"Baby, I told you I can't get enough of you." His hand moves from my breast, glides over my abdomen, until I grab it. "What?" Alex asks, his voice innocent, but his eyes anything but.
I shake my head. "No more, at least not until I get some recovery time, sex machine. You're going to ruin me."
"I know, baby, that's my plan," he whispers in my ear, biting my earlobe, "I'm going to ruin you for all other men, claim you, so you never want to leave because you are so sexually gratified in every way imaginable."
"Leave you?" I snort. "At this rate I won't be able to walk for weeks, let alone perform any type of sex act. I'll end up laying there like a dead fish, and you'll toss me out."
"Never," he says, kissing my jaw, my neck and my chest. "But I'll let you recover so I don't have to have dead fish sex." I smack him on the head, and he gazes up at me, a smile on his face as he rubs the spot where I hit him. He pulls me down so we are lying next to each other, on our sides, staring into each other's eyes. "Talk to me."
"What do you want to talk about?"
"You."
I scrunch up my nose. "You know everything about me."
"Not true, I hardly know anything about your childhood." He takes a piece of my hair in between his fingers and twirls it around.
"Mom left, Dad drank. I left, he died. It sucked." I move in closer, drop my voice seductively, and lightly kiss his neck. "Let's talk about the tropical island you're going to buy me."
He places a finger under my chin, and lifts my head, his eyes search mine for answers. "Why don't you want me to know about how you grew up?"
I sigh. "It's just not a happy story, Alex."
"It's a fairy tale."
I roll onto my back, drape my arm over my eyes, and block everything out. "Hardly."
He removes my arm from my face. "All fairy tales have a tragic beginning and a happy ending," he says, his voice soothing. "Tell me the fateful story of your life before you met your Prince Charming."
"And you're the Prince Charming in this scenario?"
"Naturally," he confirms.
"Just wanted to be clear."
He props himself up on one elbow, his fingers lacing with mine as they rest on my midsection. "Okay, I'll start you off—once upon a time…now you go."
I smile, not because this is going to be fun, but because Alex is so upbeat. There is nothing I love more than when he is happy and playful. I'm just sorry I'm about to kill the mood and destroy whatever idea he has of my life before him.
I inhale, close my eyes, and release all the air in my lungs. "Once upon a time, a little girl had a mom, and a dad, and a house, and a happy family. Then one day, mom left without warning, leaving a note stating she tried to live this life, but needed more than we could offer. My dad went into a tailspin he never recovered from—he started drinking, stopped going to work, and lost his job and then the house."
"How old are you?" Alex asks.
"Twelve. We moved between family and friends until we wore out our welcome when dad emptied their liquor cabinets. After that we lived in homeless shelters until I was about fourteen, and got my first job. We were able to get a room by the week at dumpy, disgusting motels—but it was a roof, a door, and a lock." Alex cocks up an inquisitive eyebrow. "Men in homeless shelters like little girls, sometimes too much."
Alex pales, his eyes wide. "Oh shit, were you –"
I shake my head. "No, not me, but I heard some girls talking about it. I would find places to hide – under the cot, in a closet—I was great at curling into a ball and becoming invisible."
I take a deep breath. "Anyway," I say as I exhale, "when I was in high school, I got two jobs, went to school, and ended up being salutatorian my senior year."
"How did you manage all that?" Alex asks.
"Um, school all day, waited tables at a diner after school until they closed, and then cleaned offices in an office building downtown. I'd study during free periods at school, or when it was slow at the diner."
"That's incredible." Alex stares at me, a slight smile on his face, and his head shakes from side to side. "How did your dad die?"
I pause and drop my eyes. This is something I don't think about, and never speak of. It's something I locked away long ago. It's how I knew to block things out when John was abusing me. It's one of the demons which still lives inside me, and I'm not sure what will happen when I let it out.
"He hung himself my freshman year of college." The pain still grips me, just as it did the day I found out, ripping my heart into pieces too difficult to put back together. Tears sting the back of my eyes, and I recall the look on his face, the sadness in his eyes, as he pleaded with me to promise I would come back to him at the end of my freshman year.
