Another Stroke of Fate (The Carnal Exhibitions Book 2)

by LW Barefoot

  If I stayed there any longer with Evan’s cologne working its magic, I would have given in to the need to inhale him and find out how much I’ve missed the feel of his skin under my tongue and the taste of his neck as he thrusts into me.

  Instead, I fantasize about stealing one of those syringes and stabbing it through Dr. Karen’s filthy jugular.

  Harper

  Instead of going back upstairs, I slip my shirt back on and roam. My knuckles aren’t split, but a dull throb radiates from my fingertips to my elbow. The last time I felt anything was waking up in the hospital to Evan’s beautiful but sad face. There was nothing but pain after that and then everything went blank.

  I continue to peel off bits of the croissant and savor the taste while admiring the brush strokes on an antique painting. My fingers itch to reclaim my greatest escape. I look up to Brad walking down the hall in my direction.

  “Hey, Wreck-it Ralph,” Brad says and I giggle. “God, it’s good to hear your laugh again. Are you okay?” Brad asks in his seldom used serious voice.

  “I think so,” I admit.

  “What do you want to do on your first day back to the land of the living?”

  “I want to go outside or paint or anything, honestly,” I confess.

  “Then let’s go waste the day. I wasn’t kidding about dodgeball, but that might be too aggressive. Have you ever been fishing?”

  “I grew up in the desert. What do you think?” I ask.

  Brad smirks and reaches in his pocket, pulling out a walkie-talkie. He presses the call button and makes clicking noises with his tongue as it echoes through the speaker. It connects with the overhead sound system throughout the plantation.

  “Is this an emergency? Or is Brad just screwing around again?” Voices sound over the airwaves and competing commentary.

  “Calling all bored as hell security and freeloaders,” Brad speaks in a deep Cajun drawl before going all out Foghorn Leghorn in his receiver. “Clear skies and a warm afternoon call for a fishing expedition, I say, I say now. Meet on the main back porch in thirty,” he finishes.

  Cheers and cursing crackle over the airwaves.

  “No worries. The guy’s that are pissed are the ones on duty today. You might want to change. Could you bring some sunscreen?” Brad asks and I laugh.

  “Anything else?” I smile.

  “Not that I can think of. I’ll pack some extra ice for your fist, prize fighter,” he says, pointing to my hand.

  “I’m never going to hear the end of it am I?” I ask.

  “Not a chance,” he laughs, moving around me and walking down the hall.

  The textures of fabric in my closet pull me to touch and rediscover why I love clothes. I can’t believe even the little things I missed out on while taking medication.

  I’m dressed in cutoffs, a tank top, and brand new cowboy boots I’ve never seen in my life. I opened the rustic box on the island in the closet. After sliding them on, they melted like butter with my footsteps. Even Rufus has an instant love for the tempting smell of fresh leather. I stare at them through the tinted lenses of my sunglasses and wonder where I got them. They’re the perfect size and shape, but I don’t have a clue how I acquired them.

  I sit down on the back steps within fifteen minutes of Brad making his silly announcement of a random excursion. I start applying sunscreen to my legs while glancing at my new boots.

  “I’m glad you like them,” Evan says.

  He sits down next to me, dressed in shorts, boat shoes, sunglasses, and a snug fitting t-shirt. How have I spent three weeks with him and not be pulled to him inexplicably? My pulse picks up its rhythm when he grins.

  “You bought them for me?” I ask.

  “I thought you might need some,” he offers.

  “Thank you. I love them,” I say.

  “We’ll have to work on scuffing them up a bit,” his smile wide, revealing his perfect white teeth. “The more you wear them, the better they become.”

  “You don’t strike me as a boots kind of guy,” I admit.

  “I’m not, but I appreciate them. They come in handy around here.”

  “Is it okay to wear them on the boat?” I ask.

  I didn’t even consider wearing the wood heels on the deck.

  “As much as I want to take you on a luxury yacht or cruise liner, that’s not where we’re headed. Those are perfect for the type of day we’re going to have.”

