by Holly Hart
She runs to my side, stopping short at the edge of the bed, like she’s afraid to touch me.. “You—why didn’t you say something? You were shot, and nobody told me... I didn’t even know till a couple of hours ago!”
“Ssh....” I reach for her, slow and careful. “Gimme your hand.”
It’s warm again, her hand—so they thawed her out, at least.
“They treat you all right? The cops?”
She shrugs. “Asked a million questions—held me up all day, when I should’ve been....”
“Nah. Nothing you could’ve done. You’d just have driven yourself crazy, out there in the waiting room.” I reach for her hand, brushing our fingers together. “If anything, they did you a favor.”
“They lied to me,” she says, sinking into the chair vacated by the detective. “Told me Magnus was up, pinning it all on you. But....” She looks away, tight-lipped.
“He’s dead?”
“They both are.”
No surprise there. The silence after the crash—that wasn’t promising. Especially the way Magnus was breathing beforehand, snuffling through his crushed nose. It’s over, then: Blakemoor; this weird, artificial life; all of it. And Stella.... “Are you all right?”
“I think so.”
It’s so white in here. So sterile. I want my own home, my own bed—but it doesn’t exist anymore. Keep bumping up against that—thinking about what I’m going to do when I get back. Picturing myself propped up on my familiar pillows, watching the stars from my favorite chair, frying bacon in my same old frying pan...none of which exists. Even my telescope—that one kind of hurts.
“Want to go to the Hamptons? When I get out of here?”
Stella’s looking out the window. “I was thinking my place. But then I was like... What was in that smoke? Probably still stinks—and the window’s broken.”
“We’ll find somewhere.”
She leans back in her chair. Even after the mugging, she didn’t look this tired. The smudges under her eyes are nearly as black as her hair. Her eyelids are drooping, refusing to stay open. I’m getting worn out just looking at her.
“Hey, they got me on so much morphine, I’m going to fall asleep any second. You should find somewhere, do the same. Maybe they’d wheel in a bed for you.”
“Got a room across the street.” She bends over and kisses my forehead. “But I don’t want to leave you yet.”
“Then hold my hand and rest your eyes.”
I feel it when she falls asleep, hand going slack in mine, pulse slowing way down. Didn’t have this last time, someone who’d watch over me, stay with me till she couldn’t any more. Magnus and Erik visited a couple of times, and Starkey—mostly to yell at me—but they didn’t stay long.
Whatever it takes, nothing’s going to ruin this for us. Nothing and no one.
55
Stella
The ocean’s in turmoil, furious waves battering the pier. It’s so wet I can’t tell where the sea spray ends and the rain begins. Normally, I’d love this weather—perfect for curling up with a book—but I gave up pretending to read half an hour ago. Jack’s taking forever. He promised it’d be simple; swore he’d be home for lunch. That was hours ago, and he hasn’t even called.
I stopped picturing him in jail hours ago. Now, I’m picturing him in a ditch, being prized out of his car by the Jaws of Life.
Frustrated, I reach for my laptop. Countess BeeBee’s comments are still going crazy. The cat came hissing out of the bag the second I admitted to being Jack’s girlfriend-du-jour, and everyone’s been having their say.
Ahahahahahaaaaaa...Stellaaaaaa! Knew it was you! Bitch, my eyebrow game was ON at Marcia’s party, and I didn’t make best dressed? What, you jelly?
...so...ur not even a countess? illusions. shattered.
Don’t give up, Countess! It’ll be OK! <3 <3 <3 (Come back to us!)
Enjoying the taste of your own medicine? You humiliated me on the WORST NIGHT OF MY LIFE! Hope you get what’s coming to you.
I click on the link in the last one—oh, yeah! I remember her. Didn’t win a prize at some film festival; had a public tantrum. Which I livestreamed. That was kind of mean. But the angry comments are few and far between. Most fall somewhere between gently mocking and supportive. And... I’m still being invited to stuff, as if nothing’s changed. As if I haven’t been spreading everyone’s business around the Internet for years.
Maybe they like being online famous.
