Dangerously in Love

by Kimbrough, Michele

  “Sure.” But before the judge could stop himself, he asked, “You haven’t acquired a taste for a good wine yet, son? Beer is so . . . sophomoric.”

  Hill handed his father a beer. Their hands brushed in the exchange. Hill hadn’t felt his father’s touch since he was sixteen—since his mother died.

  “I can appreciate good wine, judge. I just prefer the taste of beer.”

  “Ken Logan says he has a spot for you at his law firm if you want it.”

  “Dammit, Dad! No!” he shouted, slamming the beer bottle on the counter and causing a little to spill out. “I went to law school for you. But now, I’m landscaping for me. I did the whole lawyer thing, and I wasn’t happy. Now I am.”

  “Okay, son. Okay.” He took a few swallows of the beer. “One hundred twenty thousand dollars for you to become a gardener? Such a waste. . .”

  Hill wished he had a mute button for his father’s lectures. He didn’t want to hear the same ol’ tune, visit after visit. Then he noticed how much his father had aged. The judge seemed to have shrunken a few inches because his posture was a little more hunched than before. His cheeks had become drooping jowls. His voice quavered in a way Hill hadn’t heard before. His skin and hair were both grayer and thinner. The judge wasn’t a young man anymore. Hill felt himself soften a little, knowing how much he’d miss his father when he was gone. He swallowed hard, trying not to choke on his emotions, wiping the mist away from his eyes with his forearm.

  “Nice building. It’s got great bones,” the judge said, shifting the subject to something more amenable for Hill.

  Hill had purchased the old warehouse for virtually nothing. Twelve grand was what he paid at auction. No one bid against him, mostly because the warehouse was flanked by railroad tracks on one side and a highway on the other, and surrounded by other dilapidated, abandoned buildings, which he later bought, too, but hadn’t yet improved. He’d been renovating it ever since—little by little—which had been about five years. He used reclaimed materials he bought from salvage facilities and reuse yards, giving the converted warehouse unique design features while remaining eco-friendly and inexpensive. It looked like he’d spent a small fortune on renovations—which would probably impress his father—but he hadn’t spent much at all. He did most of the labor himself or with the help of Gabe and Ty. The materials were salvaged, thus he paid pennies on the dollar for them.

  Hill looked around the open space, taking in all the improvements he had made. He took a sip of his beer and nodded. “Yeah, it’s come a long way. I’m almost finished. I’ve done most of the work in the past year.”

  His floors were finished with reclaimed woods of varying types and sizes, which he had sanded and stained, giving his floors a very unique and elegant style. His kitchen floors were grouted tumbled ceramics of varying colors and designs. It made his kitchen pop with color. The kitchen island was built from old doors, cut down to size and sanded and stained, with tempered glass affixed to the top. His backsplash, countertops, and cabinets were also done in reclaimed lumber and other materials.

  “You said you did most of the work recently? Is that because leaving your practice has given you more time?”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s mainly because I don’t have a girlfriend demanding all of my time.”

  They both laughed. Something they hadn’t done together in a long time.

  “Don’t you miss it, son?”

  “What? A girlfriend?”

  “The law.”

  “Dad. . .” he said, shaking his head, not wanting to engage in any conversation about the legal field.

  “It’s in your blood . . . your grandfather, your great-grandfather, his father . . . me.”

  “Dad, we were having a good conversation. Don’t ruin it.”

  “Son. . .”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “No, son, your. . .”

  “Dad, for Christ’s sake!” he yelled.

  “Your nose is bleeding.”

  Hill put his hand to his nose and saw the dark red blood. He got up and rushed to the bathroom. Blood dripped into the sink as he looked into the mirror. His left eye was swollen, the other was blackened. His lip was split. He hadn’t noticed earlier how badly he’d been beaten. He sat on the toilet lid while his father got a wash cloth and created a cold compress to stanch the bleeding.

  “What kind of accident did you have? Did you crash your truck?”

