Wicked Secret

by Sawyer Bennett

  “You and Leighton seem to be getting on very well,” Mike muses, the hopeful emphasis on the word “very” ringing loud and clear.

  I shrug, trying to brush off the significance of his claim. “You know I heaped a lot of blame on her in the beginning for keeping Sam away, but, lately, I’m wondering how fair I’ve been. I think we’ve made our peace.”

  Mike takes a swig of his beer. “Nobody ever begrudged your anger over the years you missed out on with Sam.”

  I’ve appreciated the understanding on their part—their willingness to let me work through those turbulent emotions. “My ability to handle fear is a lot different based on my experiences and environments. I think I’m becoming more cognizant of the fact Leighton has a separate set of experiences and environment which she operates in, so I can’t hold her to my standard. I’ve come to appreciate her as a mom a lot more. Becoming a parent has made me look at things a bit differently.”

  Mike chuckles, clapping me on the shoulder. “I always knew you two were good for each other. Knew you’d find a way back onto common ground. You can’t quiet a love like that.”

  I jolt at his proclamation and use of the “L” word, shaking my head in denial. “It’s not like that.”

  Not for me. At least, I don’t think it is. I mean, Leighton made the statement the other night she never moved on from me, so maybe she’s there. Should I be? Am I in a place I shouldn’t be?

  I can tell by the skepticism on Mike’s face that he’s not buying my denial. “Oh, it’s something like that. You say what you want, but something has changed between you two lately. You’re both doing that thing you used to do when you were younger.”

  My brow furrows. “What thing?”

  “Communicating silently.” Mike chuckles. “Used to drive me batshit crazy. With just a look, you two could pass entire conversations back and forth. You’ll never know what that does to a father—knowing his daughter has that deep of a connection with another man. At any rate, you and Leighton are doing it again, so you can’t tell me there’s not something there.”

  I grab my beer, muttering, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, old man.”

  Mike doesn’t reply, merely laughs knowingly.

  Sullenly, I brood over my beer, wondering how much I even know about myself. Or am I just being stubborn and refusing to admit my feelings?

  CHAPTER 20

  Leighton

  My arm is curled around Sam, my hand playing with his hair. It’s just me and him on his first night in his new bed in August’s home.

  This morning, he was released from the hospital with a lot of fanfare. His room’s corridor was lined with nurses and doctors who wanted to give him a fond farewell. They even threw confetti and gifted him a big stuffed teddy bear dressed in a Children’s Hospital lab coat.

  Sam sat in the backseat with my dad, his face practically pressed against the glass as he took everything in, while August drove us to his house. It was Sam’s first time outside in thirty-four days.

  At August’s, he explored every nook and cranny. Was appropriately amazed and humbled by his new bedroom, which we’d decorated with, yet again, more Star Wars linens and Bronco’s posters. With it only being a three-bedroom house, it relegated my father to sleeping on the pull-out sofa in the basement man cave, but he didn’t mind.

  After we had pizza for lunch, per Sam’s request, he, my dad, and August spent the afternoon in the man cave watching football. I checked in on them once to see Sam had fallen asleep on the couch, his head on his dad’s lap. This was made even more adorable by the fact August and my dad were passed out, too. Perhaps the excitement of the day was just too much.

  I stayed upstairs reading a book, then made a pot roast for dinner. It was the first time we’d all sat down together around a real table for a meal. And despite the fact we’re just visitors in August’s home, and our future is very undefined, it felt very much like a unified family coming together.

  Now Sam’s ready for bed. August and my dad had stopped in to wish him a good night in his new bed, but left us alone. Without the need to appear manly to his dad and grandfather, Sam is content to snuggle against me for some good old-fashioned “mom comfort”. We did this in the hospital, too, but this feels way better. No IV tubing to get in the way or monitors beeping. No bustle of nurses or other aides coming in to check vitals. No harsh fluorescent lights or antiseptic smells.

  Just Sam and me, falling right back into our nightly routine before he drifts off to sleep.

  “Want to know something?” Sam asks as he snuggles closer. His voice is sated and dreamy.

  “What’s that?” I murmur, still stroking his hair.

  “Today has been the best day of my life,” he announces.

  I pull slightly away from him, tucking my chin in to peer down. He lifts his face to return my stare.

  “Really?” I ask.

  He grins. “Yeah… getting out of the hospital, coming to my new home, and hanging with my new dad. It’s like a whole new life, and I love it.”

  My throat constricts as my eyes mist. I pull Sam into me, pressing my lips against his head. “I’m happy for you, kiddo,” I say earnestly, but I wonder how much of his best day ever is rooted in reality. I’ve been viewing this as a temporary stop until Sam gets a little stronger. I still haven’t decided if we’re staying in Vegas or Denver.

  “Tell me a story, Mom,” Sam says sleepily. It’s our tradition each night. When he was younger, I would read him a book, but we transitioned into me making up stories. Apparently, I have some talent at spinning tales.

  I can tell by the tone of his voice that no matter what story I concoct, Sam isn’t going to last long. He’s exhausted.

