Commanding Casey

by Nicolina Martin

  Josh slaps me on the back. “Good to see you, sis. You’re pale.”

  “You look like a beach bum,” I counter. “Get a freaking haircut, dude.”

  Mom throws up her hands. “I keep telling him!” Then she throws her arms around my neck. “I missed you,” she whispers. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

  “Me too, Mama.”

  “Hey,” says my brother. “The chicks love it.”

  “You’re too young, son, to think about women.”

  “I’m seventeen! I’m a healthy guy with hormones shooting out of my ears. It’s in my genes, right, Papa?”

  My dad blushes and grumbles. He was a real womanizer before he met Mom. I shake my head. My family is the best, and the nuttiest.

  “Just treat them right,” says Mom. “No fooling around, or you’ll be locked up in your room until you’re twenty-one.”

  “Mom!” says Josh and I with one mouth.

  “I don’t want to hear this,” I say and shake my head.

  “I’m a good boy,” says Josh.

  I nudge his hip with mine. “You better be.”

  “Let’s go home,” says Dad and grabs my suitcase. “Everything is waiting for you. Mom cleaned your apartment, changed sheets, towels, the whole shebang. The boys can’t wait to see you. You’ll come back to us, right? To the track?”

  “Of course,” I say as we start walking through the arrivals terminal of Daytona International. The damp heat slaps me in my face. It’s like walking into a wall. “Shit! I had forgotten.” I tear off everything I can get away with removing without getting indecent.

  The well-known scenery makes my heart clench. I didn’t know how much I have longed for home. Was it really that miserable up there? All I seem to remember is strong arms, his grave voice mumbling in my ear, warm skin, need, our little talks, and our bubble of peace in a cruel world. It hurts, though, the way it ended, his words, his threats. I don’t ever want to see him again.

  And even as I think it, I know it’s a lie.

  As we drive through Daytona, onto our street, I get increasingly jittery.

  “Did he really leave town?”

  “He moved out of state, Case. You’re good,” says Josh.

  “You don’t ever have to worry about that fucker again, we’ll—”

  “Leroy! Language.” says Mom.

  Dad clears his throat. “We’ll protect you.”

  I force a smile. They can’t be with me every second. He may have moved, and that’s the only reason I dare to return here, but I’ll be watching my back for a long, long while.

  My two-room apartment is in the attic of the garage where I work. Dad’s got a pretty large shop, and my place isn’t small. It’s got a huge old black leather corner couch placed in the middle of the living room, posters on the walls for my favorite movies and bands, a good-sized bed, and a kitchen. The windows are all set in the sloped ceiling. I’ve got a few books, a PlayStation with a ton of games, and a kick-ass loudspeaker. I love my place. I’m not one to buy unnecessary stuff, or clutter my space. I like it simple. I also don’t invite people up here.

  My family stands gathered behind me as I look up at the ladder-like steep set of stairs.

  “You can come home for a few days,” says Mom.

  “Your car is in its usual spot,” says Dad.

  “Want help with that?” says Josh and nods at my suitcase.

  I smile and shake my head. “I can come over for dinner, Mama. I’ll be good. Thanks for the pickup.”

  “We’re here if you need to... talk... about...” Dad stutters, uncomfortable with emotional expressions as he is.

  My chest tightens. I keep pushing what happened to the back of my mind. The shock of the explosion, the dead, the blood, Cole’s rage. It’s too much. I can only lift that lid a tiny bit at a time. If I talk about it, I’ll make it worse.

  “Absolutely, Papa. Call me later? I need to rest.” Their gazes tingle in my back as I make my way up the stairs and then finally, finally, I can shut the door behind me.

  * * *

  Cole

  “It’s me...”

  “I’m sorry, who is this?” Sandra Hooper’s light voice, soft and smooth, well-practiced, chimes through the loudspeaker.

  Who is it? Did she delete my number off her fucking contact list?

  Then I remember I have a new number and take a deep breath. I expect the worst. I don’t expect anything good to come out of this.

