by Marie Force
“I say that forever.”
Shaking his head, he rubs his hand over the stubble on his jaw. “You don’t even know what happened or the things I did or anything.”
“I know everything I need to know to be certain I will love you for the rest of my life, no matter what you did.”
“I killed someone.”
I ache for him. “I assume you had to.”
For the first time since I came into the closet, he looks directly at me, his shocked gaze crashing into mine.
“The Kristian Bowen I love wouldn’t kill someone unless his own life was at stake. If it was him or you, I’m glad you chose yourself.”
“You can’t be serious. I tell you I’m a murderer, and you act like it’s no big deal.”
“It’s a big deal, Kristian. I’d never say otherwise, but the fact that you’re haunted by it means you’re not a soulless killer. You were a boy alone in the world. When I asked what you did after your mother was killed, you said you survived. You survived that. You’ll survive this, too.”
“I was molested, assaulted, attacked, arrested, kicked out of every foster home they put me in. I fucked women for money from the time I was fourteen.”
I’m dying inside, but I can’t let him know that. “Okay.”
“It’s not okay! I don’t want that ugliness to touch you.”
“Too late. It already has, and I’m just fine. It doesn’t change anything.”
“If I asked you to leave me alone, would you?”
“No.”
“What if I want you to?”
“What if my test results come back with a recurrence? Would you leave me alone if that happens?”
“That’s different.”
“No, it’s not.”
He looks at me fearfully. “Did you hear from the doctor?”
“Not yet.” I caress his cheek, wanting to give him all the love and tenderness he’s lived so long without. “Tell me about the person you killed.”
“No.” He tries to pull away, but I don’t let him.
“Tell me. I want to know.”
“Aileen…”
“Kristian.” It’s the same tone I use on my children when I want them to know I mean business.
After a deep sigh, he says, “It was over a loaf of bread I found in a dumpster.” He speaks in a dull, flat tone I’ve never heard before. “He pulled a knife on me. I grabbed his arm and plunged the knife into his chest. I took off with the bread and never looked back. I heard later he’d been found dead from a stab wound. I’ve never told anyone else that I was the one who stabbed him.”
“He would’ve killed you.”
“Probably.”
“What else were you supposed to do?”
“I could’ve let him have the bread.”
“When was the last time you’d eaten?”
“I don’t know. A couple of days.”
“So it’s probably safe to say you weren’t thinking rationally after going days without food.”
“I don’t recall thinking at all. I just reacted.”
“Because you were starving. You did what you had to do to survive.”
After a long silence, he says, “Years later, I tracked down his mother.”
“What did you do for her?”
He looks up at me, stunned. “How do you know I did anything for her?”
“Because I know you. What did you do?”
Averting his gaze, he says, “I bought her a house, and I’ve supported her for twelve years.”
“Did you buy her a house before you bought one for yourself?”
“Maybe.”
“Does she know who supports her or why?”
He shakes his head.
I take him by the face and force him to look at me. “You’re a good man, Kristian. An honorable, wonderful, thoughtful, beautiful man, and I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone other than my children. There is nothing anyone can say about you or your past, no sordid detail or salacious story, that will change the way I love you. I will always love you.”
His gorgeous blue eyes fill with tears. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers.
“Yes.” I kiss away his tears. “You do. You absolutely do.” I wrap him up in my arms, surrounding him with my love, hoping it will be enough to get him through this. “Come with me, and let’s face this head on so we can get past it and move on with the rest of our lives. Hold on to me. I’ll never let you go.”
A full minute passes before he nods.
I stand and offer him my hand along with everything else I have to give.
He takes my hand and stands.
That’s when I notice the closet shelves are full of toys. Vintage GI Joe action figures, Legos, Tinkertoys, Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robots, board games, race cars… “What is all this?”
“I never had toys as a kid, so I kind of collect them.”
Now I’m in tears.
“Please don’t pity me.”
“I don’t. I swear I don’t.” I fight a losing battle with my tears.
He wraps his arms around me and holds me close to him.
“You will never again want for anything,” I tell him, fierce in my conviction. “I’ll give you everything.”
“You already have,” he whispers.
Chapter 24
The Quantum team gathers in Kristian’s living room, preparing to go to war on his behalf. Emmett Burke, Quantum’s chief counsel, is on the phone with the LAPD, negotiating what details of Kristian’s story will be released to the media and what will be kept confidential. Liza, the Quantum publicist, works two other phones, fielding the inquiries that have come in since the LAPD announced an arrest in the decades-old cold case murder of Kristian Bowen’s mother.
And downstairs, Gordon keeps the paparazzi away from the celebrities he’s paid to protect. Natalie picked up my kids at camp and delivered them to Cece, who’s watching them at my house.
Everyone is doing what they can to contain the damage, while I do what little I can to comfort Kristian.
He sits beside me on the sofa. We’re surrounded by his Quantum partners and their close friends, all of whom came running when they heard we’d found him.
