The Tempest

by Brit Constantine

  “I love you,” he whispers, pressing a shaky hand against my face, and it feels hot, our bodies feel so hot.

  “I love you so much.” He has sparked an inferno within me, a flame that will take a long time to put out.

  We don’t speak another word. The dark of the night is ever silent as we lie down together and close our eyes, everything drained away into nowhere. We fall asleep, holding each other in the darkness.

  And never let go.

  27

  “ALL THE TORTURE AND TORMENT IS OTHER PEOPLE.”

  FELICITY

  YOU WONDER WHERE all the pain comes from, and after awhile you realise … this is it. All the torture and torment is other people. That's what Hell is. Other people. Slowly driving each other mad. All wanting things they can't have. All tearing each other to pieces with the destructive power of their unsatisfied desires, but unable to escape from each other because … because of the terrible chains of love and sex and guilt and hate that binds us all together.

  I contemplate this as I stand from my seat in the VIP section of the Blue Coliseum, my body a torture of nerves. I try to shake off the atmosphere clinging to my skin — all perspiration and anxiety and unleashed violence.

  The last few months have passed in a flash. It is the semi-finals of the Road to Redemption, and I have never been this terrified in my life. Especially when I watch the cut scenes of last year’s championships on the big screen. The Tempest vs. T-Bone. I hadn’t realised just how brutal bare-knuckle boxing is. Not until I started caring about the men who fight in them.

  Not until I have everything to lose.

  My teeth worry my bottom lip, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. I flinch as I watch the The Tempest on screen knock his opponent to the ground with no mercy, and the fans’ screaming — in the stadium around me — goes through the roof, deafening me.

  I am starting to regret bringing up the secrets of the past. I should have left it alone. Let sleeping dogs lie. But I did what was right … I think I did. I am almost convinced. But it still doesn’t make me feel any better. Especially as I watch on the large screen The Tempest end the fight with a killing blow. The live crowd surrounding me go fanatical, chanting “Tempest” over and over again, as they reminisce about their hero’s winning victory in last year’s championships.

  But what I see is very different to what they see. Where they see a champion reign, I see a man who has no joy for the fight. On screen, I see his eyes sweep over his fans feeling no pride, and none of the fanfare or buzz of the crowd outside the ring.

  And now I understand the grievous reason why. Why there is a dark shadow cast on him, why the dark clings to him like a second skin. He is punishing himself. Each hit to the face is a self-infliction of guilt. Regret. Heartbreaking hurt that turned to anger.

  After the night I asked Lenic to forgive West, I noticed the change in him immediately. Cross confided in me that Lenic wasn't pushing himself hard enough in training. He was resigned, maybe. His manager warned him in the gym that he didn't look like he cared. Lenic punched harder, then punched hard enough to wind his trainer briefly, and then he walked off.

  He is a battered heart in a bruised body. There are only so many knocks and scrapes a body can take before it falls to the bottom in wreckage.

  I hear Delphine call out my name beside me, but I stare blindly at the senseless blur of images, my heart ticking away like a frantic clock, pumping blood and oxygen into my muscles, my cells, my nerves … heightening my senses. It is a really weird feeling. My mind is racing, but I can’t think properly. I can see everything, every dot and every movement on screen, but none of it makes any sense.

  In the end, I inhale and exhale a long breath, empty my mind, and turn to my friend. “Sorry … what did you say?”

  “I was just asking if you are OK. You look pale.”

  I raise a half smile. “I just want this over with.”

  Delphine nods in understanding and gives my hand a quick squeeze. But I can find no comfort. I glance back up at the screen just in time to watch The Tempest’s face shatter into a large image of West “War Dog” Hurst.

  My gaze turns immediately to the ring when I hear a rock song tear through the speakers. West’s spectators go wild, flying to their feet to cheer him on. Walking tall with his head held high, his arms swing confidently and his loaded eyes are full of nothing. He hops into the mammoth ring and pulls off his blue hood and stretches his arms, readying himself.

  My pulse races, and my heart hammers hard against my ribs, my mind bombarded with a multitude of questions, the ominous fight moments away.

