Ghost Writer (Raven Maxim Book 1)

by Tiana Laveen

  “I’ve endured the not so great haunting, and the best kind of all…” He slowly turned in her direction. “The best kind of haunting is when you’re in love. You think about that person all the time. Your love speaks for you when you don’t have the right words. Everyone expects the writers of the world to have the right words…but we don’t own the marriage between sentiment and language. It comes and goes as it pleases.” Emerald nodded in understanding, while he succumbed to this moment of vulnerability—an alien, yet welcome, feeling. He could get used to this. He’d become used to this. Ever since she’d come into his life… “Like with the crossword puzzle. You seem to always have what I need, and you can step in where I come up empty.

  “I told you I wanted to test you, to see if you are the real you, ask some questions…but that’s redundant. Every time we’re together, I’m testing you… whether either of us knows it at the time makes no difference. Frankly, that’s what lovers do. We test each other. We test our strengths, weaknesses, our desires, and all that the relationship entails. We’re all a bit narcissistic if you ask me, using the other person for a supply of fulfillment, investing in them, so they can invest back in us. When we look at each other, we hope to see ourselves in the other person’s eyes, because that means they’re seeing us, too, truly seeing us, and loving us all the more for it.” His eyes watered, and he blinked the pending tears away. “I moved here to Maxim both to get away and to get close. I chose the house I live in because it would allow me to run away from myself, and dig deep within all at the same time.

  “I chose to pursue my dream to write sci-fi, so that I could live a million lifetimes of my own choosing, instead of just this one. I wanted to be reincarnated; I wanted to be God and his servants, all in one.”

  He set his cigarette down into an ashtray on the coffee table she’d purchased just for him, dug into his jeans pocket and removed a small russet leather pouch. Sliding his fingers inside, he retrieved the ring box and, on a deep breath, presented it to Emerald. As he pulled it open and revealed the jewel inside the box, her expression remained the same… but her eyes grew wider and glossier. Then, tears began to fall down her face.

  “I can’t run anymore, Emerald. I can’t live inside of my books. I can’t have it both ways. I wanted a woman who loved me for me, for who I truly was. I got her. I wasn’t looking for you inside my mind, but my heart was on the hunt and I’d be a damn fool to not seize this opportunity. So, here I am, doing just that. Emerald St. Claire, will you marry me?”

  Her teeth sank into her lower lip, which curved into an emotional smile. She nodded, causing that cluster of salt and pepper hair he loved to swing forward.

  And then, she said the words he so needed to hear—“You already know… yes. Yes!” Surrounding him in a tight embrace, she kissed all over his face.

  He burst out laughing, lightly fighting his way out of her grip.

  “Let me give you the ring.” She slowly let go of him and stretched her hand out before him. Gingerly taking her ring finger into his grasp, his slid the ring onto it.

  “It’s beautiful, Sloan.”

  “I’m glad you like it. It took me a few weeks to narrow down which style I wanted to get you, but this one just sort of called to me. I figured this would be the ring you’d really like.”

  “Well, it’s definitely my taste.” She smiled down at it, moving it to and fro to catch the light in its depths.

  “Ugh…” He grimaced as he got to his feet.

  “What?” She looked up at him, concern in her eyes.

  “Why did I ask for sardines before proposing?” He chuckled. “I just burped.”

  Emerald burst out laughing then quickly covered her nose. “Yes… I can see what you mean now,” she said in a muffled voice. She made a face, then burst out laughing again.

  “I was hungry, saw ’em sitting there, and didn’t even think all of that through. You got some Listerine?” He pointed towards her hall bathroom.

  “Yes, it’s on the counter.”

  He turned and marched away, closing the bathroom door behind him. Grabbing the large plastic bottle, he unscrewed the cap, took a big mouthful, and swished it about, while staring at himself in the mirror. Exhilaration and gratitude filled him. Popping the lid of the toilet up, he spit the mouthwash into the latrine and made his way back up the hall, only to find Emerald up and about holding a hammer and her safety goggles on.

