Control

by Laura Marie Altom

  “You think?” Her waterworks started again, which only made me feel like shit. I’d never met anyone like her. Soft, yet hard. Shy, yet forward. She was a perfect study in contradictions, and I’d somehow contracted her like a beautiful disease. I barely knew her, yet she’d wound her way under my skin.

  She was shivering, and I felt powerless to help. Clearly, she didn’t want to be touched. She didn’t take handouts, so I couldn’t even drag her down to the nearby Wal-Mart to buy her a coat.

  I sighed.

  The sleet fell hard enough to hit my face and forearms like icy bullets. “This is stupid. Come back inside. If it makes you feel better, you can reimburse me for your tea.”

  “With tax?”

  “Tax and interest.” Just get your sweet ass inside. Because it had been forever since I’d taken no for an answer, and I sure as hell didn’t plan on starting up again now.

  4

  Ella

  Only when he wasn’t watching me did I dare watch him.

  Even with his crooked nose, Liam was a beautiful dream of a man. He’d brought me cantaloupe from the buffet, and as promised, combined with my tea and Saltines, I did feel better. “Why?”

  He looked up from his syrup-and-butter-coated Belgian waffle. “Why, what?”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  He set down his fork. “Remember how we talked about you no longer apologizing?”

  Swallowing the ball of nerves that had wadded at the back of my throat, I nodded, then pointed to my fruit. “You told me about your dad’s cantaloupe cure, but then said you’d never tried it. I was just wondering why.”

  “Sure…It’s like this…” Before completing his answer, he devoured what had to have been his tenth slice of bacon. I’d never seen anyone eat as much as him, or with such abandon. Where was the guy who preferred gourmet mustard? How did he mesh with this new, simpler man who’d practically taken a swim in Always Save syrup before slathering toast with a cheap, plastic packet of jam? More than anything, I wanted to solve his riddles. I wanted to sweep that constantly falling chunk of hair from blocking his left eye. “Pardon my French, but my dad was—still is, I suppose—a real son of a bitch. Meaner than a pit bull with his nuts caught in a pair of pliers.”

  I winced, covering my discomfort by rolling a sugar packet. “Did he hit you or your mom?”

  “Nah, nothing like that. He was too much of a coward to ever actually hit someone. Well—he did once, but typically, passive aggression was his game. Cynical to his core, and always felt like the world was out to get him. Nothing I ever did was good enough—he’d always deliver a carefully constructed speech about ways I should’ve done whatever, insinuating he was always the better man for the job. One of my chores was taking out the trash, and one afternoon—I was probably about ten—the kitchen bin had been overfilled and the bag busted. Shit flew everywhere. Tomato sauce splattered, coffee grounds, little paper polka dots from my mom’s three-hole punch—she used to be an accountant, always organizing something. Anyway, I was standing there, looking at this mess, knowing it’d take me forever to clean, when my dad strolls in, ever-so-carefully sidestepping moldy chili that’d been stashed at the back of the fridge. He pats me on my back and says”—Liam lowered his tone to a sing-song baritone—“ ‘Good job, Ace. Next time, try double-bagging.’ Dad’s next trick of that afternoon had been to kick an empty can of stewed tomatoes so hard it dented the side of Mom’s new fridge. Last time I was there, that damned thing was still in the house.” He stared out the window at the sleet that had turned to snow.

  I sipped my tea. How many times had Blaine corrected me on everything from how I folded his underwear to the way I’d styled my hair?

  From out of nowhere, Liam half-laughed. “That probably sounded stupid. Looking back, I guess it wasn’t that big of a deal. What stuck with me was the fact that here I was, just a kid, and I’d have given anything for him to instead of making some stupid-ass comment that didn’t even make sense—like how would I have double-bagged when the bag already broke on the way out of the bin—for him to just kneel down and help, you know?” His pinched smile was so terribly self-conscious and guarded, he couldn’t even look at me.

  I smiled back.

