Dawning (The Risen Series Book 1)

by Marie F. Crow

  “I wasn’t ready to learn the truth about Lawless and Leslie. I really didn’t want to learn it in a moment of my best friend’s bitterness,” I rush my explanation. I omit my real anger is not over the cheating, but the betrayal. I held some illusions over their past lifestyle, but Lawless’ enjoyment of female attention was never one of them.

  “All of this is because of that? That seems silly to fight over.

  Even I knew about them,” she retorts.

  I say nothing because the contempt in her voice is making me regret not running through the brick wall for dear life.

  “Just have her do an apology and appease your ego,” she says, turning my words back onto me. Someone has been learning from

  J.D. a little more than I have been aware.

  “It’s not that simple.” I shrug from her contempt as I start to pile the folded artwork of ragged sheets and bleached towels.

  “Why?” One simple word from her and I am left drowning without answers.

  I don’t know why I can’t simply make the first move, or why I can’t let it go. The sin is with Lawless, not Aimes, but I am clinging to my bitterness for them both like shining armor of righteousness.

  “It’s how they treat her,” Shelia whispers.

  She is determined to clean more than just the piles of laundry today. I am glad the bottle of bleach is out of her reach for my still open wounds.

  “They have left you to figure it out all on your own,” she says, shrugging to ease the ache. “They huddle around her, keeping her safe. Even Lawless is still in their clique. Only you seem to be on the outside now.”

  “The men talk to me,” I answer her, trying to defend them for some reason. Maybe I am just pouting.

  “Alone yes, but when have more than just one of them sat with you? Or acknowledged you in front of her? They don’t want to upset her, but you they don’t seem to care if they do. It’s like they think you are doing fine on your own. Are you?” She asks me, and I am really wishing there were more towels to focus on.

  “I’m fine,” I say, walking right into the classic trap.

  It’s what every female says when they are not. She knows it and I might as well be wearing the red cloak again with how her eyes focus on me. This is about to get ruthless.

  “Sure. You eat alone. You sleep alone. You spend all day alone.

  Sounds perfectly fine to me,” she says.

  I think she has found the bleach. At the very least, she found the lemon juice.

  “I’m not alone right now.” I look at her, trying to smile. Down, Toro. Down.

  “I’m not Aimes. Never will be. I’m not Rhett. I’m not Chapel. I’m not Marxx. I’m not Lawless. I’m not even J.D.,” she says, ripping off more of the scab I have been using to heal their dis- appearance with each name she calls. “I appreciate all the help these past few days, really I do. I do enjoy our friendship. It has not been easy on either of us to get through this.”

  She is going for the salt now, and I brace for it.

  “…but?” I ask, letting her know I am waiting for it. Sprinkle me, Sister.

  “…but Paula and I cannot replace them. It’s obvious you have lost one family already. Why are you so desperate to lose another?”

  Her words rip the scab raw. How little she knows and yet how directly her words hit.

  “Helena, they need you,” Shelia tells me this, but I hear another voice saying it, “but you need them, too. Talk to them.”

  My face must have shown her my fear. I don’t want to admit to her how afraid I am over the thought of approaching them.

  “Look, if it goes wrong, then Paula and I are still right here. At least you can say you tried. It might at least give you some closure,” she says, with her sugar sweet smile and it’s just as damaging.

  I never understood this fascination with closure. I do not under- stand why people want to hear words that will only hurt them, or the need to say words that will only hurt others. What door can be closed in peace when so much more is piled upon the situation propping it open?

  I have always preferred before to just let it go. I let the hurt dampen and dry, so it can be buried somewhere deep inside, al- lowing me to forget about it. It allows me to walk away, but also, to keep on walking.

  I stay in silence, allowing her to think I am considering all the words of wisdom she has spoken to me. Her smile is telling of how proud she is to have been such a pivotal piece to solving my dilemmas. It makes a much easier time of restocking the towels in the locker rooms with her this way. Besides, who am I to pop such a fragile bubble when she is so happy? That’s me: always a giver. How am I rewarded? By coming face-to-face with those I was trying to avoid all morning. The sound of their laughter snakes up my spine almost in a chill. It fills me with a cold dread of having to walk through the room.

  I can already picture their aloof manner while watching me like wolves. Their eyes will follow my every step while their voices continue to talk over my appearance, only further punctuating how little I now mean to them. They will huddle around her to protect her fragile senses from my evil presence. I start my silent retreat from the swinging door to the weight room with hopes I can slip away unnoticed. Hopeful until I feel Shelia’s hands on my shoulders. “Good luck,” she whispers into my ear, and shoves me through the swinging door.

  My entrance is anything but graceful. To say I crashed through the door would be praise to how I stumble and trip into the room. It’s not an entrance one can recover from with any dignity. An amazing comical one-liner, maybe, but guess what I am all out of as the room falls silent around me.

  “Boots giving you trouble again, Barbie?”

  I hear J.D. ask me, and I look to him without meaning to.

  He smiles at me from his weight bench luck has placed nearest to me. His tank top is shaded from his workout, even with his calm voice proving he is not being pushed to his limits. They do not work out for the exertion of it. It’s just a spot to help fill the new boredom of this life.

