Cravings of the Heart (Trials of Fear Book 5)

by Nicky James

  Feathery blond hair fell into his eyes, blocking most of his face as he hunched over the table, drawing in a sketchbook. The memory of glacial blue eyes and pale, milky skin had imprinted themselves into my mind so completely, I didn’t need to see his whole face to know what was hidden. The gentle curve of full lips, the straight bridge of his elegant nose, the hard angles of his cheekbones and jaw, the dusting of near-invisible freckles, and his tiny frame that looked desperately in need of a burger.

  Little bratty Arden McMillan.

  He was definitely not the ten-year-old kid I remembered.

  The impulse to go up to him and ask how he was doing since his fall was stronger than I expected. Strong enough I took two steps in his direction before changing my mind. It was stupid. I didn’t know him anymore. He was simply Arden, Phoenix’s little brother. A name no different than all the other siblings Phoenix had who I hadn’t seen in ten years.

  But for some reason, a current stronger than anything I’d felt before made me want to know everything about him. What was he sketching? How was he doing? Did he remember all those times I’d told Phoenix to chill out and just let him linger in the distance and hang out because he wasn’t hurting anybody? He was curious and desperate to be around us back then. Cute, in a ten-year-old boyish sort of way.

  Now, he was cute in a holy crap when did you grow up and become a man sort of way. I couldn’t peel my eyes away.

  However, for all I knew, Arden followed his family’s religious beliefs and wouldn’t want anything to do with me. He might even have equally harsh things to say to me if he’d learned from his parents or Phoenix I was gay. Maybe my having dealt with his emergency call in the first place was something he’d rather forget.

  The flutter in my belly and the way my pulse kicked up simply from seeing him again was unacceptable. I shoved it all away into a tight little box and rattled those unwelcomed thoughts from my head. He was a McMillan. Phoenix may have accepted me, but the rest of them were too stuck in their ways to be kind.

  Before Mickey could bitch me out for dragging my feet, I let it rest and left the cafeteria.

  * * *

  I stirred the Arroz con Pollo in the giant skillet and turned down the temperature as I thumbed through my contacts, bringing up my mother’s number. I hated calling her, but I hated surprising her more by showing up at her door unannounced.

  It rang eight times before Mom answered, her voice loud enough in my ear, I pulled the phone back a fraction.

  “Can you hear me, Ma?”

  “Iggy?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Hello? Is someone there?”

  “Turn your phone up a bit, Ma.” I enunciated each word, speaking loudly and as clearly as possible then waited.

  After a bit of shuffling and muffled background noise, she spoke again. “Hello?”

  “Can you hear me?”

  “Iggy! That’s better. Damn thing was turned down too low.”

  “I’m making dinner, and I’m going to bring you some. Don’t cook tonight, okay?”

  “You’re making dinner?”

  “Yes. For you and me. I’ll be over in a bit. It’s Law and Order night.”

  “In a bit?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you making?”

  “Just something simple. Arroz con Pollo.” I scraped a small spoonful from the skillet and tasted it. The rice was still a bit undercooked. “Should be ready in about ten or fifteen minutes then I’ll pack it up and come, okay?”

  “Thank you, mijo. You’re a good boy. It’s Law and Order night, you know?”

  I chuckled. Some days I’d swear her hearing was getting even worse. “I know, Ma. That’s what I said. I’ll stay, and we can watch it together. Do you need me to grab anything from the store?”

  “I have everything I need, just bring yourself.”

  I smiled, warmed hearing my mother’s soft, musical tone. Her accented English wrapped around me like a warm hug.

  “Okay, be there soon.”

  We hung up, and I searched the cupboards for a large Tupperware container to transport our dinner. Choosing one large enough to fit all the food I’d made, I set it on the counter just as my phone rang. I figured my mother forgot to say something, so I snagged it and checked the screen.

  It was Phoenix.

  “Hey, parce, wassup?”

  “What’s up with you? It’s Friday night, man. Come over and hang out.”

  I flicked the burner off and balanced my phone against my ear while I transferred the food into the container.

  “No can do. Gonna go see Mama tonight. I’ve been working my ass off the past two weeks, and I haven’t been able to go over and check on her enough.”

  “Come after?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, kinda need to talk to you about something.”

  “That sounds ominous.” I snapped the lid in place and rested the dirty skillet in the sink. “Is it bad?”

  Phoenix chuckled. “Depends on your perspective.”

  “Not helping, man. Still sitting in the dark over here.”

  “Just come over whenever you’re done with Ma, okay?”

  I scrubbed a hand over my buzzed hair and glanced at the clock. “This can’t wait? I’ve had a killer week. I’m tired.”

  “It can’t wait. I’ll have a cold beer ready for ya, and I’ll try to keep it short.”

  “All right. Probably be around ten. I’ll be dedicated until Law and Order is finished. Ma likes watching that together.”

