by J. L. Brooks
“And I abandoned you,” he said solemnly.
Nipping at his lower lip, I forced him to look at me. He knew all that he needed to know and I vowed to myself to let go.
“I thought we agreed not to revisit that. It’s done, I am here. Unless you have a girlfriend you are hiding from me, it’s over.”
Shaking his head, he chuckled loudly.
“No girlfriend, I promise. A very nosy mother, yes. Girlfriend, no.”
Nervously I dared to ask about the woman in his life. “Does she know about me?”
Laughing again but with a devious undertone, he began to kiss me playfully.
“Yes, and you get to meet her today if you want. She’s looking forward to it. She has read fifteen of your books so far. You have a fan.”
If I could have flushed any more I would have appeared purple. I knew that women of all ages read my books, yet somehow the thought of his mother devouring my illicit stories and knowing I shared the same bed with her son felt corrupt.
“I'd love to meet your mom.”
Feeling lighter, I was curious about his life here.
“And your dad? Siblings?”
Although he smiled, there was sadness behind his eyes. Adjusting his legs, he turned me around in his lap and pulled me close.
“My father is ill, and I have no siblings. When he passes, it will be just she and I. Traditionally in our culture the mother moves in with the child after her husband passes. She has balked against it and insists on staying in her home, but it’s the reason I want you to meet her soon. I don’t mean to move so quickly; it’s just how it is. I never expected to see you again or else things would have unfolded much differently. I just want you to know what you are getting into.”
Pushing away, I kneeled on the opposite side and rested my arms on the ledge, looking out into the woods. Steam curled off of my skin as the brisk wind prickled across the exposed areas. I closed my eyes and pictured my life here. If I were to back out, now would be the time. However there was nothing stirring about to make me flee. His dedication to his family, the simplicity in which he lived, and his deep passion kept me anchored in place.
“Lila, are you okay?”
Turning around, I swam back over and resumed my previous position. Grinding my hips down, I smiled mischievously.
“I’m more than okay. Now if it’s alright with you, I’d prefer to stop talking and start doing other things with my mouth instead. I have a feeling after meeting your parents I might feel guilty for being so naughty.”
With one arm he held me against him, the other started to pinch the flesh along my ribs and tickle me relentlessly.
“You better not ever stop being naughty Miss Keaton. I feel like I have only scratched the surface to what you are capable of. Just know right now I have every intention of finding out exactly what you can do, and how far you will go.”
Desire pooled in my belly at the challenge. Feeling my limbs tingle with anticipation, I dragged us out of the tub and left a trail of water through the house.
“Through hell and back,” I moaned breathlessly against his skin.
Slowing his rhythm, Grant’s gaze found mine.
“What did you say?”
“You wanted to know how far I will go. That is my answer.”
Although he wasn’t being literal, I needed him to know I was not moved by what he was putting before me. If ever there was a reason to fight for love, it was him. I had already gone crazy, and been through hell, and every moment was worth it for the ones he's shared with me.
With a slow hand, his fingers threaded through the back of my hair and jerked swiftly causing me to gasp. Grazing his teeth across my throat, I swallowed hard at his sensual aggression. Echoing more as a warning than an affirmation, his response was unyielding.
“I am going to hold you to that.”
The neighborhood took me off guard although I shouldn’t have been surprised. When Grant turned onto Osler Street I could feel my nails dig into the sides of the leather seats. Thinking about bringing him to Cleveland made my stomach turn more than the prospect that his parents would despise me. New York had taught me the art of conversation among the upper echelons of society, yet I never dated one of them. Knowing I wouldn’t have to explain the origins of our relationship made things a great deal easier, but could not squelch the feeling I would be seen as a passing whim.
“Stop it, Lila,” Grant said sternly.
Turning my head I simply stuck out my tongue and blew a raspberry. I adored that he could sense me spiraling and refused to let go. Squeezing his hand tighter, I trusted him to guide me through this.
Whipping into a driveway and around to the back, we had arrived at the sprawling residence.
“This isn’t where you grew up, it can’t be. It looks too new.”
Glancing down the block, it appeared every home in the neighborhood had been more recently constructed.
While opening the back to retrieve a bottle of the wine he had bought the night before, he explained that he moved around a lot as a child. His parents settled in Vancouver shortly after he did. So many questions swirled in my head about who he was and what his life was like. Getting to meet his parents was going to be a huge piece in my understanding.
Entering through the back door, we stepped through a mudroom and into a massive gourmet kitchen. Two women were busily cooking and scarcely noticed our arrival. I tried to guess which one was his mother and it only took a second to recognize the same beautiful eyes and bone structure.
“Moya lyubov,” she proclaimed with open arms, pulling her son close and patting his back firmly. Her voice was warm and thick as she called out, my love, in Russian. In spite of my understanding, I was not so quick to claim I understood her. Once again I felt as if Grant had left out what I deemed to be an important part of who he was. Although he had said earlier in the day, in my culture, I would have never guessed this about him.
