Every Single Thing About You: A “Tuck Yes” Love Story - Book 3

by Hopkins, Faleena

  Will looks at me, “Dad?”

  “It’s okay. Don’t come out until we tell you to.”

  Worried, he ushers his friends back inside, but Elliot resists, last head to be seen before we’re left alone again.

  Bennett was my first friend in New York when I came here for college. It took him a long time to open up and confide in me about his childhood. I never met The Viper — he had no contact with her by then. She’d earned that title.

  He never allowed The Viper to set eyes on his son. I remember my wife saying it was a shame, but I told Leah, without betraying his trust of secrets shared with just me and Nax, that his withholding Elliot was indicative of how much he cared for his son. She dropped it after that.

  Bennett snatches my paper towel from the rack and tosses the whole roll to his dad. “It’s bad enough to know your parents are out there somewhere living their lives and don’t want you. Believe me, that’s a hard thing for any kid to accept. But to be left with pure evil is where I draw the line in forgiveness.” Walking to the door, Bennett says, “When I heard you were looking for me, I could not fathom why you’ve chosen to come back into my life now, after all these years, but you’re too late. I don’t need a dad anymore. Now leave.”

  I cross my arms, beside Bennett in body and spirit. Together we watch his father ball up the used sheets and plunge them into a pocket with a nod of acceptance.

  But for a long time he does not move.

  I look over to Bennett and he shakes his head.

  “Your mother and I were just sixteen when we met. It was at a party. We were both high.” His gaze is locked on a memory like it’s embedded in my floor. “That’s what brought us together, actually. I was a shy kid. Didn’t fit in anywhere. Paulina and I, we were inseparable after that. When she got pregnant, we stayed clean for a while, but it was just the beginning of our addiction. The real trouble was my father. He was a bad man. Molested me and my sister. She’d gotten out of the house a few years before, but I was still living at home. In that hell. Paulina’s house was the same. That’s what drew us to each other, and to the drugs. A few months after you were born, we didn’t have anywhere to stay. I asked if we could stay with my sister. By that time we were using again, and she said she’d take you — just you — on the condition that I didn’t see you again until I was sober. I lost Paulina. She overdosed on her twenty-first birthday. Never forgave herself for not knowing you, but she couldn’t quit the habit, and neither could I. Especially after I lost her. She was my last string of sanity. We used to dream of when we’d come and get you. Without her nothing could bring me back. There was no more couch surfing with friends or strangers or dealers. I was finally homeless. One of those people you see talking to themselves because they don’t have anyone else to talk to. I had to guard what little I owned. Was robbed constantly by others like me.” Eyes without hope or fear lock onto his abandoned son. “I didn’t have a house to take you to. I didn’t have sobriety to build a new one with. I had no idea she mistreated you. I thought you were better off, all these years. When we grew up, my sister was a good person, but you look so much like our father, Bennett. My guess is she made you pay for what he did to us.”

  Bennett’s eyes are hard, unfeeling. “I assume you’re clean now.”

  “Three years today.” Pulling the wadded up paper from his pocket, he wipes fresh blood away. “That’s why I thought I’d give it my best shot by coming here and waiting. Tried to find your place, but I haven’t seen you after that day on the subway. Didn’t want to bother your friends but I had no other choice. Tried to find you on the internet…”

  “I work from home as a trader.”

  His father nods. “That’s why then. I assume they told you I was watching you on the train.”

  “Why didn’t you say something then?”

  “Scared.” He shoves the paper back into his pocket. “Ashamed. I’ve felt enough shame for a thousand people and a thousand lifetimes, and I can’t function under that pain anymore. It makes me want to use. I’m never going back to my old life, no matter if you accept me into yours or not.” His back straightens with dignity. “Nothing will get in the way of my serenity this time.”

  Bennett grunts, “Twelve steps?”

  “I’ve got a sponsor, and I sponsor four men myself. Can’t do this without help and a power greater than myself.”

  Silence fills the air as father and son stare at each other.

