by H. J. Bellus
“You make,” I prompt him.
I take the spoon and dab some batter on his nose and then mine to lighten his fear of being in trouble.
“Take it, bud,” I try again.
Ridley holds out his shaky hand and grabs the spoon. I guide his little hand into the glass bowl, spooning out batter, and then guide it over to the tin and dump it with him. Ridley starts to squeal with delight.
“I see you two are having no trouble getting along,” comes a familiar voice from behind me.
I spin around to see a greasy Miles standing behind me.
“Dear lord, you scared me, babe.”
He leans down and kisses me and then kisses Ridley’s forehead.
“She’s kinda loveable, isn’t she, little guy?” he says to Ridley as he ruffles his hair.
“Cupcakes,” Ridley replies.
“Oh, I love her cupcakes, too.” Miles winks.
“You stink. Go take a shower,” I say as I slap his chest.
Ridley and I finish making our cupcakes. The three of us settle in a recliner and watch a couple episodes of cartoons while the cupcakes bake and cool. Ridley falls asleep quickly, but we don’t move in fear of waking him. I can’t wait to see his face light up when we actually make the frosting.
“I love him. It’s not fair, Miles,” I whisper as tears slide down my cheek.
I place my hand on the side of Ridley’s face and stroke his little cheek.
“You know I dreamt of holding my baby, stroking his cheek, and watching him sleep. I would have given anything for those silent moments with him, but it never happened. And here lays a perfect child with a perfect cheek to be rubbed, loved, and kissed on and his mom doesn’t want him, Miles. It’s not fair,” I finish this time sobbing down into Ridley’s hair.
“I know, baby. I know,” Miles whispers with his own tears clouding his eyes.
***
Wynnie was surprised to find us all enjoying ourselves when she entered Miles’ trailer. By that point, we had all the cupcakes frosted and decorated. Ridley probably ate more frosting than anything else.
Miles and Ridley are now playing on the floor with a bunch of Miles’ old rusty cars while I finish up dinner. Wynnie has no idea what to do with herself. I told her to get out of the kitchen and enjoy the boys. I can tell this situation makes her very uncomfortable, and I’m not sure if it’s being in this house, me cooking, or the boys playing. My gut tells me it’s a combination of everything. The atmosphere in the trailer is light and playful, and I have a feeling that it never has been that way.
“What’s for dinner, sweetie?” Wynnie asks from the living room.
“Lasagna and all the fixings,” I reply.
“You do know my boy well. That’s his favorite.”
“Ridley, come here, pumpkin. Let’s wash up for dinner,” I call.
Miles helps Wynnie to the table while she swats at him the whole time. I wash up Ridley at the kitchen sink with my back facing Miles and Wynnie. I start to blow bubbles at Ridley while he soaps up. He squeals with joy, and I continue to blow dish soap bubbles his way while he swats at them. I can barely overhear the conversation taking place between our other two guests.
“You see that, Miles?” I hear Wynnie say.
“What?”
“Her heart has picked that boy,” she whispers.
We all settle down for dinner at the table, and I suggest that Miles go get his mother. The tension immediately fills the air
“Miles, I can handle her words. It’s your choice, babe.”
Wynnie nods him on in approval. Miles reluctantly gets up from his seat and pulls up an extra chair, then heads down the hallway to fetch Sarah.
“That’s my boy, Ridley. He loves his momma and will always choose to do the right thing. We can’t live life bitter because we were fed lemons our whole life. We must stand up for what’s right even when it’s the hardest thing to do. You hear me?”
Little Ridley nods his head up and down at Wynnie as if digesting each word. As painful as it is for Wynnie to instill a love in these boys for their mommas, she know it’s the right thing to do. Doing the right thing sometimes hurts more than swallowing glass.
A clatter from the hallway grabs all our attention, and a few moments later Miles appears, carrying his mom. He carefully sets her down in the chair next to him. Sarah is completely wasted. I’m not sure if she will even be able to keep her body upright during dinner. The one thing that can shorten her life is the only thing she can’t give up, alcohol.