She kissed both of his cheeks before turning to me. Cocking her head to the side as she studied me, I smiled at the realization it was a family trait. Starting at my shoulders, her small hands trailed down to mine and held them firmly as she pulled me into a hug.
“Sweet girl. Thank you.”
I grinned widely as she kissed both of my cheeks and led me forth into the house. Directing the other woman to not burn the sauce, the woman scowled and then winked at Grant who waved at his mother as she determinedly carried me away. Rounding a corner she warned me to watch my footing as we stepped into the study. On opposing sides of the walls were floor to ceiling shelves packed with books of all kinds. In one small corner rested every one of the twenty-five books I had written in perfect condition. Pulling out the one hard bound cover I ever released, she held it to her chest and appeared as if she were going to cry.
“This is one is my favorite. Your heart is in these pages. I felt as if I already knew you.”
Taking the book from her hands, I ran my fingers lovingly across the cover. The Little Traveler. The book that seemed to touch so many and the reason I was unable to write again. She was correct. I had spent so much time peddling erotica to make a living, that it was the first piece I poured my soul into with the expectation it would tank.
“Grant told me that you finished a book not too long ago. What is it about?”
Handing her back the book, I shrugged.
“It’s about how the past has a way of holding us back, and in order to move forward we must let go and trust that something better is waiting for us in the future.”
Stepping closer, her hand reached out for mine again.
“Is my son in your future?” she asked softly.
Nodding my head, I could feel the hot tears slide down my cheek and hit my chest. This woman held the same familiar disarming qualities Grant had. Just being near her I felt safe and loved and I had only met her moments ago.
As I went to wipe my tears, her hand went out to stop me.
“Oh honey, don’t wipe them away. I
want to have a little fun with my son.”
I giggled at her sharp wit and immediately went along with whatever she had planned. Walking back into the kitchen with a stern face, she was shaking her head at Grant and walked to the stove so he could not see her nearly burst with laughter. His eyes grew wide believing the worst. Unsure of what to do, his mother could see his panic and rolled a towel, then snapping it at his rear causing an uproar between all of us ladies.
In two quick strides he had me backed against the counter, pinning against the edge with his hips.
Growling into my mouth, the other women made cat calls at Grant's open display of dominance. Dropping his head into my neck, I felt him chuckling low.
“You are going to pay for that Lila.”
Bringing my mouth to his ear, I whispered low enough so as no one could hear but him.
“I am going to hold you to that.”
Another growl barreled through his chest as he backed away and began to lead me through the house and up the stairs. As we entered a dark hallway, Grant slammed my back into the wall with a kiss.
“Grant we’re at your parent’s house!” I squealed.
“And your point is?” He taunted back.
I knew better than to argue because he warned me he would push me. Relaxing into his arms, he stepped back and smiled.
“Good girl.”
I shook my head as we walked to the end of the hall and he knocked on a door. Realizing we were most likely at his father’s bedroom, my smiled dropped and prepared for whatever was behind the door. Grant opened it slowly and approached the bed, yet I waited at the door. When he turned around to call me in, I resisted and looked directly at the man in the bed.
“May I come in sir?” I asked quietly.
His father turned to Grant and smiled, reaching his hand out and inviting me in. I refused to meet Grant’s eyes as they questioned my actions.
While looking me over, his father praised, “krasivyy.”
I did not respond to his compliment, as my eyes were focused on the navy hued tattoo on his chest of a crucifix with a crown that peeked through the button up shirt. Noticing my preoccupation, he asked me to sit and then dismissed Grant.
“Leave us for a moment son. I need to speak to her alone.”
Reluctantly Grant left us without an argument, but I could see he was not happy about it. His father turned to me with bright eyes and simply said, “Hello.”
He too had a broad accent and spoke English only for my benefit. Surrounded by light tan medicine bottles and oxygen tanks, his days were numbered and the family wanted him as comfortable as possible. On the way over Grant explained that his father had a very aggressive cancer and was refusing any treatments other than what could ease the pain. With a frail hand, he reached across his chest and opened his shirt.
“Do you know what this means?” he asked.
Nodding my head, my answer was meek. “You are a krestnii otets. A godfather.”
Sucking in a deep breath, his lips popped before replying.
“How does that make you feel?”
The gravity of the situation changed remarkably as he confirmed what the symbol meant. Grant’s father was a pakhan, which most likely meant Grant was in the family business too. Russian Mafia.
Looking at the ceiling, I closed my eyes and cursed god. I knew better than to believe that I would end up with something good and pure. This revelation was one more stop in a long line of bad situations. My lips were numb, unable to speak the words that barely formed in my consciousness.
“Ispugannyy.” I whispered. Of course I was fucking afraid.
With his other hand he reached out for mine. Trembling I placed it in his grasp as he pulled it to his chest and pressed down.
“My name is Viktor. Do not ever be afraid in this home, or when you are with my son. Understand?”
I nodded and went to slide my hand away, yet his grip was firm.
In his native tongue, he began to question how I was able to understand.
“You speak Russian? Why?”
