by Jen Davis
He looked for the bruise on her arm he’d seen in the photograph. He found it, though it had faded to a pale purple now. It wrapped around her slender arm like someone had squeezed her too hard. He thought about asking her how she had gotten it, but he didn’t want to upset her.
Instead, he asked, “Would you like to go outside for a while? It’s a beautiful day.” He didn’t know how often she felt the sun on her face. Not too much, he imagined, because she eagerly accepted whenever he offered to take her out.
“Yes, but I’d like to put my flowers in my room first. I want to enjoy them after you’re gone.”
He obliged her, and they took a trip down the hall so he could carefully place them in the clear, plastic vase on her nightstand. As always, he’d slip an orderly a few bucks to add water every day to help keep them fresh. Even if she couldn’t see them, she wanted to enjoy the smell as long as she could.
“I brought some of those muffins you like too. Do you want me to leave them here, or do you want to take one outside?”
She sighed softly. “Here’s fine. I haven’t had too much of an appetite lately.”
He studied the old woman as he wheeled her out to the gazebo. She had lost weight, and she had the bruise, but she hadn’t changed much otherwise since he’d visited last month. “Are you feeling okay?”
She waved her hand in the air impatiently. “I’m old. I feel…old. I don’t feel much like talking today.”
Didn’t feel like talking? Usually, he spent his hours here listening to his grandma detail every single thing happening in the facility, from the contents of the dinner menu to which old devils had their sons smuggle them Viagra during their visits.
“You want me to go?”
Her unseeing eyes stared straight ahead as she lifted her chin toward the gentle breeze. “No. Stay a spell. I like it out here.”
They sat together in silence.
It wasn’t until about an hour later, as he wheeled her into her room, she finally spoke. “I don’t know exactly what you have to do to keep me in this place. I imagine it’s nothing pretty. Your daddy’s dealer was already using you when you were a kid. I let it happen. I let you sacrifice to take care of me. That’s my failing, my weakness. And I know you still answer to him. I hear their talk. They make their threats. I know they use me to get to you. They have, all these years.” She shook her head sadly. “But it’s almost over.”
How did she know? The hidden money, the plan to get her to the nice place in Savannah, he had never told anyone, except for the little bit he’d shared with Olivia.
“I’m dying,” she said softly.
What? “No. You’re doing great.” He sat at the foot of her twin bed. He picked up the soft, red, flannel blanket he’d bought her last Christmas and settled it on her lap.
She ran her gnarled fingers over the fabric. “You’ve got your mother’s soft heart.” Her face hardened. “It’s how they’ll break you.”
The air conditioning kicked on with a loud rumble, and the icy breeze skittered down his neck. The chilled air made him shudder, not his grandmother’s words. “No one’s going to break me.”
Grandma pulled the blanket up to her neck, and a shiver wracked her thin frame. “Only time will tell. Just don’t forget the kind of people you’re dealing with.”
He nodded sharply and left her to her cupcakes and gardenias.
The old woman could have saved her breath with her warning. No chance in hell he’d ever forget he was swimming with the sharks. The second he stopped moving, they wouldn’t hesitate to eat him alive.
Only one person in his life offered him a safe haven. Only one who he didn’t have to pretend with, lie to, or posture for.
And in her arms was the only place he wanted to be.
***
Liv
Liv stared out the window of her apartment as lightning lit the dark sky. Rain beat a steady cadence on the rooftop, tempting her to close her eyes and set the papers on her table aside. She wasn’t in the mood to grade final exams, and the last two essays she’d read were downright terrible.
For every standout student, she had two who could barely string words together into a sentence. For them to get this close to graduating, it was even more depressing. The system had failed them and soon they’d be out in the world trying to survive with only a fraction of the skills they should’ve been taught.
She rubbed her forehead, trying to dislodge the melancholy threatening to creep in. What she needed was a distraction.
She flipped on the TV and cycled through the channels. Cooking shows. Home makeovers. Nothing caught her interest, so she turned it off.
Truthfully, there was only one distraction she really wanted. But after all of Brick’s revelations the night before, would he want her to call again so soon? Would he want space, or would he think she was rejecting him over the secrets he’d finally told her?
She picked up the phone, then put it down. Then picked it up again and held it to her chest. She was about to break down and call when a giant clap of thunder shook the walls, and the room went black.
Maybe someone was trying to tell her something. She smiled ruefully and used the light on her phone to dig out two fat candles from the top shelf of the cabinet where she kept her glasses. A matchbook hid under some Post-Its inside the junk drawer.
As she lit the wicks and inhaled the vanilla scent, she let her mind drift away to her fantasies. The candles set the stage for a night of slow seduction. Soft music. Maybe they would dance together.
There would definitely be kissing.
And she’d feel the weight of his body against hers.
Lightning flashed, bathing the room in bright white, and like a specter brought to life, Brick was suddenly visible outside the window. The rain had plastered his short, dark hair to his head. His black t-shirt clung to his body and streams of water poured over his skin.
The electricity flickered back on.
Dropping the matchbook to the table, she lunged for the door and threw it open. The rain came in sideways, soaking her pink pajama shirt and shorts in seconds.