  “I was told you and my mother were a one-night thing. That you didn’t even love each other.”

  A stronger frown sets in as the old man’s eyes shadow with the surprise. “That’s not true.”

  Bennett drags his hand over his face, pacing two steps before demanding, “You guys ever come to see me?! I don’t know, watch me through a fence at school or something?”

  A sad smile crushes me from the old man’s face. “We snuck over her fence and watched you sleep. Did that dozens of times because she wouldn’t let us visit. It was torture. Do you remember a woman with brown hair and hazel eyes taking your hand in the park when you were five?”

  Bennett’s eyes go wide. “You mean that crazy woman who tried to abduct me?”

  “She wasn’t crazy. She was high.” His father’s eyes fill with tears. “That was two days before her twenty-first birthday.”

  Covering his face, Bennett walks into my bathroom and shuts the door.

  On a deep breath, I nod to myself and lock eyes with a ghost granted new life. “Pull up a chair. Let me get you a beer. He’ll want to know more.”

  When Bennett finally returns, his red eyes cut to me. He doesn’t object to the beer, but instead asks for one of his own. I stay in support of him, listening to stories until Elliot finally pokes his head out. “Dad?”

  We look over as Bennett says a tired, “Yeah?”

  “I have to use the bathroom.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Elliot heads over, but stops.“Is that your grandfather, Dad?”

  “No, He’s yours.”

  Glasses get pushed back. “I didn’t know you had a dad.”

  “He wasn’t around.”

  Elliot blinks a couple times. “Kind of like you.”

  Bennett rubs his face, used to this sort of bluntness since he’s the one who passed it down, but the sentiment hurts even if it was earned. “Not exactly.”

  Without accusation, Elliot asks, “How not?”

  “You’re good at math. How old are you?”

  “I just turned eleven.”

  “Am I in your life now?”

  “Yes.”

  “He just showed up in mine. Subtract your age from mine. You’ll have as many years I haven’t had a father as compared to you.”

  “Oh.” Elliot frowns, “That is a lot more,” and disappears into the bathroom.

  Bennett takes a drag off of his beer. “You’re not the only father who fucked up.” Jogging his thumb to me, he adds, “Only Josh here is perfect at it.”

  “You’re getting better, Bennett. You’ve come a long way.”

  He nods, “I’ve got a good woman to help me.”

  My chest tightens, and I take a sip, mind traveling to places I haven’t dared allow myself to go. I barely hear Bennett telling his father he has a new baby on the way. All I can think about is a certain yoga instructor I’ve been trying to forget.

  Chapter 13

  With my once-used red yoga mat in hand I walk to Tempest’s class for a second time, this time very aware she’ll be teaching. It’s not quite seven o’clock. I arrived early on purpose. Don’t want to throw her off like I accidentally did last time. Though I’d argue she threw me off more. I was the one who didn’t regain my cool, when she did.

  I don’t have it now, either.

  For the days since Bennett’s life changed forever, I’ve been thinking about my own. I couldn’t argue with Zia or defend myself that day, because I agreed with her. I know that now.

  Walking into the studio I take note of people stor
ing their shoes, others signing in, the small foyer cramped when last time it was just me. I kick off and stow my sneakers, wait in line to scrawl my name on a numbered list of eleven and growing, and head into a candlelit room that’s haunted me for months.

  A frown pierces everywhere as I spot a man onstage, sitting crosslegged like Tempest was. Glancing around for her, I cock my head and freeze. The dude has his eyes closed, so I clear my throat and interrupt his meditation. “Is Tempest Tuck teaching tonight?”

  He opens one eye. Then the other. “She doesn’t teach here anymore.”

  “At all?”

  “No.”

  My mat droops in my arm. “Oh.”

  “You’re welcome to stay.”

  “Thanks, but I won’t be able to concentrate.” Pivoting on my heel I scan faces of his students and find none familiar. I was in an agitated state that night. I would remember the people who all stared at me when she barked that order to grab blocks and a blanket. Think I locked eyes with each one of them.

