Not knowing what to say, resigned to leave her with her glorified view of him, he bent down and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll try.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him. The image of his own mother flashed across his mind. Hugging him, just before she shoved him into the closet and locked the door. He grew tense and reached to remove Marge’s hands from around his waist.
“Okay, okay. I’ll let you go.” Marge must have thought he was uncomfortable being hugged by her. Fine, because he needed to open this god-damned closet door, retrieve the box Joni had left him, and get the hell out of this room before the walls closed in on him.
When he stood frozen to the spot, Marge opened the closet doors and he stood staring inside the darkness for a moment, afraid to go inside. Adam Montague, afraid of the dark—or dark, closed-in spaces to be more exact. What would his subordinates say if they could see their big, tough, former master sergeant now?
Marge rescued him from further embarrassment by walking into the closet—twice the size of the one he’d been locked in as a kid—and dragging the box out from the corner. Seeing how heavy it was, he had to chuck his fear, take a deep breath, and face his fear by at least meeting her halfway. He pulled the box the rest of the way out. What the fuck did Joni have packed away in here, anyway, and how was he going to get it home on the plane?
Bending down, he heaved it into his arms, curious now as to what she’d wanted to salvage and make him keep of their years together. Carrying the box to the guest room across the hall where he always slept when he visited Marge, he set it on the cedar chest at the foot of the bed and stared at it for an indeterminate amount of time.
“I’m going to leave you alone now, hon,” Marge said. “Just take your time. I don’t know what all she put in there in the first few months. She started on it while still at Camp Pendleton. But she asked me to add a couple things right at the end. They’re right on top. You may want to ship the other…items home before you leave, but you’ll figure out the thing she wanted you to have the most of all. She worked on it tirelessly, until she was just too incapacitated to continue. That was when she told me it was time to let you know about her condition.”
Adam tamped down the anger he felt that Joni hadn’t called him home sooner. What was the last thing Joni had wanted him to have? He heard the soft click of the door as Marge left, then stared at the box again. What he wouldn’t give for a bottle of scotch. Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to find that in there. He hadn’t touched the stuff since his binge in that motel, Magnum by his side, during those two weeks after her death. He’d chosen life over death.
He slit the packing tape, yellowed with age and drew a deep breath, hoping to quell a tremor in his hands as he reached to open the flaps of the box. Sitting on top of what looked like her favorite pair of leather floggers—shit, Joni, why didn’t you throw the toys away before you moved back here with your mom?—he saw five mini-cassette tapes and a recorder to play them in. The implications of what might be on those tapes scared the hell out of him. He wasn’t ready to hear Joni’s voice again, even though he’d begun conjuring it up in his mind latterly. What would she want to say, knowing her time on earth was almost over. He picked up the recorder. Acid from its batteries had spilled onto one of the floggers.
Without a doubt, Marge had seen their sex toys when she’d placed the tapes inside. Did she know they’d been used to turn her daughter’s skin red and send her into subspace? Hell, no. He hoped not, anyway. He didn’t want to think that she would know anything about that, but he sure as hell knew he’d have a hard time looking her in the eye at the breakfast table tomorrow. Now he understood her hesitation when she spoke about the other “items” in the box.
He stroked the soft leather of the floggers, Joni’s favorite impact-play implements. She must have kept them with her until just before he’d returned from Kandahar, before boxing it up for him to find after she was gone. Curious, he wanted to see what else she’d wanted him to have.
Just under the flogger was her private leather studded collar with D-rings, as well as her public collar, a silver and turquoise necklace he’d bought her on their second honeymoon in Cabo San Lucas, about the time they’d agreed to enter into a Master/slave arrangement, at Joni's request. Lying beside them were what looked like every card and letter he’d sent her from the places he’d been stationed, all wrapped up in a pale blue ribbon. Beneath those, he found an old dog-eared paperback copy of “Screw the Thorns, Send me the Thorns.” He smiled. The how-to classic on BDSM had been his bible as he’d tried to figure out what to do in the damned M/s arrangement with Joni, although he learned a lot about other general lifestyle matters, too, that helped him be a better Dom.
