by Dani Wyatt
“We should finish our conversation. In private.” Jeremy tips his head toward the hallway.
“I was here first, and I live here,” Bruce says toward Jeremy.
I shoot him a look but Jeremy is already three steps toward my room, so I fall in line behind him like a puppy. The worry about Jordan and my case is never far from my mind, and Jeremy is my conduit for both any tidbit of information about Jordon or news about the adoption.
Inside my room, he throws his jacket on the edge of the bed. He misses and it slumps to the floor in a heap, and he sits down. It’s the only place to sit, so I can’t entirely fault him for being presumptuous, but you would think he would, at least, pick up his stupid jacket.
See, the thing about my room is that there really is just the bed. The bed and the fire and the faces. Well, the faceless faces.
My feet feel like they are pressed harder into the carpet than necessary, but it’s the way Jeremy’s eyes are sending me wishful signals to join him that has me stuck.
We’ve been in my bedroom before. Sometimes Bruce has people over, and we come in here to chat. But, it’s never been this. Him sitting, looking like he thinks he belongs on my bed.
He’s got an unusual energy about him today, the difference that has been growing between us these last few months since he told me about the foster family filing to adopt Jordan.
“I talked to Lydia today. She’s happy about how the apartment looked the other day.”
I’m uncomfortable, and I don’t know where to look. I dart my gaze from Jeremy’s face to the pencil sketch pinned between the two canvases on the wall.
I find it hard to believe that Lydia is happy about anything, let alone anything to do with me. But the more I think about her, the more I wonder why she is the way she is. Maybe her life wasn’t all she expected it to be either. I can see how your history molds you and my former disdain for her is turning to pity.
“You didn’t tell me how you knew where I was.”
“I know a lot about where you go.” He sounds almost boastful.
“Do you follow me? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” It’s four o’clock, and he’s usually in the office until six.
“I was out doing a welfare check. I knew you were off today, so I came by. Bruce said you were at a funeral, and I figured it out from there.”
Beckett told me the loft belonged to Louis. I still don’t know how Jeremy knew I would be there unless he followed me. Wait a second.
Dummy, he doesn’t know that you know that he knows Beckett. But you know.
I decide not to press the issue. Instead, my desperate need to find out anything new about Jordan takes over.
“What else did Lydia say?”
Jeremy’s lips come together with a self-satisfied grin.
“She said . . . your living situation is not ideal. I didn’t tell her anything about your other visitor except that he was just the son of a patient at the nursing home, and he was a bit more persistent than you liked, so you cut it off.”
I say nothing. I’m not sure what to say or what I’m thinking.
“Can you just come and sit down?” Jeremy shifts, leaning on arms with locked elbows and jerks his head toward the space next to him.
My feet are moving even though they feel like iron boots. I tug my jacket tighter around me, remembering I’m not wearing a bra.
Because I couldn’t find where Beckett flung it off of me, inside that room where I just let him make love to me for the seventh time.
Yes, lucky number seven. I’m counting. Because it’s all I can think about. And, it’s exactly what I shouldn’t be thinking about.
And yes, I am reminded with every step of each time.
I sink down gingerly onto the mattress next to Jeremy, and he leans into me.
“See? Not so bad, huh?”
I cringe, thinking about how far I let it go with Beck. How loose I was with starting to let myself feel something for him. Who is he, really? I hate that I constantly doubt him, but history has proven to me that I fall too fast and usually end up screwed.
His scars give him a sense of mystery, the way you can’t seem to look away once you discover his eyes. But we have no history, nothing to base these feelings on. He could probably be a very scary guy. He is a very scary guy, what am I talking about. Maybe I’m being lured. Groomed until he unleashes that other side of himself.
“Are you here?” Jeremy is leaning forward, elbows on his knees with his head turned to look at me.
“Yes, sorry. So, what do I need to do?” I’m done dancing around all of this; I need to know the bottom line. I’ll do anything.