  I am grateful for J.D. speaking first. With that simple greeting, he has explained the rules. I am welcomed around him as far as he is concerned which means they will follow his example and welcome me as well. If he had ignored me, it would have been a different declaration. The tension in the room reduces with the grin he is giving me at my amazing entrance. I mockingly bow for him, hiding the fact my voice is locked with my fear standing here and I’m rewarded with his laughter.

  They are all here. Our once little happy family is spread out on the various weight machines and I stand frozen like an outsider who just walked into the wrong room. Right about now, I am picturing a few things I would like to shove Shelia from as payback. Tall things. Really, really, tall things.

  “Towels?” I offer like a perky hotel staff. “Shelia and I were just restocking the locker rooms.” Even to me, my explanation sounds lame.

  Of course, it would be Marxx who holds his hand up in the air, waiting for one. Marxx, the one who is the furthest in the room from me. Marxx, who to get to, I will have to walk right past them all with their watching eyes. Hold on folks, we are about to climb another hill with this never-ending roller coaster of mine.

  I walk past each machine with a different person pretending to not notice me. Even Aimes, with Lawless spotting her, continues in her presses. The sight of them, with their newly healed bond, gives me the fire to walk firmer with each of my steps. The sight of them together now coats my words with venom. Like poisoned apples waiting in a tree, I only need the right wind for them to fall. Marxx pats a spot on the bench beside him where he has been pressing weights with his legs. His arm may be wounded, but he refuses to be left behind in the male bonding.

  “Don’t be so hateful,” he tells me, hiding the words behind the towel he is using to clean his face. “What did you expect them to do?”

  “Oh, I am not surprised,” I reply. The wind blows and apples fall, and they start to roll. I won't stop them.

  “Don’t,” Chape
l whispers to me from the bench beside us. “Don’t worry, Chap. I was just leaving. I would hate to make anyone feel uncomfortable. Why then all of you big strong men may have to stop and rush to coddle the little girl. That would just ruin your workouts.” I let my voice carry, coating it with southern sugary sweetness.

  “Helena,” Marxx says to me, grabbing my arm to pull my at- tention to him.

  “Let me guess, I am out of line?” I ask them both, tilting my head with my question and my building tantrum.

  I am fighting to keep the pain from my voice with their constant rushing to her side. I hold on to my anger instead, ignoring Chapel’s look of imploring. Chapel, who is once again finding himself in the middle of it all, stares at me with eyes wide open with his emotions. The still does not simmer my rage.

  J.D. stands, watching over the room of his naughty children with my sudden outburst. He nods for me to come to him when our eyes meet. Sitting like a pouting kid in the back row, I pretend to not see him. Not that I think it will really save me from detention. Aimes has turned her back to me, leaning into Lawless who watches me behind his blank mask. I have no choice now but to be pulled into the principal’s office with her reaction.

  “Hells, walk with me,” J.D. barks.

  He turns to leave the room, not waiting to see if I stand to follow him. He knows I will. Besides, I need an exit from this room that will leave me a spot of dignity. If it is anything like my entrance, it will be a small spot.

  Marxx drops his hand from my arm with a great sigh of defeat. There is no anger to feed me the courage to walk back between all of them. Watching, who was once my best friend in the arms of who used to be my only strength, has poured ice water all over any fire my anger might have fueled. The sight only proves to me how far I have fallen from their graces.

  No one stands to voice any outrage over this new bond. No one comes to me with the comfort of a hug or a kind word. There are just blank faces to watch me walk past and Rhett’s smirk. Rhett knows I have one spark left somewhere inside me. He winks and I let it flare.

  “Your roots are showing, Amelia. You should try red this time. It would give you one more thing you and Leslie can have in common,” I say as I pass her. No, I am not sorry. It felt good.

  J.D. is waiting for me in the hall. His frown shows he heard my last words.

  “Feel better?” he asks me.

  I shrug, leaning against the wall and waiting for the lecture. “You’re better than this,” he tells me. I wait for his Pro-Aimes chat. Someone should be making tee shirts for them to wear. “That was rather weak.”

  It takes me a moment to fully hear what he said to me. When I do, I open my eyes to see him smiling. His eyes are vibrant with his mirth.

  “From someone who just about runs over a man for flirting, that roots comment was a letdown.” He smirks, seeing my con- fusion. “What? Did you think I was going to give you a talking to? Convince you to go in there? Hug it out?” He smiles, almost leering with the thought. “That’s not my Barbie.”

  “Yes, sorta. It seems to be the popular line of thought.”

  I wait for the violent mood swing, the instant icy stare, the things which signal he was just setting me up to make his threat that much more severe.

  “When have I ever given a shit about being popular?”

  He is right. The Christmas card list never was really long for J.D.

  “Barbie, look here, I am about as sick as you are over this. They walk around on eggshells with her. Chapel about loses his mind if she so much as sniffles. Law blames himself, letting that guilt smother his logic. Rhett and Marxx are just about willing to do anything to make her shut up,” he says.

  I roll my eyes at the mention of the word “anything”, not needing to repeat it to let him know what I think of her actions.

