by S. L. Scott
She smiles as if recalling a fond memory. “I was told to throw everything out, to burn it, but I couldn’t. The stationery is all that remains of the office she kept next door to Mr. Kingwood’s office down the hall. The photo is one I’ll always treasure.”
“I’m sorry for snooping.” I come out from the confined space.
“It’s just paper, Sara Jane. Nothing personal. Well, for me it is, but to anyone else it’s just a stack of stationery.”
“What can you tell me about her?” A smile lights up Neely’s face, and it’s easy to see how much she adored Alexander’s mother. Non-biological mother.
“Join me for tea?”
I nod.
A few minutes later, she’s pouring the hot water into cups and we move to the breakfast area to sit at the glass table. “Mrs. Kingwood was a wonderful woman. Her love was big and bold, and she was the only one who could tame the beast.”
“Alexander’s father?”
“Yes,” she replies with a soft laugh. “She could have tamed anyone quite honestly. She was engaging and a wonderful listener. When you spoke to her, she made you feel like she cared.”
Her hand pats the table between us. “You remind me of her in so many ways—your kind nature and soft corners. It’s easy to lose yourself in these walls, to harden like the statues in the garden. Many people conspire to bring the Kingwoods down, but it’s usually the closest that manage it. Hold on to who you are on the inside, Sara Jane.”
Holding her gaze, I appreciate her sweet comparison to someone my Alexander loved so much, but it came with a definitive warning to keep some walls up, to protect myself, and that rattles me. I change the subject to not get trapped in that spiral of conspiracy. “The paper had a bee. Did she like bees?”
“That’s not a bee.”
“It’s not?”
She smiles. “It’s a firefly. Madeline was fascinated with them.” Leaning forward, she whispers as if she’s sharing a secret. “I have a theory.” I lean in, eyes wide. “I think she related to them a little bit. Something so beautiful should always be free to shine. Once you’ve captured it, caged it, its light will eventually burn out.” Neely grabs a napkin from the holder and dabs her eyes.
My eyes lower, my heart racing as my mind begins to spin. The underlining message isn’t subtle. I sip my tea, hoping the warm liquid will soothe my concerned thoughts. She was caught and trapped in this fortress, her light snuffed out too soon.
Am I next?
I must be transparent, my worries obvious. Reaching over, Neely covers my hand with hers, and whispers, “Some people only shine when they’re free.”
My Alexander loves me. He wants me, but he also wants me to fly. He wants me to shine. “You mean bugs, not people.”
“Yes, of course,” she replies, pulling her cup up to take a sip.
The clacking of heels across the wood floors grabs our attention. April stands under the arch with her arms crossed. With her eyes as daggers, she glares at Neely.
What the hell?
April speaks to Neely, “You took a break two hours ago.”
Neely stands, a forced smile on her face. “I’ll stay an extra ten minutes this evening. Is there anything you require at this time?”
Require. Flashes of Alexander’s father appear, but my eyes lead me back to April, sickened by how identical they sound using the term. April only saw Alexander’s father once. How dare she come in here like she’s the Lady of the Manor, bossing the staff around. The staff actually work. I doubt April’s ever had a job. I steady myself with my hands to the table. “You shouldn’t talk to people like that.”
April’s eyes redirect to me—the darkness that fills her soul unmistakable in her large pupils. “She should know her place.”
“You should know yours.”
She gasps, her hand going to her chest in complete offense. “How dare y—?”
“Sara Jane?” Alexander calls from the front door.
“In here,” I reply loudly so he hears.
As soon as he comes around behind April, he smiles when he sees me. “Hey, baby.”
With my eyes back on April, I arch an eyebrow in challenge. “What were you going to say, April?”
Alexander’s fingers tilt my chin, and he kisses me as if nothing in the world exists except for him and me. I wrap my arms around his middle, and my body gravitates closer to his. With our lips firmly pressed together, I forget about April and her petty plays for power. For the time being.
He looks back and the smile on his face feels like it’s homegrown just for me. “What did I interrupt?” Glancing between April and me, he waits for one of us to answer.
Tightening my arms around him, I love the closeness, but there are matters to deal with. Mainly April, so I finally reply, “April was reprimanding Neely for having a cup of tea with me.”
“What?” He looks at April. “Why would you do that?”
Her shoulders go lax, and that fake smile I saw before on the terrace returns. “No. No. Sara Jane just misunderstood.”
“Then what was going on?” He glances between us and then to Neely.
She remains quiet. The tips of my fingers drag down his front. I peek at April who is glaring at me from behind Alexander’s back. I say, “Everyone deserves respect unless they prove otherwise.”
Alexander smiles and kisses my forehead. “I agree.” Turning us around to face the others, he says, “Are we good here?”
Neely and April nod. Then he adds, “Good.”
He’s in a great mood, and I’m glad this little incident didn’t ruin it. “Are you hungry?”
Burying his face into my neck, his stubble tickles as he pretends to devour me. “Famished.”
Remembering what Neely said about his mother, I realize I hold the power to help tame the beast inside my Alexander. Whispering, I ask, “For food or me?”