“Do you care about me?” Jeremy sits up, eyes scanning the paintings around the room as I feel heat coming up over my chest.
I swallow hard, almost a gulping sound, as I try to figure out what is going on.
“Yes. Of course.”
“I’ve known you longer than anyone else in your life, haven’t I?”
It’s clearly a rhetorical question as he continues without missing a beat.
“Seen you through a lot of tough times. Been the one person you’ve turned to, counted on.”
The dramatic pauses are telling me something is coming, and the creeping red blotches on my chest begin to crawl up my neck with a prickling heat.
I clutch my hands in my lap as Jeremy shifts, leaning one shoulder behind me, the length of his arm connecting with the tightening muscles in my back.
“Yes, I’ve always appreciated everything you’ve done. I may not always show it, but I do.”
“Well, these last couple months, spending more time together, I know you need stability in your life.”
This conversation is leading somewhere I wish it wouldn’t, but I can tell it is a runaway train at this point, and the only thing I can do is hold on tight and hope I come out on the other end in one piece.
I turn to try to say something that will keep whatever this is from flying off the rails, but it’s too late.
In a flash, his warm, wet mouth is on mine. His tongue jabbing between my lips. His arms burst around me and tug me closer in a fumbling jolt. I’m trapped.
I’m in shock, I freeze. I don’t kiss him back, but I don’t push away either.
Thank goodness he breaks away. His breath is coming in little gasps, and there is an arrogant, satisfied smile on his face.
“Lydia said the best thing for your case would be for you to be in a stable relationship. In a home. Not an apartment where you rent a room with a gay roommate.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do? And, stop talking like that about Bruce. He’s one of the best people I know, and why you have to preface every reference to him by his sexual preference is stupid.” My voice is shaking, and I wish to be anywhere else but here. My face is hot, my stomach is curled into itself, and there is a growing pain in my temples.
When I say that, Jeremy’s eyes look like someone just jabbed him with a cattle prod, and he jumps up off the bed, scaring the shit out of me.
Holy crap! He’s pulling a small, white velvet box out of the inside pocket of his corduroy sports coat, and I don’t remember how to move or think or speak.
“I care about you more than anyone, Promise. I’ve cared for you since you were a little girl. But, it’s so much more. We can be so much more. A family. You, me, Jordan. If you marry me, I can assure you a life with your brother. A good life. Lydia will recommend custody to you.”
I shake my head.
STOP. I want off this ride.
I am at a complete loss, and I can’t stop swallowing the spit that keeps gathering in my mouth.
Jeremy is staring. He’s standing in front of me as I sit on the bed in a state of sheer terror.
“I . . .” Swallowing again. That’s like twelve swallows in a row. “I don’t know what to say.”
That is the truth, but I can see from the way he draws his lips tight, it is not the reaction he wanted.
“Do you want your brother or not
?” His voice loses its earlier softness.
There’s a voice inside me, somewhere deep down, that is laughing. Telling me that in case I didn’t know, if you have to blackmail someone into agreeing to marry you, they might not be the one.
Jordan.
Jordan.
Jordan.
“I will take care of both of you.” He’s trying now, and it’s painful to watch.
He reaches down and picks up my lifeless, left hand as my brain spins and catapults five years into the future. Images of the three of us on some Disney vacation wearing Mickey Mouse ears and eating cotton candy dangle like invisible bait in front of me.
Bite and you get your brother.
The next thing I think of is Jordan heading to school hungry every morning.
I can feel the word before I say it.
Yes. Say yes and you get the one thing in this world that still means something. Ignore the barbed hook inside the bait, just bite.
The last thing I think of before it comes out are those Monet-blue eyes.
My lips want to move as Jeremy starts to slide the round, diamond-topped circle onto my finger.
“Get your hands off her.” My eyes dart to the doorway, and we both jump with a gasp.
It’s no longer a doorway; it’s a wall. A fortress full of the same person that saved me from those two vagrants yesterday.