  Will Lenic’s anger overcome him in the heat of the fight? Will he comatose West in a fit of blind rage? And will West just stand back and let him as some sense of twisted penance? Will either of them survive tonight? Who do I run to first when it is all over and they’re both bloody and beaten?

  Maybe this is the last straw in a string of altercations and they’re both through, that they are too distanced from reality to feel anything, anymore.

  I shake myself mentally. I’m not thinking clearly. I trust Lenic. And Lenic trusts me. We have to after everything we’ve been through. If I don’t trust him, if I don’t trust his ability and his moral compass — then I sure as hell don’t love him. And I do. He is the only man I will ever fall in love with.

  I want to sit down, my legs shaking like a leaf in the wind, but I am frozen still, anxiously waiting for Lenic.

  Waiting.

  More waiting.

  “Where is he?” Delphine asks, concern in her eyes.

  I shake my head, puzzled. “I don’t know...”

  Ten minutes pass, and still there is no sign of The Tempest. Some of his fans start to chant his name again, and others get to their feet, clearly agitated with the waiting game.

  My gut clenches. Something is wrong — very wrong. This is unlike Lenic. He is never late.

  When the presenter of the show climbs into the ring, the crowd go eerily quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen, due to unforeseen circumstances, tonight’s semi-finals have changed.”

  My heart thumps so hard, I am scared it will burst in my chest. Has something tragic happened to Lenic? Has he been badly hurt in a car accident? I grip my parents’ bracelet between my fingers.

  Is he…?

  “Due to a crippling and devastating injury … The Tempest has been forced to pull out of the championships.”

  A loud roar of boos rip through the arena as the crowd let their displeasure known. But I don’t hear them for long. The once sharp screams of the roaring fans now become a blurry mess of voices. All I can hear is the beating of my heart as I rush out through the VIP door and into the quiet of the hallway. I dig into my purse, yank out my phone — there are five missed calls from Cross — and punch in speed dial one.

  Answer the phone, Lenic. Answer your damn phone!

  Delphine dashes out and shoots me a worried look. I shake my head at her, ending the call when it connects to his voicemail.

  “What if he’s in hospital?” I ask, a flutter of panic tightening my throat.

  “I’m sure he is fine. I will call Jack. Just try and not have a heart attack, OK?”

  I pace the hallway, listening anxiously to Delphine’s conversation with Cross over the phone, questions racing dizzily in my head.

  When she hangs up I ask, “What’s happened? Is Lenic OK? Is he hurt?”

  “He’s fine. I think. Jack said Lenic called him a few hours ago telling him he’s pulling out of the fight but they can’t find him. He’s not at his place. He’s not at the gym or the bar. They’ve tried everywhere but no one can find him.”

  I feel sick to the pit of my stomach. “He pulled out voluntarily?”

  Delphine shrugs. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.” My thoughts are all shuffled up and scattered, like a deck of cards thrown in the air. I can’t think, and a rush of panic streams into my mind. “We can go back to Stonebrook and help look for him,” Delphine suggests
, wrapping her arm around mine. I nod my head dumbly. “Wait, you’ve dropped something.” She scoots down to the floor, reaching for something small and white lying beside my heel. Handing it to me, I inhale sharply.

  It is an origami swan.

  My heart leaps into my throat. Lenic must have sneaked it into my purse sometime this morning before I left his place. With shaky fingers, I unfurl it, greatly aware that there is a hidden message inside waiting for me to read.

  ‘My first – LR’.

  OK … I am pretty sure Lenic isn’t confessing to me that I popped his V-card — unless, he is the kinkiest virgin ever.

  For a second I feel a pulse of bliss, like that moment when you wake from a nightmare.

  “What is that?” Delphine asks.

  I glance down at the swan in the palm of my hand, admiring its simple beauty.

  Catch him when he falls.

  Falls…

  Fallen...

  I meet her stare. “I think I know where he is.”

  28

  “YOU’RE KIND, FELICITY, AND IT BLEW EVERYTHING OUT OF THE WATER.”

