“Abby,” he prompted. “You promised.”
I reached for the small metal circle, and shoved it on my finger. Jim had whispered in my ear one afternoon that marriage was all about compromise, but sometimes compromise felt like self-inflicted coercion. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He lay back down, snuggling up behind me, holding me close. I closed my eyes, the ring squeezing my finger, and Travis squeezing me. The air felt dry, my throat felt tight. I pushed away from him and scrambled from our bed.
“I just,” I began, breathing hard. “I thought you were finished with that.”
“You’re mad.”
“Yes, I’m mad! And disappointed! And afraid!”
He looked horrified. “Pidge, I would never—”
“I know!” I yelled, closing my eyes. I took a deep breath, my next words softer. “I know. I’m not afraid of you. I’ve never been afraid of you. What I mean is that you’re not just a college kid anymore who can throw punches whenever he wants. You’re my husband. I love that I feel safe with you no matter where we go. I love that you would protect me no matter what. You’d never let anything happen to me. But I need you to keep your head down. Don’t you remember? We’ve had this conversation. Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”
He reached out to me, the memory making a small smile appear on his worried face. “C’mere.”
When I didn’t give in immediately, he became nervous. “What do you need from me, Pidge?”
“I need,” I winced. “I need you to grow up, Travis. You don’t have to be the biggest badass in town anymore. You don’t have anything to prove. It takes more strength to show restraint.”
He looked down, breathing out like the air had been knocked out of him. “He insulted you.” He looked up at me. “He insulted my wife. I’ve beaten somebody’s ass for less.”
“That was before,” I said, crawling into bed next to him. I cupped his jaw, meeting his gaze. “Before the wedding. Before, when you traded punches for a living and had a reputation to uphold. Before the fire. Everything is different now. We have to be careful.”
He thought about my words as he pulled my hands away from his face, bringing my ring finger up to his lips. “I can be careful.” He kissed down my palm to my wrist, and then up my arm, a mischievous grin turning up the corners of his mouth.
I suppressed a grin. “This isn’t funny.”
“No, it’s not,” he said, focused.
I was only covered in a black flowing tank top and matching pajama shorts. As he worked his way up to my shoulder, he noticed the strap. He pinched the bottom hem of my top, and with one hand and one motion, my torso was bare. He moved his mouth slowly and tenderly down my chest and stomach, pausing just long enough in all my favorite places to make my insides ache. I relaxed against the mattress and closed my eyes. He was worshipping my body. I was his religion.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I breathed.
“I know,” he said, his voice muffled as he situated himself between my thighs. “But you’re mad. And you know what it does to me when you’re mad.”
He swept the thin fabric of my shorts aside, and buried his face against my tender skin. I gasped, arching my back. “Oh, I’m mad,” I said between breaths. “Pissed.” My knuckles turned white as my entire body responded to every flick of Travis’s tongue. “Furious.” He reached beneath me, yanked down my shorts, and then returned to the apex of my thighs as if he’d been starving for me all day. My knees involuntarily quivered, and I moaned his name along with a few inappropriate religious references.
He kissed my thighs and then my stomach, gazing up at me with a proud smirk. He barely gave me a chance to recover before he was crawling up my body and sinking himself inside of me. Those were the times I was glad that he was unable to restrain himself. I’d only had a few glimpses of what Travis had been like with other women, but with me, he didn’t hold back. He’d let me peel away every layer, to see every weakness—and I was one of them. He’d been waiting for me to come along, and once I’d arrived, our lives began. There was no before or after. Travis knew from the beginning that we had always been, and we would always be. That truth was in his eyes every time he looked at me; in the way he was gazing at me in that moment as he hovered just inches from my face.
“Baby,” he breathed. He looked at me in awe, the exact expression that was on his face the first time he made love to me (and every time after), as if he was still surprised at how perfect and amazing I felt.
The hours passed, and at one point I thought I heard Shepley and America in the living room. Travis didn’t skip a beat, and eventually our roommates retreated to their bedroom. My muscles were trembling with fatigue, and I was panting, unable to catch my breath, but the longer we were tangled together, the more I needed him. I felt insatiable, easily seducing Travis over and over, from one climax to the next until we were both exhausted.
I lay on my stomach, peeking from my pillow at my husband who was doing the same. Our pinkies were crossed over one another, the sheet haphazardly draped over the small section of our backsides. My skin was glistening with sweat, my eyes heavy, and my hair tangled all around me. Travis’s free hand was above his head, twirling a caramel strand of my hair. We didn’t speak, we didn’t need to. We were saturated with one another, the air filled with sex, love, and satisfaction.
****
I’d been Mrs. Maddox for exactly one month when I saw Ricky and Joel, the two men who’d approached America and me at the Red—and who subsequently had their asses handed to them by Travis and Shepley. I caught just a glimpse of them as they made their way to a doorway at the end of the hall from my English Lit class. I paused to make sure it was them, and then carefully followed, being sure to remain unseen.
