by Sunniva Dee
I cover my mouth, but a surprised squeak escapes through my fingers. It takes him four steps to be in front of me, invading my space. Leon’s arms go around me, and—how could I object when he crushes me into him and rests his chin on my head?
“Arriane,” he murmurs, voice thick. “I know this isn’t the right way to do things. I’m sorry for being the biggest ass on the planet, and I’m sorry that I’m… making you carry my baby when we hadn’t planned it, but please—”
He pulls my hair together in a ponytail inside his fist and leans me out to meet his gaze. Despite the determined expression on his face, his eyes smile. “Baby,” he repeats from earlier, making my heart skip.
My poor heart, I think feebly. How much more can it take today?
“Even if I had planned to get married and start a family, I couldn’t have made a better choice than you. No one could be a better mother, and I’ll be the luckiest man in the world if you say ‘yes’ to what I’m about to ask you.”
I don’t think anymore. My brain has checked out. My knees understand, though, and go weak with the foreboding, because this—this—cannot be happening.
But then it does. It does happen, and Leon covers my mouth with his lips. They’re soft, sweet, and what I crave, before they let go and his crazy blues trap me again.
Fearless Leon, always so certain of himself. Now, he says, without bearing in mind our differences—without considering how I’m not what he needs, how he’s not what I—any wife—should live with: “Arriane, will you marry me?”
Arriane’s eyes widen with the same shock I experienced an hour ago.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how this happened, Leon?” is her non-answer.
“No. I was here, and I remember it vividly,” I say, stroking a long, sleek strand from one of her temples. She shuts her eyes for an instant, maybe reliving it too.
“Damn, Arriane,” I whisper into her ear. I revel in the sensation of her body against me. Someone tiny is in there, between us.
Fuck, this is huge.
“What about… if the baby is yours?” she says, then. The muscles in her back tighten as she draws out from me, steeling herself for my reply.
“Why should I ask that? Of all people, I trust you. You don’t sleep around, and you’d never broach this if you weren’t sure. No. I don’t need to ask you anything.”
She covers her face and slumps into me. It’s not relief or happiness. She’s not about to give me her “yes.” This body language is different and not one I want right now.
“Arria. Don’t mess with me.”
She pulls in a long drag of air through her nose, postponing whatever she’s wanting to say. Suddenly, it’s important that she only says what I want to hear.
While I picked up flowers, I imagined how it would be to have her in my bed every night. In my home, playing with my baby, perhaps a boy with her eyes and golden skin. She’d take care of us. And I’d be providing for them.
But she’s hesitant. She’s not sure about this.
What. The. Hell?
“Baby,” I whisper in a tone I only used right before I lost Pandora. “I didn’t want to leave you alone for too long, so I didn’t go to the jeweler. I’d like for you to come with me and pick out the best ring you can find.”
“Oh—” she says. Arriane’s voice is so low I barely hear the next words. They still register. “Sweetie. I can’t.”
I wish I could undo their impact on me.
I’ve gone to the hospital three days in a row. Not for long—I’m there for minutes at a time—but I know I’m doing what’s right for me. This is how I process what happened. This is how I’ll get full closure.
After my arrival in San Francisco, my stepfather instantly got me into therapy, and all things considered I’m a high-functioning abuse victim; I always do the “homework” given to me by my therapist, and I’m always on top of the latest research, ready to assimilate and learn how to cope even better.
When I’m with my father at the hospital, I let myself loathe him. I miss what he should have been, and despite the darkness he awakens in my heart, it’s sad to watch him wilt.
I understand my own mixed feelings—I can live with them. I’m the polar opposite of my brother. Every day, I try to talk Shishi into coming. Every day, he turns me down a dozen times before stomping off to some club business.
Now, I’m at Smother, and it’s early on a Wednesday. The night is slow, and I notice that the bar boasts no quirky décor courtesy of Leon’s favorite bartender, Arriane. At the moment, we play host to only ten paying guests, and Christian and the Swedish girl—Ingela I think her name is—man the bar. A young, blond guy, Cameron, covers the door but seems to spend more time inside, flirting with Ingela than outside.
