by W. Winters
His expression drops as he nods, his tone more serious. “It’s not the best time to sell, so we could wait, and sell when the market’s better. Or if you’d rather just be done with it, we’ll still get a good deal, just maybe not a great one. Either way, whatever you feel comfortable with, we can maneuver.”
Whatever I feel comfortable with. His words repeat in my head as the memories filter back. I can’t stop them. Just thinking of our home together, of the furniture, the majority of it his, I can barely keep myself composed when I remember how we broke in the dark gray Old English-style sofa of our first place together. So many firsts happened in that house.
“Let’s sell them.” I push the words out. “The main home and the two vacation properties down south.”
“And the belongings?” Kam’s question is gentle and I nod in response, picking up my drink to find it empty. I shake the glass, rattling the ice and with the straw I drain the tiniest bit of tea until there’s nothing left.
“And what about where you’re currently staying?” he asks cautiously. “The lodge?”
“We can keep it,” I answer him. “We were barely there together.” Fuck. It’s not like ripping off a Band-Aid at all. Not when the wound is still raw and bleeding.
“And the west wing?”
His answering question hangs in the air between us.
“What of it?” I say in a whisper. I don’t want it mentioned.
“We still have it closed off …”
When all I have is silence, he offers, “Maybe we redecorate it?”
I focus on pushing around the remainder of the food on my plate. Staring at the crumbs and remembering how that’s what hurt the most. Laying in a bed we shared, and waking up alone.
“Did Zander suggest anything else?”
“What?”
He gestures toward me, his tone relaxed and casual. As if he could disguise the fact that he’s attempting to change the subject since the current one has turned heavy. “Hair and nails. Does he want you to go to the spa too? Maybe to a lingerie boutique?”
Although his tone is humorous, my response is flat. “He wants me to create a new normal that would make me happy.” I force a smile, remembering how we went through the checklist two days ago. He sat with me while I made the necessary arrangements and Silas accompanied me to them, acting more as a chauffeur than anything else.
“A new normal?” Kam’s back straightens, his reaction not at all contained.
“We made a list,” I say after taking a deep breath in and leaning back in the chair. My appetite has vanished.
“A list of what you want your normalcy to be?” Kam questions and I nod. He nods along with me. “So what else is there, other than nails and hair?”
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I keep myself from reaching into my purse to take out the list and instead tell Kam only the ones he needs to know.
“Things like, make my bed in the morning and practice yoga before noon like I used to.” I’m quick to add, “I have daily affirmations.”
“What affirmations?” Kam asks, and judging by his expression, I know he’s still wary of Zander. I get it. I do.
“I will allow myself to feel grief and then let it go,” I tell him after inhaling slowly and Kam’s eyes widen slightly. “Damon approved it.”
Kam nods as he looks away, obviously uncomfortable but he says, “There was an affirmation I was using a bit ago.”
“Really?”
He meets my gaze to tell me, “When Gerald broke up with me.” His expression sobers. They were engaged and I still don’t know what happened; all I know is that I wasn’t around when they broke up. I was at the center.
Sucking in a breath, he tells me, “I give myself permission to do what is right for me.” He swallows thickly.
“I like that one. I really do.”
He pouts at my smile, a goofy expression on his face. “You should add that to your list.”
“I think I will.”
“Yoga, affirmations, anything else he wants in your new normal?” He returns to picking away at his chicken caesar wrap.
Shaking my head, I don’t tell him the hair and nails, and even my chosen outfit for the day, is all Zander’s choosing. My grooming and appearance are to please him. It’s a requirement for every day.
Along with accepting a list every day of what I should accomplish while he’s gone. He’s busy arranging everything in his new place nearby. I haven’t seen it yet, but he said once he has everything in order, since things have gotten chaotic with his leave from The Firm, then I can come see and maybe stay if Cade will allow it.
Kam asks in a humorous tone, “What about daily blow jobs?”
His last question is spoken at the same moment the waiter returns to refill my tea. I can’t help the grin that slips across my face at the sight of Kam’s embarrassment.
The waiter remains professional, although he’s obviously heard and has a hard time keeping a smile from creeping onto his face that would match mine. “Anything else I can get you?”
Kam asks for the check and I’m grateful he seems to forget about the list after the young man leaves.
“Speaking of blow jobs,” I murmur and prod him. “Anything new in your dating world?”
My playfulness falls flat. Kam’s lips are pressed in a thin line. “Gerald wants to get back together. He called a couple of nights ago and again last night.”
I’m surprised by how happy his admission makes me. “You two were so good together.”
Again the optimism does nothing but faceplant on the table.
“When you were away … he didn’t do things he should have. Not like I needed him to.”
My throat dries and once again, I’m left with an anxiousness that comes with those memories.
“Enough of that,” he says matter-of-factly. “To a new normal,” Kam offers in cheers, his tone a little more upbeat. It only takes me a moment to force a smile and my glass of water, since the tea is empty, meets his.
“To a new normal.”
And so that’s how time passes, checking off a list daily, letting Zander fuck me into contentedness and pretending this new normal feels right and not like I’m counting the days until something inevitably goes wrong, very, very wrong and entirely out of my control.