And maybe I should post something—wrap up the story of a lifetime. But not yet. Not till I know how it ends.
Dinner time’s been and gone. It’s getting dark, and the rain’s coming down in sheets. Ten more minutes, I’m eating by myself. Which’ll suck, because Jack’s the one who can actually cook, and—
—and the power’s gone out. So I’ll...have a sandwich by myself? In the dark?
Bright lights sweep across the window: headlights. It’s him—it has to be. I race to the door, flinging it open just in time to startle the hell out of Jack. He slips, catches himself, and bounds up the stairs, sweeping me into his arms.
“Sorry!—sorry! Meeting went forever, and my phone died, and we got a flat! Y’know, there’s not a single payphone between—”
I rise on tiptoe to kiss him. Screw the explanation: all I need is this. For as long as I can have it. He’s warm and solid and alive...and soaked to the skin. Drenching me right along with him. I twist his sleeve and water splashes the deck. “How’d you get that wet? It’s, what, ten steps from car to door?”
“Helped change the tire....”
“Idiot....” What was he thinking? “You’re not even off the injured list. You’re supposed to be...supposed to be—not doing that!” I slap his hand away as it slinks its way under my shirt. It winds up between my legs instead, a firm thumb tracing the seam of my pants.
“No?”
“First things first—what happened? Don’t keep me in suspense!”
“Everything’s fine.” He sneaks one more lingering kiss. “Let me get out of my jacket, and... Why’s it so dark in here?”
“Power’s out.”
“Fuck it. There’s a flashlight somewhere.” As if on cue, lightning splits the sky. “Or that works....”
“Get rid of that wet thing.” I head for the kitchen, partly to retrieve the flashlight from under the sink, partly to give him some privacy. Jack looks all right—good color, steady on his feet—but the stretch on the healing tissue’s still a problem. He doesn’t need a witness to every wince and grimace as he struggles with his coat.
“So....” He squelches up behind me, still in his boots, and slides his arms around my waist. “You’ve been patient. I won’t draw it out. Long story short, I’m not the one they want.”
“No?” Who else, with Erik and Magnus gone, even Katrina?
“No. DA’s been wanting Blakemoor for a long time. There’s complaints out the wazoo: harassment of female employees, unpaid wages, non-fulfilment of contracts, you name it—but they’ve got this binding arbitration clause, so it’s always been a non-starter. But with what I know....” His hands are wandering again, following the curve of my hips.
“Get to the good part, already!”
“Well....” It’s distracting, the way he’s teasing me, one hand slipping into my pocket, the other under my shirt. “They get what they need to put Blakemoor in the ground. I get immunity. That, and a fine you wouldn’t believe, a whole lot of community service, and...a five-year custodial sentence.”
“Wha!?” I whirl in his arms, shoving him so hard he stumbles into the table.
“Oh—suspended sentence.” He’s backing away, hands raised in surrender. “What—did I not mention that part?”
“Asshole!” I follow him, jabbing and swatting till he’s backed into the wall. “Oh—you think that’s funny?”
“I—”
“No!” My heart’s still pounding like it might shatter. I slap his face, step on his foot, screw my thumb into that
fresh, tender scar. Jack curls in on himself, eyes watering, whether from laughter or pain, I can’t tell. Mine are wet, too, as I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’re—you’re an entire bag of dicks.”
“Yeah?” His voice is as hoarse as mine, thick with hunger. He captures my hands and spins me around so I’m the one pinned to the wall. His body’s flush with mine, breath hot on my neck.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry....”
I turn my head away, but it’s soothing, the way he’s kissing away my tears, stroking my hair. “What’d they end up charging you with?”
“Oh, uh....” He’s lost, nipping at my ear, tracing the patterns in the lace of my bra.
“Hey! Pay attention!”
A deep groan escapes him. “Mm...reckless endangerment, I think?” The catch of my bra bites into my skin as the elastic snaps back. I shudder and gasp. “What else?—reckless driving...a lot of driving stuff....” My back arches all on its own as his kisses trail lower. “Mm, then...then there was criminal conspiracy....” His hand dives down my pants, cradling my belly. “Assault, accessory after the fact—to murder, no less....”