Alex caresses the side of my face. "Oh, God, Kylie. I'm so sorry."
"I understand why you feel guilty about your mother's death, Alex—I've dealt with guilt over my father's death my entire adult life."
"He took his life, baby, that was his decision. Not yours."
"Because he thought I had left him – just like my mom."
Alex closes his eyes and kisses my forehead.
"At the end of my freshman year—I was a couple days from going home—then I had the emergency hysterectomy. Paul and Ryan had no idea how bad off my dad was and had no way of contacting him. When I didn't show up, my dad thought I had left him, and couldn't handle being alone, so he ended it. The Sheriff's department located me in Ann Arbor, but I was in surgery. When I came to, Ryan and Paul had to tell me my dad was dead."
Tears leak out the sides of my eyes, my chest burns, and I suppress a sob desperate to escape. "Paul's family took care all of the expenses for me – my medical bills, my dad's burial, everything. I didn't know people like that existed. Paul's family's so generous, and loving, and look out for each other. Somehow, I was lucky enough to be considered one of the family."
"I had no idea you'd been through all this," Alex says, and his hand caresses my face.
I shrug. "It's not something I like to talk about."
"Do you ever hear from your mother?" he asks.
"Not for a few years now. She usually tracks me down in between marriages. She'll send me a note or a postcard, but I never talk to her.” Ice runs through my veins whenever I think about my mother. “I have nothing to say to her."
Alex gathers me in his arms, rolls onto his back, and I rest my head on his chest.
"I loved my father, but I resented him for robbing me of a childhood—not just a normal one—but any childhood. He forced me to be the adult and support us. I was his caretaker—more like a parent than his child. But then—when all those negative feelings hit me—then comes the guilt. He's dead, all because I was ashamed of him and didn't want my friends to know he was a drunk. If I had told Ryan and Paul how unstable he was—maybe they could have gotten him a message. Let him know I was in the hospital. Instead, he died alone, thinking no one loved him."
We lay like that, quiet, not speaking, just together. He rubs my back and kisses my head. "You never should’ve been put in that position, baby. I know you love him, and he deserves my gratitude for bringing you into this world, but he was selfish. He let his young daughter take over his responsibilities. Then he saddled you with guilt for the rest of your life by committing suicide." He sighs heavily, and I can feel his muscles tense under me. "He shouldn't have that kind of hold on you anymore."
I snuggle into him, but I'm not sure what to say. Sharing this with Alex, it helps me put things in perspective a little better, but I doubt I will ever be rid of the demons reminding me—if not for my selfishness in keeping him a secret—my father might still be here.
I drift off to sleep to the rhythmic beating of his heart, images of my father when he was happy and vibrant shifting to the frail, weak man I walked away from. Maybe Alex is right, and I should let go of the guilt, but I'm not sure how—or if I can.
34
Alex comes into the kitchen in his worn jeans and a white pullover
sweater that shows off his muscular chest and arms. He kisses my cheek, grabs a mug from the cabinet, and pours himself a cup of coffee.
"We now drink so much coffee we have to have two coffee pots going at once?" he asks and looks back and forth between Jake and I—the coffee whores of the house—for an explanation. He sips his coffee and spits it into the sink. "What is this crap?"
Jake points at me.
"It's the coffee you sent me while I was living in town." I chuckle and shake my head in disbelief. He makes a romantic gesture that touches my heart, and can't remember it? Makes me wonder what other things he's forgotten. I jump down off the bar stool, refill my travel mug, and kiss him on the cheek. "I'm off to meet with Jack to go over the plans for the new law office."
Alex follows me into the garage and opens the driver’s side door to the Porsche for me. "Thanks, babe, I was wondering how I was going to pull that off with all this stuff in my hands."
I lean inside and place the coffee mug in the cup holder, toss my briefcase into the passenger seat, and stand.