Zander
It feels like several lifetimes have passed since I let Quincy walk away from me into the night. Time seemed to drag on forever after she was murdered. Guilt is a heavy, relentless emotion. It makes the body move slower and time crawl, except during the moments when you think it might be lifting. It always comes back, though. The guilt is never resolved. No amount of therapy has been able to free me from it. I’ll live with that guilt until I die.
If I had stopped her and done what I wanted to do, done what I know she needed, she’d be here. She’d be alive and happy. Probably with someone else, but she’d breathing.
I know all the things to think, and all the things to say. I know how to organize my thoughts from the physical world around me to the emotional world inside my mind. I’ve practiced holding these things at arm’s length and observing them without sinking into them. But no matter how many times I logic my way around Quincy’s death, I still end up at the same conclusion.
I bear some responsibility. It’s not all my fault, of course, though it felt like it at the time. The man who murdered Quincy bears more of that burden. He’s the one who mugged her and then killed her. He took her life.
I can’t describe the hate I have for him to senselessly take her life.
I’m still not ready for the hearing.
It takes a disgusting amount of time for these cases to work their way through the courts. She’s been gone two years and we’re just now reaching the point where the case is before the judge.
Ella and I move gingerly around each other in her house before it’s time to leave. The guilt feels so heavy on days like this. No reasoning my way out of it this time. I have to sit with it, and sit in the
knowledge that something new will happen today with Quincy’s case, regardless of whether justice is served or not.
“Are you nervous?” Ella asks me in the car on the way over. I don’t miss how her black heels slip against one another nervously. I haven’t told her much. Only that Quincy was a good friend turned lover and a former submissive, and that she was murdered. Her only comment was whispered, so you’re mourning too, which I didn’t respond to.
“About the outcome of the case?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
She watches me with those beautiful dark eyes, her expression open. “Do you think it’s already decided, then?” She’s gentle with her questioning, which is different for her. It’s a careful tone, like she’s afraid that it’ll hurt me.
It warms something inside of me, knowing she cares. She is good. All things good in this world. My hand lays on top of hers, my fingers slipping between hers to hold her hand loosely.
“There’s more than enough evidence. The DA told someone I know that he’s hoping for a lesser sentence if it looks like he’ll get off. He wants to plea it down.” I keep my eyes on the road and my breathing steady. “No amount of prison time will bring her back. But this is how she gets her day. Other people will be—” I cut myself off with a deep breath and I pull my hand away to pull onto the highway. “Other people will hear about her today, what happened to her, and that seems right. That her death will be acknowledged.” My throat’s tighter than I’d like and the car is warmer than it should be. “It’s a two-hour drive,” I tell her, “so get comfortable, little bird.”
I turn down the heat and we drive mostly in silence.
She holds my hand, though. Every chance she gets. Hers is small in mine, but her grip tells me she’s not going to let go unless I want her to.
When we get to the front of the courthouse and I let go to take her tweed coat, her cheeks are still flushed from the chill of the short walk in here.
It’s nearly ten degrees colder here. I fucking hate the cold.
I’m picking up my phone from the bin at the courthouse metal detectors when the text comes in.
Cade: You doing okay?
It’s the first real communication we’ve had since the coffee shop and my immediate instinct is to ignore him. He knows that I don’t want to talk about it. It also pisses me off that he hasn’t asked about Ella. Not once. Although it’s possible he’s been keeping tabs on everything through Damon. More than likely actually. The last thought softens my resolve.
With Ella’s heels clicking on the marble tile, we take our seats near the back of the courtroom and Ella scoots close to my side while I answer Cade. When she reaches for my right hand to hold, and sees the phone, she politely withdraws, but I make a point to move my phone to the left and take her hand in mine. I can feel her gaze on the side of my face, but I don’t say anything. All I do is run my thumb over her knuckles as I text my brother back with one hand.
Zander: I’m doing all right.
Cade: I know Ella came with you for the hearing.
Cade: I think it’s a good thing.
The defensiveness that spiked at his first message is quickly dissolved by the second. It’s unexpected for him to approve anything at all that has to do with Ella. It’s a relief that he’s being agreeable about this. It’s like one brick in the wall between us is showing cracks.
Zander: I do too. I’m glad she’s here.
Cade: How is she?
Zander: Quiet, yet full of questions. My response makes me smile and I glance over at Ella, this beautiful woman by my side who’s taking in the courtroom and watching each of the people who file in. I recognize a handful of them, Quincy’s friends and family who offer me nods, quiet hellos and a squeeze of my shoulder from Quincy’s father.
I don’t say much and neither do they. They all notice Ella, though, and their hesitant smiles offer me only a modicum of comfort.
She wears a simple black sheath dress that still manages to look expensive, her hair in a twist behind her head, and she looks exactly as prim and proper as the day I first saw her. Exactly as elegant. Some things are different, of course—there’s a light in her eyes now that wasn’t there before. She’s not so silent. But anyone looking at her now would never know what she’d been through. They’d see a gorgeous, delicate woman wearing a serious expression and sitting at my side. No more, no less.