“Sarah.” Wynnie nods.
Sarah smirks and refuses to recognize Wynnie in any way.
“Mom, Willow made dinner. You want anything to eat?” Miles asks.
“You got any cocktails around here,” she slurs.
Wynnie throws down her fork, grabs the nearest plate, and starts piling it with salad, lasagna and bread. She may be the oldest one at the table, but I sure in hell would never want to take her on in a battle. I could totally see her tying down Sarah and force feeding her just to prove a point.
Wynnie slams the plate down in front of Sarah. “Eat. Now. This is the closest this place has ever been to a home. Fancy it, for your son.”
Not another word is spoken as we finish our dinner in silence. I don’t let Sarah’s bitterness ruin the dinner, instead I decide to focus on Ridley, who is devouring his meal. On his fourth piece of bread, I watch him sneak pieces of it in his pocket. Just another tell tale sign of his hidden scars.
“Time for dessert. Anyone want cupcakes?” I announce.
“Me!” Ridley squeals, which startles Wynnie a bit.
“What kind of cupcakes did you all make?” Wynnie asks.
“Chocolate,” I respond over my shoulder, while hoisting Ridley up on the counter.
“Jesus Christ, can I be done with this playing mom act?” Sarah snarls.
Miles finally loses it. He stands up and throws his plate of food at her.
“You want to be done?” he yells.
Sarah sits, shocked, in silence.
“Miles, don’t,” I warn.
“Well, you can be fucking done, because I sure in the hell am,” he yells in her face.
Wynnie rushes over to Ridley, and I go for Miles.
He grabs his mom by the arm, starts to yell more. “You done, uh? So, does that mean no more men trampling in here fucking ya and beating the shit out of me?”
“Enough,” I finally scream and grab Miles.
I pull him away into the living room and then manage to get him outside and down the stairs.
“Miles, pull it together. Ridley is in there.”
He throws his hands up in the air and then rests them behind his head. “I am fucking done, Willow. I’m done. I can’t stay here any longer. I can’t look at that little boy’s face any longer. I can’t fucking be the man Wynnie wants me to be. I’m done.”
There are no words to comfort him this time. Nothing can heal or fix him with the poison of his mother still lingering. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his middle.
“I love you, Miles,” I whisper.
We stand there for minutes without moving or talking, and Miles doesn’t touch me. He just stands there.
“Have I lost you?” I ask, looking up at him.
Miles shakes his head no, and finally relaxes and wraps his arms around me. His phone begins to ring and I see Lance’s name flash across the screen.
“What?” he growls into the phone.
“Yeah, I’ll be there in thirty.”
Miles hangs up the phone and then makes his way over to the bottom stair and collapses on it.
“I have a fight.”
“Okay,” I respond.
“I don’t want you there tonight,” he finally admits.
Standing in front of him, I silently nod my head. Miles grabs my hand and pulls me down onto his lap. He buries his head in my neck and takes a deep breath.
“Have you read the notebook?”
“No.”
>
“My mom’s third husband used to burn me. Those are the scars on my stomach. He would hold me down and put out his cigarettes on me whenever I would play too loud or irritate him. I lost it tonight when my mother asked if she was done. Having you here and seeing Ridley, it’s all too much for me.”
I wrap my arms tighter around Miles’ head and squeeze him tight. Nobody will ever hurt him again. Ever. I lay my head on top of his and kiss him lightly.
“Ridley has burns.” He sobs into my neck.
“No, no, no,” I scream, as I shake my head against his.
We sit there and cry together until his phone rings again. Luke’s name appears on the screen. I get up from his lap, and walk around him up the stairs.
Turning back, I say, “I love you, Miles.”
Wynnie and Ridley are still at the counter enjoying their cupcakes, and Sarah is still upright in her chair. Moments later, I hear his car roar out of the trailer park.
“Cupcakes,” Ridley squeals.
