by Tina Reber
“I know,” Adam murmured and rubbed my shoulder. “It’s all about closure. Sometimes it’s just not enough.”
I studied everything while trying not to focus on the gleaming black casket adorned with an abundant spray of red and white roses. As soon as I spotted it, the ripping sorrow came back with renewed force.
I got that we needed to have closure; we need to have that final moment where denial and anger turns into acceptance, but for many, including myself, this experience was like pouring acid into the gaping wound.
Adam nudged me again to move us along.
I held my breath and the urge to sob, taking my moment to say my final goodbyes to a man who’d been like a second father to me.
I touched his graying hair, feeling how cold and still he was beneath my fingertips. How many deaths I’d witnessed in the ER, never allowing my mind to go beyond the clinical to the aftermath. “I’ll miss you. Watch over us, Uncle Cal. No more suffering.” I reached to touch his exposed hand; that’s when I noticed the slender, ornately carved wooden box clutched to his chest.
He was holding my Aunt Karen’s remains next to his heart.
My stoic façade crumbled, taking my knees out with it. Adam seized me around my waist, supporting me with his strength. He, too, was becoming emotional, appearing both extremely sorrowful and yet somehow resolved.
As I stepped into my mom’s embrace, I thought I heard Adam say, “I’m sorry we failed you.” I thought he was greeting my father, so I was surprised to see his head bowed, gripping the edge of my uncle’s casket.
I WAS LOST in my thoughts while the miles of highway clicked by; the streetlights’ glow fractured by layers of growing fog hovering in the dark sky. I presumed Adam could sense I was in no mood to converse; I gathered he wasn’t either. We’d exchanged a few glances but that had been the extent of it since we left the funeral home.
My parents had accepted Adam with open arms, which I knew they would. His presence actually provided a wonderful buffer, giving my mother not only a reason to smile but a renewed sense of hope that all was not lost with the love life of her eldest daughter. While he’d been open and receptive to meeting a good portion of my extended family, Adam had been in his own sullen mood, making me worry that maybe this was too much on our new relationship.
He didn’t seem to appreciate being introduced as my friend, either, frowning or doing a small eye-roll each time, but I didn’t know if he’d run for the hills if I started to publicly refer to him as my boyfriend. Men were so fickle and I was used to walking on eggshells. The combination made me leery to place a label on us. After all, every guy I’d dated in college who just wanted to “chill” or “hang out” really meant they wanted a label-free relationship with a clean exit strategy. And Doctor Randy Mason had been the last grand reminder that even months of sex did not equal a future.
I’d mentally cataloged every one of my relationship mistakes, adding each new discovery to my list of “do not repeat.”
“Your parents are great,” Adam said, breaking our comfortable silence.
I was relieved to know he felt that way, considering that meeting the parents was usually the beginning of the end. Mentioning them meant it was in the forefront of his mind, which in itself was instantly alarming. It was one thing to be a teenager meeting your girlfriend’s parents. It didn’t have the same underlying meaning of the possibility of a future and/or marriage intentions like meeting the parents of your thirty-year-old girlfriend did.
I glanced over at him, diagnosing just how long this new relationship had before expiring from the acute stress of growth. “Thanks. Sorry my dad talked your ear off.”
Adam smiled. “He’s a nice guy. I actually learned a few things from him tonight.”
“Oh?” Oh God! What did my dad tell him? They were locked in conversation toward the end of the night for over an hour. Did he tell Adam about my past? I was afraid to ask.
He glanced over. “Well, beyond hearing that you once thought a Ford Mustang was a horse and your favorite color growing up was hot pink? Yeah, we had a great chat. He’s really easy to talk to.”
I held my breath.
While Adam recapped his conversation about anti-theft devices in new cars, my heart pounded like a bass drum in my throat. My dad was a car guy through and through, which, much to my relief, melded perfectly with my auto theft detective. But did my father share too much? My family never talked about my arrest anymore; it had become taboo to dredge it back up, just like we never talked about Kate’s accident. If we didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t happen.
I didn’t think my dad would share, but he was emotionally strained and vulnerable. Anything was possible.
Just when I thought Adam would make a right onto Landsdowne Avenue, he drove straight. “Um, aren’t you taking me home?”
“Yeah,” he glanced over, “just not your home.”
ADAM PUNCHED IN his security code, reset the house alarm, and tossed his truck keys onto the granite countertop. I hung my dress coat up on one of the hooks on the wall in his laundry room where I’d learned all coats go.
I was also learning the many moods that made up Adam Trent, but unfortunately was at a complete loss for the one he was currently wearing.
“You okay?” he asked.
After having been asked that question over two hundred times tonight, I was done hearing it. “I’m fine.”
He held up both hands. “Easy. You didn’t cry tonight, that’s all. I’m just checking.”
I was particularly proud that I hadn’t. Someone had to hold my family together.
“I thought you would,” he continued, taking the folded tissues out of his pocket.
“I’m sorry if I disappointed you.”
His irritated glare set me back a half step, making me instantly regret my snappy retort.
“You getting short with me, Doc?”
My head was starting to hurt. “Sorry. I just have a lot of things on my mind right now.”
