Ten Thousand Points of Light

by Michelle Warren

  “My thoughts exactly,” her mom agrees in a calm and quiet tone, the worst kind to receive. That kind of control signals a threat. That’s when you know the shart-cracker has hit the fan.

  I move to Cait’s side for support, but if I don’t do something to mediate, they may kill each other. “Let’s take a deep breath here.” I hold out my palms like I’m balancing between the two. They do pause for a moment and they do seem to be breathing, but it’s short lived, and they return to the fighting ring.

  “I came here to take you home,” her mom says. She’s already slipping into her coat and tugging on her gloves. “You can leave your stuff here. We’ll get you all new things. Grab your coat, let’s go.”

  My heart clenches at the terse instruction. I wrap my arm around Cait, pulling her close, as if to say over my dead body.

  “I’m not going anywhere. I love it here.” Cait laughs with an incredulous tone.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Georgetown has agreed to readmit you to pre-law, and I’ve already put a deposit on an apartment a few blocks from campus.”

  “You’re not hearing me. I’m. Not. Leaving.” Cait gestures to her ears and stands her ground. “And if you don’t leave right now, an anonymous caller will tip off the Washington Post, the New York Times, and whatever other political outlet will pick up the story. I’m sure they would love a scandalous article about your out-of-control daughter that contradicts every platform you run on. And if you think what you’ve seen here is bad, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  Disbelief laces her mom’s laugh. “You’ve been threatening me with that for years. Thank God you don’t have it in you.”

  “Underage drinking, unwed sex—” Cait starts.

  “Lots of sex.” I cut Cait off with a serious expression.

  “And drugs. A ton of illegal drugs. Shall I show you my fake ID? And wait until you see the sex tapes!” Cait places a hand on her hip. She’s lying about most of it, but I nod my head in agreement, regardless.

  “This isn’t the end of our discussion,” her mom says.

  “It is. Now get out.” Cait points at the door, and I rush to open it, relieved to usher her mom out. On the other side stand two men in long wool coats, waiting. Her security? Or backup?

  Before leaving, her mom pauses in front of me and says, “You better watch her close. She’s your problem now, Evan Wade.”

  “The difference between you and me, Senator London, is Cait’s a problem I’m happy to have.” I slam the door as her bitchy ass crosses the threshold.

  I take a deep breath before turning to Cait. My brain’s still computing what happened, but the stand out question is, “You didn’t tell them where you lived?”

  “Please, they’ve known. They had more important things to do than bother with me. The election was over a few months ago. You don’t think it’s strange she showed up after the holidays?”

  “Has she always sucked this much?”

  “Would I be here if she didn’t?” She laughs, maybe to relieve some tension, and then she plops on the couch with a pillow bunched to her chest.

  She continues, “I want to make my own way, without someone forcing me into a mold. I’m not a bad person because I don’t want to be an attorney, because I want to live in Chicago, or because I’m not a perfect-robot-child. I’m good! I work hard, and I want to finish business school, have a kick-ass job I love, get married, and eventually have a baby. But I want all those things on my terms. Not because that’s what someone else wants for me, or because it looks good for an election.”

  I sit beside her and rub a hand down her thigh. “I want you to have all the things you want too. I’m glad you confronted her. And also, it would suck if you left.”

  “Is that so?” She moves closer and fits her head into the crook of my neck. Her breath warms my bare chest, and I place an arm around her back, drawing her near.

  “I couldn’t let you leave only hours after I told you I loved you.”

  For this comment she kisses my jaw, my ear, and adjusts her body until she’s straddling my hips, facing me. Her arms circle my neck as she peers down at me with her hair spilling over her shoulders in a silky curtain.

  “How long have you loved me?” She angles her head.

  “From the moment I opened the door and saw you the first time.” My fingers sink into the flesh of her hips.

  She scrunches her nose like she doesn’t believe me. “Are you sure it wasn’t when you saw me with Steph at Mr. Moon’s the month before?”

