Exposed: An Anthology

by Brooke Cumberland

I trail behind him, eyes to the floor, walking past the cubicles and around the display case. I look up and meet Trix’s eyes. Surprisingly, she isn’t enamored by Axel, but she looks at me with uncensored concern. I give her a small, very wobbly smile and ask her how much.

  “Already paid. Here are the instructions from Ty. I wrote the shop number on there in case you have any questions.” She looks at me and I can see her communicating something. I just can’t figure it out right now. My mind is focused on one thing and one thing only.

  I thank her and then look around the front for Dee. I find her silently crying next to Beck, who has his arm thrown tightly around her shoulders, hugging her close. I can’t even fake a smile for her. She knows me too well, so it would be completely pointless. I walk out the front door and stand there, waiting for the rest of this fucked-up entourage to join me on the sidewalk. Axel is out first. He takes his post behind me, boxing me in and making any thought of running impossible.

  Dee comes up and gives me an awkward hug. “It will be okay, Iz.” she whispers into my ear before pulling away and standing back with Beck. He gives me a sympathetic smile but doesn’t say anything, and really, what can be said? Then I meet the blue eyes of Greg.

  “Games, baby girl. I won’t sit back and watch you self-destruct with these fucked-up games. You can be mad, and I get that you will be, but you will not play these fucked-up games. I’ll call you tomorrow and maybe by then you will understand why this was the only move you left me. I love you, baby girl, but that shit stops now.”

  My eyes widen in shock. I hear Dee gasp behind him, and I feel Axel’s deep rumble behind my back. I can imagine that Dee is just as shocked as I am that Greg just admitted to letting Axel know where I was; I have no clue what the hell Axel’s deal is. I am crushed. How could he do this to me? The tears start streaming down again, even heavier than before. I can see Greg, and he looks visibly shaken up by my tears.

  Everything I had been building up—the fight, the drive to be strong—is gone in an instant. I am completely flattened with his betrayal. I let out a mighty breath before addressing Greg. “Do not even bother, Greg. Don’t. As far as I’m concerned, you can lose my number. I’m dead to you, you hear me? I do not exist to you.” I look right into his eyes, with tears flowing quickly; I don’t even bother to mask the pure pain.

  He looks stunned at first, and then a look that I’m sure comes close to the pain across my face takes hold of his features. I don’t even give it a second thought. I turn and look up to Axel’s blazing eyes.

  “I didn’t drive, took a cab here. So if you want to talk, you either do it here or you meet me somewhere.” I don’t even recognize my voice; it’s flat and expressionless.

  His eyes flare and he slowly brings his hand forward, grabbing my hand. I don’t flinch at his touch, but the bolts shooting up my arm from this exchange has me widening my eyes at him. If his quick intake of air is any indication, he feels it too.

  “Not leaving my fucking sight, understand that right now. Say goodbye to your friends. We are going to have this chat and we’re doing it right now before you decide to run. Again.” There is no room for arguing; he means it and I don’t even care. Greg’s deception is hard enough to take in, but knowing I am about to rip open old wounds better left alone is gutting me.

  I have no idea how I am going to make it through this.

  Chapter Ten

  I give Dee another look; she seems to understand and gives me a small nod. I completely ignore Greg, turn, and prepare to follow Axel to parts unknown. I know what is coming, and I might not be ready, but something is telling me that I have no choice. Axel wants answers, he warned me, and I knew he would be determined.

  He might think he can bully himself back into my life like he hasn’t just been gone for the last twelve years, but he has another thing coming if he thinks I am just going to roll over and play dead. My fight might be gone, but I am far from out.

  We start walking down the sidewalk. He’s leading and I’m following silently behind him. When we reach his mammoth truck, I stop and look at it. How the hell am I supposed to get in that thing. I am eye level with the footboard thing. Isn’t the purpose of that thing to help people get into vehicles? Typical man, making these damn things impossible. Axel is standing next to me holding the door, waiting for me to climb in. I look from him to the truck a few times. He can’t be for real right now.

