Sex, Lies, and Joysticks

by Lynn Chantale

  What had happened between the time Matteo left and Lincoln brought her breakfast? Again she searched his face for some type of clue. He clenched his jaw, causing the day-old stubble to stand out more prominently on his face, and she’d seen that tight lip lock enough to know this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation at all.

  Seeing no sign, she sighed. “I put his test results on your nightstand. We, you and me, discussed that I felt comfortable enough, and he’d earned my trust, our trust. I thought it was okay to get rid of the condoms.” She plucked at a loose thread on the sheet. “It’s not like he’s gonna get me pregnant or anything.”

  He shook off her hand and stood. “That is not what this is about!”

  She met his hostile glare. “Then what is this about? Because it isn’t about Matteo going bareback.” She kept her tone even and cool.

  Silence was his answer.

  Randa barely banked her frustration. “We fulfilled each other’s fantasy, and now you want to pick a fight because it felt good?” She was desperately trying to find something, anything that might have happened or what could’ve caused this spark of—she struggled for the right word—insecurity?

  Lincoln looked at her as he paced. Raw emotion painted his features in stark relief. Not anger as she’d initially thought, but vulnerability and maybe fear. She stood and stepped in his path.

  “I don’t know what happened to cause you to feel this way, but know that I love you. Nothing will ever change that.”

  He shook his head and moved away. She grabbed his biceps.

  “Don’t do that.” She didn’t bother to hide the plea from her voice. “This poly thing only works if we’re honest with each other and our partners. Don’t act like whatever happened isn’t real or affecting you.”

  “He loves you,” he mumbled.

  “What?”

  “I said he is in love with you.” Each word was clipped and hard.

  Randa pushed her hair from her face. “I know.”

  Lincoln stumbled back. “You’re in love with him too?”

  “Why do you sound so surprised? You feel the same way about Jacqui.” Curious, she watched the play of emotions over his handsome features. Jacqui was his partner and had been for the past four years. The hardest obstacle, and one Randa still struggled with, was knowledge that the man she married was in love with another woman. The only way she’d been able to cope was to shed her traditional thinking and find an equally fulfilling relationship.

  “It’s not supposed to happen that way.”

  She’d have laughed if he weren’t so serious. What had he expected? That she would just wait for him to come home or find something else to do with her time when he was at work or out with Jacqui? She couldn’t live like that. She wanted and deserved to have someone else who loved her just as fiercely as Lincoln did.

  “I’ll finish my breakfast and then get dressed. I want to salvage what’s left of this beautiful morning.”

  Without another word, Randa traded the sheet for a plush bathrobe, picked up the tray, and left the room.

  * * * *

  Lincoln clutched the paper bag in his fist. It rattled with each step. Last night had been beyond expectation, but damn if he couldn’t get over his wife being in love with another man. Thinking it could happen and then actually having it happen were two totally different things. Reality was a far cry from what could be. And now that he faced the reality…

  Over the sidewalk and up a dirt-covered walk, Lincoln skipped the mud and crossed the browning lawn. In another time, he’d have seen the grass flourish or prepare it for the long winter months. Now the foliage seemed to mock him. A reminder of better times. Shaking his head, he bounded up the three shallow steps to the porch, raised his hand, and pressed the bell.

  A short while later, a wide-eyed Selena opened the door. Smoke and the sharp tangy odor of something more than cigarettes assailed his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. She hadn’t changed much.

  “C’min.”

  He stepped across the threshold and wished he hadn’t. Pizza boxes, empty beer cans, and bottles of liquor littered the ratty sofa, the cushions torn and losing their once-white innards. The rickety coffee table had seen better days. Some liquid covered the surface while a couple of wine boxes were substituted for legs on one end. He didn’t want to contemplate what he stepped on. What wasn’t covered by trash was covered with a couple of dudes and a few females in various states of undress and glassy-eyed stupors.