Not even caring that we have an audience, two of his fingertips trail down my cheek as he looks into my eyes, his reflecting my love for him. “You. Always you, Firefly.”
20
Alexander
“The doctors don’t know what they’re talking about.” Crawling in next to her on the bed, I lick my lips, tasting her nectar on my tongue while my heart rate settles into its regular steady beat.
She giggles. “You are so bad.”
Rolling on my side to face her, I tap her nose. “But so good for you.”
With a wide smile I put there, she says, “So good for me.”
I watch her—eyes closed, lips parted, her chest rising and falling as she tries to catch her breath.
Satisfied.
Content.
Beautiful.
Her brown hair is splayed around her, lighter streaks falling across her face. I wonder when some of the strands turned gold. When she was gone? Did she enjoy the sun, spend time outdoors, or did the change in scenery cause a change in her?
“I like your hair.”
Her eyelids open revealing the blue I missed so much for those months of her absence. They’re a darker shade than mine. Pools of ocean blue—deep and soulful. Self-conscious, she runs her hand over her head pulling the loose strands back. “Oh gosh, don’t look at me. I’m a mess.”
“A beautiful mess.”
“I should shower.”
She rolls away from me to get out of bed, but I stop her because this is why I fight for her, this is why I must protect her at all costs. I need her healed. “No. Stay. I like you just the way you are.”
The delicate features of her face relax, and she smiles. The tips of her fingers dance over my shoulder. “Do you ever feel like the whole world could come crashing down around us and you wouldn’t notice?”
“Every time we’re together.”
“Me too,” she whispers.
“Does that scare you?”
“No.”
My smile comes just as easily as hers moments earlier. “Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if my mother had lived.”
Sara Jane
readjusts so she’s more comfortable. Her wounds are still healing, and I see when she struggles. Tucking some of her hair behind her ear, I admire her face, her courage, and then her lips when she speaks, “What does your life look like?”
“I’d have her but I wouldn’t have you. So if someone were to ask me . . . if I had to choose—”
Her finger graces my lips, and she stops me before I say more. “You don’t have to choose, so you don’t need to say anything more.”
I silently nod, watching her reaction. Kissing her finger before she takes it away makes her giggle again. Then with a loud exhale, she rolls to her back, and stares up at the ceiling. I ask, “Want to talk about April?”
“I guess.”
Looking my way, I can tell she’s going to dance around what she really wants to say. “She’s very settled considering it’s temporary.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m assuming she’s not living here forever.”
“I’m not sure what her plans are yet.” That’s a major concern, but I need her close to find out.
“I don’t think she has any.”
“Why the animosity, Sara Jane?” She’s so intuitive. What does she sense?
She hesitates, then says, “She’s not nice to the staff.”
“Nice?”
“She bosses them around like—”
“Like they work here?” I tease, hiding my concern to help stave off her worries.
She doesn’t smile though. “She seems to be taking charge in your absence. Why would she do that? I know that sounds ridiculous, but I don’t boss them around because I’m a guest—”
“This is your home, Sara Jane. The staff is at your disposal.”
“I don’t want them at my disposal.”
“You know what I mean. They are here to do a job.”
“I understand that, but it’s still a luxury to have the help, to go to sleep in a freshly made bed, to not clean a toilet, and to have food to satisfy a craving, but that doesn’t mean we treat them as if they’re beneath us.”
Rolling over, I kiss her. “There’s only one person I want beneath me.” I kiss her again.
Pressure from her hands against my chest mounts. “I’m serious, Alexander.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“How long is she staying?”
I only need a little more time. “I promised her a place to stay after rehab. She has no financial credit and no work references, thanks to my father. She couldn’t get a one-bedroom apartment. She tried.” She’s my mother. Can she be just as evil as my father? There’s no way. I have to get to the bottom of this connection. I wouldn’t be surprised if it led me back to my father who paid them, a transaction already set up before his death. Fuck. She gave me life. Do I owe her the benefit of the doubt? “I also don’t want her relapsing. She’s done good getting through rehab, but she needs support and to know she matters to someone.”
She turns away, irritated. “That means she could be here indefinitely. Do you actually know if she looked?”
Pushing away, surprised by this line of questioning, I sit up. “What are you getting at?”
“She doesn’t like me, Alexander.”
“Why wouldn’t she like you? What happened?”
Slowly, she pulls herself up and leans against the headboard. “It’s true. She’s made her feelings more than clear.”
“She raves about you to me. She talked about the connection she felt with you before you left. It hurt her.”
“It hurt her? You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” I get up, wanting some fresh night air in the stale room, my mind conflicted between what I saw on that monitor and what I want to believe. “She felt you didn’t approve of her, so you left.”
“So basically she made up some elaborate fable in her head that I had somehow done this to her, specifically. Wow. My mind is blown.”
I open the balcony doors and sit on the couch. “I’ve tried to reassure her. I don’t know. She really liked you. She was sad you were gone.”
“So sad that she moved in, and when you’re around she talks to me one way, and when you’re gone she treats me differently.”
“What are you talking about?”