He grabs my elbow before I can slide behind the wheel and turns me to face him. "That was not a proper goodbye kiss," he growls, his hand sliding into my hair as his mouth consumes mine. He tilts his head, his tongue coaxes my mouth open, and he dives in. Electric sparks shoot through me.
"Oh, please do that again when I return," I murmur, my eyes still closed.
"That's just a taste of what I plan on giving you when you come home."
I turn away, and try once again to get in my car, or risk having sex on the hood.
"Hey, when did I send you all that coffee?" he asks.
I shake my head. "Well, first, it wasn't the amount in there," I say pointing back to the kitchen. "The bags and bags of it in the pantry were delivered after I moved back in…did you forget that, too?"
"I must have, but I wasn't exactly on my game at that time, either. I just don't know why I would have bought that brand, especially if I'd tasted it first."
"Maybe your taste buds were not on their game, either. Besides, it's not so bad, once you get used to it. I drink it all the time." I peer at him, his eyebrows pulling tightly together, and a frown on his face. "Hey, is something the matter?"
His gaze darts to mine, and it seems to take a moment for him to comprehend what I've said. "Uh, no. No, just racking my brain to remember, and it's frustrating me. I'm sure it will come to me, and I'll feel like an idiot." He kisses me again and smacks me on the ass. "Now, go meet with Jack, and get back here. There are some very naughty things I want to do to you, Miss Tate."
"Why, Mr. Stone, you must stop making my panties so damp this morning."
He chuckles. "Hurry home." Then he closes the door.
* * *
* * *
Even though I've haven’t been away from the office long, it feels strange being back here. Probably because I have no clients, and my case, while still in deliberations, is pretty much over. My meeting with Jack is very productive, and he's given me a lot of great ideas, and carte blanche to renovate the space as I think best. I jot down some notes about where I might want to put up walls, but I love having the space open. I'll call the architect who restored my row house in town after John tried to burn it to the ground and see if he can come up with some plans.
My phone rings, and Reyes's name pops onto the screen, which causes my stomach to flip. I haven't spoken with him since the night he dropped me off at home, and he and Alex had a pissing match over me. It's awkward—even more so than when he kissed me, which I still haven't told Alex about—now that Alex knows Reyes has feelings for me.
"Hey, Reyes, what's going on?" I ask, and try to sound as natural as possible, not that it ever works.
"Hi, Kylie. Where are you?" he asks, his voice low, and toneless.
"At the office, why?"
"Matt asked me to call. The jury's back."
My stomach does a few flips. I get the particulars from Reyes, hang up, and call Alex. "You need to grab a suit for me and meet me at my office. The jury's reached a verdict, and we need to be in court in an hour. You should probably let your family know, in case they want to be there, too."
"Okay, any suit in particular that you want?" Alex asks, and I can hear hangers scrape along the metal bar in our closet.
"No, you pick it, just get here as soon as you can."
Fifty minutes later, and with ten minutes to spare, I sit at the prosecution table next to Matt. "Any insider information on which way they landed?"
Matt shakes his head. "No, but I hate when juries are out this long."
"I usually love it—but then I'm usually sitting at the other table. Keep in mind, we had Thanksgiving during this time, so there's four days they didn't have deliberations."
"True," Matt agrees. "I guess we're about to find out."
Judge Franklin takes his seat on the bench and calls the courtroom to order, then brings in the jury.
The foreperson, a woman in her fifties with big round glasses that take up a good portion of her face, stands and hands the verdict form to the bailiff. Franklin unfolds it, reads the decision, and then closes it again. "Will the defendant please rise."
Hamilton and Wells stand, and I notice James is a bit unsteady on his feet, and his hands grip the edge of the table for support.
"Madam Foreperson, will you please read the verdict?"
"Yes, Your Honor." The foreperson takes a deep breath, the verdict form shaking in her hand, and sweat covers her face. "We find the defendant, James Wells, guilty of first degree murder."
I turn to Alex and throw my arms around his neck. "We did it," I whisper.
