Heels

by Megan Erickson

  Finally Luke turned his head to me. His eyes were dry, and he didn’t look defeated anymore. His jaw was set, eyes hard. “Got some bad news and have to head home for a bit.”

  “Okay,” I said immediately.

  He studied my face, the harsh lines around his eyes softening a fraction. “Just like that? You don’t want to know what the phone call was about or where I’m going?”

  “Of course I do. But I respect if it’s something you’re not ready to talk to me about yet.”

  He tugged me onto his lap, my knees on either side of his hips. With his hands wrapped around my neck, thumbs caressing my throat, he said, “I’ll only be gone a few days tops. When I get back, we’ll talk. I’ll tell you about the phone call, and more about me. But I have to take care of some things first. Okay?”

  I nodded. “Can I ask one question?”

  “You can.”

  I thought about how to word this, nervous he’d be upset, but trusting Luke not to react to my questions the way Tim did. “You aren’t…you’re not married with kids or anything, right? Like a secret family back in New Jersey?”

  He didn’t react like Tim did. He laughed loudly, his face breaking open, mouth wide. “No, Peaches. I’m not married. And this world doesn’t need or want my offspring.”

  I decided I’d think about that last sentence more another time. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” His hands shifted up, until he cradled my face in his calloused palms. He ensnared me in his gaze, held me prisoner. I knew in that moment I’d never met a man like Luke, and I’d never meet another one.

  “I don’t want you to leave,” I confessed. We’d spent all our free time together for the last two weeks. Did I remember what I was like pre-Luke? Was he the source of my new-found confidence, or did I have some of my own without him?

  “I don’t want to leave,” he said. “Only a few days, though. Okay?”

  “You’re coming back?”

  He smiled then, a kind one tinged with something else I couldn’t decipher. “I’ll be back or die trying.”

  I squinted at him. “How about you just come back without the dying part?”

  He laughed again. “Will do.” He pulled me into a kiss, his lips insistent, his tongue searching. I knew I should ask more questions, but I wasn’t sure the kind of trauma the call had brought up. He’d tell me when he was ready.

  After a short make out session that was sadly done before we could remove clothing, I walked Luke to my door.

  “Few days,” he repeated. “You need me, you can call me.”

  I nodded. “I will.”

  He didn’t open the door. He remained in the foyer of my home staring at me. Finally, he said, almost to himself. “So close.”

  I didn’t understand. “Sorry?”

  He shook his head. “Nevermind.” He opened the door and looked back at me over his shoulder. “See you soon, Peaches.”

  I waved. “Bye.” I stood in the doorway watched him get into his truck, turn it on, and drive away. Then I closed my door, and I went to bed.

  A few days went by, and Luke did not return. He did not call.

  Two weeks went by and still, he did not return.

  Two weeks after that, when my period still hadn’t come, I gave in and peed on a stick and the word pregnant flashed at me, I called him. He didn’t answer.

  As my sister held me while I cried on my bathroom floor, I thought that I’d been right, that Luke was too good to be true. But whether he liked it or not, I was bringing his child into this world.

  Eleven

  HIM

  I’d always thought the end of my life would go fast. Instead, everything that had happened in last hour that led to this moment—me being led by two armed men into a dark field where they planned to shoot me in the head and bury me—had been in slow motion.

  So yeah I’d made mistakes. Anyone who knew me—real name: Bryan Drayer—knew I’d meet my end sooner rather than later. Surviving this long with the life I led was a goddamn miracle. I’d grown up in New Jersey to a deadbeat mom and a dad who taught me the power of fists before he split. Whatever, we were better off without him anyway. Before I graduated high school, I was selling drugs so my sister and I could eat, and spending the rest of my time making sure my mom’s johns didn’t think my sister was for sale too. Tara didn’t have anyone else but me, and my life's mission was to make sure she was taken care of, that no one touched her without her wanting them to.