Then Brick stepped inside, closing the door, locking out the elements behind him.
“You’re soaked.” She barely recognized her own voice, deep and breathy, as it came out. She ran to the bathroom, returning with two fluffy white towels in her arms and a pair of sweatpants hanging over her shoulder. Brick hadn’t moved. She couldn’t read his expression.
She stepped forward, her hand hovering over his midsection. “May I?”
He nodded and squeezed his eyes shut as she tugged his wet t-shirt out of his jeans, lifting it up to reveal his ridged abdomen and thick, muscled chest. Dark hair covered his pecs, and she bit back the impulse to run her fingers over them. Brick hunched forward, allowing her to pull the material over his head and away from his body.
It hit the ground with a wet slap.
She dropped to her knees, unlacing his heavy black work boots, then pulling them off one at a time. He grabbed her arm, pulling her gently back to her feet. His touch made her pounding heart beat even faster. Licking her lips, she reached for the button fly of his jeans.
Inch by agonizing inch, she removed his wet pants. His impressive cock strained toward her beneath his boxer briefs. It would be easy to take him in her hand, but he was cold and wet, and he clearly had something on his mind. So, her demanding libido would have to wait.
With care, she towel-dried his hair, then ran the soft terrycloth over his left shoulder and down his arm. She gave the same attention to the right side before dragging the material across his back and leaving it hooked around the back of his neck.
Putting the second towel in his hand, she walked to the window and closed the blinds. She didn’t turn around. “Take the rest of your wet clothes off and get dry.”
Though he didn’t answer, she could hear him moving and more wet clothes hitting the floor. She counted to ten, then chanced a glance back. He had the second towel tied around h
is waist.
She handed him her brother’s sweats. “Here. You can wear these while your stuff dries.” Gathering his wet clothes off the floor, she checked all the pockets and placed his wallet, phone, keys, and a wicked-looking knife on top of the washing machine before tossing his clothes in the dryer.
She’d barely taken two steps back into the room when he spoke. “Why do you have a man’s clothes in your apartment?” His eyebrows drew down sharply at her smile.
The idea he might be jealous felt like champagne bubbles in her chest, but she didn’t tease him. He’d looked too worn down when she’d let him in the door. “My brother left them here a few weeks ago. I never got around to giving them back.”
His face relaxed, and she allowed herself the luxury of taking a long look at his chiseled body. His torso reminded her of Henry Cavill’s in the first Superman movie. Tan skin seemed to go on forever over his hard, cut stomach muscles.
And those sweatpants? They hung deliciously low on his hips, showing off a sculpted vee that disappeared beneath the drawstring waist.
She swallowed as her mouth began to water. Venturing forward, she finally allowed her fingers to drift over his broad chest. She wanted to look at him everywhere…touch him everywhere.
He growled deep in his throat, making her wonder if he knew the direction of her thoughts. Did he know how desperately she wanted to kiss him? To have him in her bed?
She tried to meet his gaze, but Brick had eyes for only one thing. Her mouth.
He stared unerringly at her lips for so long, she wondered if he’d ever close the distance between them. Then he was there, his mouth questing, his tongue darting against hers. Heat pooled in her belly as his hands splayed across her back and slid down to rest on her hips.
Finally.
Her nipples hardened as they rubbed against the cold, wet cotton of her shirt. What she really wanted—what she needed—was the connection of skin on skin. She wrenched herself away, long enough to peel her top over her head, then dove back into his arms. For a moment, she registered the heat of him, the abrasion of his chest hair against her tender breasts, but then he put his mouth on her again.
Dear God, the man knew how to kiss.
His tongue plunged in and out of her like he was making love to her mouth. He tasted faintly of chocolate and coffee, decadent and delicious. His calloused hands scratched gently along her arms, before descending to her ass and lifting her up and onto his body.
She struggled to catch her breath. Her heart jackhammered in her chest. Every nerve ending came alive with his touch.
If kissing him did this to her body, how would she survive when they made love? She desperately wanted to find out.
With her legs wrapped around his waist, she pressed closer, seeking friction against her aching core. There was little to be found. His hands, kneading her ass, and his mouth, now laving her neck with open-mouth kisses, had her panties thoroughly soaked.
Distantly, she heard a phone ringing, but whoever it was would have to wait. She only cared about the man setting her on fire from the inside out.
“Please,” she moaned. “I need you.”
He nipped gently at her ear, then slowly lowered her to the floor, her body sliding over his bulging arousal. She had never wanted any man as much as she wanted this one, this very second.
Brick reached forward and tenderly tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You have no idea how much you tempt me, Livie-mine. I’m barely holding on to my self-control.”
Gripping his hand, she pulled it to the top of her breast, close to her heart. “Stop fighting it. If you want me, take me. I’m right here.”
The phone, which had quieted momentarily, started ringing again. He tugged away from her hold and raked his hand down his face. “I’ll ruin you.” His voice was gravelly. “I lie to myself sometimes. I let myself believe I can have you and I can keep you apart from all the putrid shit in my life, but I’m being selfish.”