  “Get in now. I don’t have the patience for your shit.” His voice still sounds lethal. I have no idea what would had made him so mad. He has me and it technically is still Saturday…even if there are only a few hours left. So I didn’t exactly do anything wrong. The deadline is up and I’m here, right?

  “Hate to point out the obvious, Holt”—I can’t seem to help myself from sneering his name, his new name—“but how exactly do you expect me to get in now, as you have so kindly demanded?”

  His eyes flash and fill even more with blinding rage. His face takes on an even harsher hard… stone-cold look. “What. The. Fuck. Did I tell you about calling me Holt?” he throws at me.

  His face is almost nose to nose with mine. His rapid breaths are hitting my own mouth in warm bursts. I can taste him on my tongue, and I gasp in shock. My eyes go wide at his close proximity. Even in my current mood, I can’t help but remember all the times I looked into these eyes before. All the times they didn’t hold anger, but untainted love.

  “One more time, and I swear to God. Get in the fucking truck,” he bites out, pushing each word towards me with great force.

  “You idiot, what do you think I am doing? Standing here for shits and fucking giggles? No, definitely not. I can’t get into your stupid truck. If you would take a second to actually look, you would see this. Your little Napoleon complex is cute. Really, it is. But it is also keeping me from getting in the fucking truck!” I scream the last part in his face so loud that even my ears are ringing. I instantly slam my hand over my mouth, regretting my outburst and fearing his reaction.

  He shocks me when, instead of lashing out, he starts to shake with silent laughter “Napoleon complex, hmm? Do I really need to remind you just how untrue that statement is, Izzy? Take a look at me. My height isn’t the only thing that fucking grew since you ran off.” After he throws that unexpected remark out, I am once again stunned.

  Ran off? I would have thought he was talking about this past week if it hadn’t been for the offhand comment about him changing. What is he talking about? I didn’t run off. He did. As my confusion grows, I am even more convinced that I do not want to have this conversation with him.

  Finally, having lost his last thread of control, he grabs my hips and lifts, unceremoniously dumping me into the seat. He harshly mutters for me to buckle my ‘fucking belt’, before he slams the door and disappears around the hood. My jaw is still hanging when he opens his door and slings his giant frame into the seat, turning the key and bringing this beast to a roaring start. He slams it into gear and shoots away from his spot.

  Finally coming out of my stunned silence, I look over at his harsh face. “Where are you taking me? My house is the other way,” I meekly ask.

  “I know where your house is I also know that you have been there all week, even while ignoring me. I’m not taking you there, where you can have the protection of your little pit bull roommate. We’re talking and we will be doing it with no fucking interruptions and no one to help you cower behind a locked door. Hear me that, right fucking now.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Maybe we can just go to the Starbucks around the corner?” Maybe if I had little more conviction, he would have taken me seriously. The last place I want to be is in his space, alone with him.

  “Forget that right now. What I have to say to you will not be said around others. Get ready, Princess, because I am done playing games. I don’t care if it takes an eternity. You will fucking talk.”

  I snap my mouth shut and turn to watch the city fly past him, trying frantically to think of a way out
of this, a way to escape. I’m not ready, and I am even more convinced that I might not ever be.

  *~*~*

  Axel

  My heart feels like it might burst from my chest at any second, just blow up, right out of my body. The pounding of my heart, even booming in my ears as loudly as it is, is doing nothing to disguise the soft sniffling coming from the other side of my truck. As much as I wish I could keep my heart hardened from her, the sound of her crying is tearing me up. I shouldn’t have any compassion left for her; it should have died a long time ago.

  I know from my reaction to seeing her again last Saturday that this chat won’t be easy. There are still feelings—feelings I thought were long gone and lost forever—trapped in that box with my heart. This girl ripped my heart to fucking shreds and I never knew why. It would have been quicker if she had stuck around and shot me in the fucking chest. At least I would have died instantly instead of bleeding out slowly for the last twelve years.

