by Natasha Boyd
Pete was there with his boat, bundled up. Oh God, this night got better and better.
“I’m sorry, Pete,” I mumbled as I climbed onboard.
He nodded.
I sat huddled in my useless jacket, with no embrace to snuggle into no matter how unwelcome, and no hat to keep the biting wind from stabbing deep into my ears. My headache got worse.
Tom stood holding a floodlight over the water ahead, legs braced apart, his other hand holding onto the back of Pete’s seat. It was the longest fifty minutes of my life.
Pete dropped us at Mama’s dock, it being too far around to Bloody Point. He handed Tom a flashlight, which Tom promised to return, and the two off us set off down the roadway across the island.
Walking along Prospect Road in the middle of the day was eerie. The sounds of the island at night were scary as hell. Screeching, croaking, and the beating of wings so large they had to belong to something man-sized. At one point, I jumped clear off the ground at the sound of something crashing through the underbrush to my left. “What the hell was that?” I gasped.
“Possum, probably,” Tom said dismissively.
My nerves helped me ignore the bone-numbing cold. “Not an alligator?”
“Alligators are sleepy and lethargic at this time of the year. It’s too cold for them.”
I hurried to keep up with his long stride. My jaw clenched tight against the shattering cold. “Tom!”
He stopped. “What?”
“I’m s-s-sorry, okay? But can you s-slow down?”
He barked out a humorless laugh and strode on.
We finally got to the cottage and he marched up the steps and went inside, flicking the lights on and tossing the flashlight onto the kitchen table with a clatter as I followed him in. I closed the door behind me, reveling in being back inside my safe haven. He headed for the bathroom and then returned with a bottle of mouthwash.
“Rinse that fucker out of your mouth,” he said, holding it out to me.
I stopped in front of him, out of breath and stuttering from the cold.
We stood in a staring stand off. It was ridiculous and could have ended in a laugh if the unspoken words, accusations, and questions weren’t weighing us down. That and something alive and pulsing, pulling down through my body.
I FELT WOOZY. Perhaps there’d been something in my drink after all. I wet my lips at the thought, and Tom’s eyes dropped to my mouth before he closed them. He exhaled and turned away, placing the mouthwash I hadn’t taken on the table next to the flashlight.
He peeled off his large fleece jacket. In designer looking jeans, a pressed blue button down shirt, and black blazer, he was dressed up. Wow. His old boots were the only sign of his normal wardrobe. “Were you on a date?” I asked before I could edit myself.
“That’s none of your business,” he said, heading for the fireplace. He squatted down, his jeans stretching across his muscled thighs, and lit a match to the kindling. “You should sit by the fire. Get warm.”
I watched as the fire caught the bone-dry wood, and Tom stoked the flames.
“You know how I spent my evening,” I said, taking the bottle after all and gargling with it over the kitchen sink. The thought of Tyler still being in my mouth was pretty gross now that I thought about it. And to think I wanted to make out with him earlier. “Why can’t I know how you spent yours?”
“Well, I didn’t spend it the way I planned, did I? So what does it matter?”
I came back around to the fire.
“So is it blue balls contributing to this mood of yours?”
Why? Why? I winced.
“Christ,” he exploded, tossing the log he’d been holding into the fire. It let out a shower of sparks.
I jumped.
Maybe I just liked to see him react. Because he didn’t react often, or show emotion at all except for when I provoked it, or the day with the ax.
“Watch that damn mouth of yours,” he growled and raked a hand through his hair. “And I don’t need a reason to be pissed off that I just had to freeze my ass off to come and get you from being a stupid fucking headline!”
He threw a few more logs on then stood up. Folding his arms across his chest, he gazed at the fire. “God, you act like a child, a teenager, and a jaded whore all at the same time. After everyone at that club saw you grind yourself all over that piece of shit, I doubt many people would be surprised to hear you cry rape tomorrow.”
I inhaled sharply. Rage came so fast, I couldn’t hold it back. My hand lashing out caught him on the side of the head. I connected with him hard, immediately following with my other.