  He shook his head. “No, nothing like that . . . although it felt like it.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I flirted with the wrong woman,” he said, looking up at his father shamefaced.

  The judge laughed heartily. Hill hadn’t ever heard his father laugh like that. The judge laughed so hard, tears got caught in the wrinkles around his eyes. Hill tried to smile, but his face was so numb from the cold compress that he wasn’t sure if his attempt was successful.

  “My lord, counselor.”

  “It was an ambush, judge. I didn’t see him coming. He beat the hell out of me with my own tools.”

  The judge put Hill’s hand on the cold compress so that he could hold it himself.

  “You could sue.”

  “I’m not suing, Dad.”

  “Why not? You have a case.”

  “Because I might’ve done the same thing if she’d been my woman.”

  The judge’s laughter became raucous.

  “Why is this so funny to you, Dad?”

  “Because it happened to me a time or two . . . and my dad, and his dad. I guess this is also in your genes.”

  Hill didn’t laugh, although he did see the humor in it. His only thought was of his mother. Had Dad cheated on Mom? He shook the thought out of his head, standing and rinsing the bloodied cloth. He’d had enough bonding with his father for one day.

  The judge’s laughter had dwindled to a snicker. He put his hand on Hill’s shoulder as they walked into the open space that Hill called his den.

  4

  Both Perry’s and Samantha’s cell phones vibrated at the same time. Perry pulled his phone from the inside pocket of his blazer and glanced at the message illuminating his screen. Samantha, whose phone was set atop the table, tapped the screen then snickered after reading the message. She shook her head while looking at Perry, who was also snickering.

  “Do you want to go ahead and order?” Samantha asked Perry.

  “Why not,” he said as he flagged the waitress to their table.

  “Sorry, folks, not going to make it,” Samantha read aloud. “Who sends a message like that without some sort of explanation after keeping us waiting almost a half an hour?”

  “Hill.”

  “Shall I respond, or will you?”

  “I think I’d better. You might cuss him out.”

  Perry thumbed out a message to Hill:

  P: What’s going on?

  H: Went to E.R. Broken rib.

  Perry handed his phone to Samantha so she could read the message.

  “The E.R.?”

  Perry nodded.

  “Ask him what happened,” Samantha demanded.

  “He said it’s a long story.”

  “Long story, my eye. I’m going over there.”

  ***

  “What are you doing here?” Hill asked.

  “You said you went to the emergency room. Of course I’m going to stop by to see how you’re doing,” Samantha explained. She sandwiched his hand between hers. Her hands were soft and hot, but sort of clammy.

  Hill had sent Gabe and Ty to the Church property while he made the trip to the emergency room. He had awakened in so much pain, he could hardly move. He had a little difficulty breathing, too. The hospital ran an MRI, blood tests, and took x-rays. They also gave him pain meds. He had a fractured rib, broken nose, and concussion, all of which would have to resolve on their own. Except the doctor did manipulate the broken nose. Worst pain ever. After nearly eight hours in the ER, he was released.

  Back at ho
me, he’d dozed off from all of the pain medication. When he woke up, beautiful but concerned brown eyes were staring down at him. Samantha. She stood over his bed, her hand pressed gently against his cheek. She leaned in and kissed his forehead.

  “I’m alright,” he said, closing his eyes to her warm touch, realizing he’d enjoyed it a little too much. He opened his eyes, moved her hand from his face, and elevated himself by propping the pillows against the headboard. He sipped the apple juice she’d brought him. He had missed her, every part of her. The feel of her—the scent of her. Samantha had walked out on him a year ago and, even though they maintained a decent friendship, he knew he’d been a fool for letting her go. Now she was with Bob. Actually, his name was Bill, but his name didn’t matter to Hill, so he’d call him Bob every chance he got. Hill couldn’t believe that Samantha had chosen Bob. He was sort of a dweeb. Hill wondered if that little guy could even satisfy her. Still, that didn’t change the fact that Hill was the one sitting on the sideline, watching Bob do for Samantha what he had wanted to do. He flipped through the TV channels and found a White Sox game. He liked baseball mainly because it filled his sports obsession during the summer months.