  With my best friend Reb, I led a crew in southern Jersey which escalated to gun dealing. Reb and Tara dated for a long time, but she’d broken it off, hating what we were involved in. None of it was good, Tara was fed up with it, but I was in and I was in deep. When I had a chance to get out, I took it. I left everyone and everything behind. I moved to Kentucky. And I’d met her.

  I trudged between these men, trying to wheeze through what felt like bruised ribs. My one leg was fucked up, and I was bleeding something fierce from a gash in my head. My blurry vision let me know I had a concussion. The result of a car crash and then a decent beating from the two thugs with me. The reason for all of this? Reb. My best friend. Fucking betrayed me. He kidnapped my sister and wanted me dead.

  One foot in front of the other. That was all I could do now. I needed a plan, but my concussed brain wasn’t working up to typical Bryan speed.

  I closed my eyes for a brief moment. The bitch of all of this was that I’d had hope. I’d let myself believe I was getting a second chance. Starting over. A new life. With Samantha.

  Peaches, I mouthed the word, remembering how she’d looked that first night I’d seen her. I’d never reacted to a woman like that in my life, but the moment I saw her, the entire room blurred out, and only she was in focus. Her smile, her laugh. Christ, she was perfect and pure and I should have known I’d never get to keep her. This was fate’s last fuck you to Bryan Drayer. I was going to die knowing I’d held heaven in my hands right before I was sent to hell.

  “We far enough yet?” The man to my right said.

  “Tired of carrying this piece of shit, so yeah.”

  I didn’t know these guys—they must be new to Reb’s crew, which made sense because he wouldn’t send anyone to kill me who were loyal to me. All I knew was that Reb was out of his mind.

  “Fuck you,” I said, noting my words were slurred, so maybe my jaw was fucked up. “You guys think you know what’s going on, but you have no fucking clue. Reb’s playing all of you.

  “Shut your mouth,” the man on my left said, then sent his fist straight into the side of my face.

  Normally I could take a punch, but not in the shape I was in. I fell to the ground on all fours, and fought to catch my breath. I ached goddamn everywhere, but fuck them if they thought they could shoot me on my hands and knees. I glared up at the man closest to me to find his gun pointed right at my forehead. I was fresh out of ideas. Maybe this really was it. I stared down the gun, remembering every time I’d been on the other side of it. Maybe this was what I deserved. Not that second chance. Not heaven. Not Samantha. Not my sister well and whole and gifting me with nieces and nephews.

  I coughed, unable to do anything but retort back. “Your funeral.”

  “No, it’s yours.”

  He cocked the gun, and I held his gaze. If he was going to shoot me, he was going to have to do it like this. Anger rose up within, and maybe a little of strength. I rose to my knees and leaned into the gun, gritting out between clenched teeth. “You better make sure I’m dead then, pump me full of all the lead you got, because I will stop at nothing to get my sister back from Reb, you fucking pieces of shit.”

  I waited for the bullet, but instead heard another snap, off to the side. I didn’t get a chance to turn my head before a gunshot rent the air.

  Twelve

  Two weeks later

  All I wanted to do was get the mail. That was it. I wanted to get my mail and go back into my house and hermit up like I’d been doing since Bryan left. Rena was on her way for l
ast minute wedding-favor making. Her wedding was in a week, and she should have focused on that, but instead she was fussing over me. So I had to gear up for conversation that went a lot like Are you okay? Yes, I’m okay. But are you sure? And then I had to convince myself and her that I was all right. It was exhausting, but I knew if I canceled on my sister, she would storm my house armed with all her coworkers for an intervention, and I wasn’t inviting that kind of interrogation.

  Luke was gone. Just like that. I told myself he’d return. I told it to myself every day, because the hope inside of me hadn’t died yet. I wanted it to die. More than anything, I wanted not to care, but that spark was still glowing just like the little heartbeat growing inside of me.

  I was on my curb, opening the little door to my pretty tin mailbox covered in a flower print, when a police car turned the corner. I ignored it and stuck my hand inside to get my mail.

