d feel better if she were there to deal with her.
“I can ask her. If you want her to be, we’ll make sure she’ll be there. Her mom won’t mind watching the boys for a couple of hours.”
“It’s Mom, you know? I’m worried about her.”
“Lydia will keep an eye on her.”
This time I move in for the hug. It doesn’t feel so bad now, having some things out in the open, and my brother seems to have gotten over most of his anger. Pretty sure I have his wife to thank for that.
“Viv, can we get—Hey, man, how are you?” Gunnar walks up to Owen, who turns on hearing his voice, giving him a few manly slaps on the back. I guess they’ve kissed and made up since Owen found out Gunnar knew about Frank. Good. Would hate to have any part in damaging a lifelong friendship.
Gunnar is obviously back with his team for their regular after-game refreshments, so I can guess what he was going to ask. Leaving the guys to catch up, I start pulling out the wings and prepping the hot sauce we toss them in after they’re fried.
“I need our standard order of wings, honey,” Gunnar appears to have remembered why he came in the first place.
“In the fryer, Boss,” I shoot back over my shoulder.
“You’re an ace, Viv,” he says with a wink, before shoving Owen out of the kitchen in front of me.
Well, it would seem things have been smoothed over with my brother, and I’ve earned myself a stay of execution. Until Sunday.
Suddenly I have a craving for a glimpse of Ike. He’s probably in there drinking with his teammates, and I quickly finish off the two giant baskets of wings, so I can personally deliver them.
My eyes immediately scan for the familiar gray ones at the round table in the corner, where the guys like to hang out. Disappointment sours my gut, when I don’t see him in the rowdy bunch.
It’s my own damn fault.
Ike
“Those wings look sexy on you.”
Viv jumps a foot when I whisper the inane comment in her hair.
She didn’t see me coming out of the washroom when she stopped in the doorway, appearing to scan the bar. Like a love-sick idiot, I hoped she was looking for me, which is why I snuck up behind her.
“Holy hell, Ike, you about gave me a heart attack.” She whirls on me, and I quickly put my hands out to steady the baskets of food before they go flying. I don’t miss the faint blush on her cheeks or the happy light shining in her eyes a
s she does her best to look disapproving.
The woman has just about driven me insane with her avoidance. If I hadn’t experienced first hand how she reacts to anger, I’d probably have forced my way in, but I don’t want a repeat of Monday on my conscience. Patience is key. I’ve seen it work with Pam, but it seems to come to her a lot easier than it does me.
Seeing her head into the bar in front of me, when I hadn’t been sure she was going to be here, gave me a great sense of relief. I couldn’t resist catching her off guard. “Are these for the boys?” I ask, taking the baskets from her hands before I make my way over to the table. I set them down and turn back to the bar, where Viv is standing with her hands on her hips, watching my every move. When I reach her, I turn her around by the shoulders and march her down the hallway. Loud whistles and catcalls following us all the way.
“You’re killing my rep,” she says when we get to the kitchen, but she does it with a faint smile on her face.
“Good. It’s payback for leaving me hanging for days.” I’ve backed her into the counter and with my hands around her waist, I lift her to sit on the edge. “That was not nice, Viv,” I scold her in a low voice, wedging my hips between her knees, effectively anchoring her in place.
She doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get away from me though, her hands are sliding over my shoulders and around my neck. “I needed some time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time to lick my wounds—consider my options, either way,” she says with a shrug.
“What exactly were those options you were considering?”
“I heard you went to see Pam.”
“Yeah. I did.”
“Why?” I can hear insecurity in her voice.
Putting my hands on her ass, I pull her closer to the edge, so she can feel how much I want to be here. “Because I was ready to walk away ...” A hard shove to my shoulders almost has me lose my grip on her, but I just grab on tighter and press myself into her. “Let me finish. I was ready to walk away, if she thought it would be better for you at this time.”