  I grin when I see Mae in a large brimmed sun hat and cute capris.

  “Mae, I didn’t know you fished?” I ask.

  “There you are, Mike Tyson,” she jokes, so proud of herself.

  “You sound just like your son. I’m really never going to live this down, am I?”

  “I doubt it. I don’t fish, I’m going back to the city for a few days. I wanted to come say my goodbyes,” she corrects.

  I stand up and go in for one of her bear hugs before she has to ask.

  “It’s good to have you back, sweetie,” she whispers.

  “Was I really that out of it?”

  “Yes. Like one of those poor bastards the voodoo freaks dope up, but you’re back now. Have fun out on the water. Evan, y’all are all stocked up,” she says.

  “I wonder which car she’s going to take?” I ask after she’s gone.

  “I don’t even ask anymore. Her Cadillac has been in my garage since the completion of renovations on this place,” Evan smirks.

  Martin comes swinging out of the back door with a canvas bucket hat on and an assortment of fishing poles. Within ten minutes, several men pull a couple of ice chests to the back porch and Brad and Seth drive up on a golf cart. A beat-up old pickup rolls to a stop closest to the house. The ice chests and fishing poles are loaded in the back.

  “So where’s this boat we’re getting on?” I prod.

  “Boats,” Evan grins.

  We load up and travel several minutes away from the plantation. I’m not sure which surprises me more, the fact the boats don’t look like any I’ve seen before or that they’re modest.

  Evan catches my confusion. “Not what you expected?”

  “Not exactly. I’m kind of relieved we’re not getting on a fan boat,” I say.

  “No swamp tours around here. We’re closer to the Gulf Coast and need sturdier hulls to take on waves. These are mainly for fishing and no, they’re not mine.”

  “Who owns them?”

  “Who looks the most enthusiastic about going out today?” he points out.

  I study the group unloading the supplies for a day out on the water. Martin hums with the biggest grin on his face and fishing hooks woven in his silly hat.

  “Why does he need three?”

  “We always have a big crew. I have a thing for cars, Martin has a thing for boats. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

  I know he’s only asking out of concern, but if I meant what I claimed earlier about not being a victim I needed to prove it.

  “I’m ready to find out.”

  I absorb the sensations of being awake after what feels like being dead for so long. The wind whips across my face. The sun glitters across the water and warms my skin.

  We waste the day on baited hooks cast over calm waves. I catch nothing but debris and an unavoidable urge to drink in every detail of Evan’s chiseled body.

  I study him behind dark sunglasses and feel him do the same with me.

  We keep our distance, but I want nothing more than to close it.

  Harper

  Exhaustion and the overpowering smell of fish force me to skip dinner. I go straight up to take a bath and go to bed. Using my left hand, I awkwardly wash my hair with the sprayer cradled on top of the faucet. I’m pretty sure I get water everywhere. I have to hang my throbbing right hand on the edge of the tub to ease the dull pain that’s set in. I smile, believing punching that bitch was completely worth it.

  I barely manage to get shorts and a top on for bed. I don’t even attempt to work out the tangles in my wet hair before
falling on the soft mattress. The sheets lull me to close my eyes and gather my thoughts, reflecting back on today. I turn over and stare at Evan’s empty pillow. Placing my smarting right hand where his head should be resting. I miss him. Regret washes over me at how long it took me to stand up for myself. I should have known something was wrong with me. I was healing and broken, but my spirit wasn’t. Despite what my pathetic therapist insisted, I’m fine. More than fine and I’m definitely not crazy.

  A cold compress covers my right hand on Evan’s pillow when I shift. I must have fallen asleep. I turn over on my other side to a dark purple rose with a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water on the nightstand. I swallow the pills and fall back asleep with a smile I’m sure I hold through the night.

  I wake up a completely new and invigorated person. I dress for a run but my ribs remind me that I’m not quite ready to push it. I eagerly move through the halls and downstairs in search of Evan, but only find Rufus and Brad in the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” I announce.

  “Hi,” Brad mutters while I break up their training session to love on my wrinkly bulldog. “What do you have planned for today, Mayweather?”