“Just a second, buddy,” I say as I pick up Sarah and help her back to her bedroom.
I lay her down in her bed, and start to cover her when she grabs my hand.
“You really love him, don’t you?”
I refuse to talk to her or even begin to engage in any conversation with her. Growing up, I was always afraid of the invisible monsters in my closet or under my bed. Little did I know, real monsters existed that terrorize their own children on a daily basis.
“Give me my bottle before you leave,” Sarah demands.
“Gladly,” I say as I toss her the bottle of vodka sitting on her dresser.
Closing the door to Sarah’s room, I lean back on it and cry. What kind of a sick world do we live in? We have two options, lay down and die, or fight back and build a life. In this dark hallway, I vow to Miles, Ridley, and Wynnie to fight back. Fight to show them a life worth living.
“Wynnie,” I call from the hallway. “Can we stay at your house tonight?”
“Yes, dear,” I hear.
I pack our bags and send Miles a quick text, letting him know that I’ll be at Wynnie’s. Phase one of my plan, complete.
Heading to Miles’ third and final fight, I realize just how much I hate it. Watching him fight was pure, refined torture at its finest. Part of me was so turned on by his long, lean torso exposed and his loose, low riding jeans exposing the top of his tighty whities while he bounced gingerly toe to toe warming up for his fight. That mental picture of him, exposed, raw, and ready to fight will forever be burned into my heart and soul. On the other hand, it truly tore my heart apart to know this is how Miles supported himself and his mom. He did it all for the money to buy the necessities they needed. It wasn’t like he was rolling in the dough and buying new a pair of Beats and designer clothes, no it was for food, electricity, his mom’s meds and freaking heating for the piece of shit trailer he called home. The glorious thought of having a hot backyard street fighter boyfriend doesn’t create butterflies in my tummy or dampen my panties, rather it has crushed me.
And tonight is no different. Lenny lined up a high attraction fight with a local rival. Miles promised me he could handle him, even though he had been playing grease monkey the last couple months and only fighting on the rare weekends he came home. This fight didn’t crack me, oh no, it nearly killed me. Miles lasted five rounds and finally knocked out his opponent.
“Crazy, you okay?”
I grab Miles’ hand and slide a little closer to him in the back seat of Lenny’s SUV and can only manage to shake my head no.
“Babe, it’s fine. I won. Just a little bloody and sore.”
Not wanting the whole car to hear, I whisper into his ear, “It’s not okay, but I understand.”
Miles reaches across his body and gently grabs my head and presses his lips down onto the top of my head. “I know, baby.”
I snuggle into his chest and am thankful it’s dark in the car so the debris covering his body is not visible. Miles winces in pain as I settle into him, and I instantly pull away from him.
Gripping onto my hair, Miles pulls me back down and groans even louder this time in pain.
“I need you. Stay.”
“I love you so much, Miles. I can’t watch you get hurt again, though.”
“I know, baby. Just gotta get Mom these last meds to help ease her pain while she passes.”
I grab his other free hand and start to kiss each one of his blood-crusted knuckles. He tries to pull away, so I tighten my grip and continue. Then I lace each one of my fingers into his strong, bruised fingers.
“I’m just going to hold your hand.”
“Hey, Mcpussy, you hungry? Want your victory sourdough jack?”
“Aye, aye, McFaggot Pants.”
“Miles,” I squeak out in horror, “Don’t use that word.”
“What? That’s his name—McFaggot Pants Lenny the Lion.”
I sock him in the gut for using that word again. Miles growls in pain, and then has the nuts to chuckle.
Lenny yells from the front, “I’ll take McFaggot pants over McPussy. You have no idea what he had to do to earn that title.”
“Really?” I question him with a naughty raised eyebrow.
“It’s not what you think, Willow. It was an eating challenge.”
“Mmmm. Even better,” I purr as I sit and waggle my eyebrows at him.
Miles grabs me by the waist and whirls me around so I’m not facing him, and then he snakes his arm around my waist so his hand is spanning across my zipper.