“Like?”
I shook my head; I wouldn’t even know where to begin—not that he would care.
He rested his hands on his hips. “You want to talk about it?”
And make you dump me faster? I don’t think so. “No. That’s okay. You really don’t want to hear my problems.”
“I don’t?”
I needed to crawl into bed and hug a pillow. I’d thought about asking him to drive me home; I was tired and torn between wanting to be alone and needing the comfort of his company. “No, you don’t.” And that’s when residual echoes of Randy telling me to “Just shut the fuck up already. If I wanted to hear bitching I’d have stayed at work!” roared through my brain. It was a hard lesson learned, and one I’d never forget. “I’ll work it out on my own. It’s okay.”
Adam scowled and then scanned the corners of his kitchen. “I don’t think you’re on your own here.”
“I’m fine, or at least I will be.”
He muttered a curse. “You’re fine?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t look fucking fine, Erin.”
“They’re my problems, Adam. I’ll figure it out. You don’t need to pretend to care. Really. It’s okay. Believe me; I know guys don’t want to hear women whining and bitching about stuff. I learned that lesson a long time ago, so I’ll spare you.”
I heard his unmistakable scoff. “Unbelievable. You’ll spare me.”
Great, now I’ve pissed him off.
He stormed around the kitchen. “What’s bugging you?”
“Nothing. Just drop it, okay?”
He stared me down, puffing like a bull ready to charge. “You trust me?”
I felt off-balance. “Trust has nothing to do with it.”
“Do you trust me?” he asked again, punctuating each word.
“Why? Are you going to give me a reason not to?”
Adam grabbed my hand and hauled me through his living room. I had presumed his assertive gait meant we were headed to his bedroom,
so I was quite confused when he led me downstairs.
“What are we doing?”
He stopped abruptly at the bottom of the stairs. “You’re done questioning me.”
His tone cracked me like a sharp sting from a whip. “Listen, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry has nothing to do with it,” he tossed back, echoing my words as he pulled me past the edge of the couch to the center of the room. His grip on my wrist tightened while he glared down at me. “Do not move.”
I watched him cross the room, my feet frozen in place with what I could only surmise was curiosity mixed with a bit of fear—fear of angering him further. He fetched a large black duffle bag from the closet built under the stairs, which he deposited at my feet. He stuffed something into his pocket and then stepped up onto the ottoman and clipped something to the ceiling.
Adam stripped off his suit jacket and laid it over the back of the single chair; his jaw hard and tensed. His necktie was the next item to go. He stretched the black paisley silk to its full length and moved behind me, grasping my shoulders firmly as he draped his tie over my neck.
I couldn’t calm my heart rate. “You’re scaring me.”
He peeled my black cardigan sweater off, gliding his fingertips over my bare arms. His lips touched the edge of my ear. “Good. You’ll come harder that way.”
My breath hitched. I’ll what?
Adam tossed my sweater onto the couch. “You don’t get it, so I’m going to explain it to you.” He seized my wrists, cinching them together with authoritative efficiency. Instinct to flee warred with paralyzing panic.
I felt his breath on my neck. “I asked you to share and you chose not to, making assumptions instead. That does not sit well with me.” The plastic noose around my wrists tightened with a final tug.
“Adam—”
“Right now I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth unless you’re answering my questions or moaning my name. Are we clear? Nod if you understand.”
I wanted to kneecap him but was frozen in emotional overload. His words crackled with commanding authority. He rolled his shirt sleeves up, exposing his corded forearms that were as tense as his focus.
“What are you—?”
He unzipped the large duffle bag. “No. You had your chance to talk.” He retrieved a coil of bright red rope and started unwinding it, running each inch through his hands, meticulously inspecting it. “So we play this my way. After all, aren’t you a little curious?”
Damn him. I was, but now was not the time.
He folded the rope in half. Firm hands guided my body, swiftly wrapping me in his cording. His control seemed effortless, as though the motions were practiced and ingrained. I should have balked at the idea, put up some sort of resistance, but his focused attention was too liberating to pass up.
“The red looks gorgeous against your skin.”
Anticipation made my throat constrict. With a couple of passes and measured tugs, both of my arms were bound together behind me with soft cotton, from my upper arms down to my wrists.
I staggered on my high heels as the tension in my muscles increased. “Adam.”
“Always in control, my doc is. Always fighting what’s inside her head.” He snipped the plastic band off my wrists and then tied the rope off. “Let’s see what we can do about that.” He removed the necktie from my shoulders. The soft silk drifted over my eyes, slowly over the slope of my nose, brushing the scent of his cologne and his focused presence into my senses. Silk tickled over my cheeks and separated my lips. I felt helpless and nervous when he tightened it enough so it would stay in place.
“There we go. Much better,” he whispered right next to my ear, sending shivers of unbridled anticipation rolling through my body. “You can keep your silence. Now then, where were we?” He tugged my sleeveless blouse up with painstaking casualness, slowly pulling it out of my skirt. Firm hands slid over my stomach, warming my skin, and then left me feeling bereft when deft fingers opened each button. My mind went hazy when he cupped both of my breasts.