  I’ve procrastinated five weeks. I just... needed to settle. I’ve googled my ex and looked at paparazzi pictures of her and our kids. She isn’t camera shy, and I’m not comfortable with her showing off our children for the world to see. She’s stuck with having kids in a profession where many of her colleagues wait until the role offers don’t come as often anymore, so she seems to have made it part of her image instead: the doting mom.

  But who am I to talk about right or wrong?

  I pace back and forth in my near-empty little house. I got access three days ago. Two bedrooms. A little garden. A view of the hills and the valley. My heart beats a hundred miles per hour and my mouth dries up from just hearing her voice. I’m not afraid of her, but I’m afraid of what she can do. I hurt her so fucking much and she can crush me with a few mere words. I don’t know to what extent she’s feeling vengeful.

  “It’s Cole. Your ex.”

  Silence. I hear her breaths. Finally she speaks. “Wow. Okay. Where... are you?”

  “I’m—” Fuck, this is hard. “There was an accident at the site. In Alaska. The pipeline.”

  “Yeah? Shit. Are you okay?”

  Some of the tension drains out of me. At least she’s not outright hostile at the first sound of my voice. “Not spectacularly. But I’m not physically hurt.”

  “So...” The caution in her voice is obvious. “Where are you now?”

  I exhale, do or die, all or nothing. “In the Valley.”

  “LA?”

  “The city of a billion broken dreams, yeah.”

  “And... what are you doing here?”

  “I want to see Alicia and Sage.” I swallow. I can be pushy and rough. This is not the time. The last time she saw me, she told me in no uncertain words that if I didn’t get my fucking anger issues under control she’d never let me see them again. She doesn’t have any legal rights to do that, but she can make our lives hell, and I know she wouldn’t hesitate.

  “All right... Are you sober?”

  “I am.”

  “For real?”

  “Fuck, yes.”

  She hums, as if she finds it hard to believe. “Got a job?”

  “Working on it. Looks like I’ve got a shot at getting my old job back.”

  “In Wrightwood?”

  “Nah, they could transfer me here.”

  “And ‘here’ being? Like, got a place to live? Cole, you’re not coming here.”

  “I’ve got a place.”

  “Some seedy motel? Cockroaches and little pets under the wallpaper?”

  “I bought a house,” I grit out. Every-fucking-time we speak, she tries me, pushes me.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. Seems working without paying for food and rent, and basically buying nothing for a year and a half is pretty good on the bank account.”

  Neither of us had any money when we married. We had no pre-nup. When we divorced, she was on her way up into some pale limelight while I was a homeless drunk. Neither of us asked for alimony. We couldn’t get far enough away, fast enough.

  “I got the child support,” she says.

  “I’m not a fucking caveman, no matter what you think.”

  “I haven’t used it.”

  “You should have knocked yourself out. Bought yourself some Botox shots.”

  She scoffs. “Nice to hear you haven’t changed.”

  “I’m sorry, Sandra,” I say. “I’m really fucking sorry for how it turned out. I was a dick.”

  “Yeah, you were.” She’s quiet. “I don�
��t think I was at my best either... We were pretty toxic together.”

  “We made some cute kids, though.”

  She laughs. “Oh, yes. You should see Sage. He’s gonna break hearts when he gets older.”

  “Can we meet up? I really want to reconnect. It’s killing me... Did they ask for me, or...?”

  “You’re their father, Cole. Of course they’ve asked for you.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I wanted to tell them what an ass you were, but they don’t deserve that. I know you think I’m shallow, but I love my babies.”

  “I know you do.” I think she could spend more time with them than they spend with their nanny, but right now I’ll say anything to placate her. This is going better than I had dreamt of.

  “I told them you were ill, in the heart, and that you wanted to be with them but needed to heal first.”

  There’s a lump in my chest that grows, heavy, suffocating. Oh, yeah. Ill is more correct than she probably knows. “Is there anyone I should know of... someone new?”

  She’s quiet.