My reasoning was embarrassing, but I knew he would see through any lies I tried to cover it up. Knowing what kind of man he was, Grant’s directness and bouts of aggression made sense.
“When I was in graduate school I took a class on International Economics. It was there I learned about the origins of organized crime. I became fascinated by the Bratva and ended up learning the language so I could better understand articles. During that time I also dated a fellow classmate who was from Moscow and tried to convince me to teach English once I finished school, yet it never came to be.”
“And why is that?” he queried further.
Feeling suddenly ashamed of why I chose not to pursue that path, I bowed my head before responding.
“Because I began writing to pay for school and it took me another direction.”
Several moments passed before his hand squeezed mine again. Raising my eyes, his face was lit up with a smile.
“Adaptability is a trait of a survivor. I also hear you are quite talented. It warms my heart to have met you before meeting my maker. My son has chosen well.”
Once again my eyes burned hot and the tears flowed freely. The consequences of accepting a life with Grant was so much more than I would have ever anticipated. Although it broke etiquette, I wrapped my arms around the old man and rested gently across his chest. Feeling his hands wrap around my ribs, I waited until he released me before sitting back again.
His hand felt for a remote, pushing a call button that Grant answered. Instantly he walked in and focused on my tear streaked face yet was unsure to know if this was truly a reason to be concerned or another prank. Directing him to sit down, honest fear raced through my veins at how he would take my exposure to the truth.
Looking at his son intensely, he too was watching for how Grant would react. I could feel the tension in the room becoming claustrophobic, ready to ignite at a moments notice. Inhaling a ragged breath, Viktor turned to him and smiled.
“I think I want to keep her, you don’t get her back.”
Like a vacuum, the weight in the room lifted and both of the men laughed heartily. I walked over to Grant and sat on his lap, curling into his arms and breathing a sigh of relief. Noticing his father’s shirt was open and the tattoo exposed, his muscles stiffened around me. Although I was unable to see his face, I watched Viktor’s become serene. The dynamic between the two men was electric as they silently battled wits. Knowing that he didn’t have to speak English anymore, he was much more comfortable in my presence. However being unaware of my abilities, Grant tried to stop him so I would not feel left out.
Viktor laughed so loud he began to choke.
“Son, you have underestimated this one. You are in so much trouble!”
Grabbing my chin to look into his eyes, I smiled as innocently as I possibly could. Not buying it for a moment, I watched as the corners of his mouth curled into a grin. Repeating the word in my head to ensure my annunciation was perfect, I looked to Viktor and winked before I allowed it to roll off my tongue.
“Syurpriz.”
3 months later
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, I know how much this means to you.”
Even though I would be on a flight out of La Guardia in the morning, I could hear the disappointment in Grant’s voice at missing my first public appearance since releasing In the Groove. A line wrapped around the book store despite the low temperatures so common to a New York winter. With Christmas mere days away, the city was a buzz with holiday cheer. As soon as I arrived I insisted that Hillary and I take a trip to Rockefeller Plaza so I could ice skate and take a picture in front of the tree. Stopping at my favorite Jamaican restaurant near Queens, I convinced the owner to ship me a bottle of jerked chicken sauce three times a year, paying in advance for the troubles.
It was nice having someone notice I wasn’t around. I led such a reclusive life I failed to make many friends worth staying connected to. Not one s
oul from Blank Page dared to message me during my absence, outside of the bid placed on the manuscript. There was no love lost, and it was just as well things worked out the way they did. I was able to return with my dignity intact.
Twisting the diamond and ruby ring around my finger, I smiled contently at the family heirloom Viktor gave to me as an early present.
“It’s okay honey, I understand. I will be home before you know it. No worries. I will call you before I go to bed tonight.”
Holding my breath, I looked across the railing to the growing crowd below me and waited for Grant to say the words that never failed to send my heart racing.
“I love you Lila.”
Closing my eyes, I smiled to myself and wrapped my arms across my chest, squeezing tightly, imagining it was him.
“I love you too. See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
Click.
The call ended and I slid the phone into my pocket and nodded my head to allow the crowd into the seated area. Perched on the edge of a massive wooden table, I swung my legs back and forth nervously as the rows filled with chattering fans that pointed and snapped photos, each holding a fresh copy of the book. Hillary took charge of the event and quieted the room allowing me to introduce myself and start the reading. Holding the first sheet in my hand, I looked out once more through the glass windows to the falling snow.
Although it was widely known the story was based off of real events, my reluctance to even write it was not. This was so much more than a work of fiction. This was my life told through the voices of imaginary people. Reality and fantasy colliding in ink, the tale would live on forever. Coughing slightly, the room fell silent, attentive to every word.
“Few were scattered about the abandoned warehouse when the last record played. The floor was sticky and coated with flyers as we sat around drinking orange juice and eating breakfast sandwiches from the local drive thru. In the morning everything looked different. The magic was gone and it was time to go home. My memories are different than most. When I think back upon the scene I do not see stars. There is only a fragment of space in which we ruled the night, and held on for as long as the ride would allow. Some of us made it, and many fell behind.