  I laugh and wonder when he’ll run out of famous boxer references.

  “I’m painting. All day,” I grin.

  “Jamie’s coming out here. I hope you don’t mind I filled him in on what happened yesterday?” he admits.

  “What that my doctor threatened to have me committed and I lost my shit and punched her?”

  “You say that like you’re ashamed of your actions, but I’m thankful you beat me to it. I’m not one for hitting women, not matter how much they deserve it, but your therapist was pushing me to it,” Brad smirks.

  “I’ll see you at dinner, Ike,” I jest.

  I leave Brad roaring his deep melodic laugh and head for my studio with Ru’ right on my heels just like old times.

  As soon as I open the door, the blazing sun is glorious. I waste the day away in a whirlwind of releasing pent up creativity and appreciation. Every downward stroke of my arm and slash against canvas helps me reclaim more of myself. It also helps to work out the stiffness in my hand.

  When the sun dips below the trees and kisses the horizon, I retire to get ready to reclaim something else I lost.

  Clinking glasses and voices vibrate from within the dining room up to the second floor. I take a deep steadying breath before I make my appearance known when I finally make it downstairs.

  The enormous table is full as I find the only empty chair. I want to sink in the high-backed seat when I finally sit.

  It’s that damn dreaded sign that screams ‘victim’ I fear is now permanently tattooed on my forehead or ‘crazy’ like my doctor claimed yesterday. I adjust and push away the thoughts. I straighten my spine and lift my head if only to fool myself.

  The first few notes from a song sound through hidden speakers. The volume grows, easing over the awkward silence. The Temper Trap’s ‘Love Lost’ pulses throughout the crowded dining room.

  My eyes find Evan’s immediately. He takes in my appearance across the vast table. There’s no attempt at hiding his searching gaze as he studies me.

  As the music coaxes me to relax a fraction, I mouth ‘thank you’ to him.

  It’s as if the room fades away and we’re back to that night. The familiar tunes and distance between our bodies makes me anxious and completely aware of him. He’s who I set out to reconnect with.

  My attention shifts as Tom presses a kiss to my cheek. I was so wrapped up with Evan, I hadn’t noticed who I sat down next to.

  “I’m sorry you missed out on our outing yesterday,” I utter.

  “Well, someone had to work around here. You know I came as soon as I heard,” he confesses.

  “Yes, Mae mentioned it. Thank you.”

  I smile, suspecting he has a bad case of cabin fever and doesn’t want to delve into anything too serious. I try to mention it when Jamie interrupts me with heavy footsteps pounding loud on the hardwood as he barrels through the dining room.

  “I came out here as soon as I heard you’re no longer a zombie,” he jokes.

  His smile is wide with deep dimples, but his eyes give away his sadness. His hair looks like he’s been alternating between running his hands through it and pulling it out. He tucks his car keys in his pocket. He doesn’t hesitate to pick me up out of my chair and I wrap my arms around him. Ignoring the room full of people. Squeezing me too tight, I let out a groan of discomfort. Pain shoots up my spine with the pressure from his intense embrace.

  A chair crashes against the floor across the room. Evan stands and swears loudly as he stares down Jamie holding me. His eyes are murderous as he tries to contain himself. Martin fumbles to right the chair back in place. Jamie looks between the two of us and sets me on my feet.

  Jamie runs his hands over me and apologizes for causing me pain. He pulls back to cup my face in his palms. All the politeness and attempts at niceties shatter. The gravity of what I’ve been through becomes apparent with Jamie’s undivided attention on me. It’s so unavoidable as I feel the weight of realization crash with those other emotions I’ve been avoiding.

  He pulls me from the suffocating dining room. Noticing my legs can’t cover as much space as his, he picks me up and cradles my head under his chin. Walking faster now that we’ve left the dining room. Voices raise over the music. I close my eyes and let the one person I trust to hold me because I need it. I need someone to just hold me.

  I have a distant memory of a whisper, ‘Let me hold you.’ I shiver as the repetitive voice echoes those enticing words in my head. But the voice doesn’t match the person whose arms are around me.