  Someone who has never been abused might not have understood, but I got it. Sometimes, all you could do when a situation was out of your control was slow down, force a deep breath and try better next time to keep yourself ahead of the game. Too many times to count, I’d smiled on the outside, while screaming inside.

  “Christ…” He shook his head before downing another strip of bacon. “I don’t even know where that came from, but to answer your question, I never tried Dad’s hangover cure, because it was his. As a general rule, as soon as I left that house, whatever he did, I did the opposite.”

  My heart went out to that little boy. I ached for him. I ached for Liam, and wanted to ease my fingers between his, assuring him everything would be okay, but to tell someone that, considering how screwed up my own life was, would be seriously lame.

  And so I pressed my warm palm to the cool laminate table to keep from sliding my hand any closer. Silly me, though. Somewhere in my plan to not touch him, I’d forgotten the chemistry that practically arced between us. The splayed fingers of our respective hands were a good three or four inches away, but it didn’t matter. I still felt him as clearly as I had when falling asleep with my cheek pressed to his back.

  His gaze met and locked with mine, and this time, I didn’t look away. “Your dad reminds me of someone I used to know.”

  “Yeah?”

  I nodded. “But I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “Fair enough. What do you want to do?”

  “The truth?” Snow fell in giant, topsy-turvy gumballs that made me dizzy to watch if I stared too hard. Along with the steamed windows and cozy breakfast smells, it reminded me of being a kid again—home for a rare snow day.

  “Always.”

  I couldn’t help but grin. He was just that strangely beautiful. I was just that punch-drunk on finding someone who understood even a fraction of what I’d spent the past few years hiding. “I want to build a snowman.”

  “Nice.” He parted his lips in the kind of slow, sexy smile that not only produced a dimple in his right cheek that I somehow hadn’t before noticed, but warmed me until that Frisbee once again soared. “Only, one problem.”

  “What?” My Frisbee clattered onto ugly gravel.

  “I’m wearing a T-shirt and you’re in hooker heels.”

  5

  Liam

  I paid the bill, and this time when we left the restaurant, the girl who’d somehow dredged up things inside me no one else ever had still wore her smile.

  Outside, snow landed on her head, settling a white crown atop the long, dark fall.

  In my whole life, I’d never seen a more intoxicating creature. Desire struck swift and hard with an urgency I didn’t understand. I had to have her—not just in the physical sense, but in every sense. I wanted to possess her like a rare porcelain doll. I wanted to keep her safe in a custom glass case I’d set high atop a shelf, taking her out only sparingly, so as not to dull her polish. And that was wrong. All of it.

  It didn’t matter.

  For now, I went with the compulsion to tuck her inside, the way I would have nestled a business card securely in my wallet.

  I held out my hand to help her totter in her ridiculous shoes across the motel’s already snow-packed lot. I didn’t part my fingers—that would have felt too intimate. Instead, I presented her my clasped hand. It was safer. For us both. Above all, she needed to know me as a man she could trust.

  Holding hands, we ran the rest of the way, until she tripped, unwittingly presenting me with the opportunity to scoop her into my arms. Once on the covered walkway, I set her to her feet while I fished the key card from my front pocket. I already missed her warmth.

  Her laugh shone in me and through me like a sun-fueled ray.

  I
felt like a dope, but I literally couldn’t stop staring.

  “You have…” She tentatively reached up to brush snow from my head. I clasped her fingers and slowly dragged them down, desperate to kiss them, suck them and so much more. “Snow in your hair.”

  “So do you. It’s pretty.”

  Just like that, she skittered away. “Th-thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” At the most, she’d traveled only a foot or two, but I wanted her closer. Which meant—judging by her habit of retreating whenever I got too close—that it was once again time to give her space.

  With the door now open, I gestured for her to lead the way into what daylight revealed to be a shabby room. I instinctively wanted more for her, but considering my circumstances, that would have to wait.

  She tucked her snow-damp hair behind her ears. “I know I said we should build a snowman, but now…it sounds silly.” She thumbed toward the door I’d just closed. “I should probably just go.”