  I shouldn’t have ignored it. As I pulled out my mail—which was only a flyer for a sale at the local furniture store, so nothing even important—the police car stopped in front of my house. I turned to see the door open, a boot step out, and then Tim emerged.

  Yes, my ex. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with on top of morning sickness and the father of said child leaving. My feet told me to run, but I could do nothing but stare, frozen, as Tim approached me, thumbs tucked into his uniform belt. Shades covered his eyes, but I didn’t need to see them to know he was glaring.

  “Hello, Sam,” he said.

  “Hi.” My voice shook. My knees were weak, and the only response I felt was flight. Once again I was Samantha Cryer, the emotionally abused wife who allowed her husband to crush her self-worth.

  Tim pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. And I knew why. It was so I could see the way he perused my body as I stood there in barefoot and an old sundress. So I could see the wrinkle in his nose when he settled on my hips and belly which had gained a few inches. Of course, he’d think it was food. He had no idea it was because of a life.

  I braced myself for what he was about to say, my hand fluttering near my stomach. Last time I’d seen Tim, Luke was there. He was a forcefield around me, a wall of security that tucked me away safely. Now he was gone, and it was just me. Well, me and the baby. His baby. Confident, charming Luke. This wasn’t only about me anymore. That thought sent a thread of steel down my spine. I wasn’t Samantha Cryer. I was Samantha Gaithers. I was a woman who was worthy of her job, of her life, of the love of a good man, and worthy of being a mother to a child.

  So instead of letting Tim direct the conversation, I started it. “Do you need something? I’m busy.” That steel threaded through my voice too.

  His eyebrows lifted for just a moment, like he was surprised. “Haven’t seen you around much,” he said.

  I shrugged. “I don’t make it a habit to run into you. I’ll ask again. Do you need something?”

  “Seen Luke Trainor around lately?”

  There was a smugness to his voice, and I wanted to punch him in the mouth. I wouldn’t, because I was a pacifist, but I wanted to. “I have not.”

  “Heard he left town.”

  I didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.

  Tim took a step forward, and it took all my courage to stand my ground. “He get tired of you?” Tim’s voice lowered. “That’s what happens when you give the milk away for free. Ain’t no man buying the cow.”

  I didn’t even think. My instinct with Tim was always flight but my fists were clenched and my blood rang with a fight song. “I don’t want to be bought. Now if this isn’t a police matter, I’d like this conversation to end—”

  “Luke Trainor is an alias,” Tim said, his voice soft but oh so self-satisfied.

  My throat constricted and a band wrapped around my chest, threatening my very breath.

  “Looked into him because I knew something wasn’t right. Coming into this town like he could do whatever he wanted and fuck whoever he wanted.”

  I was going to throw up. Right there on Tim’s shiny police shoes.

  “I’m ninety-five perfect sure he’s Bryan Drayer, career criminal from New Jersey, suspected of a multitude of crimes like drug possession, illegal weapon sales, and homicide. Authorities can never make anything stick, but they have no doubt what he’s capable of.” As he aimed that last arrow, he leaned closer to me, lips curled back into a snarl and delivered the kill shot. “You sure know how to fucking pick ‘em, Sam.”

  He was lying. He had to be. I opened my mouth to tell him so when he held up a piece of paper, a newspaper clipping with a candid picture of Luke, unmistakably my Luke, with the caption naming him as Bryan Drayer.

  My world fell apart.

  “Fuck you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse, knowing that any moment I was going to crack. I was going to fly apart into pieces. I needed to get inside where I could break in private. How dare Luke? Or Bryan? How dare he let this happen to me, that I could be ambushed with new information by my ex-husband on my front lawn? “Fuck you, Tim.”

  “He’s not coming back. He was here for a bit to have some fun, but he’s a ghost now. So you can forget anything he ever said to you. It was all a lie. You think a man like that would what, marry you?”

  I didn’t need a husband. I only wanted someone to love me, to want me, to be true to me. I’d always prided myself on having a soft heart. It was why Tim had been able to manipulate me for so long, because I believed in the best of people. But as I stood there in front of my ex, I realized that all he’d done had never been enough to harden me. What Luke/Bryan/whoever had done was what finally put out my fire.