  Revulsion churned his stomach. This was no condition for a human being, let alone a child, to live in.

  “I brought a DNA kit.” He held up the paper bag. “The test has better accuracy when the mother’s DNA is taken too.”

  She stared at him. “Seriously, Lincoln. You want to do this now?”

  “Either that or I call Child Services and make the rest of what life you have miserable.” He kept his tone hard, praying this stupid female did not have her child in the house with all this going on.

  “She’s at my mom’s.” Selena’s words were slightly slurred.

  Thank goodness for small favors. “Well, let’s get this over and done with,” he said brusquely. He led her to the kitchen. This room wasn’t any better. Stench from rotting garbage assaulted his senses and made his eyes water.

  Working as quickly as possible, he pulled the swabs from the bag. He’d studied the directions so much at his office that he had them memorized. “Open your mouth.”

  She smirked. “Will it be something nice?” Before she could finish her question, he jabbed the swabs in her mouth, swirled them against her cheek and gum, and then stuffed them in the container provided.

  “I’ll let you know what I find.” Without another word, he hurried from the filth into fresh air.

  “Not even a thank-you?” she called after him, and it ended in riotous giggles.

  He shook his head and kept moving toward his truck.

  * * * *

  Thelma Marcus, Selena’s mother, eyed Lincoln over the top of her bifocals. Faint remnants of the beauty she must’ve been in her youth showed in the sparkling set of her brown eyes, full bow-shaped lips, and the thick still-black hair she kept coiled high on her head. Other than the lines on her face, her worn, gnarled hands, the knuckles twisted and swollen with arthritis, and a slight stooped-over posture were indicators of her age. Her gaze never wavered, and Lincoln had to stifle the notion that she knew all his secrets.

  Lincoln refused to allow the older woman’s scrutiny to unnerve him. Instead he focused on the caramel-skinned child coloring beside him. She chattered about the frog and butterflies.

  He drew his attention from Melodee long enough to take in the shoe-box apartment. It was hard to believe the place had two bedrooms, but there was still not enough room for a young one to grow and play.

  “I told her she shoulda said something long before now.” Thelma pushed a blue crayon toward the child. “But that girl is only interested in one thing.”

  Lincoln nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Just looking at the child, he didn’t need a DNA test to prove he was the biological father. Melodee had his fingers and eyes. He drew a stuttered breath. The test was only a formality.

  “Does she need anything?” he managed to choke out past the lump clogging his throat. Where Selena’s house seemed more like the end of a frat party gone bad, Thelma’s home, though modest, only contained the bare essentials.

  “Had I known…”

  Thelma patted his hand. “No need to apologize. Melodee should’ve known you before now. She stays here most days and is even in a preschool up the street. My neighbor has two small boys, so she helps me out. I can’t abide for her to stay with that sorry excuse—” She glanced at the little girl. “Well, you know, but I’m gettin’ old, and with ‘ol’ arthur’ acting up the way he is, I can’t run after an active child like I used to.” She paused, her eyes misting. “You will bring her by from time to time?”

  “Of course.” Lincoln was su
rprised Thelma had to ask. He would never deprive the two from each other. Yet there were still things he needed to do before he could even think about bringing her home. “I want to have everything in place. My wife has no idea that any of this has happened.” Lincoln ran his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t know I had a little girl until a couple of days ago.”

  Thelma sighed. “After everything that poor woman has been through, I imagine this will be quite a shock.”

  Lincoln nodded in agreement. “I’ll bring some things the next time I come by. I have to go out of town for a few days, and as soon as the results come back, I’ll start making the transition to bring her to my home.”

  The older woman inclined her head, and Lincoln stood. He reached in his pocket, extracted several bills, and handed them to Thelma. “Get whatever she needs, and please get something for yourself.”

  Thelma stuffed the money in her bosom. “I’ll use this for the baby and give you the receipts. Now go on so you can tell your wife.”