I’ve never seen this group quieter than they are now. No one knows what to say, so they say nothing.
Emmett and Liza end their calls and join us in the sitting area.
Kristian reaches for my hand. “My earliest memory is being alone in the dark.”
No one moves or seems to breathe as we wait to hear what else he will say.
“My mother would leave me, sometimes for an entire day or two. I don’t know for how long. I was too young to understand time, but the sun would come and go, and I’d be left in the dark. I wasn’t afraid of the dark, though. I could hide in the dark. The dark was my friend. She would bring people home, always men. They would go in her room. I wasn’t allowed in there. I remember being hungry and dirty. I remember her face and her brown hair and the smell of cigarette smoke. I would hide in the closet with my blanket until the strangers left.”
Next to me, Marlowe is rigid. I slowly let my free hand wander in her direction, and she grasps it, holding on tightly. Across from us, Natalie holds Flynn’s hand while Ellie and Addie do the same for Jasper and Hayden. Kristian’s Quantum partners are his family. This is hard for them to hear.
“One night, the stranger didn’t leave. He dragged my mother out of the bedroom by her hair. She was crying and pleading with him. I vividly remember the sound of her begging him, but I don’t recall exactly what she said. He knocked her down onto the floor and got on top of her. I didn’t know then what was happening. That took until I was about twelve, the first time a woman did to me what he did to her. I understood then that my mother hadn’t wanted it, because she was crying and screaming, and then she didn’t move anymore.”
A soft sob comes from Marlowe.
Jasper, whose expression is tight with tension, slides an arm around her while keeping his
other arm around Ellie.
“When he left her, I saw his face. I was so sure he saw me because I felt like he looked right at me. But he kept going out the door. I went to her and tried to wake her up. I shook her and talked to her, but she never moved.”
I can’t bear this. Even though I’ve heard the story before, hearing him tell it to the others is somehow harder than hearing it the first time when it was just us. It doesn’t come naturally to him to share his private agony, even with the people who love him. I wish there was something I could do to make it easier on him, but there isn’t anything any of us can do but listen. So that’s what I do. I listen, and I ache.
“I was alone with her body for four days before one of the neighbors called the cops because of the smell and the child crying.”
Hayden gets up and walks over to the window, his shoulders rigid, his head bent.
Addie wipes away tears as she follows him, putting her arms around him.
“I spent a week in the hospital because I was dehydrated and had been bitten by the rats that lived with us.”
“Dear God,” Emmett says under his breath.
Next to him, Leah lets the tears slide down her cheeks as she stares blankly at the far wall.
“After that came a progression of foster homes, each worse than the one before. At ten, I landed in one I actually liked. The people were nice to me, and their son was the first real friend I ever had. But then their older son came home from college and they needed my room for him, so I was relocated. Again. I lasted a week in the new place before I decided the streets would be better than living with a mean son of a bitch who got his kicks from beating on defenseless kids. I lived on the streets for the next eight years, hustling for money and food and shelter wherever I could. I saw things… I did things…”
He shakes his head, regret pouring off him in waves. “I met Max Godfrey when he was filming a scene in Compton. The greatest stroke of luck of my life—until recently,” he says, glancing at me, “was meeting Max. I’ll never forget that day. I’d heard about the movie being shot in the neighborhood, and I wanted to see what it was like, so I went there. He caught me stealing food from the craft services table and took me into his trailer, set me up with a proper meal and grilled me about my goals in life.”
Flynn grunts out a laugh. “Of course he did.”
To him, Kristian says, “Neither of us have ever told you about that day when he offered a hard-luck street kid a job in his company and set me up with an apartment. Then he introduced me to his son, who became one of my closest friends, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“He always says he saw something special in you from the first day he met you,” Flynn says. Like everyone else, his eyes are bright with tears after hearing Kristian’s story.
“He saved my life. Without him, I would’ve ended up dead or in jail. I owe him everything.” After a long pause, he says, “I lied to you guys when we formed our partnership. I never graduated from high school. I barely have a fifth-grade education.”
Hayden whirls around, his expression ferocious. “Who the fuck cares about that?” Gesturing to the assembled group, he says, “None of this works without you. I don’t give a shit if you fucking flunked kindergarten. You’re the heart and soul of Quantum.”
“Agreed,” Flynn says. “We’re nowhere without you.”
Kristian bows his head, overwhelmed by the outpouring.
“Liza, what’s it going to take to protect him?” Flynn asks.
“We’ll have to go to war on the media,” she says bluntly.
“Then let’s go to war.”
Kristian is completely drained after sharing the story with his partners and the others. I lead him upstairs to lie down while his partners and friends wage war on his behalf. Emmett is working with the district attorney’s office to try to get Kristian treated as a victim, which would keep some of the more salacious details out of the news. Emmett’s argument is that because Kristian was a child when his mother was murdered, he should be afforded the same protections any child victim of violent crime would be granted.
