Secrets: The Complete Collection

by H. M. Ward

  “Yeah, just keep your feet up and don’t grab my boobs if you freak out.” He laughs. I feel his hands slide around my waist. His weight shifts behind me when he puts his feet on the back pegs. “Hold on tight,” I say, and we’re off.

  CHAPTER 17

  The diner was one of those circa 1950 deals, complete with shiny façade. Cole and I walk inside. Before we even have a chance to sit down, a guy walks in behind us with a girl on his arm. Her hair is teased out to Mars, and her implants bounce around under a tiny tank top. She’s snapping her gum and I instantly hate her.

  A middle-aged waitress sees us and holds up her pointer finger—the universal signal that she’ll be right back. I glance through the place. There are about five tables filled, all in the same section. Great. That means she’s waiting tables alone, so gum-smacker would end up right next to us. I try not to roll my eyes.

  I don’t really notice the guy she came in with until he speaks. He has that fake Brooklyn accent that Italian guys think is so macho. He’s wearing a bowling shirt with a once-white undershirt peeking out. His hair looks like a skunk crawled onto his cranium and died. There’s a peppering of dark hair all over his body. He looks like a Sasquatch with gold medals hanging around its neck. When he walked in, he had his hand in the girl’s back pocket. They were laughing like something was hysterical.

  It doesn’t happen until the waitress walks away. The tension didn’t balloon into anything until the ape-man tapped Cole’s shoulder, “Hey buddy, you lose your balls or what? Who the fuck lets the dame drive?” He snort-laughs like he’s hysterical.

  As he’s speaking, I turn and glance over my shoulder at him. My mouth starts to open with some snappy retort, but Cole’s already acting. His fist flies into the man’s face and connects with his nose in a loud crack. The hairy guy grips his face and blood streaks between his fingers. Before he can say a word, Cole is tugging my hand and pulling me out the door.

  I’m stumbling through the parking lot toward the bike. Ape-man’s girlfriend follows us out, but she doesn’t approach. Instead she stays by the door screaming profanities at us, saying she’s calling the cops.

  “Cole, what the hell was that?” I finally manage, looking back over my shoulder. He sucker punched a guy in the face. Every muscle in Cole’s body is tense. His fingers release my wrist when we get to the bike. He thrusts my helmet at me, an obvious sign that he wants to leave.

  “Are you insane?” I scold. “You just made bail and now you punched some schmuck in the face?” I’m yelling and shaking as I start the bike.

  Cole says nothing. We pull away and I don’t know where to go. If they called the police, Cole’s screwed. He doesn’t tell me where to go or where to drop him off. He just sits on the back of the bike with his hands around my waist, rigid and fuming.

  Since we are already out on Long Island, I decide to head toward my parent’s house. They aren’t too far away, and with the way Cole’s fingers are digging into my sides, we can’t get there fast enough. His reaction seems unwarranted, but he had his masculinity questioned too many times today. Apparently he was at his limit.

  Cole doesn’t complain, but I can tell the bike isn’t his thing. Instead of wrapping his arms around my waist, he’s been trying to keep a respectable distance between us, which makes it harder for me to keep a respectable distance from the asphalt. Cole didn’t do corners when we started, but after the diner, he holds me tighter and leans farther as the bike winds down the ramps and turns corners. It makes it a hell of a lot easier to drive. I can’t really blame him for not adapting to the motorcycle at first. Trust fund babies don’t ride Harleys, not unless they are taunting some distant relative into disowning them. Me on the other hand, I was on my own and could do whatever I damn-well pleased.

  The bike slows to a crawl and I stop a few houses down from my parents. Cole’s grip on my waist loosens. Lifting my visor, I speak to Cole over my shoulder, “My parent’s house is right here.” He looks surprised, so I explain, “A guy and girl on a bike with a pink splotch is kind of easy to pick out. If that guy at the diner called the cops—”

  He cut me off, “I know. I’m out on bail, even though I didn’t punch the cop earlier.”