  “Excuse me for a minute,” he said. He got up, bare-chested and wearing only his boxers, and went to the bathroom. When he came back, Samantha was sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Now can I give you a proper hug?” She stood and hugged him. He scowled from the pain. “Oops. Sorry. Does it hurt a lot?”

  Hill nodded. She sat on the edge of the bed again and touched his bandages gently. “Aw, little Hilton has a boo-boo.”

  “Ain’t nothing little about me, darlin’,” he said and kissed her cheek. “Move over so I can get back in the bed.”

  Once settled, she joined him, kicking off her shoes and sliding under the covers.

  “Baseball? Turn that mess off. Let’s find a movie.” She channel-surfed until she found one. “Did you hear? The state’s attorney is resigning. Yippee, that means I may be getting a new boss. Makes me so happy!”

  “Yeah, I heard. You should go for his seat. Samantha Clark, state’s attorney. Sounds good.”

  “No, I couldn’t stand up under the scrutiny. I do hope I get to stand next to your dad on the Illinois Supreme Court someday, though.”

  “How’d you get in here anyway?” he asked, realizing she didn’t have a cardkey or a door key.

  “The door was unlocked.”

  He nodded. The drugs must’ve gotten to him. He never left the front of the warehouse unlocked. He pointed at the television. “I like this part.”

  “Me, too . . . the best part of the movie.”

  They sat together, watching the movie on the king-sized bed. Not much else was said. Hill was just happy to have her there. He’d missed her, even though they met for either lunch or drinks every few weeks or so. She laid her head against his arm. He wanted to wrap his arm around her, but the pain would have been excruciating.

  He’d begun dozing off, and then he felt her head loll and bob. She’d fallen asleep, too. He tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Are you staying or going home?”

  She yawned and looked at the time. “I should probably be going home.”

  She slid to the edge of the bed, tucking her feet into her shoes, then kissed his forehead. Hill pulled her down and kissed her with the kind of scorching heat that drew her on top of him—painfully so. He groaned and pushed her up.

  “Ah . . . that hurts. I guess I’m not ready for this, either,” he grumbled.

  She kissed his lips tenderly. “When you heal, you should come over to the house for drinks,” Samantha offered.

  Hill shook his head. “Will Bob be there?”

  “Bill. His name is Bill, dammit. And no, he won’t. He’s in Japan helping the victims of that tsunami.”

  “Bill. Bob. It’s all the same to me.” He grinned. “So . . . it’ll just be the two of us.” He winked.

  “You’re disgusting, Hill.”

  He laughed and got up to walk her to the door. “I’d love to, Sam.”

  She kissed his lips in a quick, friendly manner. He slapped her butt, forgetting how painful that type of motion would be. He smirked but thought it was worth the pain.

  5

  Something was wrong. Caitlin looked at the clock. It was two in the morning, and Adam hadn’t made it to bed. She slipped into her robe and house shoes, heading for his study. She heard noises but wasn’t sure from where they were coming. She peered into the study. The lamp was on, and there were papers strewn across the desk, but he wasn’t in there. He didn’t usually work this late. She went to the other side of the house, near the pool entrance. Maybe he had decided to take a swim, clear his head. He’d been under a lot of stress lately. He didn’t talk much about his business, but she could tell things weren’t going well.

  The house was too big to do an all-out search, so she stopped looking. Adam always did whatever he wanted anyway. He’d go to bed when he was ready.

  She went into the kitchen and rummaged around for the ingredients to make hot chocolate. Rosemary managed the kitchen, so Caitlin was never sure where things were. She opened and closed cabinets and drawers, awakening Rosemary who lived in the large suite behind the kitchen.

  “What are you looking for?” Rosemary asked.

  “I just wanted to make some hot chocolate. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “I’ll make it for you.”

  As Rosemary did her thing, chopping the chocolate, warming the heavy cream and half and half, adding a bit of cornstarch and a pinch of salt, Caitlin heard the noises again.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said to Rosemary.