  “I poured us a couple of glasses of wine,” she announced before dragging a small wooden dollhouse into the center of the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?”

  “About to fix the roof on this dollhouse,” she said as if it were obvious, as if he was some random fool who’d wandered into her abode.

  “But I was hoping we’d celebrate, relax a bit.” He gave her a dirty glance as he tugged at his belt. She gave him an unimpressed look, which had him suppress a laugh. He placed his hands on his hips, feigning indignation.

  “We will.” She turned her back, walked up to her kitchen counter, and took a sip of her wine. “But this dollhouse is for a little girl’s birthday, and that’s in three days. Not to mention, I have to get up a little earlier and open the office. We have a new alarm system and no one seems to know how to work it right without tripping the damn thing off.” She rolled her eyes before plopping down onto the floor, sitting cross-legged, and taking hold of the toy.

  “I can’t believe this. I just proposed to you, gave you a ring ’nd everything…”

  “Burped marinated fish guts in my face. Don’t forget that part.”

  “Exactly! Burped sardines in olive oil in your face to prove my authenticity and undying love, and this is the thanks I get. You, sitting here with a hammer and nails about to fix a Barbie condo.” He tossed up his hands in faux angst.

  “I’ll have you know it is a Melissa and Doug original.”

  “I have something you can play with all right.” He tugged at his hard cock through the material of his blue jeans, causing her to blush. It made him all the hornier.

  “Just give me thirty minutes.” She grinned, waving the hammer in the air. “I have completely tricked this house out. It is adorable. See, she had this when she was only ten years old; she’s now sixteen and it was her favorite toy so they wanted to re-furbish it for her and—”

  “Re-gifting? Well, this will be a sweet sixteen she won’t soon forget,” he teased, pulling up a chair and sitting down, ready to watch her digging and jabbing at the roof of the house until she’d pried a piece off.

  “I’m installing a chimney right here. I’ve already put a fireplace in the living room, and it glows, too,” she explained. “Stuck In The Middle With You” by Stealers Wheel played softly on the radio.

  What a moment, he thought, as he made himself comfortable and stared down at the most beautiful woman in the world. Her small limbs moved frantically about, while determination and discipline etched themselves across her face.

  It’s time for Emerald to let someone take care of her, too, for a change. This shit has to stop, and I’m just the man to put an end to it…

  He took another toke of his cigarette, placed it down in the ashtray, and got to his feet.

  “Come on.” He gently tugged on her arm.

  “Just a few more minutes and then—”

  “Nope. You’re not going to do this right now. The birthday girl can wait.” He shook his head and grabbed her up from the floor with a gentle tug. Enveloping her in his arms, he pulled her head back by the hair and slid his tongue inside her mouth, eliciting a moan.

  “Are you going to let me love you?” he asked when he ended the kiss.

  Her face drew serious. He could tell she was mulling his question, trying to make sense of it, decipher the hidden meaning.

  “How can I let you love me when you already do, whether I want it or not?”

  “Don’t answer my question with a question.” He grinned. “You know what I mean.” He pulled her close to him, let her find rest against
his body while he slid his hand up and down her back. “I don’t need you to fix anything for me.”

  “I know… and that’s why, in my mind, I nicknamed you my vacation.” She slowly lifted her head from his chest and looked him earnestly in the eye.

  They were quiet for some time before he took her by the hand and led her down the hall to her bedroom. As he opened the door, he looked over his shoulder.