He squeezed my nipples, rolling them within the lace of my bra. The pleasurable pain jolted throughout me, replacing angered apprehension with heightened awareness. “When I ask you a question I expect the truth, and not some bullshit about how you think I don’t want to hear what’s bothering you.”
His words and teeth grazed my neck. He pinched harder. “Does this feel like pretend to you?”
I couldn’t stifle my moan through the necktie gag, even though my shame and penitent heart were weighing heavily.
“Have I given you any reason to think I don’t care about you?”
I snuffled hard and shook my head.
He pulled and squeezed, zinging another wave of arousal through my darkness. “Have I?”
I shook more fervently.
I felt his deep sigh as he dropped his hands, leaving me cold and empty and strangely alone inside. The rope tugged between my shoulders, jostled my wrists, and then he threaded the end through the clip in the ceiling.
My sleeveless blouse hung open, the air chilling my exposed skin. I felt like a side of beef dangling from a hook, raw and bleeding. It was aggravating, not to mention slightly uncomfortable.
He set a pair of silver sheers on the end table and stood in front of me. A gentle hand softly caressed my cheek. “I’ve thought about this first scene between us a lot. Everyone always placing demands on you. I’ve wondered how you would handle being bound. If you’d be able to free your mind.”
I wanted to kill him with my eye daggers. After several hours of standing at the viewing tonight, my high heels had moved beyond constricting and into the second level of pain. I thought about kicking them off and aiming for his head, maybe even put an early end to the budding humiliation, but then I’d probably be forced to dangle here on my tippy-toes. I groaned my displeasure.
His head tilted. “Do you want me to leave you alone with your thoughts?”
Damn it, he was frustrating.
I tried to slouch; my legs were aching, but every time I let the rope take some of my weight, my arms would pull and send registers of pain into my shoulders and spine.
“Stressful night.” Adam unbuckled his wristwatch. “Kind of night when I could really go for a drink.” He rubbed his wrist, carefully massaging his skin, and set the heavy timepiece on the table. “I know all about stress.”
He sat down on the couch and crossed his feet on the ottoman. “Instead of managing it, I let it get the better of me. One drink led to too many. Took me a long time to realize I was choosing self destruction instead of dealing with things.” He glanced over my body. “But that doesn’t seem to be a problem for you, Doc. You don’t need any help, just like I didn’t. I get that you want to keep that all bottled in. Worry about everyone else but yourself. It’s cool. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. You’re right—most guys don’t give a fuck.”
Sheer determination had me fighting this every step of the way but gravity was hammering me hard. So were my tattered emotions. What did he want from me? Didn’t I just deal with enough grief and sadness for one day? I was starting to hate him. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at him. This was not love. No, this was torture and he was all smug and content and relaxed and comfortable while I dangled from the fucking ceiling.
If he wanted to explore his fetishes, pissing me off was the wrong way to go about it. I shifted from foot to foot, unable to stand in one place for very long, despising him even more with each agonizing second that passed. What had probably been only minutes bound up and tethered began to feel like hours. My ankles were beginning to ache more than my squashed toes.
I started to sway. Thoughts were barraging my mind faster than each pounding beat of my heart. Pain, anger, regret, sorrow, hate, contempt all swirled into a vortex of agony. Sobs started to break. I squeezed the tears from my eyes while my saliva soaked into the silk between my lips. I had to remember to breathe through my nose. What did I ever do to des
erve this?
Strong arms braced me, keeping me from falling over. He tipped my chin up. “I’ve got you. What you’re feeling right now is how I feel. You don’t trust me enough to share more than your body with me. I get that. I want you to trust me, Erin. Trust in me. I’m here, baby. Right here. For you.”
I was becoming as distressed and crazed as a cornered cat. Mascara and exhaustion mixed with anger and unshed tears, burning my eyes. That’s when I’d noticed the room had gone silent and his white dress shirt was gone.
He loosened the knot at the back of my head and pulled his tie away from my mouth. I could see his regret and sadness as clearly as my own. “Please. Talk to me.”
My hair hung in my eyes, while his desperate plea resonated through my stubborn stance. Worries that had been plaguing my mind all night flooded my throat and bubbled up out of me. “I’m waiting for you to run.”
“Oh, baby, no.”
I focused on the floor. “It’s just a matter of time. You’ll be sick of me.”
“Sweetheart, no.”
Adam quickly released the tension tethering me to the ceiling, holding my weight. He walked us backward and sat down on the couch, slipping my skirt up so my legs could straddle him. He brushed my hair back. His eyes never left mine. “No, baby. I’m not running.”
“You will.”
“Hard to run with you sitting on me, Doc.”
“You know what I mean. It’s too much. Too fast. Sooner or later… Men don’t want drama.”
“I’m here. Right here.”
Years of inadequacies stood like gatekeepers, prepared to discount his words, while the rationale behind my current breakdown sealed my fate. Surely he’d see me as an unstable female—unworthy of his time—just like his predecessors.
“Hey. Hey.” He held my face. “Look at me.”
His request was difficult. I was afraid of what he’d see.
Adam’s eyes searched mine. “I’m not running, Doc. I’m falling.”
My heart pushed out a soft whimper. “You are?”