  As she wandered down the hall, the voices became louder and more distinct. A woman shouted, “That’s it, baby! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” punctuated by moans of pleasure. As Caitlin got closer, she could hear the rhythmic thumping of a headboard against the wall and the slapping sounds of flesh against flesh. The woman was giving very precise instructions for Caitlin’s husband. “Right there!” she yelled.

  “Is that it, baby?” she heard Adam say.

  The bed wailed and groaned under the force of their thrusts, the headboard banging harder and faster against the wall. “Yes!” she yelled. Her moans were louder, more intense. Caitlin stood in the doorway, watching her husband screw the help. Doggie style.

  She rushed back through the house and into the kitchen. Rosemary informed her that her hot chocolate was ready, but Caitlin wasn’t in the mood for it anymore. She grabbed a whiskey glass from the cabinet and poured a generous amount of Glenlivet scotch into it. She pulled open the steel-framed French doors and walked out onto her brand new patio. It was beautiful—her first time out there since Hill built it.

  She sat on a uniquely designed hassock and sipped her drink. The moon’s beams squeezed through a small break in the meandering clouds to cast a yellow glow upon her weary face. The vacancy in her eyes reflected her discontent. She folded her arms across her chest, one hand holding her liquor and the other balled tightly into a fist.

  “Mrs.? Is everything alright?” Rosemary asked, clearly concerned about Caitlin’s well-being.

  “Yes. Please get some rest. Don’t worry about me so much. It’ll give you wrinkles,” she said, forcing herself to smile when every ounce of her being wanted to scream. Rage may not have been the right word to describe what was going on inside her, but it wasn’t too far off the mark. This feeling—this indescribable burning inside Caitlin was so enormous, she could hardly contain it anymore. She masked it well, though. Sort of the same way she dealt with Adam’s undermining, passive-aggressive behavior. It was more like a subtle mind-fuck that craftily ate away at her self-worth day by day. A slow process, eroding any inkling of hope, joy, or desire she may have had in her life or her marriage.

  She looked at Rosemary, who still stood watching her. “Tomorrow, I want you to fire Mindy.”

  “Yes, Mrs. I’ll fire her now if y
ou’d like.”

  “She’s busy right now—screwing my husband. Fire her in the morning. But I don’t want her or Adam to know that I know about them.”

  6

  The hospital bill lay atop the pile of mail on Hill’s desk. He thought about adding the cost of his emergency room visit to Adam Church’s invoice. He hadn’t been back to the Church property since the beating, which had been three weeks ago. He’d sent Gabe and Ty to finish the structures they had erected on the grounds. Hill spent his time drafting designs for other projects, something he could do from a desk until his rib had healed enough for physical labor.

  He opened a beer and kicked back on his sofa after a long and hot shower. He thought it odd how, during the quietest moments, he’d think of Samantha—wondering what she was doing and concerned about her happiness.

  It was sometime around midnight, maybe a little after, when he awoke to find himself entangled in her sheets, buck naked, his hand cupping her butt. He was surprised that she had answered his call—primarily because she had that Bob issue. He was even more surprised that she’d invited him over.

  “I just wanted this to be a treat for you, and to say thank you. But I’m okay with it if you don’t want to stay,” Samantha explained.

  “I’ll, uh . . . I can suffer through this,” Hill joked. Making love to Samantha was hardly something he needed to suffer through. He hadn’t any idea why she was thanking him, though. He wanted to ask but decided not to—just in case it had something to do with Bob. He didn’t want to hear that guy’s name. He was happy just to bask in her company and feel her warmth next to him again. He caressed her creamy brown skin. Her naturally kinky brown hair, now relaxed and dyed auburn, was pulled into a ponytail.

  “So who’s the new Samantha, Hill? My replacement. You never talk about your relationships. It’s okay if you do, you know. You can share that part of your life with me. You certainly know about mine.” She grinned at him.

  “Nothing to tell. There isn’t a new Samantha. You’re irreplaceable, darlin’,” he said.