  “Steph told you?” I shake her lightly and laugh because I’ve been busted.

  “Does it matter? It’s the first time I knew I loved you.” She pauses to glance at the ceiling. “Okay, maybe it was more like the moment you made me apple pancakes. But I knew you were a good thing when I saw you. But remember, we’re still only friends.”

  This is our joke. We’re just friends.

  “That’s okay. I’m not looking for a girlfriend, anyway,” I razz her back. She angles into me. I lift my chin, my lips seeking the softness of hers. When they connect, she squeezes me tighter between her thighs. My hips rise and I press into her spot, wanting her to feel what she does to me.

  “So tell me about these scandalous sex tapes you’re releasing to the press.” I whisper in between kisses. My hands sneak beneath her top and slide across her smooth back. The movement activates her grinding hips, making her moan.

  “We should make some naughty ones right now.”

  CHAPTER 39

  FIVE YEARS AGO

  “You haven’t moved from that spot all morning?” I shut the front door and lift my messenger bag over my shoulder before dropping it on the couch. I don’t like working on Saturdays, but I had to tour a residential builder from California around the city. If things work out, Grayson & Wade will be partnering with them to develop a millennial-driven, micro-apartment building on the old Printer’s Row parcel. I’ll be taking our business to the next level by developing our first project.

  “Sadly, it wasn’t because I was editing my thesis,” Cait says from her seat at the dining room table. Stacks of books surround her computer. In the darkened room, the screen illuminates her focused and achingly beautiful face.

  When I stand behind her chair, she tips her head back giving me an upside-down kiss. I love the way our lips connect like a puzzle, chins touching noses. I place my hands on her shoulders and rub.

  “How was work?” She relaxes under my massage.

  “Still not done. Just here for a quick stop.” But I don’t want to talk about work when I only have a few minutes with her. I lean closer and check out her screen. “What’s this?”

  “I’m obsessed with this house. I’ve been staring at it for hours. Look how cute it is.” She clicks through a series of images on a Realtor website.

  “Really? That house?” I laugh. It’s old and scary.

  “Come on. It’s so cute. Looks at these photos.” My hands fall away when she jumps up from the table, laptop balanced on her forearm, like the closer I am to the photos, the better the house will look. She scrolls through using the tracking pad and stops to point out details.

  She continues, “It needs work but has great bones, an enclosed porch, backyard, three bedrooms, two baths, and there are even peonies in the garden.”

  “What the hell is a peony?”

  “All you need to know is I love it and we’re buying it.” She sets her computer on the kitchen island and turns to me. When her face glows like this, she knows full well I’ll give in. I would do anything for her, and that’s how it’s been since the moment we met. I’m content to be her whipped man, though I can’t let her know that.

  “Is that so?” I wrap my hands around her ass and squeeze.

  “I get what I want.” She pops a mischievous brow.

  “In that case, we better go check it out.”

  “Really?” Cait jumps into my arms, her legs circling my waist. Unprepared for her overzealous response, I stumble forward and
set her butt on the edge of the table. Locked within her thighs, she tugs my shirt near until our lips connect. She tastes delicious, tangy and sweet. My dick commandeers my brain when she deepens our kiss, and I recline her, while shoving her books off the table with a wide sweeping arm. They crash onto the floor, papers fluttering. But with a cleared space, I can do what I want with her. And what I want to do is everything.

  My kisses travel the angle of her jaw, the slope of her neck and then drop to her stomach, where I press a circle of kisses. My hands are on their own mission, roaming under her shirt, over her swelling breasts and traveling into her dampening panties. She sighs and tenses before I even make it to her spot. She’s damn sexy even in sweatpants.

  My cell phone rings in my pocket, and I groan.

  “Ignore it,” she pleads before prodding me on.

  I allow it to go to voicemail and continue on my task, but when it starts to buzz with rapid-fire, incoming texts, she smacks the tabletop with her palms and says, “Fine, get it.”