  LENIC

  I AM LOST.

  Walking through the woods, at eleven-thirty p.m. in the cold night of November, I stumble and curse my way through the near darkness. It is scary at first, being on my own without Lenic’s hand holding mine, guiding my way. I keep worrying I’ll lose sight of the track and wander off in the woods and get lost. But after awhile, my eyes adjust to the dark and I move, with increasing desperation, up the sloping path.

  I breathe in the smell of pines, and the distant drift of sand and seaweed from the nearby sea, reminding me of Lenic. I let out a long calming breath when I spot the familiar giant felled tree. I am on the right track.

  Once I round the path and step onto the top of Fallen Rock, a rush of relief fizzes through me. All that matters is true. Lenic is here. He is standing by the edge of the cliff, shadowed in the light of the moon. He is alive. And … he is … he is smiling. It's a smile of a man who has been to Hell and back, but he is all the more better for it. The vice in my heart loosens, and it feels like I can truly breathe for the first time in months.

  He glances over at me, and I can sense something different about him. It is hard to describe, but he somehow seems … lighter. The way he is standing, his head held up high, and the strange little smile on his lips…

  I walk up to his side and smile with him. “For a man who has a crippling injury … you stand up pretty good.”

  Grinning, he shrugs his shoulder. “Took a shot of my dad’s arse drink.”

  My smile flattens. “Why? Why did you do it? Why did you pull out from the championships?” I watch his chest lift and fall with a deep intake of breath. “Lenic … you gave up the chance to win the finals, the chance at a million pound sponsorship. Why?”

  He turns to me, pulls me close. “A wise woman told me once to live a life I want and not a life that was chosen for me. That I needed to start doing things that I enjoyed. Took her advice.”

  I pause, feeling a flood of pride. “Wow … this woman sounds amazing. You should ask her out.”

  “She is,” he says. “And I had to fight for a date. But she was worth every hit.”

  “You gave up everything for me,” I breathe out.

  “I want to give you the best, Felicity. I know it was cutting you deep — me fighting West — and I didn’t want to put you through that. You come first.”

  “Lenic … I don’t want you to sacrifice your career and future success just so that I can be happy. What about you? What about your happiness? That matters too.”

  He moves his head from side to side. “You were right. I wanted to keep on hating because it stopped me from accepting what happened. With you, it’d been easy to forget and I didn't want to forget. Didn’t want to stop being angry at the world.” He presses his forehead to mine.

  “I know … I’ve been there too.”

  It is like … you’ve been stuck in this place for so long, this place where everything’s numbed and dead and you don’t have to think about anything or care about anything. And you can’t remember what it feels like to be outside this place. You don’t know what it’s like to be normal anymore … having to deal with things, having feelings about things, being yourself again.

  “I used boxing as a way to deal. Fighting was all I had. But I’m done with it. You have to want it — want the glory and guts and cash, and I'm tired of it all. Tired of this weight on my shoulders. Tired of not living, and waiting for something that will never come. It’s time to move on. Build a life. Like you said, I should remember the good times with Bethany. I never talk about her. It’s been too hard. And it’s made me forget her. Forget what made her laugh. Forget what she gave to us in our lives.” He brushes my cheek with the back of his hand. “I can’t promise you anything but I’ll try. I’ll try to forgive West. Just give me a little time.”

  His extraordinary resolution brings on an expression of hopeful disbelief clear on my face. I am speechless.

  “You keep me honest,” he continues hoarsely, our fingers tangling together, just as easily and effortlessly as they always have. “I've had this pain in my head for so long I've gotten used to it. But I don’t feel it anymore. It’s gone.” He squeezes my hand. “It’s time I stopped running too,” he says quietly, his other hand cupping my cheek. I lean into it, into the size and warmth of it. “All I know is, I don't hurt when I'm with you. It's not that I forget ... it's that I have a place to start. I'm not gonna do anything to mess that up.”

  “You won’t.”

  “The idea of losing you … it scares the hell out of me.”

  “The thought of this tearing apart terrifies me too.”