“Cam!” Ingela shouts, the strength of her voice surprising me. Seriously, the girl carries over the dubstep shivering through the room. I’m impressed. Cameron pops his head in, tilting it playfully to her. “That gay there,” she screams, pointing at a client to my right, “needs Jameson, the ‘best’ whiskey”—she rolls her eyes—“and we’re out. Can you get the keys to the storage room from Leon?”
Gay?
Her customer stares at her, mystified, but Ingela just shoots him a five-star fashion model wink before swinging around to grab a beer for another client. I send Arriane a look to see what she makes of Ingela’s insult. Arriane shrugs and leans into the offended customer: “Sorry, man. She’s not from here—she means ‘guy.’”
I start laughing. “Wow, she’s something else, huh?” I say to Arriane as she pulls a glass from the overhead rack to pour me some Cabernet. I squint. “Is she wearing washed-out jeans?”
Arriane bobs her head, laughing too. “Yeah, and like a total mom, I keep a pair of her black slacks here in case she decides to be good.”
“I’m never good!” Ingela shouts at the top of her lungs in passing. Cameron returns with the whiskey she asked for. He whispers something in her ear. “You dick!” she exclaims and slugs him hard enough in the back for him to curse in pain.
“She’s got strong hands.” Arriane nods, guessing my thoughts.
“Have a drink with me?” I say.
Arriane frowns, thinking.
“You’re not working, are you?” I ask.
“No…” She seems to make up her mind, hikes down a glass for herself, and tips in half the amount she gave me. She must not be a big drinker.
This is perfect right now, I think, swirling the rich taste with my tongue. Arriane sinks down next to me on the outside of the bar. “Sort of nice to not have a crowd.” She smiles. “Of course, it’s not good for Smother, but just this once, you know?”
“Yeah, I agree. Love this place,” I add.
“Me too.”
Arriane and I clink glasses as Shishi arrives from the kitchen. He has struggled with dishwasher issues all night. My brother crosses the dance floor, back straight and inky bangs in his eyes, causing some girl at a table by the DJ to peer longingly after him. Nothing’s new under the sun, apparently. Once next to us, he curves an arm along Arriane’s backrest. “Hey, girls.”
Leon takes in our drinks with one look. He’s been reserved over the last days, but now his irises frost over. Often, it’s the only sign of emotion he allows, and you have to know him well to notice.
“Ingela, get me a VOSS, will you, and some ice.”
“Yes, sir!” Ingela yells, putting the music to shame.
Arriane’s stare snaps to Leon’s face. He isn’t acknowledging her attention. Whatever is wrong, they’re the only ones privy to it. I swear, these two. There’s something fishy going on. I mean, is it me or did the entire vibe around here change when my brother asked for bottled water?
“You thirsty, Leon?” I ask to cut the tension.
Ingela whips the bottle out of the fridge, unseals the lid, and grabs a glass. She laughs. “Bet it’s not for him. I haven’t been here long enough to see it, but everyone says your brother only insists on this d
esigner water for his girlfriends. Who’s the lucky lady, Leon?”
Ingela’s grin widens, and Arriane and I have the same impulse. We swing to check out the small, frail-looking chick that eyed my brother a minute ago. Robin, the DJ, told me Leon had put a move on her the other night. According to him, she has practically moved into the joint since then.
The girl, Marla, was it? Ducks in over her drink, avoiding our scrutiny. Arriane and I exchange glances—mine amused, hers… not.
“Ingela.” My brother’s got his stony façade up hard core. He’s not finding this funny at all. Palm on the bar top, he taps it once. “Just set it here. And go change into black pants, please.”
“Really, because your customers like my jeans—right?” She nods to a client nursing a beer. “That gay, for instance!”
“‘Guy,’” Arriane corrects her automatically.
Cameron has made it in behind the bar to fetch a Coke for himself. He jumps straight into the conversation. “Yeah, everyone enjoys this part.” He pats her through a wide hole under a butt cheek.