“No—”
“Yes. You make me feel like maybe I could be clean again, but it’s a fantasy.”
Her heart sank as he pulled further and further away. “Stay with me.”
“There is nothing I want more, but it doesn’t matter what I want. The phone you hear ringing? My boss is calling. There’s no making him wait. You don’t understand what kind of man he is. I hope you never do.” His smile held no joy. “I’m an idiot and an asshole for coming here. I’d say I’m sorry, but I won’t lie to you.”
He swiped his stuff off the washing machine and shoved it all in the pockets of Will’s sweatpants, then turned toward the door.
“Will you be back?” As many times as he’d pushed her away, was this the final straw?
He paused, turned, then closed the distance between them. His touch was soft as he ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “Not tonight. Afterward…it depends on how well I can keep the promises I make to myself to stay away. God knows I’ve tried, but seeing you—touching you—it’s like a drug. I go out there at night and do terrible things. Most of the time, I can barely look at my face in the mirror. But with you, it all goes away. It’s the only time I don’t feel like a monster.”
No monster would have protected Robby’s feelings at the bar or given advice to a strange little boy who only dreamed of one day being big.
She grabbed his arm. “Take this,” she whispered, pulling the simple braided gold band off her thumb. It fit perfectly on his pinkie. “Next time you feel like a monster, remember there’s somebody out there who knows you’re a man.” Forcing her shoulders back, she lifted her chin and let his hand go.
He blinked once slowly and turned away, grabbing his boots on the way out of her home and into the night.
Chapter 14
Liv
When her phone rang in the middle of the night, Liv’s first thought was Brick had changed his mind. It wasn’t a fully formed idea, just a wish on the edge of a dream. A reason for her smile to carry in her voice when she answered.
“Hello?”
“Liv.” The anguish rolled off Rosita in waves and her stomach sank like a stone. “She’s gone.” A sucked-in stuttered breath of air. “She’s gone.
“Carol is dead.”
***
Liv didn’t cry at the funeral. She felt too empty inside to grieve.
Thank God for summer vacation. The last thing she could do right now was face a classroom of kids. She had nothing to offer them.
The service was small. Only Rosita, Carol’s twenty-year-old daughter Elise, and a few friends from work attended. Carol’s parents had died long ago, and she had no other family. The preacher said some stuff about walking with the Almighty in the kingdom of Heaven. Not exactly Carol’s jam, but it seemed to comfort Elise.
She watched it all in stunned silence. Shock and grief turned her into an observer watching from outside her body.
It wasn’t until three weeks later, at Carol’s attorney’s office, her shock gave way to anger. Henry Beauchamp, Esquire, sat behind his large mahogany desk, facing Elise, Rosita, and Liv. The wrinkles at the sides of his eyes gave him a kindly, concerned appearance as he dropped the bomb no one saw coming.
“Thank you all for being here. I know this is a bit unorthodox, but I knew Miss Carol for a long time. She helped place my son with our family many years ago and we kept in touch.” His cadence was Old World Georgia to the core. A genteel Foghorn Leghorn. “I hate to be the bearer of this news, but this is a favor she asked of me.”
Elise laughed bitterly. “I’m pretty sure the worst news has already come and gone. What could be worse than my mama dying?”
“Of course, ma’am.” He ran a pale, wrinkled hand over his thin white hair. “What I meant was, I’m afraid I knew Miss Carol was dying. Or more directly, so did she.”
“Bullshit.” Elise rose to her feet.
“Her last bout of cancer never went into remission.” He gestured for Elise to return to her shiny leather chair, and she sat in shocked s
ilence, a pallor over her normally rich mahogany skin.
He couldn’t be right. Her head spun. “We finished our chemo at the same time. I would know if she were still getting treatment.”
“True, Miss Turner. She did stop treatment.” He swiped at his iPad and peered at the screen. “In December of last year.”
Rosita gripped the gold cross she always wore around her neck. “She wouldn’t give up. Carol wanted to live.”
The lawyer sighed, as if this conversation was harder on him than the women who loved Carol most. “Her cancer spread to her liver. The doctors could do nothing else except make her comfortable. She said she wanted to use the time she had left to live her life to the fullest.”
“The fucking list,” Elise muttered.
The Dare to Dream list.
The gut punch threatened to make her double over.
Carol’s fucking bucket list, her last hurrah at living. And the worst part? They only managed to complete two goddamn things on it before she died.
“She knew you’d be angry,” Mr. Beauchamp murmured. “But she made her choice, for good or for ill.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Carol didn’t have much in the way of material possessions. Her car, a 2015 Honda Accord, goes to her daughter Elise, along with some photo albums and home videos I have set aside in the back room. To Miss Suarez, she left the contents of her apartment: all furniture, clothing, electronics, et cetera. Miss Turner, she left you this.”
The lawyer opened his desk drawer and pulled out a black eight-by-ten frame and held it out to her. It was plastic and flimsy, feather-light in her hand. And inside, a handwritten copy of the list they’d come up with together so many months ago.
Dare to Dream
Cliff dive
Skydive
Drive a race car
Bungee jump
Scuba dive
Change Someone’s Life
Fall in Love (trust your heart)