There are many sides that people show. The broken man. The loyal brother. The confident Dom.
I’m not any of those today. Not completely. I’ve healed enough that I’m not going to lose my shit in the courtroom, but I can still feel the cracks in my heart that were left when that policeman showed up at my door.
I add, after a moment with him not responding, She’s good.
Cade: Let me know how it goes and if you need anything.
The proceedings begin, and it’s mostly a bunch of legal bullshit, the opening arguments and requests for changes to this or that. Which piece of evidence can be admitted. Who is representing whom. It all seems very clinical compared to the reality of the situation. No one mentions what the night air felt like on my face as she walked away from me. No one describes the reflection of the streetlights in her hair or the angry set of her shoulders. All of this is encapsulated with a few quick sentences. A statement from her then-partner Zander Thompson.
Of course I’m mentioned, but that amounts to nothing, just like my relationship with Quincy did. Other than her murderer, I was the last person to see her alive.
Ella stiffens at the mention of my name. I’m quick to move my arm around her, pulling her in and retaking her hand. She molds against me, warm and with a remorseful expression. My name is mentioned again, but those sentences are swallowed up by what happened after. I’m not on trial in this case, and neither is Quincy. It’s her murderer who’s on trial. A guy who’s been rotting in a jail cell since his arrest two years ago. I feel no pity for him. Let him rot forever.
Was Quincy thinking about our conversation when she died? That’s what I want to know. Before the murderer approached her, what was she going to do? Was she going to storm back over and scream at me for not wanting to get married? Was she going to apologize and tell me she loved me, even if I couldn’t say it back?
No one mentions this, either. It’s not part of a legal proceeding. Quincy becomes the body her assailant attacked. No mention of whether her face flushed with anger when he attacked her or went pale with fear. No mention of whether she screamed, or what she said. Signs of a struggle. Lacerations on her temple and collarbone. Fifth metacarpal fracture.
They can’t see her, but I can. She took a swing at the guy. It wasn’t enough.
My throat dries and I have to readjust, keeping back the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. It’s been two years, but there’s no amount of time that could pass and make this right.
I take so many four-count breaths I lose track of them. Ella holds my hand tightly through the whole hearing. It’s the longest we’ve touched each other. She refuses to let go and I’m grateful for her.
Quincy ended up in harm’s way because she wanted more from me than the D/s relationship we had, and I didn’t want that. I couldn’t feel the spark for it, even though she was beautiful and smart. Something in my gut warned me away from that deeper commitment. And now I’m here with Ella, who also wants more than domination and submission. She wants it, even if she hasn’t admitted it. Of course she wants it. She’s been married before. She knows what it means to commit like that.
And with her—
My chest seems to expand with how much I want that too. The vision blocks out the court proceedings. If Ella were mine, she’d have my ring on her finger right now. I could feel it while she held my hand. It wouldn’t be her home, but our home, somewhere else. It would be the two of us looking out at the world together. But then again … would she ever want to move?
Peeking down at her, I know she was someone else’s first. Someone she misses. S
omeone she hasn’t let go of. I know it all too well.
There’s also the logistics and legal blocks that would stand in our way. If Cade allows me to return to the company, there’s no chance in hell I can be married to a former client. A current client. Trust is our main currency at The Firm. If potential applicants can’t count on us to protect their lives and well-being, then we don’t have a job. My brother’s business will be destroyed. All kinds of suspicions would follow all of them everywhere.
The prosecution has brought out more evidence. Pictures, this time. Of the street where it happened, a yellow arrow pointing to where Quincy’s body was found. Another photo. Another yellow arrow. This is where it happens.
Photos of Quincy.
The rush of blood fills my head, and Ella’s grip on my hand tightens. I’m not going to lose control. I’m not going to sink into this firestorm of guilt and hate. I can witness it from a distance, the way I have to witness these photos. Rage slowly consumes me. Breathe. Breathe.
“Do you want to leave?” she murmurs into my ear. Both of her hands firmly around mine.
I offer her the single word although it comes out harsh and ragged. “No.” I don’t want to stay, but I’m not walking out now. I won’t walk out now. I have to face this as much as Quincy's murderer does. I have to look at the consequences of my actions. Forcing myself to restrain every emotion, I tell her calmly, “We’ll stay.”
“Okay.” Ella sounds even and sure. She’s not disappointed that I want to stay, though I do glance over at her face in profile. Should I have brought her here? She’s under the care of The Firm because her past caught up with her. Overwhelmed her.
“What about you?”
Ella’s eyes come to mine, and I don’t see an ounce of indecision there. “It’s hard to look at,” she says, keeping her voice low. “But I want to be with you for this.”
I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles.
I’m so damn grateful she’s here, and it brings back that overwhelming sense that she should be mine. In every way possible. Using the D/s relationship as the only framework for us seems like a cop-out, in a way. Saying that’s all we can have is a lie. It’s not true. There can be more. Another layer. If Ella wants it. If she really does want it, once all of this is over and she’s not in The Firm’s care. Not a minute before.