  None are here.

  Heading for my sneakers, I pause as the guy calls out, “You should try her at Yin Yang Yoga.”

  A Google search later and I’m walking seven blocks west on Houston, counting down address numbers on windows, doors, signs, until I come upon a red awning with the letters Yin Yang Yoga in elegant capitals with a handwritten font below reading: for beginners to masters.

  The foyer is small but welcoming with a few shelves selling products — candles, blessing salts, crystals, and a rack with branded yoga pants for women, plus unisex t-shirts. My gaze slides up a shelf with backup stacked to the ceiling, yellow tags sticking out every five shirts or so, probably for easy size-search.

  I hear Tempest’s voice coming from inside, and check my phone for the time. I’m late, of course. Kicking off my shoes I store them inside unpainted wood cubbies, and note the improved visual appeal over those my sneakers were last in. Straightening, I grab my mat and quietly open the door to class, locking eyes with Tempest before I shut it. “Sorry I’m late,” I offer her and all of the students I’ve interrupted. “Went to the wrong place.”

  Tempest’s eyebrows shoot up as she tries to decipher my meaning. After three long seconds, she points a yellow fingernail that matches her yoga pants, long-sleeved midriff, and the band around a single braid that hangs over one shoulder. “There’s a spot over there.”

  I nod, “Thanks,” grab two blocks and one blanket, holding them up for her approval as I weave my way to the far end of a room with hardwood floors, a fountain near the stage, and scentless candles lit throughout, like last time. Only this one has gold walls over white, and the fountain is quieter with statues of fairies dancing around trees. The other was just metal leaves. The candle holders here are more ornate, and they all match.

  While I get settled, Tempest explains to the class as a whole, “We don’t spend enough time thinking about our breath. It’s something that comes naturally, so most people don’t realize how shallow it often is for most of us.” She pauses as I unroll my mat, eyes quizzical before resuming, “But think about this, we can’t live without air. Oxygen is our life-force even more than water is. Taking in just a little bit of air with shallow, unconscious breaths means you are thirsty for the energy that lives in all things. Expanding your intake of oxygen not only strengthens your immune system and increases blood flow, it also improves the harmony of all of your cells. Science says it decreases depression and even anxiety. So as we move through each posture today remember to breathe deeply and fully. It will seem awkward at first to focus on something you take for granted, but you will feel the rewards.”

  Just like my first class, Tempest brings us through postures I’m positive I can’t hold for as long as she wants us to but my resistance is gone. After about twenty minutes where I think I might die, my limbs finally adjust, mind slipping into a relaxed state.

  Focused breathing helps me stay present in each pose, my chest rising slowly, holding, and releasing again as we hit Warrior, Cobra, Locust, and a bunch of other names I can’t keep in my head. I’m here and I feel good. Strong. Centered. Like the old me.

  “That was very good, everyone. Now take your favorite pose,” she smiles, and several students say it with her, “Shavasana.”

  It takes me a second to remember that’s the one where you lie on your back with a blanket and do nothing.

  I can do that.

  I lie down with a sense of achievement, pulling the yoga blanket up, lungs deflating a deep breath of relief as I close my eyes. With muscles tingling I allow everything but why I came here to disappear.

  Tempest’s voice comes gentle. Quiet. “When you’re ready, roll onto your side and stay there a moment, then lay your palm flat on the ground and push yourself slowly up and face forward in Lotus.”

  As I plant my palm, I glance over to the stage and find her watching me.

  She averts her gaze back to class. “As you return to your busy lives, remember to breathe. Except in the subway. Shallow breaths are okay there.”

  Her students laugh, and Tempest checks to see if she made me smile. Our eyes lock, and because I’m not smiling her body unravels with the speed of a cheetah again, voice clipped, “Thank you everyone. Have a good day.” Turning her back on the room, she heads for a door on the far wall.

  I have to crane my neck a little to see what’s back there, and a woman I recognize from the first class fills me in, “That’s the bathroom.”