“Ah! Douche-pack!” she shouts.
“Douche bag, Inga,” is his response.
“That too! All of it!” Man, she’s loud.
Leon’s presence seems to expand from his post between Arriane and me. My brother can be obnoxiously domineering sometimes, which he has inherited from the sperm donor. I don’t have a death wish, so I’ll never tell him.
His stare drills into Ingela, and really, you don’t have to be psychic to sense that kind of intrusion. The poor girl backs out of her bickering with Cameron and rubs her hands nervously.
“Leon—sorry about the pants. I was almost forgetting again! I’ll change.”
Almost?
As the VOSS is placed in front of Leon, Arriane gets to her feet. “Okay, I—I’m not feeling a hundred percent. Gonna get some fresh air.”
She grabs her wineglass, but my brother’s fingers close around her wrist, putting it down again. “Here,” he says, simply.
Suddenly, I’m a voyeur, because Arriane isn’t guarded when she studies Leon’s expression. While Leon scoots the water toward her, all sorts of emotions flicker over her face—surprise, puzzlement, relief, and pain.
“For me?” she asks, and even Christian, who’s been with Leon the longest, frowns from over by the cash register as he watches the two of them. Wow, how can so much go on over a single bottle of water?
“I figured you’d rather have VOSS than wine.”
And just like that, the softness in Arriane’s eyes disappears, and she storms off in the direction of the kitchen.
I came outside to cool down from the tension in the bar, but of course Leon won’t let this go. He followed me, so here I am, telling him what I’m thinking. “You can’t dictate my life, Leon.”
“No? Did you want to get drunk with my baby inside of you?”
“No! I’d never jeopardize him. I’ve read about this, and it’s good for the mother-to-be to have a small glass of wine to relax once in a while. Your sister offered…”
Leon cages me in against the wall in the back alley, his scent enveloping me. I lean my head back and don’t fight his nearness. His breath is alive on me, tickling.
“The baby will be however buzzed you are. Was that the plan—to get him drunk?”
“No—I told you…”
“I figured, which is why I got you water instead. Arriane—listen. I know you’ve turned me down. I’m done snapping over a girl not choosing me, even if that girl is you and you’re carrying my child. Just let me take care of you still.”
God. He’s been so attentive since I told him about the baby. Whatever I do at work, he’s close by and ready to jump in. For my projects, he moves objects out of the way without me asking, even things I could easily clear away myself. When I’m not doing well, he diverts people’s attention, and whenever possible, he takes me upstairs to be sick in peace instead of in the ladies’ room downstairs.
I force myself to recall how he devours his girlfriends. The way he thinks nothing of it after he cuts their heartbroken souls loose. I hope to stop loving him at some point. Maybe all I need is to observe him with a few more broken-dolls.
Leon says he respects my decision to not try out a relationship with him. He’s in my space, though. In my face. Creepy-crawls hotly beneath my skin.
My love isn’t touching me, but his palms are flat against the brick and his mouth dips in until it finds me. He sucks in a deep breath as he pulls on my lip with his teeth. “Christ, Arriane.” He kisses me and I open, my inhale quivering with indecision.
“Please don’t,” I whisper, but my neck arches to meet him better. One of his hands reaches my waist, caressing it carefully. Moves over my stomach as our kiss deepens.
“Just a little bit,” he whispers back, and the hot twinge in my gut makes me moan. “Shit,” he says. “You’re fucking addictive.”
“Stop confusing me…” I mumble, but his touch trails up, curling around my breast. As he squeezes, he presses his body hard against me.
“Your call, Arria. I’m here,” he says, reading minds and stoking my fire. I burn.
“You should find another girl,” I press out, not meaning a word.
“Judging by how jealous you are, I beg to differ.”
“I’m not jealous,” I sigh as his hands skim around to my back and tuck me against him. His touch becomes rougher, and my fingers lace through his hair. Leon jerks me up against the wall, my legs sliding over his hips on their own accord.