  I nod. “I know and it looks like you’re punching your way to the Jersey shore.” My lips pull into a smile. Cole’s grimace doesn’t crack. I get serious, “Hey, stay here for the night. It’ll give you a few hours until your lawyer is back, and then you won’t have to worry about being thrown in jail. From what I’ve heard, if you get tossed in after six, you stay there for the night.” I cringe, and look at my parent’s house muttering, “Although I’m not really sure if this’ll be much better.”

  Cool blue eyes examine my face. They move from my left eye to my right, then down. It is such a sweet expression. I can tell that he doesn’t understand why I’m being so nice to him. Looking at his hands, he asks, “Why are you helping me? I mean, I know you’re altruistic, but I kind of deserve whatever I get after today.”

  Glancing at the side of his face I notice a dusting of stubble lining his jaw, and the tension lines between his eyes. “Yeah, well…” I debate telling him how much he’s grown on me, how much I like him. “Let’s just say that I wanted to punch the girl in the face, but I didn’t have the guts to do it. We’re a little more alike than I would have thought.”

  “Well spoken,” the corner of his lips twitches like he wants to smile.

  I grin, “Well, one of us has to be. We can’t all turn into thugs and just smash people.”

  “Assholes,” he corrects. His hands rest on my thighs just below my hips. The weight of his palm feels good. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes make me smile.

  I laugh, “Fine, assholes. But I gotta tell you, my dad will probably mess with you, call you a girl, tell you that your way too old to be his daughter’s boyfriend—and if you punch him—he will shoot you in the face. He’s crazy like that.”

  I pull my visor down and drive down the street with Cole sputtering, “Boyfriend?”

  CHAPTER 18

  We’re standing on the front porch. I’ve rung the bell and we’re waiting. I can hear my Mom upstairs in the kitchen. They live in a spilt-ranch, so the house is broken up into several levels. The clatter of kitchen noises carries out onto the porch. The screen door is open to cool the house. The sun has set and the street lights just came on.

  It’s a balmy night. I pull my hair into a ponytail to keep it from frizzing, while we wait.

  Cole follows me and stands there watching me before saying, “Boyfriend?”

  I nod with a plastic smile on my face, my eyes looking straight ahead, knowing exactly what we are in for. “Yup. Wait and see. It doesn’t matter what you say. I could tell them that you’re a gynecologist making house calls and they’ll still say that’s nice.” I glance over at him, “They’re insane.”

  An older woman emerges on the landing. We can see her through the door. She’s wearing a swimsuit cover-up. Her dark hair is frizzed at the temples. When she looks up, she walks toward the door with her arms extended, like she’s planning on hugging me through the screen, “Anna, honey!” She’s beaming, all five feet of her. Turning, she calls up the stairs, “Anna’s here! Set another plate!”

  I pull open the screen, and say, “Hey Ma,” when she leans into hug me, her eyes shift to Cole who is standing behind me in the shadows. She stops, mid-hug.

  “And who’s this? You seeing someone without telling us?”

  I shake my head. I don’t know why I bother to talk, “No, Ma. This is Cole. We aren’t dating.” I give her a hug and step inside. Cole follows behind me, his expression a little concerned.

  Ma steps toward Cole. He extends his hand, buy she swats it. I hear the slap. His eyes grow wider when she takes him in her arms for a hug, “Pish! You’re practically family!” She’s laughing and calls up the stairs, “Better make that two plates! Anna brought her boyfriend!”

  Suddenly my dad is standing on the landing. He�
��s a stout guy with a beer belly and orange shorts that are a size too small. The neon color doesn’t do anything for him either. There’s a sausage impaled on his fork, “Anna’s boyfriend? How’d you know she had a boyfriend?” Dad looks at me, shaking his head, smiling, “You never tell me nothing. Anna, why you holding things back from your old man?”

  He waves his hands as he’s speaking, shaking the fork. The impaled meat bobs on his utensil until the sausage flies off, and slaps me in the face. It stings before it falls. Cole reaches out and catches the meat before it hits the floor.

  Cole leans in close to my ear so they can’t hear, obviously terrified, “Oh my God—”

  I don’t bother muffling my voice, “Yeah, this is nothing. Wait for dinner.”