  Jesus, I can’t get the image of her slender body holding that small excuse for a towel against her chest out of my head. When she let it drop from her tight hold, I thought I was going to swallow my tongue. Her tits had always been fucking perfect but, to see them like that, with her nipples erect and sporting two hot barbells, I might have shot off in my pants. As much as I wanted to drop to my knees and suck her pert, pink nipples into my mouth, I couldn’t help my first thought: that motherfucker had his hands on her. He’d held her tits in his hands. There was no reasoning with my brain that she wasn’t mine; I saw red.

  Those are my fucking tits and she is my fucking girl. It doesn’t matter to my mind that it has been well over a decade since I have been able to enjoy them; someone else touched what was mine. If I hadn’t thought she would take off and run again, I would have killed that little shit.

  All week I have thought about her. She has been a constant stress that I don’t need when I am trying to get everything in my life in order. Greg and I have been busy enough with all the legal paperwork and issues that keep popping up with the new company. Plus meetings and moving into the office space, briefings with him and the boys, and consultations with new clients. I don’t have time to be strolling down memory lane.

  It wasn’t until Wednesday evening that I remembered Greg coming to talk to me about his friend. Iz, with the threat and husband who did not want to let go. Livid—that would be the first thing I felt. I remember thinking, very briefly, when I first saw her about the connection but it instantly fled when all hell followed our collision. I need more information and I need it yesterday. I don’t know what kind of threat she is under and I don’t even really know much about her marriage. I assumed for so many years that she was happy. I was crushed and pissed because I couldn’t bring myself to barge into her life if she was happy.

  Even now, craving answers as fiercely as I do, my main focus is figuring out what is happening with this douchebag. The time to get my answers will come, but first we will be talking about this husband of hers.

  I waited for her call yesterday, anticipating some bullshit reason why she wouldn’t be able to meet today. I hadn’t expected her to pull some vanishing act and hide all day. I should have. When lunch rolled around today and I still hadn’t heard from her, I set off for her house. When I got there to find it locked tight and no one home, I was pissed.

  I called Greg to see if maybe I could gain one fucking supporter in this fight. He said, “Not getting in this. She knows how I feel and she will talk when she’s ready. I don’t agree with this, but I will support her because she’s my girl.” He was not happy when I blew up in his ear. She is not his goddamn girl. It didn’t matter how many times I asked or straight-up demanded—he wasn’t telling me where they were.

  Imagine my shock when I got a call not even an hour later from Greg, spitting fire and giving up her location. When I arrived and walked into a tattoo parlor of all places, my rage joined his.

  Fuck, those tits looked fucking hot though.

  After another five-minute drive and sporadic soft sniffles from Izzy, and I pull up to the security gate of my house. After entering the code, I pull the truck up my driveway. I feel like I’m looking at the house from a new set of eyes, trying to see how she will view my success. I might be a thirty-one-year-old man, but even that doesn’t stop me from hoping she sees how far I’ve come, how I have finally taken myself from orphaned and penniless, to this. Part of the plans we once made together, only this isn’t the one-bedroom apartment we had our eyes set on. As much of a douche as it might make me, an even smaller part of me hopes she feels just an ounce of jealousy for how good my life is and see how much I was able to accomplish without her in my life.

  How laughable that thought is. I would have gladly given every single penny to my name away if it meant I would have had my Izzy with me all these years. But this Izzy? No. I don’t even know this Izzy.

  The house I bought was over the top, I know this, but fuck if I would ever live cramped for space again. I’m sure there are plenty of shrinks who would love to get into my head; there’s plenty of jacked-up shit in there. I know why I bought this place and I don’t need anyone to tell me that I am making up for my childhood haunts.

