That was the first time I ever came over just to come over, no holiday as an excuse.
It was the last time, too.
“Victoria, please.” Jace’s voice is hushed. No lights are on. It’s like no one’s in the room at all. Which I suppose is the point. “You’ve got to be quieter.”
I’m sitting on the floor in the corner, my knees pulled to my chest, my arms wrapped around a pillow. The pillow is pressed against my face. It’s the only way to muffle the sobs. I try to keep them down, but they’re like bullets ricocheting inside me.
I press harder.
DEREK
I'm shivering when I come back inside, and it's got nothing to do with the blasting AC. Snipers? On the roof? Images of Victoria being shot, harmed, killed, flash in mind. I have to shut them down. I can't even think about it. I can't. But the possibility is so close it causes my stomach to dip and dive, and my skin burns as I think about what might provoke them to pull the trigger. A cross-eyed look? A sneeze? A sudden cough?
“Derek?”
Mom comes up beside me. She hugs me and we hold each other tightly. She's a small lady, only five two. I'm almost a full foot taller, but right now I feel so suddenly tired and weak that I don’t doubt she could knock me to the ground in a heartbeat.
She loops her arm in mine and Dad does the same as he joins us on my other side. We follow the line of people heading to the back of the house. As we cross the threshold and into a room of white paint, white carpet, white drapes, white lilies, and white, square end tables, I finally see the casket.
It’s gleaming black.
And it’s closed.
There are seven rows of white chairs, eight in each row. My parents sit in the second row behind William and Robin, but I hang back. I watch as everyone sits. Everyone but Captain Pearce and Victoria. I step into the hallway. They're not there either.
“Excuse me,” an older man says as I move back inside, “the service is starting, son. Please take your seat.”
“Oh, I'm just waiting for...” I trail off, Captain Pearce's words ringing in my ears. Don't make a scene. With one last look around, I go to the seat my parents saved.
A podium is beside the casket, and everyone hushes as William stands and moves behind it. He clears his throat softly before he begins to read from a book already open. If you put a gun to my head, I wouldn't be able to tell you what he just read, but I could tell you that he did it without any hint of histrionics. I can't get over his composure. If it were me up there…God, I would’ve fainted by now.
But William...William has the presence. He's only twenty-seven, but people tend to forget that. He has the maturity and worldliness of someone much older, who’s seen and done everything there is to see and do. I know that he was fast-tracked in high school and graduated with honors, I know that he's seen many Wonders of the World. I know that he got married when he was twenty-one. Now, standing there, reading beside his father's casket, it truly seems as if there is nothing more for him to go through.
His voice does not catch as he reads, there isn't a single tear glistening in his eyes. His speech is normal: no flat monotone, no choked back sobs. He finishes the passage. Mom takes my hand in hers. I squeeze it three times, a childhood code for a very simple message: I love you.
Forty minutes later, after three more people speak, it's over.
Everyone gets up and a line forms to walk in front of the casket. I'm one of the first to walk up, and I say a silent prayer. A wavy, distorted image of my own reflection stares back at me. I bow my head. Shut my eyes.
I'm sorry. You didn't deserve to die. You were a good man and I will find who did this to you. I will find who did this to Victoria. And I'll free her. I will protect her. I will love her. I promise you. I will save her.
I pass Mr. King's casket, a new vow in my head.
<><><>
The room is nearly empty. Everyone has since moved to the more formal dining room at the front of the house for the wake except for a group of four people. They stand by the casket, and I recognize them from pictures Victoria had once showed me. They are Mr. King's brothers and sisters—and I don't intrude on their conversation. There are some inner circles that just shouldn't be breached. This group, these mourners, knew Mr. King in another lifetime, when he belonged to tree houses, video games, and road trips with his own father. They knew him in ways no one—not even William or Victoria—would ever know him.
They are the original Kings. They are Camelot.
They slowly file out of the room. I’m the only one left. My stomach clenches. The pounding in my head has moved down my neck and into my shoulders. Is Victoria gone? Was she so close and yet I didn't even know it?
Suddenly, a small hiccup of breath sounds behind me. A fragile, breakable sound. They are not loud cries, but they are the most cutting. They are the most deep. The hairs on my neck stick up, little bursts explode on my skin. I turn slowly.
She looks smaller than ever.
Victoria.
VICTORIA
I hugged him three days ago.
If I would’ve known I’d never hug him again
I would’ve never let him go.
I looked at him three days ago.
If I would’ve known I’d never see him again
I would’ve never let him out of my sight.
I talked to him three days ago.
If I would’ve known I’d never speak with him again
I would have told him the truth.
But it’s too late. It’s just too late.
DEREK
I don't think, I don't look around, I don't wonder about cryptic messages or softly spoken threats. I launch myself to her. A flood of emotion—grief, relief, sadness, love, longing—rolls through me as she throws her arms around me. I kiss her over and over and then I take her face in my hands. I sweep her hair back and I kiss her cheek then forehead, then the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. She collapses against me. And for just a moment, it all falls away. I forget where I am. I forget why I'm here. I forget the death around us.