  “Well, as of right now, consider yourself on holiday…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  A Blast From the Past

  Once upon a time, there was a handsome, smart man and a glamorous, silly woman who fell in love…

  The newness of it all was at times too much to bear. Katie placed her bright red Fendi bag onto the gray granite kitchen counter, grabbed a glass, and made haste to fill it to the brim with Didier Dagueneau Silex white wine. Her ex-husband’s alimony had aided her in starting her own exclusive scarf and gloves fashion line, which was finally taking off, and her daughter, Michelle, had been instrumental with advice along the way. Sitting on the white leather barstool, she spun slowly to and fro, studying her reflection in the stainless steel of the double ovens she seldom used. She’d become lonely living in the vast Manhattan penthouse, so much that she relished when Joel and Michelle took time out of their busy schedules to visit.

  They split stopovers between her and their father, who’d moved to a jump off town on the outskirts of New York. She’d never been to Maxim, but occasionally heard stories about the place. Initially, she was overjoyed that Sloan had taken his hateful ass elsewhere. The children couldn’t have possibly known how much of an asshole he’d been towards the end of their marriage; he’d hid it so well. The man had been incorrigible. All he focused on was that her material needs were met, but what about love? Sloan was at times romantic, but everything seemed forced. The love had died long before she’d begun having affairs, many of which—she’d refused to admit to him—had happened long before she’d asked for a divorce.

  Her nerves shot, she took a sip of her wine, begging herself to slow down with the drinking. Michelle had let her know of the glorious weekend she’d had with dear ol’ Dad, and how her visit had included her meeting a woman he was seeing. Katie had heard no alarms ring, no bells or whistles, until her daughter mentioned an engagement ring and an answer of ‘yes’ to an important question.

  Katie would have never believed in a million years that Sloan would remarry. She figured Hell had a better chance of freezing over first. Indeed, he’d professed such sentiments at their final court appearance. “You know what? After dealing with you all of these years, I hope to never care about anyone else again!” he’d told her.

  It didn’t help that he’d called her everything under the sun during a couple of drunken calls he’d made to her right before he moved away. Sloan had never crossed that line, but the liquor had him talking, and his true feelings rolled out… things she’d never heard him express before. Passionate emotions, hatred, love…

  If you’d loved me as much I’d loved you, you would have seen what you wanted from me and got what you needed, all the time…

  I fucking hate your face, Katie…

  It sickens me that when I kissed you goodnight, you’d just finished sucking that little backstabber’s dick! I hope you choke and die!

  He’d found out about her and Travis, had even followed them one evening. He confessed he’d waited outside the hotel, contemplating on driving away and returning with his gun. Those words had sent chills up and down her spine. Sloan was many things, but to threaten her with violence and physical harm wasn’t something she’d come to expect from him. He’d been highly intoxicated when he’d told her this, though, so she’d never found out if he’d really meant any of it. Something deep inside, though, told her that he in fact had…

  The man was brutally sarcastic, crude, and could be downright cruel. And he did it all so smoothly, it would make your head spin. The look in his eyes was the clincher though; how cold he could become. Yet, she couldn’t blame only Sloan for the demise of their marriage. She’d never spoken up and expected him to read her mind, to figure out what was wrong.

  So what had gone wrong?

  How could she know the answer with precision? All she knew was, one fine day, things went awry, and she did little to save her marriage. Perhaps Sloan was right; maybe she hadn’t loved him as much as he’d loved her. In fact, in recent days, she’d come to realize the truth of this. She blamed her upbringing, to some extent, for mistaking kindness for weakness. Her mother had done it, and her sisters, too.

  Sloan was a giant teddy bear, but under that exterior lay a man who was tough, harsh and calculating. She’d signed up for something she hadn’t agreed upon; hence, the arguments began. It seemed at times he’d tried to please her, but he’d become disenchanted.

  She took another sip of her wine, falling deeper into deliberation.

  I played too many games with that man…

  She hated admitting it, but the truth was the truth. Her actions had been a cure for boredom, a way to spice up their marriage, throw fire on a burning predicament. At times she’d wished to see how angry she could make him; other times, she wanted him to prove his love—see if he’d come running. She knew he’d loved her, despite the way he’d withdraw and grow cold when they’d fall into spells of disagreement. Sloan was hard to hate, and even harder to forgive and forget.