  We each slump, defeated. I rest my head on her stomach for a moment. With my ear pressed against her skin, I can hear my own heartbeat decelerating and returning to normal. These are the times being an adult sucks balls. I reluctantly pull away to slip my cell from my pocket and see who the hell’s made my shit list now—Linden.

  “California wants to meet at the Four Seasons in fifteen,” I gripe, even though I knew my time at home would be brief. When I’m with Cait, I tend to forget everything and everyone else.

  Cait’s mouth settles into a deep frown, and she sits upright, tugging her shirt into place. She tilts her head, giving me her beautiful sad eyes, and I can’t help but feel guilty. I’ve been working too much lately, and I miss her. She squeezes her legs tighter, reeling me in. She knows it drives me nuts when she breathes into my ear. The tingles get me worked up again.

  “You’re playing dirty.” My hands are on her, touching her everywhere. My mind’s whirling to figure out what I can do to her in the few seconds I have before I must leave.

  “I just want you to remember what’s waiting for you,” she whispers as she’s straightening my shirt and tie so I look presentable again. As she does, I focus on taking my horniness from sixty to zero. Not an easy task when she’s still touching me.

  “How about this, I’ll try to make an appointment to see the house this evening. While I’m out, you get out and enjoy the weather,” I tell her, hoping it will lift her spirits and mine. I rub her arms as she ponders the offer.

  “Steph texted earlier. She wants to go to the Square and soak up some sun. I guess I could join her and edit my paper there.”

  “Or you can go and pretend to edit while dreaming about me.” I grin.

  “That’s my life. Dreaming of you.” She placates me with a smile and gives me a quick kiss but the energy that surged between us a few moments ago has been zapped by our disappointment. I pick up my bag and keys and head for the door, but I turn and find she’s watching me like I’m now watching her. I’m wishing we could blow off everything and spend a lazy day tangled in the sheets.

  “Tomorrow. We have tomorrow,” she says, and I know she’s thinking the same thing.

  With our innate connection, and at the sight of her wearing a messy bun and pajamas, I’m intoxicated with bliss. I’m so in love with this woman, and I can’t wait to show her how much. I already have the ring, an art deco antique with a sapphire and diamonds she admired at a store on vacation in Miami. I snuck out to buy it without her knowing. For a year it’s been hidden in a coffee mug from Mr. Moon’s that she refuses to use because it’s in the shape of a boob.

  She graduates in a week, and I planned to propose to her at our spot in Lincoln Park. But if she loves this house and we buy it, maybe I’ll propose there. What better way to start a life together, at the exact place where we’ll build a lifetime of memories? With kids, and family, and fights and make-up sex, and growing old together. All of a sudden I love that house too for what it represents—a future with the only person in the world for me.

  “I have a surprise for you—when you get home,” she says.

  “I’m intrigued. Any hints?” I slip my bag over my shoulder.

  “Only that it has to do with how much I love you.”

  “I love you more.” I wink.

  I meet Linden and the California partners at the Four Season’s bar. Sometimes the best business relationships are forged in a relaxed setting. Today’s no exception, and by the time the meeting concludes, there’s a promise by both parties to execute preliminary papers so we can hire an architecture firm to develop land studies. And what’s even better? There’s an open house at the little white house today. Everything’s falling into place.

  When I step outside, the perfect blue sky, white puffy clouds, and the prospect of spending the rest of the weekend with Cait further raise my mood. I can’t wait to tell her about my meeting. I slip out my phone and text her.

  ME: Sorry I’m late. B there soon. <3

  The response bubbles bounce for a few seconds but disappear. Strange, but no matter, she’s only a few blocks away.

  That’s when I hear an unusual noise. Waiting for a crosswalk light to switch, I swing my head to the sound of tin snapping. The pop, pop, pop reminds me of the fireworks they set off at Navy Pier. The explosions ring in a cacophony with the high-rise buildings downtown creating a long-reaching echoing effect. I spin, searching to place the noise, but the troubling issue is they don’t set off fireworks in the middle of the day.