  “I knew that.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Rolling up her mat, she smiles, “Because you’ve never been here before.” At my expression she offers, “I’m Joan. I’ve been to every single class since Tempest opened her own studio. I remember you. You’re the guy whose friends are dating her sister and… was it her cousin?”

  I point at the hardwood floor. “Wait, this is hers? Tempest owns this?”

  Pointing to her pants with Y.Y.Y. branded on them, she beams, “I’m all in. I’m even going to Italy!”

  “Italy?”

  Walking backwards Joan says, “The retreat next month,” and waves, “Have to go home and shower. I’ve got a date tonight.”

  Bending to roll up my mat, I notice I’m the only one left, and stop rolling, sitting down on it instead. Takes another five or six minutes before Tempest peeks out of the bathroom.

  “Still here,” I wave.

  She reacts, straightens up, and walks to the stage. “Why?”

  “Needed to talk to you.”

  Pausing over a lit candle, she blows it out and walks to another. “You have my full attention.”

  “So, this is yours, huh? I had no idea you started a business.”

  She crosses to the fountain, and turns it off. “I asked Christina and Zia not to tell you.”

  “Ouch.”

  Her eyes cut to me, “Ouch?” and she blows out another candle. “You have feelings?”

  I stand to roll up my mat, “Too many.”

  “Join the club.”

  Punching the sides to get it balanced I offer, “And I’ve hurt yours.”

  Tempest blows out a flame, and meets my eyes. “Yes, you have. Several times.” Walking to the last candle she adds, “In fact, pretty much every time I’ve ever seen you.”

  “Yet you still like me.”

  She freezes, and spins on her heels, furious. “What makes you think I like you?”

  “I get the feeling you do.”

  “I hate to tell that inflated ego of yours, but you’re wrong.”

  “Huh.” I bend and snatch up the blanket, folding it as she draws unpainted, wood blinds, blocking the lights of one of our busiest streets in Manhattan. Putting away my borrowed materials I wait for her to say something, but get silence as she gathers her things.

  In the foyer I spy a flyer for Italy’s retreat by her studio’s sign-in sheet that I hadn’t seen before in my haste to get inside. Snatching it from its plastic display, since it seems to be the last one, I shove it under the elastic in
back of my joggers, and cover the theft with my tank top, quickly turning around as Tempest walks in with a tote bag hanging from her shoulder, keys in hand.

  “Good class tonight.”

  “Thank you,” she frowns.

  “I’ll walk you to the subway.”

  “I’m not taking the subway.”

  “Oh.” My turn to frown. “You have plans?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” I open the door for her and she holds my gaze as she exits. We walk onto Houston Street where pedestrian traffic is constant, and I wait while the key slides into place and Tempest glances to me, wondering why I’m still here. She slowly withdraws the key and starts walking west. That’s my direction, so I join her, uninvited.

  “What made you open your own place?” I look over at her frustrated sigh. “What?”

  “You don’t really want to know.”

  “Yeah I do.”

  “No, you don’t.” Stopping in the center of a graffiti-tagged sidewalk, Tempest faces me and flips her braid behind her. “Zia told me she yelled at you. Don’t try and make amends by acting all buddy-buddy with me, Josh. I’m perfectly fine with the fact that we don’t like each other. And yes, I know we’re going to be in their weddings, and we’ll probably see a lot of each other when my sister has her baby, since Bennett is your best friend.” She motions between us. “But we really don’t have to do this.”

  Pursing my lips, I nod, “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Tempest tilts her head.

  “Yep.”

  “Good!” She looks over at me as my feet keep time with hers. “What are you doing?”

  “I live this way, so I’ll just walk with you until you have to go to wherever it is you’re going. Would be pretty weird if we walked in the same direction and pretended we didn’t know each other. Plus, it’s safer if I walk you.”

  “I can protect myself.”

  “Safer for me.”

  A beautiful grin flashes. “Fine. We’ll walk.”

  “In silence or…”

  She sighs, “I decided to open my own studio because corporate life wasn’t making me happy anymore.”