He pulled back, eyes storming, and my hands hit air. “You bastard,” I screamed, but it came out half sunk as I drowned in anguish at his words, my chest heaving. I was crying, dammit.
Vibrating with tension, he stood still as stone, his hands clenching and unclenching as he watched a tear roll down my face.
I wanted to swipe it away but thought better of it. Let him watch how he upset me.
Then he shrugged and headed past me to the kitchen and pulled a beer from the fridge. “You seem to be the only one too naïve to understand how the men you associate with work. You’re making the wrong choices.” The nonchalance of his words didn’t reach his eyes, as if he knew what a complete asshole he was being right now. Grabbing a chair from the table, he pulled it out to face the direction of the fire. “Go to bed, Olivia.”
I stood for a moment, pulling myself together. Control. I needed control. “How old are you anyway, Mr. Know-it-all? Twenty-eight? Thirty?”
“Old enough not to be taking shit from an infantile goth chick.”
“You don’t find this look attractive, huh?” I let my jacket slip from my shoulders to the floor.
He saw my outfit and taking a swig of beer, looked away toward the fire.
“You think I’m young and don’t know anything about boys?” I went on and stalked over to where he sat rigid, legs slightly splayed and firm on the hard ground in his worn work boots.
His eyes came back and watched me warily. He had no idea what was coming.
But I knew men. I did. I knew how to get what I needed by giving them what they needed. And what I needed was for Tom to stop looking at me like a child. I kept my face carefully blank at first so I could get close. Then I ran my tongue over my lip and smiled at him slowly.
His eyes flickered in a moment of confusion, but they tracked the movement of my tongue.
I definitely did not imagine that.
“You’re a guy,” I said softly. I dropped to my knees between his legs and grasped the top button of his jeans, popping it open. I moved quickly, suddenly wanting very much to touch him, suddenly caring very much who it was I was touching. “You’ll never turn down a good cock su—Aaah!”
Pain lanced as his fingers squeezed my jaw, yanking my face up and away from his groin. My knees skidded an inch forward on the splintered floor.
His eyes were murderous and inches from mine. “What… the… fuck… do you think you’re doing?” His mouth was so close, I could smell the beer on his heaving breath and feel the droplets of spit.
My neck strained as he pulled my face closer to his. I couldn’t swallow in shock or even take a breath through the agony.
He squeezed tighter, mashing the soft skin of my inside cheek into my teeth, bruising my gums and the thin flesh over my jawbone.
Whimpering, I tried to speak, to plead with him to let me go, but only a strangled sound came out. The rapid and reflexive rage of his reaction dawned on me with horrific clarity. He was completely disgusted. Disdain and contemptuous fire rained down from his eyes.
It gutted me.
If I could just brace myself on his legs so I could find purchase to get up, to get away from his grip… but the moment my hands found his thighs, he pushed me forcefully away.
I lost my balance and fell back. My hand went up to my face, my jaw, tears spilling down my cheeks onto my fingers. I curled up on my side,
cradling the pain in my face. In my head and my chest. I heard him pause, hesitate, and kept waiting to feel his hands pull me up… and then he stalked across the floor toward the front door.
It slammed behind him and my body jerked.
What have I done?
What have I done?
What have I done?
Exhaling a choked-up breath, I finally stood up and walked to the bathroom. Turning the shower on as hot as I could stand, I stood in it crying and scrubbing all my shitty makeup off.
IT WAS LATE, and I was reading by the fire Tom had laid, when I heard him come from the bedrooms. I would be able to apologize, but what would he think of me? How much more awkward would we be around each other now?
I wished myself luck and looked up.
Instead of Tom, I saw the one face I’d hoped never to see again. Uncle Mike.
Feeling like someone had just crushed my lungs, I froze and the book slipped from my grasp.
He smiled, revealing his perfect bright white-capped teeth. “Hi, Abby.”
Abby?