  “But it's worth the risk.”

  “Because of the great sex?” He grins at me and a warm glow balloons in my chest.

  “Because I've never loved you more than I do right now.” He leans in and kisses me. His touch, his hands, the heat of his breath … turns my world on its head. Flips my heart and has it spinning. “I knew you’d find me here,” he whispers against my lips. “You’re the only one who truly gets me. It’s nice to be got.”

  “I still can’t believe it. You gave up so much. A chance of becoming a multi-millionaire. A chance to go big in America. A chance for the whole world to worship you at your feet…”

  He shakes his head. “I didn’t give up anything,” he says, then kisses me tenderly, lightly, like he might never stop, tongue so soft and so gentle against mine, pulling away just when I am beginning to lose myself to it. “Money and fame — over you?” He runs his fingers through my hair. “Not even close.”

  This is crazy.

  “You’re crazy,” I say. My pounding heart feels as if it has crawled into my mouth.

  “Being near you makes me crazy. But I’m never gonna think about a universe with you not there. Not ever. You’re the first woman I fell in love with, and I’ll make damn sure you’ll be the last.”

  I pull in a shaky breath. “I made a promise to Grandpa Joe once. A promise I never thought was possible.”

  “What promise?”

  I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “To fall in love. To soften my heart. I’m sorry I took time to say it.”

  “It’s OK.”

  “No it isn’t. It was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have waited so long to tell you I love you. I’d spent a lifetime keeping my heart at a distance. All this time I thought it was because I didn’t need love or that I couldn’t love … but you proved me wrong.”

  “Good.” I’m drawn to his eyes as his fingers trace my ear, then along my cheek. “Means you’ll say yes.”

  I snatch a breath. He isn’t going to propose?

  Is he?

  “Say yes to what?” He has no idea how fast my heart races for him.

  “Move in with me.”

  My body relaxes a little, and I release the breath I am holding. But why do I feel a sense of despondency?

 
“Into your tiny boat?” I joke, keeping the crushing disappointment from darkening my face.

  “It’s what you do with it that counts.” He laughs, but it gradually tapers off into an endearing look of adoration.

  “That’s a myth.”

  “I'm selling the boat,” he suddenly announces, stroking my face softly.

  “You … are?” He nods. “Why?”

  “You’re my whole goddamn world, Felicity.” I feel myself smiling, glowing at these words. “I want to live with you. I love you. I want you in my bed every single night—”

  “So I was right. It is because of the sex.”

  He ignores me, that adoration still in his eyes. “—I want to come home to you every day. A proper home. You asked me once why I chose to live on a boat — living on a boat was easier to deal with things, or not deal with things. I felt like I couldn’t settle anywhere because if I did, then that would’ve meant moving on, forgetting what happened. But it’s time I grow land legs and anchor down, lay down some roots, build a home for you and me. Found the perfect place down by the lake a few miles from here. Already had a word with Jacob Marsden.”

  I open my mouth, but he kisses me again. Slowly. Gently. Like we have all the time in the world.

  I never once believed I would live with a boyfriend just six months of knowing him. But if Lenic can no longer look back in anger, then I should not move forwards in fear. He is ready to settle down, and I am finally ready to explore … love.

  “Yes,” I say urgently, my cheeks swelling with utter joy. “Yes. I never want to wake up without you.” I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze him against me, fingernails digging into his back deeply enough to leave scratches.

  I am already home.

  Home sweet … Lenic.

  “Gonna build us a rooftop balcony so we can watch the stars, beautiful. You can teach me the rest of the constellations.”

  “Are you going to get through your lesson this time?”

  “Don’t smell like peaches, then maybe there’s hope for me. Don't wear white either. Or red. Or yellow. Or Black.” He drinks in my black dress with lustful eyes. “Fuck. Definitely don’t wear black.” He strokes my hair around my ear. “I want this to work." I look up at him, and there it is … the smile that could mend a hundred broken hearts. "I'll do anything for you." The ardent look in his eyes tells me he means it. “Since the moment you made me laugh, I haven't wanted a single thing but you.”