"You did it." He clings to me, burrows his head into my neck, and isn't letting go, even when Judge Franklin bangs his gavel and calls for order.
I step back before the judge finds me in contempt and throws my ass in jail for the night. I glance at Alex's family, all with tears in their eyes, and smiles on their faces. Leigha grabs my hand and squeezes it. They're not just Alex's family—they’re my family. And nothing feels better than standing here, watching the sheriff place handcuffs and leg irons on James Wells, never to step foot outside a prison again, knowing I did this.
For my family.
For Alex.
35
"I'm going to run in and grab some stuff, and I'll meet you at home," I tell Alex, climb out of the SUV, and turn to enter my office. He slides to the edge of the seat by the open door, grabs my hand, and pulls me back. His lips are so soft, so full of affection, tenderness, and gratitude.
"I love you," he whispers before releasing me.
I can't talk, I'll lose all control of my emotions, and unravel. There is such a sense of relief that comes with the verdict. I didn't fully understand how worried I was I would lose the case and be the reason James was free. But that's all gone now. We won. James Wells is on his way back to the state prison to live out the rest of his days. And Alex will never have to deal with his father again.
An hour later, I pull into the garage, and walk into the kitchen just as my phone beeps with a text from Alex.
Had to stop for something special…be home soon. LY
Although many want to place a gold-digger label on me, just because I'm in love with a man that has several billion dollars, I don't really expect lavish gifts—any gifts—from Alex. That's not why I love him, and it never will be. But I have to admit, I am intrigued and a little giddy at the prospect of what Alex considers special. He always puts a piece of his heart into everything he gives me. My hand instinctively goes to my neck, to the ruby and diamond pendent with entwined hearts he gave to me the night he told me he loved me for the very first time.
The next day, John shot me.
I drop the notes from my meeting with Jack on my desk, drop my briefcase on the floor, and fall into my chair. Across the room, on the table next to the chaise lounge, is a box with a big purple bow on it.
Alex.
I shake my head, my heart pounding in my c
hest, and walk over to it. A tag is attached to the bow with my name on it.
Should I wait until he gets home to open it? No…if he wanted me to wait, why did he put it here where I was sure to find it when I came in?
I pull on the end of the bow, run my finger along the edge of the top, and pull it off. Piles of crumpled white tissue paper fill the box. I pluck the paper from the box, and toss it over my shoulder, barely aware of them floating to the floor. About a quarter of the way down is an envelope with my name on it. I open it, and carefully pull out the card. On one side is an embossed red foil heart. On the back is a handwritten message:
Never forget the past. Change your future, or your past may haunt you.
Will you survive a second time?
I drop the note on the table, tear through the paper, determined to find whatever is in the box. The tissue paper has red drops on them, and the deeper I dig, the more saturated the white paper becomes. My hand is shaking. I know I should stop. This is not a gift from Alex. But something is driving me to get it over with. The outcome is not going to change the longer I wait to find out. My anxiety, however, may cause me to have a heart attack before Alex gets home.
I lift another piece of paper, and stumble backwards. "No, no, no—" I shriek.
Taking a tentative step forward, I peer over the edge of the box, and pray my eyes are playing a trick on me. Inside the box, sitting atop blood-smeared, white tissue paper is a black leather flogger with little metal balls on the end of the tendrils.
My stomach pitches and roils. Unable to focus, I stagger forward, and fall onto the chaise. The horrible visions assault me, drag me back to the day John used that flogger to rip the skin from my back. Hanging from the bar, stripped, and bleeding—I begged him to stop, cried, and screamed when the pain was too much. He laughed, I can still hear it in my ears, and I can't stop the sobs that now gently rock my body.
I will never be free of him, never know what it's like to not look over my shoulder and expect to see him, never have dreams that don't turn to nightmares where he kills me or someone I love. I curse Jake for not making sure his shot had killed John, and I curse Alex for not demanding Jake finish the job. Because that's the only way I'll be free—the only way Alex and I can have peace, and a future.
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