  We clear the last of the Bradford pears that line my half-a-mile drive and the house is coming into view. Large and imposing. The deep red bricks almost look black against the night sky. The light next to the red double front doors beams bright and cheerful, almost inviting. Again, laughable. The colonial-style house is made to be a home, not this farce I have going. The huge front porch looks cozy with the rocking chairs positioned between the large four columns, and the flowers look domestic; it is just some huge juxtapose of my life. The outside doesn’t match the inside. The house is just as vacant as I feel right now and I don’t like it at all.

  Time to get this over with.

  Time to figure out whatever the issue is with her husband and find out what the fuck happened to her.

  Izzy is still just gazing out her window, but since we are sitting in my dark garage, my guess is this is her attempt at avoiding me. How the hell she plans on doing that when she is in my damn house and unable to leave without me taking her is beyond me.

  I can feel my temper rising. I’m fighting myself for control—control against my own frustrations, control over the pain that has no place in my heart anymore, and control against my raging hard-on that seems to be pointing right at Izzy. I have never had this many issues with controlling the situations around me.

  She must feel my eyes on her because she finally turns to me.

  “What now?” It’s barely a whisper, and if I hadn’t been looking at her, I might have missed it.

  “Get out of the truck. We talk. Simple as that. It only becomes this giant mess of immature games when you become difficult. So work with me, because I’m sick of fucking playing games.” I think that is nice enough until the tears start rolling down her velvety cheeks.

  Goddammit.

  I climb down from the cab and start making my way around the hood to her side, fully expecting to have to pull her out and throw her over my shoulder. Surprisingly, she is waiting next to the door, and is clearly pissed about her long climb down.

  “This way.” The welcome is just rolling off my words. I’m sure she can feel the vibes choking her. It’s hard to miss when someone would rather be anywhere than with the person they are with. Hard to tell if I would even be going through all this shit if it hadn’t been for Greg and his request to help his friend. My gut tells me that I should just leave her alone, forget about her and the answers I crave. My gut is screaming at me to let it die, pass it over to Locke or Coop, and pretend I never looked back into those pale green eyes again.

  Fat chance of that.

  I open the door to the mudroom off the garage and motion for her to enter. The house is dark, so she pauses next to the door. Coming in behind her, I enter the alarm code and snap on the light to the kitchen. There are chrome appliances, dark wood cabine
ts, granite countertops, and a whole lot of nothing else. No table, just two barstools next to the island. It screams welcome home.

  I point over to the stool and bark off one word. “Sit.”

  She is looking at her feet, doesn’t even attempt to fight me, and sits. I give her a second. She knows why we are here, so hopefully she will just tell me what I need to know without making this a big deal. Ten minutes go by with me looking at her and her wringing her hands together in her lap.

  “Talk,” I bark, the sound vibrating off the naked walls.

  If I hadn’t been observing her for the last eternity, I might have missed the small jump she takes at my tone. It’s hard to tell if I scared her or if something else is working behind her eyes when she snaps her head up.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.” More whispers. Seems like I might need hearing aids for this conversation.

  “Well, let’s see. I didn’t drag you down here to give you a tour, I don’t need to catch up on the latest town gossip, and I sure as fuck didn’t bring you here for the company, so that just leaves one thing. First, you explain, in detail, what is going on with your husband.” I spit the word out, the bitterness on my tongue loud and clear. “Then you can explain to me what that fucked-up package meant. Details, Izzy. This isn’t a game, and I tell you this, if it hadn’t been for Greg basically begging me to help you, I would not be doing this.”

  It takes her a second; I can see my words working around her mind. She opens her mouth a few times, but words never come out. Right when I start to lose any thread of patience I have left, she finally speaks.

  “Can’t someone else do this? Do you have to be the one?” I want to throttle her. Fucking bullshit. Greg will owe me big for this.

  “End the high school bullshit. He didn’t ask me personally to take your shit for the hell of it. I’m good at what I do, Izzy. Locke and Coop? Sure they could do it, but I can do it better. Now, what the fuck?”