  I wipe the grease stain off my cheek, and follow my dad into the kitchen. Cole trails behind me trying to tell my mom the truth—that he’s my boss—but she won’t hear it. My dad just smiles and nods like a deranged hood ornament. It’s like they hit fifty years old, and their brains entered I-need-a-grand-baby-now mode. It never turns off. Needless to say, they are perfect for scaring the crap out of guys I want to ditch. Since I was hoping things would have worked out with Edward, I didn’t mention him, yet. As for Cole, it was the perfect alibi, assuming he didn’t run from the house screaming after dinner.

  CHAPTER 19

  Ma hands Cole a plate and dumps a mound of anti-pasta on it. Tonight must be meat night. Dad stabs another sausage and puts it on his plate before over-loading mine. He pinches my cheek and says, “You’re too skinny,” while I stare directly at Cole, who’s sitting across from me. He’s trying hard not to laugh.

  Cole lifts his glass to take a sip when my mom says, “It’s not good for a pregnant woman to be so skinny. You remember that Cole. Fatten her up before you knock her up.” She raises her glass to my dad and they clink them together, laughing. They think they’re hysterical.

  Cole chokes on his drink. Before he can recover, they’ve started talking about conception superstitions. I’m staring straight ahead with a blank look on my face, counting. If I leave the table before seventeen minutes, they’ll pester us for the rest of the night. But I don’t know if we can do it. About ten minutes have passed, and Cole looks like he’s going to die. I lean back in my chair, and shove another piece of pork in my mouth.

  Ma’s saying, “It’s a spoon under the bed, not a shoe!” She’s yelling at my father who smiles sheepishly.

  “A shoe seemed right,” Dad mutters.

  Cole’s eyes meet mine. I can’t tell if he’s trying not to laugh or cry. The fact that my mom was a debutant makes this even more amusing, but he doesn’t know that.

  Two minutes left. Just two. We can do this. I count backwards from 120. My counting increases in speed as the conversation enters ground zero.

  My mom ignores Dad, saying, “If you put a spoon under the bed while you have sex, you’ll make a boy.” She’s pointing her fork at Cole while talking. She stops for a second and taps the empty utensil to her upper lip, “What’s it for a girl? Frankie, do you remember?”

  Dad grins, “A red ribbon. That’s what your mother put under her mattress when we made you.”

  Ma slaps her hands together and points at Dad, “That’s right!” They share a look that makes me sick. Then she gazes at me, saying, “And it worked, Anna!” She turns to Cole, and is talking to him like he’s across the room. She’s so loud, “We wanted a baby girl, and see—the red ribbon brought Anna.”

  She’s still talking, saying things that make me cringe. I pick at dinner and notice that Cole hardly eats. I make a mental note to sneak into the kitchen after they’ve gone to bed. I also note to never wear a red ribbon ever again.

  I tune back in when my mom is starting to talk positions, “Missionary is God’s preference for boys, but girls, Cole you have to—”

  Three. Two. One. I jump up. Cole mirrors me and finds his feet. I say, “Thanks for dinner. Since we’re living in sin and trying to fornicate a set of twin grandbabies for you, do you mind if we share the den tonight?”

  Ma and Dad are speechless. They say nothing as I take Cole’s hand and pull him out the backdoor. We sit in the yard talking until my parents go up to bed. They watch us out the window like we’re celebrities while they do the dishes. Periodically they wave through the window.

  My parents are a little crazy, and I understand why. I just can’t tell anyone about it. They’re alone. I’m their only child. It was hard when my mom was disowned. Every single relative cut her off, and all because her evil mother didn’t like my dad. Frankie the Dock Dude wasn’t classy enough for her daughter. Grandmother forbade the relationship. My mother responded by eloping. Grandmother disowned them, and threw her daughter out like she was trash. They’ve never spoken again.

  My parents had been dirt poor. There were times when we had no food, no medicine. I still remember in vivid detail how hard they tried to give me things that the other girls had, but I usually went without. I learned from them that life isn’t about the stuff—it’s about the relationships—and some relationships are worth fighting for.

  I want that. I want to be so insanely in love with someone that I’d walk away from everything I knew, just to be with him.