  “Stay.”

  “I have work this afternoon.”

  “Call in sick.”

  “I need the money.”

  I need you.

  With every part of my being, I didn’t want to let her go, but what else could I do? Back in my world, everything would be different, but here? I literally had no game—only being with her wasn’t a game, but as essential as air.

  “Do you mind if I use the phone? It’s a local call.”

  “Sure. Go ahead.” The camaraderie bubble between us had burst. We were strangers again. And I hated it.

  While talking, she turned away from me, cupping the mouthpiece of the old-school phone. “Hey…Yeah, it’s me…I know, I’m sorry. Things happened, and…No, nothing like that. Get your mind out of the gutter…Okay, well, I’m at the Shamrock Inn. Room 113.” After a few minutes’ more small talk, she hung up.

  To me, she said, “That was my friend, Willow. We work together. She was with me last night at the club.”

  “Known her a long time?”

  “Yes.” Her darting gaze told a different story. But why would she lie?

  “Guess I should give this back.” She took off my shirt and handed it to me. I didn’t want it but took it anyway, because it was still warm and smelled of her. Clean and simple and good. “Thank you for letting me use it—and your PJs.”

  “My pleasure.” I gave her a goofy bow, and then wanted to kick myself. That sort of flirty crap wasn’t me, but then around her, I wasn’t even sure who I was. My whole identity felt off-kilter. Was it the situation or the woman or both making me nuts?

  She hovered at the window, peeking through the part in the rubber-backed drapes, alternating which foot she stood on. Her shoes were ridiculous. Too high. Ugly as shit and plastic. But I couldn’t deny that what they did for her calves, thighs and ass made me crave very bad—and very fun—things.

  “I want to see you again,” I blurted, hating myself for this sudden streak of what I could only label as desperation.

  “Okay…” She’d turned to me, resting her chin on her raised bare shoulder. Her gaze was sleepy and hooded, her pouty lips full and lipstick stained. More than anything I’d ever wanted in my whole damned life, I craved cupping her face with my hands, then kissing her until she was breathless and dizzy and feeling branded as forever mine. Only, forever wasn’t really my style. “When?”

  To keep from touching her, to hide my erection, I crammed my hands in my pockets. “Want me to come see you at work? It’s a short walk.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll come here.”

  “Sure. Okay.” What I wanted to say was, Fuck work. Stay and play with me.

  From outside, an engine revved, then came a honk.

  Ella was back to peering out the window. “That’s my friend. Thanks again for breakfast. I’ll give you your money tonight.”

  “Cool. See you then.”

  With her gone, I felt bereft.

  I handled a few emails. Rubbed one out in the shower. Ate a Snickers. Tried sleeping. But mostly, I wanted her.

  6

  Julie

  “What the hell, Julie? You scared me half to death.”

  “Nice to see you, too.” I settled into Willow’s car, fastening the seat belt before adjusting a heater vent to blow in my face. The pretty snow had transitioned back to ugly sleet, and I wasn’t just cold, but frozen. Like a once dead girl who’d thawed for spring, only to refreeze and turn gray from frost.

  I covered my face with my hands. What had just happened?

  I couldn’t stop shaking.

  “Fuck me…” Willow blasted the heat higher. “Are you coming down from a bad trip?”

  “N-no.” I wish my reaction to time spent with Liam could be blamed on something as insignificant as drugs. “J-just cold.”

  Her sideways glare told me she wasn’t buying my explanation.

  Whatever. She had no idea what I’d just been through. How deeply my few hours with Liam had moved me. I wanted so badly to step out of the shadows and into the light, but the potential consequences of opening myself up, only to once again be crushed, could be catastrophic.

  I leaned my head against the seat back and closed my eyes, letting the heat wrap around me and flow through me. Yesterday afternoon, I’d envisioned myself as a dried black rose, my petals crumpling, falling off in the slightest breeze. Now, deep veins of ruby tones had vanquished the black. The dryness had been soothed by Liam’s conversational balm. He made me want to live again, to play and sing and twirl in the snow, holding out my arms, sticking out my tongue to let the flakes melt atop it. But was any of that real?