“How did you find me?” My voice was strange and tinny, like it was trying to project around a large obstruction in my throat.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he purred, stalking toward me. “I can’t believe I got so lucky and found him too. What luck!”
“Found who? Tom?”
He laughed, his balding head bobbing back in glee. He was dressed in his faded green Hawaiian shirt tucked into pleated khakis, his belly protruding over his belt line. I remembered that shirt all too well. My stomach heaved and rolled, fighting to get its contents past my heart, which was currently ballooned in my throat. “Oh, he hasn’t told you. That’s good. That’s good. So much less complicated that way.” He came closer, and I scrambled back toward the wall, knocking the floor lamp as I went, the book skidding across the floor.
“Don’t run, honey. We have a little time before he comes back. I won’t tell, and you won’t tell. It will feel good, okay? I’ll make it feel good, like I always do.”
“No,” I begged as he advanced slowly. “No, please. I don’t like it. Please, no!”
“Shh, it’s okay. I know you like it, and you feel guilty that you do. But it’s okay, I won’t tell. It’s our secret, okay?”
“No! I hate it, I hate it, I hate you!” God, no. Please, no. Where was Tom? I needed Tom. “Tom!” I yelled, my voice hoarse with terror and panic.
HOLY FUCKING CHRIST.
I got out of that cottage so fast, I physically shuddered at how hard I slammed the door. Disgust and rage clawed at me. I couldn’t believe that my body, my own fucking traitorous body, had actually reacted to that little display of hers.
I’d told her she played the part of child, teenager, and jaded whore all at once. But what I’d wanted to say was she was beautiful and, fuck it, hot… she was hot… and didn’t need to play games to prove it.
But how the hell did I articulate that without making it sound like I found her beautiful and hot? I couldn’t. The very idea of it revolted against everything inside me that saw her as a victim with a mangled childhood, a girl who needed to be left alone to heal and not be objectified. She needed to find her. Without all that other shit.
And not forgetting I’d done the absolute classic and told her it would have been her fault if she’d been assaulted or raped tonight. Nice. Really fucking nice. Like it was her fault that assholes like Tyler and his friends existed. I was a real piece of work. She’d clocked me in the side of the head. And frankly, I was grateful. I needed it. I couldn’t believe I said that. To her of all people.
But hearing she was with Tyler tonight had twisted my gut inside out. Telling myself it was for her safety, I’d launched into action to get there and get her back to the cottage. And it was about her safety.
Ninety-nine percent about her safety.
It was the other one percent I was having a hard time with.
And if I was honest, which I was really trying to avoid being right now, it was more eighty twenty.
My fists clenched and unclenched as I stood in the frigid cold.
Seeing her intimate with Tyler, sliding her small pink tongue into his disgusting mouth, had sliced me open somewhere. I’d sprung a leak, and I couldn’t fucking find it.
I wanted to show her what a real kiss was, from someone who would hold her face reverently in his hands, like he was afraid she would disappear or never again give him the honor. And once I thought about it, I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t take my eyes off her lips. Her perfect lips, stained with faded lipstick.
It had been all I could do to shrug and act like I just didn’t give a shit, when I hated what she’d gone through, the situation she’d put herself in, the way she looked at me like I was some fucking hero when I was anything but. I hated it all.
And then she was suddenly on her knees in front of me. How the hell had I let that happen? She was right. I was a guy. My body had reacted, and I’d flipped out.
It had to be because she was a version of Abby, right? Except she wasn’t, not really. Not at all.
I pulled my cell phone out my back pocket. I only had three bars, but it was usually enough to make a call, so I punched in the numbers.
It was answered right away, a soft, sleep-filled voice.
“Bethany? Sorry to call so late.”
“Tommy?” she asked. “Hey, babe.”
“Hey.” I swallowed. “Sorry to wake you.”
“That’s okay. Was everything all right?”
“Yeah.” I expelled the balloon of air in my chest. “Yeah, it was fine. Had to get her home. Sorry to cut our evening short.”
“Mmmmm, you wanna pick up where we left off?” she purred.