  CHAPTER 20

  I feel restless, like I won’t ever be satisfied. Cole’s hands are warm. His smooth skin slides over my bare waist as he kisses me harder. My lips burn, they throb as I pull him closer to me. His thick hair is tangled in my fingers, his strong arms around my waist, pulling us closer—tighter together. Heat fills me. A burning desire to feel him inside consumes every thought I have.

  There is nothing but him and me.

  My nails claw his back as his kisses leave a hot trail down my neck. Our clothes are gone. It’s just his slick body against mine, but he won’t take me. He won’t push inside of me. I cry out, saying his name, begging him to take me. The third time I plead, he answers me. Without a word, he flips me over. I land on the sheets, and look up at him. My legs are splayed before him, completely exposed.

  Cole doesn’t hesitate. His hard body meets mine and he pushes into me, rapidly, over and over again. I can’t stop calling his name. I want him, I want him to fill me with come.

  I want things I shouldn’t want. I feel things I shouldn’t feel.

  There is no hesitation, no holding back. We move together like we were made for each other.

  “Cole,” I say softly.

  A hand shakes my shoulder. The dream shatters, and fades, but the emotions are still flooding my body. The spot between my legs is pulsating like he was really there, even though he wasn’t. Slowly, I realize I was dreaming and open my eyes.

  Horrified, I’m looking up into Cole’s face, “Anna, you okay?” His eyes are concerned, searching my face for answers that I can’t say.

  Pushing up, I shake the sleep from my eyes, “I’m fine.” My voice catches in my throat.

  Cole nods and sits on the coffee table across from the couch. He’s still watching me. I feel his sapphire eyes on the side of my face, though I don’t look at him.

  After that dream, I don’t think I can ever look at him again. Heat sears my cheeks and I wish I could hide, but there is nowhere to go. I know my mind was only replaying the lies I told my parents, but it felt real and that’s what scares me.

  SECRETS

  Volume 2

  CHAPTER 1

  “I wasn’t really sleeping well either,” Cole says sympathetically. He has no idea what he’s doing to me. I’m breathless, embarrassed by things he can’t possibly know, but it still makes my cheeks burn.

  My emotions are jumbled. I look up at him. He’s too old. I’m too young. He’s from money. I hate money. I glance at Cole again. Damn. I still want him. That stirring, whatever put the idea into my head didn’t leave when I woke up, and having him that close is like setting a magnet on a compass. My emotions are spinning like a top.

  It’s after 2:00am, but I feel wound tight. Pushing off, the couch
I tell him, “I’m getting a drink. You want one?”

  Smiling, he teases, “Sure, but are you legal?”

  My cotton shorts cling to my hips as I walk away. I laugh over my shoulder, “Legal to do things you couldn’t imagine, old man.” I have no idea why I said that, but it makes me feel better. Cole remains in the den, but by the time I come back with drinks, he’s sitting on my bed, also known as the couch.

  He was sleeping on the floor next to me. The den doors were closed and my parents left us alone to make babies all night.

  I hand him a glass with whiskey at the bottom and a can of Coke. I have a glass of wine. When he takes his glass, I clink them together, “Cheers.”

  He nods, pours the Coke into his glass, and puts his feet up on the table and looks at me, “What are we drinking to?”

  I say the first thing that flies into my head, “To your appreciation for women, but not women’s clothes. Unless you count Le Femme’s panties. You don’t wear those, do you?” I laugh and sip my wine.

  “Only on my head. That one with the apple makes a really cool mask,” he laughs and I spew a sip of wine, trying to stifle a laugh. “That’s second grade underpants humor, Lamore. Seriously, underpants jokes make you laugh?”

  I’m covering my mouth so I don’t spew again and try to swallow the wine left in my mouth. Nearly choking, I laugh, “Combined with the image of you dressed as a super hero, sporting tights, with a panty-mask on your face, yes.”

  Cole grins at me.

  I rest my head against the back of the couch. Cole’s sits next to me, his bare chest is distracting. He’s wearing his jeans, and is barefoot. I watch his chest rise and fall out of the corner of my eye. Damn dream. I shrug like he doesn’t affect me. I don’t want him to.