Next he found her favorite nativity scene, the one depicting Native Americans as the Holy Family. The pieces were in bubble wrap, tucked inside the crèche. She’d also saved the angel she placed on the top of their Christmas tree every year, with the flowing champagne-colored dress and its feathered wings encased in protective gauze. Images of him with his hands spanning Joni’s waist as she stood on the step ladder and placed the angel at the top of the tree caused a painful stab to his chest. He could almost feel her tiny waist in her hands as he held the angel by its skirt. That was the extent of his helping her decorate the tree. He’d never been into all the hoopla about any of the holidays, not since he was a very young kid.
“I’m sorry I didn’t keep up your Christmas traditions, Joni. The holidays hurt even more without you.”
He couldn’t picture himself ever decorating a tree, but he made a silent promise to Joni that he would get these decorations out and place them in his office after Thanksgiving from now on, to honor her love of Christmas.
He put the frame in the pile of things he’d take back with him on the plane.
He pulled out a bottle of the oak-scented body wash and shampoo she always bought him. The lid was loose. The image of her opening the bottle and smelling the soapy liquid made the backs of his eyes sting. God, if she’d wanted to smell him, have him near her, why the fuck hadn’t she called him home sooner? He’d have retired from the Corps earlier, if they couldn’t give him an extended hardship leave.
Adam returned the bottle to the box. Marge had been sending him a year’s supply of the stuff every Christmas for years. Good thing, because no way in hell was he going into a girly store at the mall to buy it. But using it reminded him of Joni, so he appreciated having it.
At the bottom of the box, providing the ballast that made it so heavy, were rocks and seashells Joni had picked up wherever they went. Once, she’d made him drive ten miles out of their way so she could get rocks from a beach she’d loved as a kid. Maybe he’d keep a few.
“Sorry, Joni. I had enough rocks in my head to last a lifetime.”
Still have, jarhead.
Next was a copy of Seamus Heaney’s bog poems. He’d been fascinated with Irish history, probably because of part of his heritage. Adam had read many kinds of poetry to Joni. If any of the men and women in his units had discovered that he’d read love poems and other types of poetry to his wife, he’d never live it down. He wasn’t sure Heaney was a favorite of Joni’s, but it was nice that she’d made she the book stayed with him.
On the side of the box was something wrapped in brown paper. He pulled it out and opened it, finding a frame with a poem in it. A picture of a lighthouse printed on the background paper and the words of “If You Forget Me,” by Pablo Neruda. Adam wasn’t familiar with the poet and sat down on the rack to read the words. By the fifth stanza, the words had begun to swim before his eyes.
He was catapulted back to that cold Thanksgiving morning on the shore of Lake Michigan just a couple weeks after he’d buried Joni. Memories had flooded back to them of their honeymoon and other times together.
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
“Ah, Joni, baby. Was that you on the wi
nd brushing my cheek? I’d convinced myself I’d imagined you. I hope you’ve found the land you sought.”
He repeated the words he’d said to her back then.
“Safe journey, little subbie.”
He remembered turning around minutes later to find sixteen-year-old Karla Paxton with her neon-pink and black hair shivering in a thin coat in the middle of a winter squall off Lake Michigan.
Almost as if Joni had brought them together.
Yeah, right. Dead wives don’t send their grieving husbands jailbait. Not even Joni’s warped sense of humor would go that far.
Almost nine years later, though, Karla had come back to him, a grown woman. Now what was he going to do about her. Them?
* * *
The theme to Mission Impossible jolted Karla from her thoughts.
Adam.
Karla dreaded answering this call, but knew she’d have to talk with him eventually. She’d promised to call him every evening, but hadn’t been able to bring herself to do so today at the time they’d agreed on. Her reluctance wasn’t just because of the pain she’d heard in his voice when they spoke yesterday. Damián said it was his anniversary.