The tip of my nose touches hers. My lips move on her lips as I say, “I love you. I love you. We'll get through this together.”
Her cries do not abate.
“I miss you more than I can stand,” I whisper.
Captain Pearce's voice slides through the air. “Say goodbye, Victoria. You have to leave. Derek. Let her go.”
I pull her to me and envelop her. I cup the back of her head and kiss her ear. Then, I whisper words only she can hear. And I push my hand in her hand, giving her a gift only she can accept.
And finally, I let her go.
VICTORIA
His hand slips through mine like falling water, so smooth I don't even realize it until two, then three, then seven, then ten feet then a car door then the start of an engine then the hot metal of my handcuffs separate us.
I twist to look back. Derek gets smaller and smaller as the car moves away but he never moves. He watches me and I watch him. Only when the car finally turns a corner, when he finally disappears, do I sit straight again. And I hear his voice. I feel the way the words nestle in the curve of my ear. And my fingers trace the item in my palm.
I can't look down at it but I know what it is.
A gift.
A secret
A lifeline.
My fist squeezes, a tight oyster around the pearl.
And my heart says
Yes. Yes, I will marry you.
DEREK
No. No. This isn't right. This can't be right.
Victoria's car is half a block away from me and that's half a block too far. My chest is close to cracking, like someone stabbed a spike right in the center and is cranking it like a music box lever, tightening and tightening until I pop. Shakes rack my body. I can't stand still. I can't just watch.
I can't just let her go.
I run. Arms pumping, feet slapping on the sidewalk, pure, full-on run. The black car is still moving, but I'm get
ting closer to it. Closer. I cannot let her go.
The car stops at a light only a block away from me. I kick my speed up another notch. Suddenly, I pitch forward, a yell bursting from my mouth. I fall hard on the ground. I can feel the skin of my palms, then my chin scrape the asphalt. I feel blood.
Confused, I slowly, painfully push myself up to a sitting position. My upper back near my shoulder is on fire. I grimace as I twist my torso to see why my back hurts so much.
A long, thick needle protrudes from my skin. As I begin to lose consciousness, it dawns on me.
I've been shot.
And then I see nothing but darkness.
PART TWO
BREAK OF DAY
DEREK
Twenty-Four Days Before Victor King’s Death
(Evening)
The marriage rate is higher than it's ever been. Maybe it's the Us versus Them mentality, maybe it's the fact that the Corps really drives home the precariousness of laws and mortality. Whatever the reason, the average age to get married now is twenty-one. The divorce rate is less than twenty-four percent. And it took me less than an instant to know I wanted to marry Victoria King.
I'm standing in Victoria's room now, watching a slide show of pictures on the monitor above her dresser. There's us at last year's prom, there's us again during the Snowball Dance. There's her sitting at a baby grand piano. I never understood why she decided to quit because she was an exceptional player (I’ve seen videos of performances), but when asked, Victoria wouldn’t answer. She would just shrug and say it was time to move on. So we did. There’s us at a picnic table in the Waterfront. There she is with her dad at Heinz Field right before the Steelers were finally bought by Arizona. The field was demolished two years later.
“Hey, you.”
Her voice caresses me like a physical touch, taking me by the shoulder and turning me around. The light from the hallway makes it impossible to make out her features, but I know her body—even if it's just the silhouette of it. She slowly makes her way toward me, her hips doing that gentle sway I love so much. A small lamp—the only source of illumination in the dark room—throws out a glow that makes her look ethereal and earthy, angelic and smoldering all at the same time.
“Smooth line,” I say.
“With an ass like mine, do I really need words?” She nestles against me, her body perfectly fitted to mine. Her arms go around my waist. I rest one hand on the flare of her right hip and move my other to the aforementioned ass. I squeeze it playfully and she laughs. I can smell her perfume. I can see the shine of her lips, and all my jokes go by the wayside. I lean down and kiss her: long, slow, with a building passion that leaves me vibrating. She arches her body, so her breasts and stomach are flush against me. I put my arm across her back and arch her even more.
Somehow, we’ve walked until we hit a soft wall. No, not a soft wall. I open my eyes. Clothes. A huge rack of them. Somehow, we’ve moved into her walk-in closet.
She giggles and sweeps her arms up, causing stacks of light-weight fabrics to cascade around us. Turquoise, lilac, peach, cherry, daffodil, plum: it’s like we’re inside the foot of a rainbow.
Victoria goes up on tiptoe and presses her lips to mine. She pulls me and we turn. Hangers click and more clothes swoosh softly down as we make one complete revolution and she’s leaning against me once more. Jewelry rattles. Sequins from something is causing the light to shimmer and glow around us, as if the rainbow gave way to stars.
Her tongue is warm and wet on my lips. She unbuckles and unzips me. Then she slips her left hand into my boxers and squeezes me so perfectly, I jolt.
She giggles. “That got your attention.”
A reply doesn’t formulate, not when she rubs along the length of me, using just the right pressure, coaxing just the right reaction. I tilt my head back and sigh, moaning aloud. Her other hand moves to my face. She caresses my cheek before her fingers slide through my hair and grips the strands tight, forcing my head farther back, exposing my throat to her lips and teeth and tongue.