  It ain’t reached that yet,” he chuckles. “She’s not you, Hells. You have to be the only girl I have ever met who could make me drop my bike and have me laughing about it. You have taken all of this with a giant middle finger to them. They don’t know you like I know you though. If I held my arms out right now, you’d fight me on it. You’d fight me even if I forced them around you, but deep down, you want it. You want someone to save you. You just don’t want to want it,” J.D. says.

  His voice drops, and for a few moments of silence between us, he proves how right he is. J.D. holds his arms out to me in this dark, silent hallway. All I need to do is take two steps to him and I will have the comfort I need. His arms are the only father to have ever held me, giving me comfort.

  I will have a warm chest to hide against and strong arms to hide my pain. I could listen to his heartbeat, with its solid rhythm, chasing away my doubts. I could drown in his very male scent to ease down the girl in me. None of it happens. I stay leaning against the wall staring at him. I still remember the gulf between us.

  “A man won’t go where he is not needed, Hells. You want them back? Show them you need them,” he says, standing there, still holding out his arms to me waiting with my silent war of my will. Ashley told me I had to live for them. I had to keep fighting because they needed me. Now as I lean here, staring at the invitation before me, my heart beats a different truth. It terrifies me. They don’t need me. I need them.

  I go to him, those two steps feeling like miles, until I find myself resting against his chest. His arms wrap around me and he holds me close. His head rests on the top of mine as he holds me, allowing me to nestle against him with my need for human contact.

  “You’re not weak, Helena. Allowing someone to see behind those high walls of yours doesn’t make you weak. We all need to be reminded where home is now and again. It doesn’t make you weak. You remember that. Only the lonely are weak, Barbie. It takes the strong to keep fighting for what is theirs,” he whispers this into the top of my hair as he holds me before adding with classic J.D., “But let’s not repeat the bike stunt, okay?”

  I say nothing as I feel him smile into my hair. I have no idea how to tell J.D. if what he is saying is true, then I am the weakest person he knows at this moment. I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want to fight them or him or the Risen. If I could close my eyes and let it all slip away, I would. I’d let it all go just as easily as I let my Angels fall from my hands.

  Chapter 39

  Over breakfast earlier in the morning, Simon had asked me to sit at his table for dinner. The idea of eating with him was only a tad bit less depressing than eating another meal alone. That tad bit was the only reason I had accepted. Now as I am sitting here with Simon, Dolph, Richard and Ross across from me, I am rethinking the exact measurement of a “tad”.

  “We need to fix this. The lines are being drawn more between us every day,” Richard says.

  The men have been debating the current status of the groups since I sat down. I listen to what Richard is saying. Literally, I am just listening. If they want conversation from me, they will have to talk about something I have a care about. After all they have done, fixing their male drama is not one of those things.

  I look behind me to where J.D. sits with the rest on either side of him. They are seated along one side of a long table directly behind ours in their dark leather vests. With each group of men sitting in this style, they appear to be matched up for a standoff.

  All it needs is for one group to start snapping their fingers or to start dancing to be any more comical. Who’s bad?

  “You seem to be the only one willing to work on this,” Simon says, and I have to smile at that idea. “You told Shelia all that is needed is some form of apology. What kind of apology?”

  “Want me to put together a list?” I ask them. I am met with eye rolls and sighs, except for Dolph. He smiles at my boldness.

  “Is there anything, at all, you can think of?” Richard asks me. He is almost pleading with me to help them. I wonder what those naughty boys behind me have been doing.

  “The only thing they understand is revenge for things like this.

  A frui
t basket isn’t going to do it,” I answer them honestly.

  They sit staring at me, waiting for me to give them a better example.

  “You hurt their own. They want yours to hurt. Whatever it is they are doing to have you here begging for my help, they won’t stop it until one of you gets bloody,” I answer them more honestly, watching the male light bulbs go off one by one. It’s so pretty.

  “…and if we agree to this, will they stop this bullshit?” Dolph asks me, with his southern drawl coating his doubts of my words. “I don’t know what “bullshit” they are doing, but normally, yes.

  It stops it,” I say with a shrug.

  I watch their faces shadow with different emotions until they each nod in agreement. Everything from fear to resignation flash- es before me. It also is very pretty to watch.

  “Fine, tell them one hour in the gym. Their three against our three. We will keep it low key so as to not alarm the other residents. The deal is whatever happens settles it and it stays in the gym,” Simon says, gathering up the trays. He does not look as confident as his voice sounds.

  “Just three?” I am looking to Ross who has been sitting silent the whole meal.

  “Just three. They will kill him if given the chance. I am not into murder.” Simon hears the trap shut as soon as the words leave his mouth.

  I heard myself ask it before I actually asked it, and I still couldn’t stop it. From my mouth tumbles, “Since when?”

  I turn from them to once again play messenger. Last time though, I had others with me. Now, I walk to their table alone as they watch me. It makes me miss their blank faces.

  “I find it amusing they keep sending you to deliver their messages,” Rhett says to me, when I come to stand across from him. “I always meant to talk to you about your idea of comedy,” I reply. I place my hands behind my back to hide how hard I am shaking from his direct attention.