With a sigh, she pressed the accept button and put the phone to her ear. “Hello?” Her heart pounded. She’d missed hearing his voice so much and waited with no small amount of anxiety for him to speak.
“Karla? Are you okay?” Tears pricked her eyes. Why did he always have to ask the question that resulted in tears? When she didn’t respond right away, he added, “What’s wrong?” She heard the worry in his voice.
She shook her head, trying to compose herself so he wouldn’t know she’d been crying, but it was a losing battle.
“Karla? Tell me what’s going on. Now.”
His Dom voice gave her some confidence. She didn’t want to pull Adam away from Minneapolis, where she hoped he was putting Joni’s ghost to rest, but she knew he’d be torn to come home when he heard what had happened.
“Oh, Adam.” She drew a deep breath, trying to find the words. There was nothing she could do but tell him. “Damián’s niece…she’s been raped.” By her father. But Karla just couldn’t speak those heinous words aloud.
"God damn it." He was silent for a few seconds. “How bad?”
"She’s home. Devastated, of course. I don’t know much more. Damián, um, didn't say a lot.”
“How’s he taking it?”
Well, other than pounding a fist through the wall at the club tonight, he’s holding up as well as can be expected.
“He’s pretty upset, Adam. I’m trying to convince him to fly out to San Diego, rather than ride that motorcycle.” She didn’t want to think about what might happen to Damián riding the bike in his current frame of mind. A shudder passed through her at the memory of Ian’s death. “I’m going to fly out to be with him. He…shouldn’t be alone right now.”
But he doesn’t need me. He needs you.
“I’ve also had some experience with…well, I can possibly be of some help with his niece and the family.” She didn’t need to go into dealing with Cassie’s rape.
“Teresa. His niece’s name is Teresa,” Adam explained. “Where’s Damián now?”
I have no clue. And I’m scared, Adam. Please come home.
“I think he’s at his apartment, hopefully getting ready to leave. Maybe you can convince him to fly out with me. My dad can probably get us on a flight out tonight with his airline.”
“I’ll call him. My flight leaves day after tomorrow, but I’ll see if I can get one out tomorrow. What else do you need me to do, hon?”
Hold me. “I don’t want you to leave Minneapolis until you’ve done everything you need to do.” Please bury your ghosts, Adam. “Maybe then you can fly out to meet us in California.”
“I’m about finished here. I have a feeling Damián’s going to want to stay out there awhile. His sister’s kids are like his kids, but he’s closest to Teresa. He helped raise her before he deployed to Iraq. Look, I’ll call Damián as soon as we hang up, but if I don’t get ahold of him, tell him to leave the Harley. I’ll ride it out there for him. He’ll have the bike in a few days.”
Bile rose in her throat. “No, Adam! I don’t want you riding that thing either!” Oh, God, no. Her heart pounded as images of Adam’s body, mangled and broken from a motorcycle accident, made her stomach lurch into her throat.
“I’ll be fine. I’m caref—”
“Call you right back!” She disconnected the cell phone, dropping it onto the bed, and ran to the bathroom where she hurled her dinner. She heard the Mission Impossible ring several more times, but ignored it as she waited to make sure there wasn’t anything else coming up.
After ten minutes, without any further dry heaves, she got up and walked to the sink, brushed her teeth, and rinsed her mouth. She picked up the phone—twelve missed calls. Persistent. She smiled and hit the callback button.
“Are you okay? What happened?” The worry in his voice warmed her heart. He cared.
“Nothing. I was…I thought there was someone at the door.” Why was she lying to him? A good sub would never lie to her Dom. But she was only trying to get him to worry less. Adam liked to be in control and clearly he must be feeling so helpless right now. Besides, she wasn’t sure she and Adam had a serious Dom/sub relationship. They seemed to be more Friends With Benefits, like he had been with Grant.
“What took so long to call me back?”
“Look, Adam. I’m fine. We need to focus on Damián right now.”
“I’m sorry, kitten, but you scared the piss out of me when you hung up like that.”