  Nevertheless, during their marriage her anger towards him would be often short-lived, and it didn’t help that he knew how to make her body sigh, time and time again. He was the best lover she’d ever had, bar none—and it wasn’t just because he was a beast in bed. But when Sloan loved someone, he loved them completely. She took pride in knowing she’d brought the callous giant down to his knees, begging to salvage their marriage. It was a power trip she relished, one she couldn’t shake and turn loose after all the neglect she’d endured.

  After a while, he grew tired of the manipulation and stated so. Sloan began to pull away altogether, leaving her with nothing. He stopped making love to her, stopped talking to her. She’d been written off, so what motivation did she have to stay? Sloan seemed to think it was all about the money, that she never believed in him and was hell-bent on shooting down his dreams. No matter what she said, she could never seem to convince him otherwise. It wasn’t true, however; at least in part. Sure, she desired security, but what she’d wanted from Sloan was something he could no longer give her: respect and admiration. At that turning point, he’d only been playing the role of husband; none of it was authentic anymore. None of it was real. She’d seen his potential, a gift no longer wasted on her. But, it was too late to fix things, and she never even bothered. That hurt her to her core.

  If I had the maturity that I have now, he and I would still be together…

  She regretted not going marital counseling when he’d asked for it. By the time she’d brought it up, he was already mentally detached from her. It was a wrap.

  She regretted not holding onto a love like no other.

  She regretted not seeing the role she’d played in pushing him away, making him hate her to the point of no return. Sloan had a way of seeing her as a project, someone he could fix… someone he could make love him the way he loved her. He’d even admitted this during one of his drunken calls—these being the only times he laid his soul bare with her. That particular call had also been the only time she’d heard him cry—deep, choppy, loud sobbing from the pit of his gut. That sound made her squirm in her bed while she slept alongside Travis, wrapped in white silk sheets and cold death from a love long gone.

  Sloan’s ghost would not leave her be, and she’d hated him for months after their divorce because of it. Daily, she’d be reminded of him in so many little ways. She’d catch a whiff of someone’s cigarette, and recognize it as his brand. She’d smell hot leather in a car that had been sitting in the sun too long, and recall how much he smelled that way when wearing his favorite jacket. She’d se
e a tall, broad shouldered man with a dark beard, and from a distance in a sea of people during rush hour, she’d secretly hope it was him. But it never was… She’d remember their many trips to various vineyards, the way he’d held his grandson for the first time, their wedding anniversaries—always such a big deal to him—and the care he’d shown Joel when he lost his job due to the company closing down…

  Those were the good times, the beautiful sides of the man that she couldn’t shake loose.

  So yes, Sloan haunted her, even when it came to physical gratification. Occasionally, when she’d slide her vibrator within her zone, she’d attempt to move it just the way his thick, long cock would dance inside of her…and she’d pretend his hot breath caressed the skin right by her ear, just as she remembered… and she’d imagine him saying the nasty, sweet things he’d utter right before cumming deep inside of her…

  Katie finished her drink and set the empty glass down. She held onto the stem, accepting that it was gone. There would be no refills, no ghostly visits, no reunions. Even in her sorrow, she was happy for Sloan; and contrary to his beliefs, she did love him. He was the father of her children, the first man who’d taken her under his wing and made her believe in ‘happy ever afters.’ He was a good father, a well of wonderful, sage advice and endless wisdom. The darkness inside of him was not rampant, but it was there; and yet, that didn’t deter her. She’d probably added to that darkness, adding fuel to the fire of his own inability to come to terms with his past.

  Neither of us was perfect, Sloan, but… you were better than most.

  She smiled sadly down at her empty glass, then rose from her seat and headed off to her bedroom.

  Yeah… you were better than most, babe… and I wish you the happiness you deserve…