  “You’re acting strange,” Willow noted. “Did you get roofied?”

  My eyes shot open. “Are you kidding me?”

  “What? You’re acting really weird. Still drunk?”

  “I’m good.” Willow pulled in front of my apartment building. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “You’re welcome.” She fished in the backseat for a Wal-Mart sack. “Here’s your clothes and purse and stuff.”

  “Thanks.”

  She crushed me in a hug. “I really am glad you’re okay. Next time you decide to hook up, let me know.”

  “I will.”

  “Promise?”

  I nodded.

  —

  Instead of being the haven it normally was, my apartment felt dark and depressing.

  The couple who shared my back wall were fighting, and the baby above me cried.

  I set the sack with my clothes and purse on the kitchen counter.

  I turned up the heat.

  The bulb in my favorite thrift-store lamp had burned out, so I replaced it and turned it on. The soft, reassuring glow made the place look better, enabling me to carry on with my fantasy that the stained, brown sculptured carpet was nice—not because it was, but because here, I was safe. Here, with the curtains drawn, Blaine could never find me, hurt me, remind me that I was nothing more than a piece of trash under his control.

  My time with Liam had been a much-needed vacation, but with him, I’d let my guard down and it couldn’t happen again. Because he was a drifter, in town only long enough for his car to be repaired, I’d give myself one more night with him, but that was it. I needed to buckle down and focus on what was important—banking enough coin to move farther away from my own personal devil.

  Distance and time were my only friends.

  I showered, ate a bologna sandwich, then took a nap, setting my alarm for one thirty since I had to be at work by two.

  —

  “You seem antsy.” After a late-afternoon rush, Willow wiped down the snack bar’s rear counter. With Halloween just hours in the past, the Christmas frenzy had already set in. As far as the corporate shopping behemoth was concerned, Thanksgiving had been reduced to an inconvenient holiday that warranted only a single table display loaded with turkey platters, swirling-leaf plastic tablecloths and Pilgrim napkins. Our booths were filled with earphone-wearing husbands who were trying to listen to the Raz
orback/Alabama game while corralling hyper kids.

  I looked up from switching out the nacho cheese. “I’m good. Just thinking about tonight.”

  “Like what you’re going to wear?”

  I scraped the sides of the jumbo can. “More like I should probably just not go.”

  “Why?” My friend couldn’t have looked more shocked than if I’d announced Santa was a swinger.

  “This just isn’t a good time. I have to open tomorrow.” I looked like crap, and I didn’t even own makeup. What if Liam took one look at the real me and wouldn’t even let me in his room? I’d already returned Willow’s dress, and the only things I owned were practical. Jeans, T-shirts and sweaters. I’d dragged my hair back into a messy ponytail and shoved my feet into scuff-toed black Converse sneakers. True, this was the way he’d seen me when we first met, but for all I knew, maybe at the bar he hadn’t even recognized me as the same girl. Regardless, I needed to stop kidding myself. Not only were my emotional and all-too-real scars a bitch to deal with, but the full truth was that I wanted Liam more than it was safe to want a man.

  “Bullshit. As long as I’ve known you, Julie, this is the first time you’ve ever shown any interest in a guy. You have to go.”

  “No.” Hearing my false name roll off her tongue rang warning bells. Why had I told Liam my real name? Stupid. That’s what I was. Just plain stupid.

  But then the whole issue was taken out of my hands when I caught him watching me from over by the cart corral. He wore jeans and his red flannel shirt. That mischievous lock of hair had fallen back over his left eye. His cautious smile made me wonder if he’d been equally shaken by our encounter. He held up his hand in a half-wave, almost as if to say, Hi. I see you. But only if you want to see me.

  “Holy shit…” Willow stood alongside me, then bumped her hip against mine. “You didn’t tell me he looked like Ryan Reynolds on a no-shave weekend. He’s hot.”