My hips flex. My eyes flutter shut. My hands fist tightly in something cashmere. Victoria’s working me to a fine edge but there’s no way I’m going alone. I don’t know where I get the strength, but I move her hand from me and bring it to my chest.
“Come on,” She sighs. “I want to watch you. I love the sounds you make, the way your face moves.”
She tries to touch me again but I guide her hand away. She tries with her other hand but I do the same thing. Exasperated, she makes one last effort to touch me but this time, I maneuver her body so she’s pressed into the corner, between formal gowns and summer dresses. I grab a gauzy shawl and wrap it around her wrists, then I tie it to the rod above her head, forcing her arms up.
My mouth pulls into a wide smile as I take in her posture. She’s fully clothed but she’s never looked more erotic. Her breasts are full and plump, straining against a shirt that clings to every dangerous curve of her. Her skirt is bunched up high on her hips, showing off legs for days and just a tease of lace panties. Her hair is tousled and sexy as hell.
“I should leave you like this.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “You won’t.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because it’s more fun if you touch me.”
So I do. I stroke and flick and knead her. I pluck and pull and stretch her. She says my name, half-whimper, half-moan. She buries her face in the crook of her arm. Her brows furrow, her cheeks are rosy and flush. I lick my lips.
I increase the pace, increase the pressure. I know the right reaction, too. And finally she gasps, at first inarticulate sounds, then my name, then heavy pants like a person trying to finally catch their breath.
Victoria’s eyes open slowly. I kiss her tenderly and say, “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.”
“How does it feel to be nineteen?”
“Right now? Pretty damn good.”
I grin and reach up to untie the shawl. Her arms lower around my neck and I carry her out to the bed. She's soft—perfect—beneath me. I prop myself on my elbows to take some of my weight off her. She hitches her leg high on my hip and I settle more fully against her.
“You’re gorgeous,” she says.
“I knew it. You only want me for my looks.”
She slaps my shoulder. “I mean, it’s on the inside too. It makes you even more attractive.”
“Thank you. You’re gorgeous too. Inside and out.”
She chuckles, and I’m about to kiss her again when a crash comes from downstairs that is so loud that Victoria and I both jump. We scramble off the bed and hurry downstairs, adjusting our clothes as we go. I'm expecting the worst, like a car in the living room, but to my surprise, it’s Mr. King. He’s moving through the house like a tornado, his face all dark shadows and grim lines. For one crazy minute I think maybe he knows—heard?—what Victoria and I were doing upstairs. I quickly look at her skirt. It’s back where it’s supposed to be. I discreetly peer down at my own pants. Normal.
“Dad,” Victoria says, walking down the stairs to him, “what's wrong?”
He shakes his head and keeps walking.
“Dad?”
No answer. She’s about to call his name again when a car horn goes off outside. It sounds pissed, like a rage-filled scream the driver won’t let up. We all turn to the window.
“Who’s at the gate?” Victoria asks as she walks to the security system by the front door. But before she can turn on the monitor, Mr. King bellows her name. He rushes over to her, and clamps down on her wrist so hard the slap reverberates in air. He wrenches her away and she stumbles, almost falls.
Her face is grief-stricken as she catches her balance.
“Dad?”
Her eyes are wide and her mouth is slightly open. I imagine I look the same. I’ve never heard Mr. King yell before. And I have never, ever seen him shove Victoria like that. Hell, I’ve never seen him even touch Victoria unless he was hugging her.
Mr. King blinks rapidly, as if he just woke from a dream, or is trying his hardest to. Then all at once, walks away, his movements jerky and uneven. We both watch him go in stunned silence. It’s then we realize that the beeping has stopped. Hurriedly, Victoria goes to the security monitor. She turns it on but whoever was at the gate is gone now.
We hear a door slam upstairs.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I can’t believe he did that,” she says, rubbing her wrist. I go to her and look at her wrist. It’s deep red but it won’t bruise.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Victoria sighs and shuts her eyes. When she opens them again, they’re somber and dark. “Um, look, I know you wanted to go out tonight, but can we take a rain check? I just, I don't want to go and leave him like this. He’s…” She shakes her head. “Something’s wrong.”
“Sure. You want me to stay?”
She casts a worried glance upstairs. “No, thanks. He doesn't really seem like he wants company now.” She takes my hands and rises up on tiptoe. She places a tender kiss on my lips. “Thanks for the birthday wishes, though.”
“I'll give you your gift tomorrow.”
She gives me a weak smile and whispers goodbye. She heads upstairs, so I let myself out. But as I walk to my car, I gasp aloud. Mr. King's cranberry-colored Mercedes has been totally crushed in on the passenger side.
VICTORIA
“What did you do to him? What did you do?!”
I twist in my seat as much as I can, but we’ve already turned the corner. I can’t see Derek. I saw him go down, saw him try to get up, and collapse again. And now I can’t see him at all.
Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series) Page 7