Yes, he cared. Of course he did. In his own way. She wasn’t sure he’d have anything to do with her when he came back from visiting Joni’s ghost—and Joni’s mother. Damián said he came back from there every year depressed for two months, until he got through the holidays. Karla hoped to make the holidays special for him this year, but everything was up in the air. How long would she be out in California? Did he ever want to celebrate the holidays with her?
“I’m sorry I’ll be missing some performances at the club.”
“Don’t worry about the fucking club right now.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Sorry. Look, I’ll talk with Marc and Luke about helping with the demonstration schedule and they can pull in some of the more experienced Doms to help, as well. I’ll call Grant and ask her to hold down the fort. She’s good with the business end of things.”
The mention of Grant’s name made her feel a little queasy again. The Marine had a relationship with Adam that Karla could only envy. Grant could be herself, strong and willful, and he still cared for her. Karla needed to be meek and submissive, which wasn’t easy for someone as headstrong as she was.
“Karla?”
“I’m here.”
He sighed. “I’m glad you’re there for Damián. Just be careful. He may…go into a rage or something.”
Um, ya think? The hole in the drywall flashed across her mind, but Adam didn’t need to know about that yet. He’d just worry unnecessarily—even more than he’d be worrying tonight as it was. Truth be told, Damián’s rage had frightened the hell out of her. He’d always been so controlled with his submissives, as if he had a tight rein on whatever demons were festering inside. Until tonight, when he’d gotten off the phone and put his fist through the wall, she’d never seen his “inner beast,” as those at the club called it, totally unleashed.
“Just give him his space if that happens. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’ll be okay.” It touched her that he was worried about her in all of this, but she also heard the concern for Damián, who was like a son to him. “I’ve learned how to protect myself against Marines, remember?”
“This is serious, Karla. He can pack a punch. Believe me, I know. Just be careful. He would never hurt you intentionally, but if he’s asleep or…”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
He sighed. “I know you’ll kno
w just what to do. I’m glad you can be there for him. I’ll get out to the coast just as soon as I can.”
Please, Sir, don’t ride the motorcycle.
She knew there was no point telling him not to do something, though. She didn’t have that kind of relationship with him. “If you have any trouble getting on a flight tomorrow, let me know.”
After they said their goodbyes, Karla speed-dialed Damián’s number. No answer. Worried about him, she decided to go looking for him at his apartment. He wasn’t there—or at least didn’t answer her knocks. Maybe he was at the shop. Pulling the mid-sized sedan Adam had rented for her into the alley, she got out and walked through the back door of the garage.
Damián’s gaze was fixed on the sheet of steel he was pounding, but she didn’t think he saw it for what it was. No doubt, in his mind, he was pounding the brains out of his ex-brother-in-law. The muscles corded and rippled in his arms and chest with each blow. Karla shuddered. She wished Adam were here. He’d know how to talk him down, get him through the pain. He was experienced and wise and…not here. Deal with it, Karla.
Knowing not to surprise him, she called out, “Damián!”
He continued pounding the steel. She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her, but still knew not to get too close when he was so preoccupied. She remembered what had happened with Adam on his deck. “Damián!” His hand rose to strike again, but froze in mid-air. She filled the silence. “It’s Karla. We need to talk. Make some plans.”
For a few moments, Damián just stared at the object he’d pounded into oblivion, breathing heavily from the recent exertions. Then he turned toward her, dropping the tool to the floor with a clang. His glassy expression slowly focused on her.
“I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
* * *
Damián watched as Karla’s brows furrowed and he knew she probably thought he’d lost it. But he’d never been more certain about anything in his entire life. He’d been a juvenile back then. Probably wouldn’t have served much longer in juvie than he did for the assault. Then Julio, his bastard former brother-in-law, would never have been able to continue to torment his sister, Rosa, or her two kids. I’m so sorry, princesa. Poor Teresa. If he’d only finished what he’d started when he was sixteen and bashed in Julio’s face in after he’d attacked Rosa, Teresa wouldn’t have been raped.
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