  But I let my mind roam until an idea pops into my head. As with all stories, I start at the beginning, “Once upon a time…”

  ♦

  It takes less than a minute for Sam to drop off into a deep sleep. This is not surprising given the kid is in a weakened condition from being in the hospital for over a month, having chemo and a stem cell transplant, and then, on top of that, having the best day of his entire life. I stand at the doorway, watching him sleep peacefully and feeling so incredibly blessed.

  I head into the living room. My dad sits on the couch, watching some documentary on Yellowstone Park. August is in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. He glances at me as I walk past since the living room and kitchen bleed into each other, flashes a smile, and continues pulling plates from the rack.

  Plopping on the couch, I pull my socked feet up under me and lean back with a sigh. I’m exhausted, too.

  “He asleep?” my dad asks, turning the volume on the TV down.

  “Yup,” I reply with a smile, lifting up slightly so August can see me over the back of the couch. “And you two will be happy to know Sam claimed this was the best day of his entire life.”

  Both men laugh, their expressions revealing that bringing Sam home from the hospital might just make this their best days, too.

  “In fact,” I continue, the tone of my voice turning somber. It causes August to freeze, plate halfway to the cabinet. “He told me today was the best day ever because he got out of the hospital, came to a new home, has a dad, and a whole new life.”

  My gaze slides over August, who sets the plate on the counter and moves into the living room, leaning against the entryway that separates it from the kitchen. I turn to my dad. “I’m definitely going to stay in Vegas.”

  We’ve been brushing over this issue, more focused on getting Sam better. But decisions have to be made.

  It’s subtle, but I don’t miss the expression of dismay on my father’s face. I don’t dare look at August, because I know how happy this will make him. I don’t want to give any acknowledgment to that in deference to my dad’s feelings.

  I’m also determined to make my own way. I keep my gaze on my dad. “I’m going to start looking for a job. If it’s okay with August, Sam and I will stay here until I can find a place
. I have enough in savings to cover first and last month’s rent. Obviously, Dad… I would love for you to make the permanent move here with us. I’m sure we can find a three-bedroom apartment.”

  It’s silent, and I wait with bated breath to see if August pipes in. I half expect him to offer his house up for us to stay longer. Or at least assure us there’s no rush for us to move out.

  It’s my dad who speaks, though, his expression sad but thoughtful. “I understand why you want to stay, Leighton. I’m not surprised. But I think I want to return to Denver. I love it there—like my job and the guys who work there. My poker club. I have a life there, and I think I’m better suited there.”

  I’m somewhat surprised by this. I know he loves Sam, so this isn’t a light decision. I feel the need to point out, “You can get another job you like here. You’ll make friends here.”

  My dad stands, hitching his pants up. “Yeah… I know. But Denver’s my home. I’m sure we’ll visit each other lots, though.”

  I open my mouth to argue some more, but he shuts it down. Heads to the door that leads down into the basement. “I’m going to turn in. It’s been a long day for everybody.”

  “Okay,” I reply tentatively as he retreats. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” he replies before disappearing down the stairs and closing the door behind him.

  I look at August, who has his gaze pinned on the basement door. “Something’s not right,” I say with worry.

  August raises an eyebrow in question.

  “He’s not tied to those things. His job, friends, and poker. I mean, he enjoys them and we had a good life there, but like me… he didn’t make any close connections. We stayed aloof from forming attachments.”

  I push up from the couch to pace. Letting my mind sift through conversations we’ve had over the last few weeks, I try to remember if there’s anything that could clue me in to what’s behind his motivation to return to Denver.

  “Surely it’s not actually Denver he’s tied to,” I murmur as I pace. August watches me with his arms folded over his chest. “I mean, it’s a beautiful area. But it’s freaking cold in the winter. Why wouldn’t he like the warmer temperatures here? Makes no sense.”

  “Maybe—”

  “No wait,” I exclaim, cutting August off and whipping toward him. “It’s probably he just feels safer being closer to his handler, even though he’s not his handler anymore. I know he was scared to come here at first, and he’s just had this feeling of safety and security under the handler’s watch.”

  “It’s not that—”

  Again, I talk right over August. “Maybe we need to have an intervention with him. Like set him down and make him understand the government isn’t going to help us anymore. And there’s safety in numbers, right? That’s why he needs to relocate here with us. I’m sure—”

  “Leighton,” August snaps, his voice laced with frustration.

  I jolt with surprise. His expression tells me he knows something about my father that I do not.

  Moving around the couch, he comes to stand before me and lowers his voice. “He’s returning to Denver because he thinks that will help protect Sam.”

  My eyebrows knit inward. “Come again?”

  “Your dad is afraid of putting you and Sam in danger. If someone comes after him, even though we know that possibility is slight right now, then it exposes you two to danger. It’s why he didn’t come to Vegas at first.”

  I gape at August. “I don’t understand.”

  “Your dad is going back to separate himself from you and Sam. To help protect you.”