The life is gone from Beckett’s eyes as he grabs Jeremy’s shoulder and spins him around in one lightening fast move. Jeremy flails wildly, trying to shore up some sort of defense in the face of the tidal wave of muscle that is clearly there to foil his plans and break parts of him.
“Get off me.” Jeremy smacks at Beckett’s arm, his high pitched voice only adding to his pitiful version of defense.
Jeremy does something with his fingers. I can’t call it a fist exactly but, whatever it is, he flings it loosely toward Beckett’s head.
Beckett catches it in one hand, then like a cannon, his other hand balls into a fist, laying Jeremy out in one punch. Jeremy’s little box, clutched in his free hand, pops up in the air and, with the reflexes of a cat, Beckett bats it, smashing it against the wall.
Jeremy is huddled on the floor yelling obscenities, and I am trying to sink into the bed and disappear.
“What is he doing here?” Jeremy's screeching at me with wild eyes. “You can’t just come in here! Call the police, Promise! He’s breaking and entering!”
“Entering, yes.” Bruce’s voice chimes in as he comes into the doorway. “Not so much breaking. I let him in.” He shakes his head and gives me a devious but apologetic look.
My eyes are furiously jerking back and forth from Beckett’s face to Jeremy, trying to decide if he needs saving.
I’m on my feet, and my hands go to Beckett. Pressing both my palms flat against his chest, I feel the darkness inside him. The way he’s holding himself like a dog left out on a chain too long. He’s loaded, and unfortunately, I don’t know how to avoid pulling the trigger.
“Stop. Please.” I’m pleading because I know if he kills Jeremy—which is entirely possible from what I’m feeling in his chest—I will lose in more ways that one.
“He’s the reason you’ll never see your brother again.” Jeremy points at Beckett like a defeated child placing blame.
Jeremy is clearly not very smart as those words bring down another hammer blow from Beckett, one that shakes the room and brings a burst of red from Jeremy’s nose.
“Beck! Stop!” My voice is between a scream and a sob.
I know my life is in the hands of the crumpled, bleeding man on the floor, but a small part of me is silently cheering Beckett on.
“Tell him to leave, Promise!” Jeremy’s voice is part squeal, and a zing of sympathy shoots through me.
“She’s not telling me to do anything. I’m fucking telling you to get your ass up and find your way out the door before you need an ambulance.”
“You’re threatening me now? You assault me, and then you threaten me? I’m calling the cops. You don’t know him, Promise. I do. I didn’t want to tell you.”
Jeremy manages to get his feet under him, but he quickly backs against the wall, one hand against the river of red coming from his nose.
“Beck.” I’m pleading as I try to push him back, but he is cemented in place. How did so much happen in the last sixty seconds? I can’t get my lungs to agree to take a breath. The only thing I can think of is Jordan.
“I didn’t want to tell you.” Jeremy’s eyes are blinking far too fast when he looks to be sure that Beckett isn’t closing in on him against the wall. “He was friends with Steven Holder and Brian Jennings. He knew what was going to happen that night. He could have stopped it. He knew.”
Jeremy is pointing at Beckett. Beckett growls at him, and Jeremy’s finger goes limp.
“We’re leaving.” Beckett leaves no room for rebuttal as his hand circles my arm.
“Looks like the show’s over.” Bruce’s sing-song voice is aimed at Jeremy. “No happily ever afters for you today. Sorry.”
I shoot him a glare that tells him he’s not helping.
“I’m not leaving. Stop.” I shake my head, trying to get a grip on what is happening. “Everyone just stop.” My voice cracks as I shake my arm, but Beckett’s hand is a vice.
“Tell her. Tell her you were there.” Jeremy focuses on Beckett, then back to me. “Bet he hasn’t shared that little war story with you. He could have stopped them. He didn’t.” Jeremy spits the words toward me while he holds the corner of a pillow from my bed onto his nose.