  I slow-blinked, feeling the ice crystallize over my heart. I stared blankly at Tim, not really seeing his face. “Is that all?” My voice was steady. Steady and sub-zero.

  Tim flinched. I registered it and I didn’t care. He wanted to see my tears. My wailing. My pain. He wasn’t getting any of it. “Sure. That’s all.”

  “Have a good day.” I turned and walked toward my house. One step in front of the other. Right. Left. Right. Left. I waited for Tim to call me back, but he was silent.

  Five feet away. One step onto my front porch. Four more steps.

  Open the door. Walk inside.

  Close the door. Lock it.

  Walk down the hall. Into the bathroom. Close the door.

  Turn on the shower to drown out the sound as I break apart.

  Thirteen

  Three weeks later

  Bath bombs were underrated. Or maybe I’d just been living in a hole. After a terrible first two months of pregnancy, I finally didn’t want to puke from just looking at food. Rena and her coworkers bought me a huge basket full of gifts to pamper myself with. Including several bath bombs.

  The one I was using now tinted the water purple and smelled like lavender. Not too strong, which was great because I was suddenly very sensitive to smells. I didn’t really look pregnant yet—more like I’d just had a really big meal full of carbs. I lifted my belly out of the water and ran my fingers over the wet, stretched skin.

  I heard Rena in my kitchen, talking on the phone with Mark—her husband. She loved calling him that, and I loved to watch the way her face light up when she did. They’d gotten married two weeks ago in a beautiful ceremony at a local bed and breakfast. They’d taken a five-day honeymoon to the Bahamas—Rena called me every damn day—and now she was back, eager to fuss over me again.

  I hated that she’d spent so much of her honeymoon worried about me. This was supposed to be her time. I tried to ignore her calls, but then she’d sent Mark’s cousin—the freaking Gentry police chief—to my house to make sure I was all right. So yeah, then I answered every call on the first ring. Mark was an actual saint who placed family above all else, so he was fine with his new wife doting on her only sister. Still, I felt bad.

  Footsteps drew closer until Rena stood in the open doorway of the bathroom, phone shoved in her pocket. “Cheese okay?”

  I hadn’t been able to eat pizza for what felt like
forever. I was giddy. “Yeah, just cheese. Not sure I can handle the pepperoni grease.”

  “Sounds good. How does the bath feel?”

  I poked at a bubble floating on top of the water. “Amazing. Thanks again for the gift basket.”

  She shrugged. “Least we can do.”

  “For the town librarian who is now a fallen woman?”

  Rena rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, don’t talk like that. You’re almost thirty and having a baby. You can afford it, and you have your family and friends' support.”

  But no father. Because I still hadn’t heard a single word from Luke. Or Bryan. Or whatever his name was. I’d heard he’d apparently paid his apartment for six months in advance, but that was it.

  Rena must have read my thoughts. “Do you want to hear from him?” she asked softly.

  I shrugged and the water sloshed around my shoulders. “A small part of me never wants to see him again. But a larger part of me wants to know if everything he told me was a lie.”

  “And the baby?”

  “He made it clear he didn’t want to have children.” I loved my sister but I was tired of the sympathetic eyes she gave me. “As much as I’m enjoying this one-sided naked heart to heart, do you think you could go order the pizza?”

  Rena laughed. “Okay, okay I get the hint.” She turned and disappeared down the hall.

  “Get some fried zucchini too!” I called after her.

  “Will do!”

  I ran my hand over the surface of the water as I listened to my sister’s voice echo as she ordered pizza. I’d had a lot of time to break and fit myself back together in irregular pieces. When negative events happened to people, I always heard them say they couldn’t wait for things to get back to normal, to the way things were. Why didn’t anyone talk about the events where we had to find a new normal? Where everything looked the same on our outside, but inside we knew we’d never be the same?