Fuck it, I should say yes. I needed to say yes. I had an ill-gotten hard-on, and a stranded date. One and one should make two, right? I tilted my head back and covered my eyes with my free hand as if it could somehow make me do the right thing. But there was no right thing here.
“No. Thanks.” No thanks? I grimaced into what I knew was surprised silence emanating from the other end. “I can’t right now. Speak to you tomorrow.” I ended the call before she could say anything, even though I knew I’d been rude, and then flung my phone down on the ground. Hard.
I put Bethany out of my mind. I had no bandwidth for that right now. I’d hurt Livvy, and not just with my words. What was wrong with me? I’d never physically hurt a woman in my life, and I’d done it reflexively and with my bare hands.
God.
My only defense was she’d shocked me, and coupled with my rage at the way my body reacted to the sight of her kneeling between my legs and anger that she would possibly think I’d let her do that, made me do whatever I could to get her mouth, and those damn beautiful haunting eyes, away from my body.
Shit, and I’d left her on the floor. Hurting. The mental image I had of her curled up on the floor holding her face from pain I’d inflicted made my stomach roll and burn with bile.
What kind of a monster was I? But I physically couldn’t walk back through that door. I kicked at a pebble and grabbed my hair. Walk, I could walk and get myself calmed down. Figure out how to apologize. Was that even possible after the way I’d reacted?
I should have gathered her up and apologized. Held her. In a big brother kind of way. In a non-threatening way. To show her that she didn’t have to seduce me to get me to see her.
I saw her.
Clear as cut glass.
I saw the way she interacted with the people she worked with, the customers she served. She was too tough to crack on the outside and dying for a connection on the inside. I saw it in the way her eyes lingered on a friendly interaction or a hug two people shared. She watched it all like she was curious about it. Like she’d never had anyone just… hug her. And a look of yearning would flicker over her face.
She was going to bring one of those damn kittens home, I was sure of it.
She was graceful. She was likeable. She was kind. She had a
great laugh, all the more potent for its rarity. And she sang. I’m not sure she knew she did it, but she had a fucking unbelievable voice. All smoky and bluesy. As messed up as she was, Livvy was stunning. In the way that when she smiled, one was literally… stunned.
But my self-assigned job, my only damn job, was to give her a safe place to grow into that person I was starting to see. I took my eye off the ball one fucking time to go get my rocks off with Bethany and I blew it all to shit. Because I was horny. Jesus, what was wrong with rubbing one out in the shower? It wasn’t like I hadn’t done it for years during dry spells. And there were a lot of those out here on the island.
The problem was the shower often had, or was about to have, Livvy in it. Or had her underwear hanging in it. It felt wrong.
After walking all the way to the beach, and then almost killing myself coming back in the dark, I went quietly up the porch steps. I stopped outside the door, making sure my head was clear, and stepped into the cottage.
The fire had died to a low glow, and the warm, damp smell of a fresh hot shower wafted down the hallway. Her door was closed.
I got the rest of the six pack of beer out the refrigerator and proceeded to sit on the couch and power drink them one by one, wishing for something stronger.
I’d never hated the male species I was a part of as much as I did at this moment.
I was no psychologist, but it was pretty clear the only way she believed she had any worth with men was through sex. And I’d rejected her so brutally. I’d thrown the only currency she thought she had back in her face.
Not with gentleness, not with understanding, not with compassion. But with disgust.
If only I could explain that it was disgust with myself, because for the tiniest fraction of a split second, I’d been buying what she was selling.
Completely.
I CAME TO on the couch in front of the dead fire. Was someone crying or shouting? Maybe both? I strained into the silence and heard a choked sound and then a rasp.
Shit. I sat up.
“Tom!” Livvy’s voice sounded broken, desperate. She’d never called my name before. Visions of an intruder, or her having fallen or something, ripped through my head. I leapt up, tripping over the edge of the coffee table. and slipped on the book of fairy tales she was always reading. Finding my feet, I skidded to her bedroom door and crashed it open, just as she screamed my name again.