  Lincoln turned to leave and stopped when a small hand grasped his fingers. He glanced down to see Melodee. “Yes, sweetheart?”

  She stared up at him with soulful brown eyes. “Are you my daddy?”

  He dropped to his haunches. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. His heart squeezed, and he was lost to a little girl he never knew he had.

  “I’m glad. You’re really nice. So when can I come stay with you?”

  Lincoln cleared his throat. What was he going to do? Just how was he going to tell his wife?

  Chapter Four

  Randa wandered the aisles of a large retail store. Lincoln was out of town, and Matteo was working. Since both men were occupied, it seemed the best time to find Matteo a birthday gift, and with the way Lincoln was acting lately, she didn’t want his opinion on what she should or shouldn’t buy.

  Since Matteo liked his gadgets, she browsed the electronics department, but a small sound drew her attention toward the toy department a few rows away.

  Setting down a Blu-ray copy of The Wizard of Oz on a nearby shelf, Randa followed the sound. Four aisles over and beneath an overturned dollhouse was a little girl. Randa rushed forward and tugged the toy off the child.

  “Oh my goodness! Are you okay?” She looked the girl over. The child couldn’t have been more than four or five. Her little face was streaked with tears, her dark brown hair disheveled and missing a barrette or two, but most disturbing were her torn and dirty clothes.

  The little girl wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing snot and tears all over.

  Randa removed several tissues from her purse and wiped the child’s face. “Oh dear. Let’s get you taken care of. Where’s your mommy or daddy?” She looked around for some sort of parental figure. “Do you know their names?”

  “I’m De.” The girl stared up at her with big brown eyes. They seemed so familiar and yet not. “My mommy told me to play while she shopped and not to bother her.” Her little lip quivered, and Randa melted. “I just wanted to see inside the house.”

  “You’re okay now. We should find your mommy.”

  Something akin to fear widened the little girl’s eyes, and Randa tamped down her anger. One look at De was enough to show her that the child wasn’t being cared for properly, and for any parent to leave their kid alone in a store where anyone could walk away with her made Randa’s blood boil.

  “She’ll be mad. I have to stay here until she takes me back to my nana.”

  “Didn’t I tell you not to talk to…” a strident female voice said.

  Randa faced the owner in time to see the color drain from her face. “Selena. I shoulda known someone like you would treat a baby like that.”

  “At least I have a baby.”

  Randa flinched as if struck. The remark cut deeper than she cared to admit, and she straightened her spine.

  “Anybody with eyes can see you don’t deserve her. I found her beneath a toy house. Not that you seem to care, but she wasn’t hurt, only scared.” Randa stepped closer to the child and caressed her cheek. “Stay sweet, De.” She left the two gaping after her.

  Randa didn’t stop moving until she was outside and locked safely in her car. She rested her head on the steering wheel, dragging a ragged breath into her lungs. The hardest thing she’d ever done was walk away from that little girl. Never had longing to hold a child and make De feel safe and loved overwhelmed her before.

  Maybe it was because of how she’d found the little girl, or as Selena said, that Randa couldn’t have her own. Although not quite true, a spontaneous pregnancy, as her doctor had put it, would be difficult. Lucy’s vicious attack with a baseball bat and then knife had left quite a bit of scar tissue to Randa’s abdomen and her uterus. That meant she’d need the help of a fertility specialist.

  Either way, that too-brief encounter with De left an indelible mark on her heart and soul.

  She straightened. Maybe there was something she could do. If having children wasn’t an impossibility, maybe it was time to see that specialist or even think about adoption. All she had to do was talk to Lincoln and see what he would say on the subject.

  * * * *

  Randa sat straight up in bed, heart pounding. Something had startled her, and she wasn’t quite sure what. She listened. The sound of her blood rushing in her ears was loud in the silence. Lincoln wasn’t due back for another day or so, and Matteo had worked late and asked that she not wait up for him.