  The light changes, and I walk a little faster in the direction of the park. Even though the sounds are in the distance, my heart begins to beat rapid-time when sirens wail. But the snapping sounds have not stopped. In fact, the closer I walk to campus, the louder the popping noises become. A sense of anxiety consumes me.

  When I’m a block away, my heart seizes so tight in my chest it might explode, because I realize with horror what the sound is. A bang. Another. Then a ripple of shots from a gun in prompt succession. There are so many I can’t count. And they’re all coming from the direction of the Northwalton campus.

  My throat clenches as fury clouds my mind, and I sprint toward the Square. My dress shoes slap the concrete. My legs reach far, my arms pump and swing wide, and I can feel every muscle tearing along with the threads in my suit for pushing them beyond the brink. My gaze is focused and strained on the campus coming into view, and there’s only one person on my mind—Cait. Cait. Cait.

  CHAPTER 40

  Chaos. A floodgate of people rush toward me. Their screams are uneven and filled with horror. I dodge around the frantic, who are escaping the scene and fight to move upstream, but everything passes in slow motion. Sharp shoulders jab into my side, forcing me to move back two steps when I just took three. But I find a way through, wheedling and digging myself between the crowd as I check their faces, desperate to find Cait.

  I round the corner and the view opens from the shady canyon of the tall buildings to bright May sunlight. The large park at University Square is normally peaceful with students studying or sunning. Today it’s the scene of nightmares.

  As people take cover in the surrounding stores and building lobbies, the gunshots continue, seemingly fired from every direction and from every building. Sirens scream. Several police officers run past with weapons drawn, waving away bystanders. They’re instructing us to take cover.

  Ignoring their pleas, I run toward what seems to be the main target—the park. I must find her. I must protect her.

  “Cait!” I’m not even breathing. I’m a machine programmed to do one thing. When I step on the grass, the sun slaps my face, making me wince at the blinding light. My gaze swings, scouring the area. It’s desolate and scattered with abandoned items, twisted blankets, flipped coolers, backpacks, and books.

  “Cait!” I’ve screamed so many times my throat burns. Adrenaline thrusts me forward. Panic-stricken, I’m doing the unthinkable and passing by the fallen, who are laid out on the g
rass. I see in their mortal wounds and glassed-over eyes they’re already gone. If I could just help someone, anyone. As soon as I think it, that’s when I hear the low voice.

  “Help.”

  I halt and spin to find the weakened source. It’s one of the only voices that could cut through my crazed mind. My head whips when I hear it again, and I rush to her side. When I reach her, she’s curled on her side and holding her chest. I plummet to my knees.

  “Steph?” Her name chokes in my throat. I roll her over and find her eyes frightened and wide. Her face is pale. A flowering spot of blood pools the fabric of her T-shirt near her chest. I don’t think. I act, doing what I’ve seen in movies. I scurry out of my jacket and press the fabric onto her wound. She cries in pain, and I grit my teeth, feeling it with her. But what I’m feeling is my own heart breaking for seeing her like this.

  “Safe?” I crouch closer when her voice cracks with the question. I glance around, unsure. When I listen, the gunshots have stopped. Or someone has stopped the shooter. I scoop her into my arms with her cradled at my chest, rise to my feet, and run. Steph’s legs and head bob with her laid out in my grasp. Behind the shelter of two cars on a nearby street, I settle her onto the blacktop.

  “You’re going to be okay.” I lean over her, returning my attention to her wound, but the blood rapidly soaks through the fabric of the jacket. The slickness coats my gripped fingers.

  “Don’t leave,” she says. There are gurgles in her voice. And when she can’t clear them from her throat, she coughs blood. It leaks from the corner of her mouth, and I try not to react. I must remain strong. Her hand reaches out to clench my sleeve.

  “Help!” I throw my head back and yell, seeking anyone who can hear. When no one responds, I fold over and hold her, willing her to live and willing Cait to be safe.