by Logan Chance
“I love the city during the holidays,” he whispers beside me.
“Me too. It’s magical.” I nestle in closer to him.
“Harper used to love Christmas.” He gazes out the window.
I squeeze him into a hug. “I wish she could be here.” And I do. It isn’t easy to lose someone. I was a wreck after Nathan died.
“Me too,” he says, kissing the top of my forehead.
A few minutes later, the cab driver parks, and we step out in front of an abandoned building in Chelsea.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“This is your present.” He holds his arms wide, and I take a look around.
“Ok.” I shrug, laughing slightly. “What is?”
He fishes a set of keys from his pocket. Moving to the building, he turns the lock.
We step inside the empty space. “This is,” he says, sheepishly. I thought you could turn it into an art gallery.”
I'm stunned. My mind races with possibilities.
I can see it all perfectly.
Recessed lighting over this wall. My paintings hanging here. I could put a nice bar there.
I know tons of vendors. I could hold gallery exhibits and high-class functions. I spin around. “Pollux, wow. I love it.” I rush over to him and wrap my arms around his neck.
He lifts me off my feet and kisses me.
“There’s an office through these doors,” he says, setting me back down, then taking my hand to show me.
“Pollux, I love it. But, there’s no way I can let you do this for me.”
His eyes soften, then the faint appearance of crow’s feet light his face as he smiles. “Too late. Even if you never open this present, it’s still yours. You can hold your artwork here.”
I’m flabbergasted as to what to say or do. A gallery. He bought me a gallery. Wow.
My chest warms as I gaze at him on the way to dinner later.
And when we’ve gone back to my apartment, and made love under the stars on the rooftop, I almost tell him those three little words. I almost open my heart to him. I want to.
I smile as I watch his restless body sleep beside me. His deep dark hair. His inked arm under his head. The way he takes each breath evenly.
I snuggle him and fall asleep a happy woman. A woman who has never been this happy in all her life. Happier than I’ve ever known could be possible.
A gallery.
14
POLLUX
You love me, huh?
The way I fuck.
The sexy things I say.
Well.
Don’t.
You will hate me.
Am I a bad guy? No, I’m as evil as they come.
I mean, come on, I haven’t even told you my real name.
15
POLLUX
I stand on the terrace of the Plaza during Katy’s company holiday party. It’s cold, but I can’t tear my focus away from one man. He sees me watching him.
He knows I’m here.
He steps onto the terrace.
“Pollux, what are you doing out here in the cold?” Craig asks.
“Thinking.”
He studies my face and then smiles. “About what?”
“Morals maybe. Or values. My mind is all over the place.” I turn back to catch the view of one of the most amazing cities.
“Ah, ok.” Craig follows suit and wraps his hands around the metal railing in front of us.
“It is beautiful,” I whisper.
Harper loved big cities. She loved the lights.
“It is.” Craig faces me again. “So, your name Pollux. Where did your parents think of that one? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”
“Oh, Pollux was an argonaut. He fought alongside his brother, Castor, as they helped Hercules.”
“That’s right. Roman mythology. I remember something like that in school,” he says, chuckling.
I turn, leaning back against the railing. “It’s Greek mythology, actually.”
“Didn’t he have a sister?”
Keep it together.
“That he did. A beautiful one. All the men loved her,” I answer, cooly.
He nods his head a few times. “Yes, yes. I love that story.”
My hands have gone numb from the cold, and I smile. “I should go find Katy. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
I leave the terrace, entering into the warm ballroom in search of Katy.
The Plaza is decked out for this party, and when I see Katy, my heart drops.
We can find a way to make this work.
I can run my company from New York. She can open her art gallery. First I must fucking confess to who I am and hope she doesn't hate me. I should've told her sooner. I want to lay the groundwork for a solid foundation to our relationship—no more lies.
After the party, when we return to my place, I'll tell her everything. Everything.
I cross the ballroom to where Katy stands chatting to a few clients. I lean in and kiss her cheek, then smile to the people with her.
“May I steal my wonderful fiancée away for a moment?”
They smile, laugh, and giggle.
I press my hand to the small of her back, leading her through the throngs of people near the door.
“My brother and his girlfriend are coming tonight. I can’t wait for you to meet them.”
My chest burns with pride that she wants to introduce me to her family. “I can’t wait.”
I swing her around the dance floor for a few songs, and we mingle with employees.
Later, Katy and I stand in a hallway away from the noise, when I get a tap on the shoulder.
I turn around and meet a fist as it connects to my jaw.
I stumble backwards, unable to focus on my attacker. Katy screams. Her arm reaches out toward me, but I’m too disoriented to see anything clearly.
Except, those eyes.
The haunting deep, dark eyes of Houston Dale.
Why the hell is he here?
16
KATY
“What the hell, Houston?” I shout.
Pollux, watching the exchange between Houston and I, doesn’t move a muscle. “How do you know Houston, Katy?” Pollux asks, rubbing his jaw. A trickle of blood seeps from his lip.