  What had disturbed her? She glanced around the room. Deep shadows crept along the floor, shrouding furniture. Randa kicked back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The wood floor chilled her toes, and she shivered. Standing, she straightened the nightshirt she wore from around her waist so that it fell to midthigh.

  On bare feet, she moved across the room, skirting the small divan at the foot of the bed, and stood in her open doorway. Cautiously she peered from left to right. Nothing. However, Matteo’s door was closed. A moan came from inside, or at least she thought it did. She listened a little longer to see if the sound would repeat.

  “Don’t!”

  The distress in that one word spurred her forward. Randa dashed across the hall, twisted the knob, and rushed into his room, uncaring what danger might await on the other side. She looked around for a weapon as she stood in the middle of the room.

  No one other than her and Matteo were present. Moonlight fell across his bed and highlighted his face. Deep lines etched a scowl into his brow. The sheets were tangled between his limbs as if he were fighting an invisible foe.

  She’d seen this once or twice before. Some memory haunted him, and now he dreamed of it. Slowly she inched forward, calling his name.

  “Matteo.”

  Nothing.

  She reached out a hand and touched his bare shoulder. “Matteo.”

  In one swift move she found herself beneath him, his large hand squeezed her throat while his body weight applying pressure to her chest threatened her air supply. Despite the need for oxygen, she went completely still.

  “Matteo,” she managed to squeak out. For one terrifying heartbeat she didn’t think he’d hear her or realize she wasn’t part of his dream. Lights swirled before her vision even as darkness encroached. In a feeble attempt, she pushed at the hand squeezing her throat. “Please.”

  THEY’D FOUND HIM and were here to kill him. He feigned sleeping as the figure moved closer. As soon as the person leaned over and touched his shoulder, he yanked the body beneath him, closing a hand around the delicate throat.

  Softness met his hand and body. Something wasn’t right. She didn’t fight. An oval-shaped face wavered before his vision as the scent of warm, spiced peaches enveloped his senses and tightened his groin.

  “Please.”

  It was the tender voice. The plea snapped him back to reality. He looked down, swore, and scrambled off the woman. She rolled on her side, dragging noisy gulps of air into her lungs.

/>   What had he done? He stared at his hands, now trembling. If she’d fought him, he could’ve easily snapped her neck. Gentle fingers touched his thighs and then moved upward to grasp his. He tried to shake her off, but she retained her hold. Slowly he met her gaze, and the breath stilled in his throat.

  “It’s okay.”

  He swung his head back and forth. No, it wasn’t. He’d nearly killed her, thinking she was someone else.

  She wrapped her arms around him and drew him into her embrace. “I’m fine.”

  “Randa. I didn’t— I’m so sorry.”

  Her soft chuckle allowed some of his fear to abate, but not his guilt. He had to know he hadn’t harmed her. He pushed her away, reached over, and flicked on the bedside lamp.

  She blinked in the sudden light, and he pulled her into his lap to inspect her throat. Faint indentations from his fingers marred her smooth chocolate flesh.

  “Why did you even come in here?” His tone was too harsh, but he’d hurt her and had no one to blame but himself.

  “You needed me,” she said. “And I’d do it again.”

  What could he say to that? He did need her, more than she would ever realize. “Randa…”

  “It’s okay. Just tell me what you were dreaming.”

  He went silent. Tell her about his nightmare? About how his past kept him hostage in his subconscious? That could do more harm than good.

  She placed her palm on his cheek, and he closed his eyes, savoring the contact. “You can trust me, Matteo.”

  Would she still love him if she knew Matteo wasn’t even his real name? But she was here. Had risked her life to bring him comfort. The least he could do was tell her what he had dreamed.

  He held his breath as her fingers skimmed the faint scar near the corner of his mouth and then moved to the two nearly identical circles on his torso, leftovers from a gunfight better left forgotten. Her lips whispered against his skin. Tears burned beneath his lids. Just this once, he had to tell someone who cared for him enough to risk her own safety. She deserved that much.