She’s about to explode, but she seems to calm herself down with a few deep breaths. When she reopens her eyes, she says, “I can help April find a place to live that will be safe and affordable.”
“Okay. I’m sure she’d appreciate the help.”
I wouldn’t go as far as to say it’s a smile on her face, but it’s not a frown either, so I’ll take it. Picking up my T-shirt from the floor, she pulls it over her head, and goes into the bathroom. “You know that’s dirty, right?” I say loud enough for her to hear in the other room.
“I do,” she replies, making me smile.
When she reappears, she leans against the doorframe. “Since you insist on leaving at all hours though I want you here, I’ll have to settle for your T-shirt, I guess.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her hands fly into the air. “Nope. We’ve done this dance, Alexander. I’ve never asked you to stop, because I know you won’t. So I’m trying to give you the space you apparently need. I’m tired of fighting you on this.” Holding the shirt up to her nose, she inhales. “I like the way you smell. I wish it was you in the flesh, but this will have to keep me company when you’re not around.”
She’s a goddamn goddess. “C’mere.”
Coming to me without hesitation, my insides coil, and my underwear tightens. Such a good girl. She makes me hard when she’s strong. She makes me harder when she submits to me.
Her hips sway as she comes my way, the cotton hem of my T-shirt dragging against the middle of her thighs. She’s a present I want to unwrap layer by layer, savoring the anticipation of what’s inside. Sitting on my lap, she quenches my thirst before my throat goes dry and satisfies my cravings before they strike. Running my hands over her back, I say, “I will never need anyone else as long as I have you.”
She tenses when my hand comes around, fingers spread wide over her abdomen.
“Our baby would have been handsome, just like you.”
“The baby. I’m sorry for losing our baby.”
Those two lines now unavoidable as they replay in my mind. “You came back because you were pregnant.”
“You were my home, Alexander. I was already coming back to you before I found out I was pregnant.”
“Did Jason know?”
This time, I like that she remains at ease in my arms, proving him wrong. She does trust me. “He knew.”
“Why?”
“Because he sold me the pregnancy test.” Her gaze disappears into the night sky outside. “I was embarrassed, but he made it okay. He made me feel okay when nothing felt right.”
Looking at her expression, I can see his affection for her is one-sided. As she said, he was a friend to her, and I should feel thankful she had that. Even though I’m a jealous fool, I know he’ll watch out for her, protect her while Cruise and I uncover the truth or lies between O’Hare and Johnson and my mother. I know he’ll make sure she’s safe if I can’t. “Why didn’t you come back with me? Just leave that motel behind and get on the back of the bike and hold on.”
“It’s hard to dream big when you’re stuck in a small space.”
“That motel room was small.”
She looks me in the eyes, her hand brushing against the back of my neck. “I wasn’t talking about the motel.”
“What are you talking about?” I find myself whispering, somehow afraid of her answer.
“Your world is so wide open and big for you. But for me, it can be confining sometimes.”
Is that why she left me? “You have to find your place. Our love gives you the right. What do you want to do in life?”
“Live outside your spotlight.” I try not to cringe by how direct she is, but I know my girl. I know this is how she has felt for some time.
�
��You’re so sure of what you don’t want, but what do you want, Sara Jane?”
She tugs at a loose thread at the bottom of the shirt, but stops when I ask the question. Beneath lashes that curve to the moon, she says, “I want to finish school. I want to be with you—married, and have kids. Lots of kids. I want to live a happy life.”
“Even though I’m so fucked up?”
“You’re not fucked up. You’re still lost, looking for answers that will one day bring you home.”
“Home,” I repeat, the word becoming a goal, but repeated in my head like a mantra. Checking the time, I move her up and stand behind her. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
“I like it right here.”
Her smile evokes mine. “Me too.” I kiss her shoulder, and we look at the stars shining like dusts of hope scattered above.
It feels good to feel content—quiet—something I haven’t felt in years. The urge to run off on a wild hunt for answers doesn’t spike like it normally does at this hour. When our eyes meet, there are no lies between us. Not anymore. Maybe we’d be better off if we did lie, letting the other believe that no damage has been done.
We can’t though. Sara Jane and I are built the same that way. We’d rather be mad and know the truth than find bliss in the lies. She reaches for me, and I move closer, letting her pull me until my head is buried in the crook of her neck.
She kisses my cheek and I kiss her on the lips. I take her back to bed and climb in next to her, her smile worth taking the night off for.
I should do this more often, preferring the peace with her to anything I’d find outside this bed. Should.
21
Sara Jane
The waiting room of the doctor’s office needs their floor scrubbed. The dirt caught in the cracks of the tile brings back memories when dirt and rocks cut into my skin as I lay dying . . .
My jaw aches from the hit across my face, but I don’t fall. I won’t give him that pleasure. The biting taste of blood coats my mouth and my vision blurs. With one arm across my stomach, I’ll fight. For Alexander, I’ll fight. For this baby, I’ll fight harder.
“Sara Jane?” I jump at the sound of my name. Alexander is kneeling before me. “They called your name.”