“He’s my brother,” I answer.
He pales, and his eyes become a bottomless pit of darkened thoughts. Thoughts I can’t understand.
17
POLLUX
Unreliable Narrator: It’s a character who tells the reader a story that cannot be taken at face value. This may be because the point of view character is insane, lying, deluded or for any number of other reasons.
Fuck. Her brother? You’re about to learn things aren't always what they seem. See that definition up there? That's me. I gave you a clue, but you chose to ignore it.
I actually gave you quite a few, but you weren’t looking for them. You focused on the sex, the attraction. Which, hey, that’s ok.
That was my plan all along.
Smoke and mirrors. I don't want anyone knowing why I'm here, not even you.
Desire for revenge can be powerful.
But, the one thing I never counted on, the one thing I never thought would happen.
Was falling in love.
18
KATY
Houston grabs my arm, spinning me to face him. “Don’t you know who this is?”
“Pollux Clark,” I answer.
“No. His name is Ford Clarkson,” he spits out. “He’s the one who was driving the car that killed Nathan.”
The room spins around me. I didn't hear him correctly. Marley steps forward as my eyes fixate on Houston. I can’t breathe. I can not breathe. Marley wraps me into a hug as my legs collapse under me.
“I can explain.” Pollux steps forward.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Houston bellows.
Oh fuck. What have I done? I can’t handle this anymore. “Marley, please get me out of here,” I whisper.
> She guides me into a nearby bathroom, and I try again to take a deep breath.
“Are you ok?” Marley asks as I brace my hands on the marble counter.
The cool water I splash on my face mixes with the tears falling. “No. I didn’t know. How could I have known? I’ve never seen a picture of Ford Clarkson. I didn't want to put a face to him. I hated him.”
Marley runs a comforting hand down my back. “It’s okay.”
“But, it’s not okay. I've slept with this man. Opened myself up to him.” Oh, my God. His silly safe word. It wasn't a car. How could I believe him? It was all lies.
“Do you love him?”
The tears pour like Niagara Falls. I can’t stop them. “Yes,” I hiccup. “Houston has to know I didn’t know.”
Marley offers a small smile, and I stare into her green eyes. “I’m sure he knows.”
“I feel sick.” I splash more cool water on my face. My stomach twists in knots. “I need to find Houston.”
“Let’s go,” Marley says.
I take a deep breath, not really wanting to return to the party. Not wanting to face Houston.
We step out of the bathroom, and movement to my left catches my attention. My world spins again. Pollux.
On the elevator.
Our eyes crash into each other, and the pain in his nearly breaks me.
Tears fall.
The doors shut.
And he’s gone forever.
He has to be. I can never face him again.
When we return, Houston’s face is flushed, and his hair’s a disheveled mess.
Marley puts her arm around him.
“My fucking hand hurts,” Houston says, showing us his red knuckles.
“I didn’t know who he was. Why would he lie about his name?”
“I believe you, Katy.” Houston pulls me in for a hug, and I cry on his shoulder.
I can’t wrap my brain around it all.
Why would he lie?
I have so many questions I want answers to: Did he know who I was? Did he really care about me?
I’m half-tempted to go up the elevator and knock on his door. But, I won’t. Ever.
We leave right away, and I head home.
Home.
When I get there, I’m too upset to sleep. I end up on the roof.
I paint for Houston.
I paint for Nathan.
I paint for Pollux.
Colors swirl together in a mix of tragedy and heartbreak beneath the sable hairs of my paintbrush. My eyes wander to the canvas where we made love, our bodies creating each stroke.
It makes me confused.
It makes me angry.
It makes me weep.
19
POLLUX
Told you. You hate me, don’t you? Yeah, I hate me too.
People cast stones at what they don’t know. At what they don’t understand. Houston had every right to punch me. That’s why I didn't throw a punch back.
His hatred was clear in his eyes. I don’t blame him one bit. Not one fucking bit.
My past transgressions are something I’ll live with for the rest of my life. Decisions I made in the heat of the moment.
Events playing out beyond my control, ruining lives in the process. It’s my cross to bear. And I do, every fucking day.
The worst part is Katy. I never meant to do this to her.
I rub the reminder above my eye.
Pulling out my phone, I send Katy a text, begging her to see me. No surprise, I get no answer.
When I wake the next morning, it’s clear what I need to do. I Google my destination and set out. Not for forgiveness, but to be heard.
The cab driver pulls up to a brownstone in Murray Hill, and I take a deep breath before handing him cash.
One foot in front of the other.
I stare at the door, wanting more than ever to return home to Chicago, forget all of this happened.
With all my courage, I knock.
The woman from last night opens the door, and she doesn’t say hello, she only steps aside for me to come in.
“Thank you. Is Houston here?”
“Through there,” she says, pointing to an archway. “I’ll give you two some time.”