  I tilt my head… not quite able to grasp what he’s saying. “But what makes you think that?”

  “Because we talked about it a couple of days ago when we went out for beers,” he murmurs.

  “You knew what he was planning… and you didn’t tell me?” I accuse.

  “No,” he replies with a censuring look. “I only knew he was worried about bringing danger to you and Sam.”

  “But that’s ridiculous, right?” I ask, needing him to tell me that my dad is being stupid to think this.

  August sighs as he brings his hands to my shoulders. He slides them up until his hands rest against my neck on both sides. Dipping his face a little closer, his eyes apologetic, he says, “I don’t think his feelings are ridiculous. Not with everything you all have been through. His fears are deep, and it’s hard to move past them. And while I think the chances he’ll be found are slim, if he is, you and Sam are definitely safer away from him.”

  My mouth drops open, incredulous over this assertion. “So you want him to go, don’t you? You think this is a good opportunity to separate him from us, so you’ll have Sam to yourself more.”

  “What?” he exclaims as he steps away from me, only to immediately scowl. “You seriously think I’d do that?”

  I deflate instantly, ducking my head down in shame for what I just said. “No, of course not. I’m just out of sorts. I’ve never been away from my dad. I don’t want him to go.”

  Once again, August is before me, hands now on my face to force my gaze to his. “It’s not like he wants to leave tomorrow. You know he’s going to stick around until Sam is doing well and doesn’t have any issues. We’ll work on him. Convince him to stay in Vegas, okay?”

  I nod, incredibly mollified August is uniting with me to keep my dad here. “I’m sorry I accused you of wanting him to go. Sometimes I blurt things out I don’t mean when I’m angry.”

  “I seem to remember that about you,” he teases, then dips his head closer to brush his lips over mine.

  Many things have shocked me tonight, but none more so than this kiss.

  True—August and I have had our mouths on each other a lot over the past few weeks. It’s all been wild and raw.

  But right now, he kisses me with a soothing reverence I can feel clear down to my toes. It settles me into calmness.

  Pulling away, he murmurs, “You should go to bed and get some rest.”

  I take a step back, causing his hands to fall from my face.

  In a way, this softer side of August is very much appreciated. He’s managed to take a situation that had me beyond upset and smooth over my fears. His kiss was sweet and born of caring.

  On the flip side, what I wouldn’t give for that kiss to have turned into more. Just yesterday, we’d spent an amazing hour at The Wicked Horse, yet my body still craves him. I’m not sure what’s going to happen between us now. Sam is home, and my dad may possibly be leaving. I’m thinking our opportunities to be together sexually may become too limited to sustain whatever it was we had going.

  It’s a thought that nearly breaks my heart, because while we agreed what we have going on is just sex, the type of sex we’ve been having has made me infinitely more closer to him on an intimate level than I ever was before when we were dating. The level of trust I must have in him to allow him to do the things he does to me is something that just can’t be replicated in my opinion.

  In other words, there will never be anyone like August. I always suspected it was so, but now I know it.

  And yes… thinking this might be coming to an end nearly breaks my heart.

  “Goodnight,” I say, turning on my heel to head down the hallway to the guest rooms.

  “Night,” I hear him say, and I can feel his eyes on me the entire way to my room.

  CHAPTER 21

  August

  The levels upon which this is wrong are too vast to even count. But it’s almost two in the morning and I’m completely unsettled, so sleep is eluding me.

  I’d tossed and turned in my bed, knowing exactly what I needed to quiet me, but refusing to act on it.

  And yet, here I now am, standing in Leighton’s bedroom like a fucking creeper. I managed to open her door without even creating the slightest of sounds, grateful for the thick carpeting that muffled my steps, and slipped it closed just as quietly.

  A small amount of moonglow comes through the shades of the w
indow, but it still takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. Little by little, I can make her out in the middle of the queen bed I’d furnished this room with. It’s nothing fancy—part of a three-piece set I bought at some outlet-type furniture store when I first bought this house four years ago. Just a headboard bolted to a frame and a desert-motif comforter set I’d bought online. I wonder if it even appeals to Leighton, or does she hate the bland decor of this room with its beiges and creams because color obviously seemed to offend my manly sensibilities when it came to decorating this house.

  Moving to the end of the bed, I look down. I don’t know what she sleeps in as any time I happen to run into her in the kitchen in the mornings, she always has her bathrobe on over her sleep outfit. I can make out a tank top, the thin spaghetti straps showing against her skin. The covers are pulled to her waist, and she’s laying on her back. I actually knew she was a back sleeper as I’d stayed at her house on a few occasions when we were dating when her dad was away on “business”. My parents always thought I was staying at a buddy’s house, but I’d go straight to Leighton’s—funny how I don’t even think of her as Tracey anymore—and we’d play at being grown-ups. She’d cook dinner for us, then we’d clean the kitchen together. We’d sometimes watch TV, then we’d fool around. It always ended with me carrying her to her room where we’d make love the only way two teenagers knew how to do—fumbling hands, fast breath, and quick finishes.