Once I reached the end of the hall, I peeked around the corner, watching Joel sit down behind a computer. Ricky stood nearby, a stack of papers in his hand. He seemed to be dictating to Joel. The room they were in was abuzz. Some students were hopping from one desk to the next, the others tapping away from behind their computer screens. I leaned back to see if any signage was on the door just to make sure it wasn’t a small, out-of-the-way library I didn’t know about. As I leaned in to try to hear what Ricky was saying, a girl I recognized from my statistics class shouldered past me.
“Excuse me,” she said, in a hurry.
“Um, uh,” I began.
She turned around, her expression a combination of aggravation and confusion. “What? I’m late.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just switched classes, and I’m lost. Is this Ancient Greek Philosophy?”
“No,” she said, annoyed. “This is the Eastern Star.” When she saw that I didn’t understand, she sighed. “The college newspaper.”
My eyebrows shot up, and I mouthed, Oh as she turned on her heels to rush to her desk. I observed them for a few minutes, and then retreated back down the hall to the exit. Ricky and Joel were at the Red for information, and they’d been waiting for Travis to come back. It was fortunate one of them was stupid enough to insult me before they could question him. They could be doing a story about the Circle, or worse … Travis’s involvement in the fire. I clenched my teeth, trying to figure out how I was going to stop them from running a story. Even speculation could get students talking when they’d originally declined. College students might be hesitant to speak to the police, but a curious fellow student could potentially jar a survivor’s memory.
I stopped in the middle of the hall, walked a few steps backward until my ass touched the wall, and then slid down to the floor. I perched my elbows on my knees and rested my forehead on my arms. Would it ever end? Would Travis ever be safe?
Two pairs of shoes began walking toward me, stopping just inches from the toes of my Chuck Taylor’s.
“Abby?” a familiar voice finally said. “Are you all right?”
I looked up, into Ricky’s eyes. His cheek was still a light shade of green from Travis’s left hook a f
ew weeks before. “That depends.”
Joel and Ricky traded glances. “On what?” Joel asked, nervous.
“Where are you guys headed?” I asked.
“To … to uh,” Ricky stuttered. “Why?”
I narrowed my eyes, but before I could speak, Joel stiffened. “Are you following us? Why are you following us?”
Ricky snorted, smug. “We caught you. You thought you could sit here in the middle of the hall, and we’d pass by and wouldn’t notice? You know we’re journalists, right? We notice everything.”
I didn’t give away my confusion, I just watched them become more paranoid with every new speculation.
“Travis knows we work from the Star, doesn’t he?” Ricky asked. “He heard we’ve been asking questions?” He swallowed. “What’s he going to do?”
I stood up, allowing the tiniest hint of a smile on my face. “You’ll see,” I said. I turning slowly and walked away. I pushed through the glass doors and jogged down the steps, inwardly panicking. They were doing a story on Travis. They were heading out to ask more people more questions. If they kept digging, someone might crack.
I touched my jacket pocket, feeling for the car keys. My mind was racing, wondering how to head this off; how to stop Ricky and Joel without implicating Travis— without anything short of blackmail, threats, or bribes.
A deep voice said, “Whoa!” Just as I ran head-first into someone’s chest.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I—” My stomach instantly sank.
“Hey, Abs. I was hoping I’d run into you.”
“Parker,” I said, accusation in my voice. I took a step to walk around him, but he gently took my arm in his hand.
“C’mon. Don’t be like that.” He released my arm and smiled brightly, as if the last three months hadn’t happened. “Can’t we just … talk?”
“No.”
“Abby. What do you want me to do? Beg? I’ll do it,” he said with his most charming smile. “I’ll do anything. I just want to make things right. What about lunch?” I made a face. “Or just coffee. Can we just discuss over coffee?”
“Coffee?” I asked. He nodded. I looked over my shoulder to the building I’d just left behind. I felt nauseous with just the thought. “Anything?” I asked, returning my gaze to Parker. I swallowed back the bile. I was about to sell my soul to the devil.
“Name it.”
I closed my eyes, already hating myself for what I was about to do.
******
Thank you for reading Episode 8 of Endlessly Beautiful! If you didn’t know, I had to skip last week to give my undivided attention to our baby spawn, who had surgery last Monday. He is doing so great! Barely skipped a beat.
It’s St. Patrick’s Day! Shout out to all my fellow Irish(wo)men out there! And, of course, happy birthday Thomas Maddox!
I’ve just started writing a new novel to be released (hopefully) this summer. I’ll write two more episodes of Endlessly Beautiful, and then take a small break to plug out the new novel. No worries! I will still be working on Endlessly Beautiful in the meantime! I’ll just have to dedicate most of my time to my upcoming work. Stay tuned for the release of my newest title and cover in the next few months!