“Hey,” I squeal.
Miles bends down and softly whispers in my ear, “Let’s play a game.”
“What game?”
“The silent game. Ready? Go!”
Miles unzips my pants and slides his hand down the front of my panties.
“Miles.” I instinctively giggle.
“Shhh, that’s one. Quiet game, remember?”
Miles continues to rub his hand over me, just barely missing my heated core. My hips thrust up to force his hand deeper in my pants. At my actions, he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Patience, baby.”
I lean back and wrap my hand around his neck , sandwiching us closer together. At this movement, he slips his hand all the way down , causing just the right amount of f r iction on the top of my panties. My hips go into overdrive and pump up in sync with his hand, and my fingers tighten around his neck , pulling down hard. Just a couple more thrusts until I blow.
“The next J in the B is about twenty minutes out. Are you two good with that?” Lenny yells over M.
“Take your time, Lenny,” I yell over the music, and if possible , melt further into Miles.
My fingers snake down his arm and trail into my shorts, and I interlock my fingers with his, and then pull both of our hands together out of my shorts. I feel Miles start to shake his head no against my shoulder, when I put both of our hands back in but underneath my panties this time.
The sensation of his hands gliding over my skin is delicious and causes me to moan.
“That’s two,” he whispers.
I release his fingers and try to pull out. Miles grips onto my fingers. “Hold my hand,” he whispers.
I obey and hold on. Miles slides his fingers down very slowly and massages me slowly.
“Can we?” I ask.
“That’s three,” he replies.
I hear the sound of his zipper and then the rip of my clothes. Miles is inside me, filling me and taunting me to enjoy his invasion. Moments later, the other men climb back in with their food. Fuck! They either didn’t take long at all, or I’m enjoying myself way too much.
Miles slows his hips, leans up and whispers in my ear, “You don’t want me to get to four. Quiet while I finish.”
Any other time his threat would piss me off, but in a car full of other men while he fucks me, I find it quite hot.
“Lance, can you turn up the music again?” I ask, trying like hell to mask all pleasure from my voice.
; Lance listens. Miles begins his relentless torture and I lose myself for the next twenty minutes.
Chapter 14
A Hard Goodbye
Willow
I fell asleep on the couch with Ridley watching a cartoon last night, and woke up in Miles’ arms on the same couch. I immediately flipped out, looking for Ridley. Miles had to calm me down and reassure me that he was safely tucked in his bedroom. I had to peek on him myself. Ridley was sound asleep in his little toddler bed, buried deep down in his Cars blankets. Only the top of his wild dark brown hair is visible.
I spent the day with Wynnie and Ridley while Miles took his mom to the doctor, and then hung out with Lance. I can only assume that he had another fight or possibly more mechanic work. I don’t understand or condone the way he handles stress, but in our current situation, I don’t have another option for him.
Wynnie convinces us to go out for the night. I have a long talk with her while Ridley took his afternoon nap about his safety. She promises me that she won’t give him back to Carly or the state, and this shouldn’t be a problem since Carly leaves for days at a time. I swear to Wynnie that I can fix this whole situation if she can keep Ridley safe for the time being.
“Once the heart decides, there is no going back,” is all she has to say.
***
Later that night
I head back over to Miles’ trailer to wait for him. He texted me twenty minutes ago, telling me he was on his way home. I snuggle down in his bed that smells of us and write in my notebook. I keep my promise and don’t read what he wrote the other morning. I’m pretty sure my heart couldn’t handle it right now, anyway.
I finally drift off to sleep, and startle awake when I hear Miles.
“I’m gonna jump in the shower to wash up and try to get hold of this raging boner,” he puffs out as he enters the room.
“Good. You smell like ass,” I mumble, half awake.
Miles pulls off his white T-shirt and flings it at me. I jump back as if avoiding a bag full of dog shit, and giggle when he sees my reaction. He marches across the room, picks up the shirt and then forces me to smell it. I fly back, giggling hard, trying to avoid his shirt.