“Murder, fuck....” Probably shouldn’t be moaning that....
“I mean, a lot of it wouldn’t have stuck....” When’d he unzip my pants? He bumps my thighs apart, and my eyes roll back into my head as he fingers me roughly. Losing my mind....
“So...no jail?”
“Long as I don’t break the law again.”
“You’d better not.” I dig my nails into his thigh, right below the balls. “I’d visit every day, just to kick you.”
“Wear those shoes with the pointy toes. The black ones.” His cock swells against me. “Kick me good and hard.”
“Fucking perv.”
“Don’t see you complaining.”
“Come here....” I yank him practically on top of me, knotting my hands into his shirt. Can’t keep him close enough. It’s been hard to hold him lately, knowing I could still lose him. Now, though....
Jack sways in my arms, head dropping to my shoulder. I hold him tighter. “Tired?”
“Lightheaded. Too much blood rushing south.”
“Let’s lie down.” I can’t ignore the way he’s leaning on me as we make our way to the bedroom. “Still hurt?”
He chuckles. “Not quite the word I’d use.” We fall back on the bed, all in a tangle. Lightning flashes again, illuminating an expression that’s definitely not pain. His lips are open; I steal kiss after kiss till they’re swollen. He rises to meet me, and all at once, we’re tearing at each other, pulling hair, rending clothes. I kick one of his boots to the floor, snarling with frustration when the other refuses to budge.
Jack pushes me down. “Untie it.” There’s a look in his eye, wicked and demanding. I should smack that smirk off his face, but there’s something about the tone of his voice, harsh with command, that has me whispering “Yes, sir” instead.
He watches me, stroking his cock as I pick the knot out of his bootlace. It’s really stuck, tangled all to hell, like he’s been—
“Eyes forward!”
I feel myself flush all the way to my chest, a thrill of shock and arousal knifing through me. Our eyes meet, and I can’t look away. The knot resists and frays, my patience fraying with it, till one sharp jerk breaks the lace. I tug his boot free and pitch it across the room. Something falls and shatters—my earring dish. Pearls and diamonds scatter, catching the faint light from the kitchen.
“Just going to leave those there?”
I crawl back up his body, defiant. “Make me pick them up, and I’ll put one right through your ear.”
His cock throbs against my thigh, and I cover his mouth with a kiss before he can invite me to do just that. He bunches my pants over my hips, and I push them the rest of the way down.
“Ride me, then.”
I lean over him, almost tenderly, fitting my hand over his nose and mouth. He tries to turn from the smell of rain and boot polish, but I bear down harder, shifting to sit on his cock. Jack growls and bucks, tossing his head from side to side.
“Like that, do you?”
“Mm....” He grips my waist with both hands, urging me on, faster, harder. I give him what he wants: a brutal, punishing rhythm that soon has us both sweat-slick and gasping for breath. When I take my hand off his mouth to support myself on the mattress, he throws his head back and pants.
“Can’t...can’t last long like this....”
“You’d better.” I press down on his scar again, just hard enough to make him stiffen and arch. His fists clench hard.
“That’s not—ugh!—not...helping!”
I can feel him throbbing and pulsing inside me, thrusting hard, on the verge of orgasm. His eyes are glassy, dim with pain and pleasure.
“Don’t stop....”
I let myself sink down on top of him, biting his lip, raking my fingers through his hair. I can feel every gasp, every hitch of his breath, every moan wrested from deep within. This...this is what I’ve missed, what I’ve needed. I grind my hips, quick circles, harsh jerks, chasing my own pleasure. Jack’s holding on like his life depends on it, one hand in my hair, the other on my hip.
“Yeah—yeah, that’s...ah!” I feel it when he finishes, the sudden stillness, the slow release of tension. I keep riding him till I follow him over the edge, eyes locked on his face, rapt and contorted with the aftershocks.
“You....” He shivers and sucks in a deep breath. “I’ve been wanting that for weeks.”