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<3,
Jamie
Twisted
:: Travis ::
I twisted the cold metal of my wedding ring around my finger as I stared into the Iron E gym from the parking lot. Spring was making its presence known, the rain clouds above pissing all over my car, the raindrops bouncing off the pavement in a hundred thousand tiny splashes. I turned off the ignition and grabbed the wheel, pressing my head against the headrest.
Perkins Plaza nearly surrounded me with boutiques, a golf equipment store, a small supermarket, a nail salon, a coffee shop, and in the center, Iron E gym. The thick, gray clouds made it easy to see the people walking around inside under the fluorescent lights. They were lifting, spotting, or running on one of the fifteen treadmills. Brandon was behind the front desk, flirting with the receptionist.
I clenched my teeth.
Eakins had plenty of flexible jobs for college students. The problem was that it was April, and most of the jobs that were still somehow available were only meant to support a weekend partying habit, not a married couple. I had scoured the classifieds. Three dozen people had held my application in their hands and had either told me to come back at the end of the year for the Christmas rush, or that they had already hired several college kids and didn’t need more. The jobs on campus paid nine dollars an hour or less—nothing that could pay rent and bills with the hours I would work around my classes.
Working for Brandon and letting local cougars paw at me while they pretended to work out was the last thing I wanted to do, but the bills had to get paid somehow. Abby was on her second week of tutoring, but that barely covered the groceries and gas money.
I took a deep breath, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and slammed the door behind me, feeling the pooling rain water slosh under my feet. I knocked on the glass door and waited. There was a code box outside, and each member had their own four digit pin. It had been a long time since I could get in with mine. A man whose neck was twice as big as his head set down his bar bell and, with the telltale stick-up-the-ass-and-arm-swing walk of a weightlifter, he opened the door and greeted me with a nod.
“Brandon,” the meat head called with a gruff voice.
Brandon was mid-nuzzle behind the receptionist’s ear when he looked up. A wide grin spread across his face.
“Maddox!” he exclaimed, holding out his arms. “The fuck, man? What took you so long?” He grabbed my right hand in a tight handshake, and then pulled me in, tapping his shoulder to mine, patting my back with his free hand. The douche bags always went for the bro hug. “Are you filling out an app or what?”
I nodded.
Brandon turned, reaching out toward his receptionist and snapping his fingers. “An application, Steph. Now.”
Steph turned her back to us and bent over, pulling open a filing cabinet and fingering every file.
Brandon back-handed my shoulder, chuckling and nodding toward Steph’s ass like a twelve-year-old. I didn’t smile, or frown; I just concentrated on appearing indifferent.
Steph found what she was looking for, and trotted over to Brandon with pen and paper in hand.
“Found it,” she said, waiting for praise from her boss.
“You’re great,” he said. “Isn’t she great?”
If fucking a married man with a pregnant wife is an admirable accomplishment. “Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat. “Filing is hard.”
Steph dipped her chin a few times in dramatic nods, appreciative that I understood her plight.
“You wanna fill that out in my office?” Brandon asked.
“You got an office?” I said, only half joking.
Brandon puffed out his chest. “Right this way. Steph,” he said, snapping at her again. “Water.”
She nodded, rushing away to fetch us waters.
As predicted, his walls were covered in posters with ripped, half-naked fitness models. I was hesitant to sit down in the chair opposite his desk, sure he’d jerked off there every night. A corner of my mouth turned up, remembering Abby’s similar disgust over my old couch the first time she’d visited the apartment. I’d come a long, long way since that night.
Steph brought in two glasses, and then nodded when I th
anked her. She kept her eye on Brandon as she turned around, as if he didn’t already know she was dying to be bent over his desk. Again.
“Married,” Brandon said, shaking his head, staring at Steph’s ass until she closed the door behind her.
I sat down and placed the application on his desk, clicking one end of the pen with my thumb and filling out the information as quickly as possible.
“What made you do that?” he asked. “She must be hot.”
“How long have you owned this place now?” I asked without looking up. I didn’t want to punch Brandon in the mouth for talking about my wife, so I chose to change the subject.
“Four years,” he said. “Three years with Joan.” His chair creaked as he leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. “She signed it over to me in the divorce.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. You inherited it.”
“Kids inherit things from their parents, Maddox. Joan opened this place with her ex-husband, but then I fucked her brains out and she gave me anything I wanted. This place was a shit hole—for old bags and fatties. I married that geriatric, made this place into what it is. Now it’s mine. I bring in triple what Joan ever did.”
I scribbled down the little legitimate prior work history I had and then signed my name, sliding the paper toward him. Brandon rambled on forever about the history of the gym, still having to deal with Joan, and how pissed she was that he’d gotten one of his girlfriend’s pregnant. Now Jaci was his wife, and Brandon made her—at seven months pregnant—deal with Joan so he didn’t have to.
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