  Jamie walks us to a small parlor. A fire burns low in the hearth, it’s warm and inviting. He sinks down on a sofa, never shifting me out of his arms. He holds me for what feels like forever, rocking us back and forth. It’s like so many other crossroads in our lives, so many past moments where we have only had each other.

  My body’s draped across his lap, my knees pulled up. I fit easily in the expanse of his arms as he holds me tight. The pressure from only moments ago is gone, he didn’t mean to hurt me. There was no way he would have known. I’m almost completely back to my old self except for my tender ribs.

  Jamie whispers over and over how sorry he is. I feel him crumble underneath me.

  To an outsider, it would appear intimate and it is, in its own way. Everything I was holding in comes tumbling out.

  Someone clears their throat as our tears begin to subside. I don’t look to whoever the interloper is. I know exactly who followed us from the dining room. I wonder if Evan has witnessed our entire tear fest. I wipe my thumbs under Jamie’s eyes and across his cheeks. He repeats the same attention on me. Both of us attempting to wipe away the tears. Neither one of us looks up, our eyes locked to each others.

  “She hasn’t eaten anything,” Evan points out.

  I feel his words work their way up my spine. I shiver knowing I will be alarmed by Evan’s expression. The depth of his voice has all my senses zeroed in on where he is. I’ve missed that deep commanding voice.

  “I’ll make sure she gets something,” Jamie responds studying my face.

  The hairs all over my body stand on end. Both Evan and Jamie dance around my fragile state for the time being, but it’s no longer fragile and it’s time for them both to see me as I am.

  “Harper,” Evan’s voice whispers and my eyes shoot to his.

  The drugs are out of my system and my vision is clear, but it muddles my emotions further. In all the lost time I’ve had in recovery, Evan’s voice is the one I’ve heard on repeat.

  His body never leans up from his casual stance in the doorway as I stand on quivering legs. Jamie helps me. Evan growls when Jamie’s hands keep me steady.

  Jamie leans down to whisper in my ear. “Harper, it’s completely up to you. If you need me to stay, just say so.”

  For the life of me, I want to tell
him to stay. To hold me longer, and let me wail at the grievance of it all, but I shake my head side to side because that’s not really what I want. I reach for his hand and squeeze.

  “How long are you staying?” I ask.

  “However long you need me to,” he says, placing a kiss on my forehead and no doubt shooting a silent warning at Evan.

  Jamie slowly struts down the hall leaving me with the one person I’ve wanted to be alone with and run away from all in the same breath.

  Evan

  I couldn’t help my reaction to Jamie’s hands on Harper. He knew. He fucking knew how long I’ve waited to be with her. Avoiding the inevitable, prolonging my torture.

  I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I needed to touch her like I needed to breathe. She’s my ultimate gateway drug. One desire leads to another.

  When I heard her roar in fury at her therapist yesterday, I stayed out of sight because I needed to hear how it would play out. I hated the fact that Harper’s doctor and I have a past, but I didn’t think it through when Harper came here after she was in the hospital.

  She’s the only thing I think about. I hated having to sit back and watch Harper emotionless these last few weeks.

  Every night I find myself by Harper’s bed, mentally cataloging her healing bruises. I leave as soon as I wake her from a nightmare before she realizes I’m even there. Last night she tossed and turned and I hovered over, only seconds from waking her up. I froze when she moaned and whispered my name. That single admission brought me to my knees. Her hair wild and spread out against white sheets, her lips parted. It took every ounce of self-control I have not to touch her, let alone kiss her.

  I watch as Jamie hugs her across the dining room. Her face contorts with pain and my heart stops. I don’t know how I went from sitting here like a gentleman to growling like a savage beast.

  Her beautiful eyes round with horror, fear leaking out of their depths, fear of me. Jamie scoops her up and carries her out of the room. I sit back down for a moment before I can’t stand it any longer. Breaking the silence in the stunned room. Ignoring any and all protests from others as I follow Jamie and Harper’s retreating figures down the hall.