But because he’s a public figure, it’s a stretch to hope that Emmett will succeed, but he’s trying nonetheless.
“I can’t believe what they’re doing for me,” he says.
“They love you.”
He nods. “It means the world to me that you’re here, too.”
“Where else would I be with this happening to you?”
In his bed, I cuddle up to him, my arm around his waist, my leg tucked between his.
“This must be what people mean when they refer to someone as their other half.”
I smile up at him, and see the look of wonder in his expression. “What do you think of having another half?”
“I think I love it.” He caresses my face and then kisses me. “What about the kids?”
“Cece said she can spend the night. She told the kids you aren’t feeling well, and I’m taking care of you. They said they hope you feel better.”
“We can go to your place if you want to be with them.”
“We’re fine right here. Try to relax and get some rest.”
“I’m too wired to rest.”
“What would you rather do?”
He tilts my chin up to receive his kiss. “This. I’d rather do this.”
“I’m always happy to do that.”
But rather than kiss me, he leans his forehead against mine and releases a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Everything. I never could’ve told the others without your encouragement, without you sitting next to me, holding my hand, offering your support. If this had happened before I had you, I’d be losing my mind without you here to tell me it’s going to be all right.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. You would’ve done what you always did before. You would’ve survived.”
“But this is so much better,” he says, kissing me. “So, so much better.” As he kisses me, he removes my dress, only pulling away from the kiss to lift it over my head. He continues to kiss me while removing my bra, breaking the kiss again to slide the panties down my legs. His hungry gaze travels over my body, making me feel beautiful and desired—two things I used to wonder if I’d ever feel again after my illness.
I reach for him, help him out of his shirt and tug at the button to his pants.
When he’s naked, he settles on top of me, gazing down at my face and holding my hands over my head. “I love you so much. I’ve never had anyone who belonged to me the way you do.”
“I’ve never had that either. Not like this.”
His lips curve into a small smile, but in his eyes, I still see the wounded little boy. I’m determined to ensure that little boy is never hurt again.
“Make love to me, Kristian.”
“There’s nothing I’d rather do.”
He drives me wild with his lips and teeth, kissing every part of me and refusing to allow me to come until I’m nothing but writhing, desperate need. Then he enters me, triggering the release that’s been building from the first kiss.
He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m still trying to figure out how I got lucky enough to find you.”
“We were both lucky to find each other. Everything is going to be better now.”
Tightening his hold on me, he says, “You promise?”
“I promise.”
Epilogue
I’ve never had a warm, soft place to land before, and now that I do, I want to wallow in it. I want to wallow in her. I want to be with her all the time. The best part is, she wants to be with me just as much. We no longer try to hide from the kids the fact that I sleep in her bed. Last night, during a thunderstorm, Maddie crawled into our bed and let me comfort her while Aileen slept through the whole thing.
Holding her little girl in my arms during the storm, I told her that nothing can find her in the dark, not even the thunder or lightning. “The dark,” I whispered, “is
your friend.”
“I used to be scared of the dark,” she whispered back.
“There’s no need to be. I’m here now. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”
She fell asleep in my arms and stayed there all night.
Despite our best efforts, the story about my past exploded in the media, every sordid detail broadcast and printed for the world to see. Rather than being consumed by it, though, I’ve cruised below the radar, spending time with Aileen, the kids and our friends. I’ve ignored every report and the scores of interview requests. Liza put out the word that I won’t comment on my mother’s case now or ever.
I’ve accepted the heartfelt condolences of business associates, friends, former subs and others who’ve only just heard about my mother’s murder. I thank each person and move on, unwilling to linger on the pain of the past when the present is so sweet.
I’ll have to testify at the trial, which I’ll gladly do to make sure the man who killed my mother gets what he deserves. For thirty-three years, he lived free and clear after killing my mother and subjecting me to a life I wouldn’t wish on anyone, let alone a helpless child. But the trial is months in the future, and for now, I focus on my many blessings rather than dwelling in my painful past.
Today, we’re attending the carnival Flynn and Natalie’s childhood hunger foundation is hosting at a Calabasas estate. I’m proud to sit on the board of directors of this great organization and have established a scholarship in my mother’s name that will be awarded annually to children who grow up in the foster care system. I like to think that if she’d lived, my mother would’ve found a way out of prostitution and drug abuse. Maybe that never would’ve happened, but it brings me comfort to think about a better life for both of us.
In the meantime, I’m focused on the better life that I’ve found with Aileen. Yesterday, she heard from the oncologist that her tests came back normal. He said he’d see her in three months, when we’ll go through the whole cycle again. She tells me I’ll get used to the waiting, the worrying, the speculating. I doubt I’ll ever get used to it, but I’ll find a way to handle it because that’s what she needs me to do—and there’s literally nothing I won’t do for her.