I push his hair off his face. He’s clammy in the aftermath, sweat cooling on his brow. “You all right? Sure you were up to that?”
“Mostly, yeah.” He gulps air again, falling back when he tries to sit. “Worth it.”
“I’ll get you some water.”
“Don’t go.” He pulls me down beside him. “Stay. Hold me. You’ve been all nervous lately.”
I pull the sheet over us. His hair’s still wet from the storm. “I should at least grab a towel for your hair.”
“No.” Jack tightens his hold on my wrist. “Hair’s fine. Everything’s fine. Can’t you feel it? We can relax now. Start planning our lives.” He shifts closer, head against mine. “You can finish your book. I can...start giving something back to the world. Whatever we want.”
Whatever we want. “We should find a place in the city. Together.”
“And have some kind of wedding. Before the baby comes.”
“Was that supposed to be a proposal?”
He curls a finger around mine. “Even comes with a ring.”
“Ass.” I nudge him gently, mindful of his side. “We should do it in Rome. Soon, so my grandmother can see.”
“Always wanted to see Italy.”
So that’s settled. It should feel like a letdown, being proposed to in the dark, sweaty and sex-drunk, but all I can feel is elation.
Whatever we want....
I drift off to sleep, wondering what that might be.
56
Epilogue (Jack)
Stella’s laughter wakes Sofia, who immediately takes possession of my finger. And puts it in her mouth.
“You’re too young to be teething.”
Sofia coos and giggles.
“Wanna see what your mother finds so funny?”
No, she doesn’t. She wants to gum my finger to death, and kick me a little bit while she’s at it. Same as every day.
Stella steps out on the terrace, still in her robe. She’s shaking her head, like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing—a postcard, from the looks of it.
“What’ve you got there?”
“Trade you?” She holds out her arms for Sofia, and we make the exchange. “Take a good look—anything ring a bell?”
It’s a home-printed postcard—light cardstock, not the stiff commercial stuff. There’s an amateurish shot of a lush green valley giving way, in the distance, to bone-white beach. Looks like it was taken from someone’s crappy, falling-down porch, c
omplete with—
“Holy shit. Are those...? No fucking way!” There’s a birdcage off to the side, with a pair of lovebirds cuddling on the perch.
“Turn it over.”
I flip the postcard. The message is brief: Thought you were dead. Took these. Not bringing them back. —S
It’s postmarked Western Samoa.
“So... Starkey stole your birds?”
“Saved them, too.” She boops Sofia’s nose. “Yes, he did!”
“So he’s alive, out there....” When the weeks turned to months, and the cops never caught him, I figured Magnus must’ve done the job. It’s a relief to know he made it. Didn’t need him on my conscience too. “Can’t believe that guy. Blows my childhood friend away right in front of my face, gets in touch after almost a year, and what’s he got to say for himself? ‘Ha-ha; I took your birds’.”
“It’s not even addressed to you.”
I glance at the postcard again. She’s right: it reads Stella Brightman only. “He really hates me.”
“That he does.” Stella snuggles up next to me on the bench. “But I think he’d like you better if he met you now.”
Hope so. I’d say I’m shaping up. In the last six months, I’ve wrapped up my court-ordered community service and kept going on my own steam, invested more in veterans’ charities than in real estate, and decorated Sofia’s nursery. Even built the crib with my own two hands. Might not make up for how I got here, but it’s a start.
The sun’s all the way up now, casting a warm light over the terrace. Late summer’s always been my favorite time of year, those long, lazy days. Not too hot, not too rainy. Perfect. Though.... “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
Stella sighs. “Don’t want to leave her yet.” She leans down to kiss Sofia’s nose. “Feels like I miss something every time I walk out that door.”
“It’s only a couple of hours.”
“Two hours a day add up! In a year, that’s... That’s an entire month’s worth of hours not spent with her!”
It can’t be that much. I try to do the math in my head, get distracted by Sofia’s laughter, and lose the thread. “Yeah, well, your loss is my gain.” I pluck the baby from her arms, over her protests. “Go on—the sooner you go, the sooner—”