  “It’s all right. I’m not the jealous type.” At least not with her. A jolt shoots through me at the thought of Casey, of someone else ever touching her.

  Sandra keeps talking, and I try to register what she says, but I suddenly realize one very vital, life-changing fact. I cannot let Casey Keagan go. I hurt her beyond reason. She’s at the other side of the fucking country. But I can be pretty persuasive, and somewhere deep inside I think she knows she needs me too. She believed in me, made me need her more than I need air, made me want to do good. And me, I lit a fire in her that she won’t be able to stoke. She might try to find that other someone who can set her aflame again, but I won’t let that happen. I’ll make her mine, body and soul, and claim her all over again, out here, in the real world. She is mine.

  I make arrangements with my ex-wife. She won’t let me meet the kids alone, and even though it grates on me, it’s not difficult to see it from her perspective. She’s protecting them, and I feel some reluctant modicum of respect for her for that.

  My mind spins. I have exactly one person to thank for making me believe I can do this. She is much too far away, and that is unacceptable. I also have good reasons to believe she hates my guts.

  I don’t know how, but I’ll make it work.

  Chapter Twenty

  Casey

  It’s hot as hell and the weather is moody. Sun and rain seem to fight for attention, like disagreeing siblings.

  Florida. Daytona.

  I don’t miss the cold in northern Alaska, the bone-deep chill, but I do miss the velvety darkness, the peace, and the soft crunch of feet walking in snow.

  I miss him.

  Living again. Back to life, back to everything I thought was my only reality. Except now I know I could live so much more.

  I’ll make it work somehow. It’s been weeks. Lots of weeks. More than I care to count.

  He always said we had no future. It stung, but I told myself I was okay with it. I just didn’t think the future would happen so suddenly.

  Back on the racetrack, back in the garage, I work my ass off. Early morning until dinner with my family. Then back out there until it’s time to go to bed. I’m used to hard work, and I don’t want to think. I have no desire to remember Cole and what we had. It all went sour when he accused me of killing six people. I can’t help noticing when I pass the day that marks us having been apart longer than I knew him. It’s like a punch to my stomach and I spend the night downing a few bottles of beer.

  I haven’t allowed myself to cry. I don’t consider myself a weepy person, but tonight the tears fall. Uninvited, he comes to me in a dream, tall and strong. A man made of steel covered in warm skin. Callused hands that bend me to his will. A broken man, in desperate need of love, of someone who believes in him. I wake with a migraine from hell and an aching void where my heart should be. I believed in him, in the kindness that he hid beneath the rough surface. Until he threw all that away.

  * * *

  At first I don’t know what the noise is, but then I realize that someone is knocking. On my door. At ten in the evening. I’m holding my pajama pants, just about to put them on, but I dash through the room to grab my jeans, putting them back on. I pick up my phone. No messages. I don’t know anyone who goes on surprise visits. You check with people first. That’s just how it is.

  Three more knocks make me jump. Clutching the phone, I make my way down the stairs and stop before the rustic old wooden door.

  “Who is it?”

  Silence, then: “It’s me.” A grave voice, soft and smooth. My heart somersaults and I throw myself on the lock, my fingers trembling.

  Cole!

  I shouldn’t be happy. I should tell him to fuck off, but I can’t. I have missed him too much.

  Swinging the door open, I backpedal abruptly. Before me stands a tall man, his features rough, almost haphazardly put together, but the result ruggedly handsome. His dirty blond dreadlocks are tied back and his blue eyes glint wickedly.

  Alex!

  My knees weaken and it’s as if all air is punched out of my lungs. How could I be so mistaken? They have similar voices, but not the same. Have I fantasized so much about Cole that my imagination tricked me in the worst way possible?

  I fumble for the door, too shocked for words. Alex puts a foot in, holding it open as he raises his hands, showing me his palms.

  “Easy there, Case. No screaming.”

  I look over his shoulder, out into the dark. There are houses close enough. I open my mouth to scream for help and end up getting a palm slapped over it. He pushes me back so that I fall against the stairwell, then he closes the door behind him.