My nerves are trying to get the best of me. The echo of my heartbeat pounds in my ears. Breathe in. I can do this. I should have done this years ago.
I walk into the sun-filled living room. Pictures of a young boy smile at me from the mantle, and I frown.
Shit. I feel like I'm suffocating.
Houston, in blue scrubs, sits behind an oak desk, tapping away on a laptop.
“What do you want?” he asks, never looking up.
“Is this a bad time? I can come back.”
He shakes his head. “No. Sit. I’ll be right there.”
I take a seat on the dark, blue sofa and keep my eyes on the hardwood floor. I can’t bear to bring my eyes up to see the pictures of the lost little boy staring back at me. Just knowing it was my fault forms a pit in the bottom of my stomach.
Every muscle aches, screaming at me to face my mistakes. Look at him. See the boy you killed.
Tears sting my eyes, but I keep my head down.
“I wasn’t expecting you to come here,” Houston says, joining me. He parks himself on an armchair not far from the couch.
I glance up, taking in the pain in his eyes. Pain I’ve seen in my own in the reflection of a mirror.
“I’m not here to ask for forgiveness. I don’t deserve that,” I start.
He cuts me off, “Then what are you here for?”
“To explain.”
Before I can continue, Houston rises, crossing to the mantle.
“Did you know he loved Spiderman? So much so, he always wanted to get bitten by them. He wanted superpowers.”
I half-smile. “Don’t we all.”
Houston never looks away from the precocious smile, missing teeth. “He would hunt for spiders, hoping they would bite him.” He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head.
I close my eyes. Breathe in. I can do this. Breathe out.
“I’m so sorry.” That word. I hate it. I’m at a loss. Everything I rehearsed on the cab ride over, gone and forgotten.
“You should be,” he grits out. “He was a great kid, and I miss him.” He braces his hands on the mantle, hanging his head. The silence is stifling when he returns to his chair. He won’t meet my eyes, and I don’t blame him. I can hear it in his voice, he’s holding back tears just like me, when he finally says, “So, explain.”
“It was a horrible morning. Dark, dreary. Rainy. Do you remember?”
“Yeah, we overslept. So, easy to do when it rains,” he muses, tracing his finger on the leather armrest.
“Yes.” I take another deep breath, removing the rosary from around my neck. “This won't mean much to you, but it was my sister’s rosary. She wore it everywhere. Her name was Harper.”
Houston nods, glancing at the necklace briefly. “Ok.”
“She was dating a really bad man.” I can see the confusion in Houston’s eyes, wondering where my story is headed. I keep going, “So bad, one night he beat the hell out of her.” Memories assault me. The swollen lip. The black eye. The bruised cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Houston offers, and I feel bad for his pity. I don’t want it. Not from him. I don’t deserve it.
I lean forward, bracing my forearms on my knees, letting the rosary dangle. “I woke up that morning to a text from her. Said she needed me. So, I rushed over, frantic at what I would find.” I stop for a moment, trying to catch my breath.
“So, you were speeding?”
“No.” I shake my head. “When I got to her house, she looked pretty bad. Black eye, busted lip. It took everything in my power not to go to his house and strangle him. I was upset. She was my baby sister, and some bastard had manhandled her.”
Houston’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment I think he can understand my pain.
“She was drunk
. She’d been drinking all night. When I got there, I tried to convince her to go to the cops. I tried to call them,” I glare at the floor. “She cracked a tequila bottle over my forehead.” I point to the scar above my eye.
“Then what happened?”
“She grabbed her keys and ran. Hopped in her car. I chased after her, but I couldn’t keep up. I could barely see with all of the blood dripping into my eye.”
“I don’t understand. So, you chased her with your car and ran that stop sign?”
I shake my head, the squeal of tires echoing in my head. “No. Before I could even get down to the end of the driveway the accident had already happened. She plowed into that other vehicle. I ran as fast as I could.” I remember the pain in my legs. The ache in my side. Hoping, praying she was ok.
“Wait,” Houston says, holding his hand up to stop me. “The police report says you were driving,”
A tear falls onto the rosary. “When I got to the accident, I couldn’t breathe. I flew to her door, ripped it open. She was passed out. I ran to the other car. Oh God.” Another tear falls, sliding down the onyx bead. I can’t go on.
“Keep going.” His eyes fill with tears as I take a deep breath.
“I remember seeing your son. Nathan. I didn’t know what to do. I dialed 911. The driver was unconscious. I tried to get her to wake up. I remember shouting at everyone, at anyone who could help me.” I wipe a few tears.
“Was he alive?”
“Yeah. He cried for his mommy and daddy. I was afraid to touch him. Afraid I’d only make it worse. I went to him. I lifted him anyways, hoping I wasn’t making things worse. I rocked him in my arms as I sat along the asphalt. Rubbed his forehead, telling him everything would be ok.”
Houston closes his eyes. “Did he say anything else?”
“Just that he wanted to go home. That he wanted his mommy. I’m so sorry,” I say.