I—
Should leave before I do something else I’ll regret.
A button in my shirt is about to pop, and Leon finds it at the center of my chest. A pleased grunt escapes him as he undoes it and sneaks a hand in to caress me beneath my bra. “You want me so bad, baby,” he tells me. “Ah, these nipples… Stay with me tonight?”
Somehow my brain still works. “I can’t.”
“Why not? I’ll please you, baby—I’ll please you.” He rocks into me, showing me what I’m missing out on, and I whimper, remembering so clearly.
“Shut up.”
“So I should chase other chicks, then?” he whispers in my ear while he moves against me.
My legs tighten around his waist, my hips undulating with him, riding him, using force. He helps me. God, he’s hard as granite between us, and I’m dying for this man.
My brain isn’t working. “Leon, please…”
“Should I grab the chick by the DJ booth instead? The one who’s got the hots for me?” he murmurs through the kiss.
“No…”
I’m shameless, I—press my crotch into him, needing release. I’m panting, squeezing myself against him, and Leon understands, works me—works himself against my core until I start whimpering from him.
“Oh, baby, baby…” His breath is fast into my mouth, every muscle in his body coiled tight as I climax. “I love it when you come.”
I am weak, slumping my head against his shoulder as he cradles me in his arms. He kisses my neck, a warm burst of air hitting me from his nostrils and producing goose bumps.
“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning for everything. For giving in to him, for not making him happy, not easing his worries like my mission has been since I started loving him. I’m adding to his burden instead.
“Sshhh, baby. Sshhh.”
I’m not sure when Kat will return. Knowing her, it depends on our father’s situation, which isn’t something I’ll lose sleep over.
After a week of having her at my house, I’m floored by how much I’ll miss her sweet presence. It’s why I’m with her, entering my father’s hospital room on Kat’s last day in Deepsilver. I’m doing this for her.
Kat alerted me to the tube that’s supposed to cover his mouth, but as we enter, he’s awake with piggy eyes peering at us from over thin, transparent breathing tubes in his nose. His mouth, that damn slit in his face, tries to smile at me when I stop dead in my tracks by the exit.
“He’s
awake?”
“They left a voicemail.”
“How long ago?” I ask, voice low. Menacing. Daring her to say she’s known the whole time that he’s not in a coma anymore.
“I swear, Shishi—I just noticed the message from the hospital on the way here. I couldn’t risk that you turned around, so I didn’t call them back,” she whispers.
“Lee…” The asshole tries to say my name. Yellow jowls hang asymmetrically from his face, touching the blue hospital gown below his neck. He’s thankful we’re here, and I want to hurl my guts out Arriane-style. Fuck. Him.
“Dad,” Katsu says. Her pitch trembles. The fear in it catapults me straight back to the night of my black-belt graduation.
“Screw this, Kat,” I say. “Ready to scram?”
“Shishi, please sit?” she begs before she flops into a visitor’s chair by our father’s side. “We’re here—we’re owning this.”
“Thang…” my father starts. “Thaah…”
Oh, hell no.
“You thanking us for coming, Dad?” I spit out. “You should thank your daughter. She’s a fucking angel, you know that? Not your doing.”
“Leon,” Katsu begins, putting a small, cold hand on my arm. “Please don’t—”
“No, Kat. You brought me here—I’m here. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay, but you’ve got to deal with me being me.”
Kat’s bottom lip trembles. I can almost see her heart beat like wings against her ribs. “I’m not hurting you, Kat, for speaking up, am I? Am I hurting your feelings if I tell this piece of shit that he’s a piece of shit?” I laugh and swing to him.
“Father. You’re dirt under Kat’s shoe. I’d like to sanitize her shoe, okay? No–get her new fucking shoes!”
My father blinks with something other than callousness. Different than cruelty, rage, or pleasure. His heart monitor beeps faster, which probably isn’t a good sign, and I don’t give a flying fuck.
“Shishi, please! Let’s go—I’m ready to leave…” Kat tries, knowing damn well I can’t be stopped now.