  “Alex! No! What the fuck!” I cry against his palm.

  “Shhh.” He pats my cheek, then grabs my chin, holding me down. “Get up there.” He cocks his head up the stairs to my apartment, my sanctum.

  I shake my head. No! Not happening!

  He tsks. “Are you going to be my good girl, Casey? Or are you going to keep giving me trouble? Keep in mind that I know where your little brother goes to school. I know which way he takes home. Accidents happen so easily, don’t you agree?”

  My mouth falls open and I gasp as my chest tightens. “No, Alex, I’ll do anything. Please.”

  The burning fury in his eyes, his threat, and his commanding tone, makes me relive the helplessness and the pain from back in the alley. I stumble, step by step making my way backward up the stairs. My legs are numb, my body coiled, tense.

  “Don’t do this,” I rasp out.

  “Shhh, it’ll be all right, pet. Move.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for putting you in jail, I’m sorry, I was stupid, but they saw, and it was too late, I didn’t mean to press charges, and—”

  “Case, Case, Case. I’m not here for revenge. I have lived for the memory, and knowing that one day I will get to touch you again, bend you to my will.”

  I shake my head mutely, widening my eyes. Oh, God!

  “Please don’t hurt me,” I whisper.

  Alex snickers as he shoves me into my apartment and I fall on my butt, scrambling backward. “Don’t touch me!”

  “I will touch you, pet. I will bend you, break you, and you will not talk about this, or it will hurt. I know what you want. I know every little dirty thing you dream of, because they are my dreams too. You don’t know how much I have longed for this moment.”

  My eyes dart between his face and the bulge in his pants. He’s going to hurt me. He’s going to rape me.

  “I don’t want that,” I whisper, my mouth so dry that I can barely get the words out.

  Alex crouches between my legs. I try to slam my knees together, but I’m too slow. “Shhh. It’ll be all right, Casey. We’ll be together.”

  He strokes along my inner thigh, then pinches me so hard that I yelp and try to jerk away.

  “You put me in prison. For what? What did I ever do to you?”
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  I swallow hard. He’s a psychopath. How can he not understand? “I—”

  He puts a finger to his lips. “Don’t speak. You owe me, Casey. Two years I spent inside. You owe me every hour and you will pay it back.”

  Tears well up in my eyes. “No,” I gasp. “Don’t touch me! You can’t do this.”

  Alex leans over me. I’m on my back on the floor. He’s hovering over me, his chest against mine, supporting his weight on his arms. He reeks of alcohol, and that sweet smell of pot. “I can, and I will. Did you try to fucking run? You are not moving anywhere again. You are to stay here. You are not going to the cops, and you are not telling anyone. I will hurt you if you do. You have no idea of the pain I can cause. There are methods, you see. I know things, and trust me, you don’t want that. I can make it good for you. Good hurt, not bad hurt. Now, put your hands together over your head.”

  “Alex, no!” I know my pleading is useless and when he slams my arms to the floor, straddling me, and unbuckles his belt, all I can do is gasp for air, too frightened to cry.

  “Shhh, baby.” He pulls the belt out of its loops and wraps it around my wrists. “I’m going to leave you with a little parting gift, something to remember me by.”

  “Oh, God,” I whimper as he tightens the belt, too hard.

  Standing, he then grabs my arms and pulls me across the floor, to my closet, pulls open the doors and begins rummaging around the contents. “Don’t you have fucking anything? Oh, look.”

  I arch my neck, trying to see what he’s found and widen my eyes as he pulls up a couple of scarves.

  Alex drops me and I try to throw myself to the side, to get up on my knees, but he slams a foot down on my back, pressing me down to the floor. The air leaves my lungs from the impact and I cough and fight to inhale. He’s heavy, and he’s not gentle.

  “That’s my good girl. Remember your brother. Crawl for me, pet.” He cocks his head toward a steel pipe that runs from the air conditioner and down through the floor. “Get over there.”