“He also let his own mother die.” Jeremy lets that grenade fly oblivious of his own mortality.
Beckett releases my arm, and he launches like a cannon ball at Jeremy.
Jeremy jerks the pillow to cover his face, and there is a sound like someone trying to bathe a cat that comes from him. Jeremy crumples to the floor in a ball; his polyfoam filled shield over his head.
It doesn’t stop the barrage of fists that fire from Beckett into any part of Jeremy he can find.
Now, the man that made love to me an hour ago is about to kill the man that just asked me to marry him with his bare hands.
I don’t know what is happening. I’m completely frozen until finally I manage to wedge myself between Beckett and Jeremy, one hand darting between them as Beckett pulls back, looking like a paid assassin.
“Oh my god.” Jeremy is crying. At least he’s making noise because I was sure he would be dead.
I manage to get my hands on Beckett’s biceps. Every inch of him is vibrating as I push with all my might to get him back toward the door.
“You two better go in the living room.” Bruce’s calm voice cuts through the tension. “Let me comfort the fallen.” He works his way calmly through the chaos like the two men had only been having a tiff over losing a hand of cards.
This is too much to absorb. I’m like a soaking sponge, dripping with questions, but I’m not sure I want the answers.
“Come on.” Beckett’s arm settles around my shoulders, and I half-stumble out the door of my bedroom in front of him.
Jordan. I just lost my brother.
Unless I find the strength to push Beckett out the door and crawl back in there and let Jeremy put that ring on my finger.
If there was a slim possibility for me to win the battle with the court before, it is completely gone without Jeremy.
And the other $4112 I need to come up with for the lawyer. Even if Beckett gives me that money, Jeremy can still kill it all.
And yet, I’m not pushing. I’m not even looking at the door. I turn around and I’m looking at Beckett's eyes, and I feel myself let out a sigh of defeat.
“We have a lot to fucking talk about.” Beckett’s stare is controlled, but I can see what’s behind those eyes.
Jeremy’s words echo in my head. Those names I try to never think about are alive again—taunting me.
Steven Holder.
Brian Jennings.
Ther
e is a kind of pain reserved for the worst of our memories, and I can feel the flames of it rising up around my feet.
Steven Holder was my first crush. He lived in another foster home with me the year before, and I fell for him hard. He flirted with me, made me feel pretty. Then when I moved on to the next house, he started coming around. Before I knew it, I’d believed his line of bullshit that he loved me. He wanted in my pants, and I refused. So, the next night, him and Brian Jennings showed up and took what I wouldn’t give.
So, what is it that Beckett knew? Jeremy said he knew what was going to happen and something about him being there. I need to know what it means.
It’s enough I have to hear those names again. But, it’s life altering to hear them uttered in the same sentence with “Beckett.”
“What did he mean about you and—” I don’t. I can’t say their names. “Them. Those boys.”
What I want to see right now is a look of complete confusion. A look that tells me the desperate words of a desperate man have zero truth in them.
That is not what I see.
“Promise.” Beckett lets out a breath, and his eyes fall from mine, and I hate everything about his reaction. His sigh is the sound of someone thinking about how to respond to something they don’t want to.
“Was he right? Did you know them? Were you there?”
“No. I wasn’t exactly there.” He pauses and looks up at the ceiling before bringing his eyes back to me. I want him to stop talking. But he doesn’t.
“I overheard. They weren’t my friends, but I knew them. I’d lived with them at another house once. I knew they were bad guys.”
Nothing is the same. Even the way it feels to breathe is different.
“But, did you know . . . the other thing? What they planned?” I feel like I’m going to throw up.
He’s silent. Then his hands are on my face, but I don’t feel anything anymore.
“Babe . . .”
“Don’t call me that!” I smack and twist like a demon, trying to get his touch off of me.
A noise comes out of me, and I’m not even sure what it is. There are tears flooding my cheeks, but I am also kicking and wailing, wishing he would disappear.
I can’t decide what hurts more.