  “No problem.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “We’ll talk later. It’s cool, man. No worries.”

  “All right. Later.”

  We hung up, and I closed my eyes for a solid minute, refocusing my energy with deep breathing. I was tired, and being tired often triggered sensations of being overwhelmed. It wasn’t a good feeling, and I waited until the pressure in my head and the tightness in my chest loosened. I liked being busy, but lately, I’d been overdoing myself. Mickey was right, the pair of us were going to die single and alone someday.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, I kicked into gear and headed out the door to my mother’s.

  “Ma!” I called once I’d kicked my shoes off on the mat near the kitchen door.

  Her house was all one story and small, bare of unnecessary furnishings and obstacles. She’d moved in four years ago after my father left. Her deteriorating condition made living on her own difficult, but she’d adamantly refused to consider assisted living houses or moving in with me, no matter how many times I made the offer. She claimed she was too young and would figure this new life out on her own. Adaptation, like living in her more suitable, single story home were acceptable enough in her mind.

  “Mom,” I called louder, leaving the Tupperware container on the counter as I headed toward the living room. She startled easily, so I made sure to announce my arrival multiple times to ensure she knew I was there.

  Mom had a form of Usher syndrome which had caused degeneration in both her hearing and vision. She was legally blind and suffered from significant hearing loss that hearing aids could only correct to a degree. Her symptoms were late onset and didn’t appear until she was in her early twenties.

  I was a baby at the time, and Dad thought he could manage. He’d made a good run at it, but decided he was too young to have such a severely disabled wife and split three days after I turned twenty-five.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever find it in my heart to forgive or understand his decision. So it was just the two of us.

  “Iggy?”

  I poked my head around the corner of the living room, finding my mother busy at her art table, smoothing clay into a bowl shape, her ear cocked to one side.

  “Hi, Ma. You look busy,” I said as I approached, talk-shouting so she’d hear me.

  I placed a hand on her shoulder, letting her know where I was, and she leaned her face against it with a smile. Once she’d acknowledged our conne
ction, I leaned in and kissed her cheek.

  “What’s that you said?”

  “I said you look busy.”

  If she wasn’t working clay, she was knitting, or weaving, anything to keep her mind and hands busy. Watching television was becoming more frustrating since she had to turn the volume to maximum levels to follow along. I’d considered looking into adaptions but hadn’t found the time. She liked her shows, and I hated seeing her struggle.

  “I brought dinner. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes. Starving. Let me wash up.”

  I gave her space when she pushed back from her small table. Ma’s dark hair was braided and hung down the middle of her back. At fifty-one, it only carried a few random wisps of silver. We shared the same amber eyes and dark olive skin tone, the same sharp nose and wide smile. My height and build were all from my father. Ma was a petite woman who barely graced five foot four.

  Once standing, she retrieved a towel from the table and wiped her hands before feeling for her cane. I didn’t help; I knew better.

  “I’ll prepare a few plates while you wash.”

  I’d learned not to make too many offers to do things for my mother. Her determination to remain independent was fierce. Apart from cooking meals on occasion and offering to grab groceries when I went to the store, my mother worked through all the bumps in her daily life with minimal help. She’d learned her living space and maneuvered around just fine on her own.

  Outings were a different story. I’d taken responsibility for ensuring she got to and from her appointments and to church every Sunday. On occasion, she liked to go out shopping or walk the trails by the waterfront. I did what I could to make sure she lived a happy, active enough life and wasn’t fully housebound.

  By the time I’d made up our plates, Mom had found her way to the small dining table. She edged her chair out with precision and crawled her fingers across the table’s surface until she located her plate. I knew enough to place her cutlery and drinking glass in the exact same position every time. She relied on that structure more than anyone I knew.

  “Cómo están las cosas?”

  “Things are good, Mama. Work has been busy. Picking up too much overtime. I’m tired.”

  “You’re overworked,” she continued in her native Spanish tongue despite my answering in English.

  I chuckled. “I know. Gotta pay the bills.”

  “And what about taking time for you? You’re just a kid. You should be out there dating, not taking care of your mama on a Friday night.”

  I smiled as I settled on a chair on the other side of the table and started eating. “I like visiting you. Besides, I’m going out tonight after Law and Order. Happy?”

  “With who? A date?”

  “Not a date. Just grabbing a beer at a buddy’s place.”

  Mama carried a huge grudge against the McMillan clan. They’d hurt her baby boy, and she wouldn’t forgive them. She blamed Phoenix just as much as she blamed his parents for their ignorant words way back when. Phoenix didn’t stand up for me when the shit hit the fan, and that was unforgivable in her eyes. He was supposed to be my friend, she’d said. But we were nineteen at the time.

  I understood where Phoenix was coming from and why he’d thrown our friendship in the closet, but Mama refused to be swayed. So, as much as I hated deceiving my mother, when it came to Phoenix, I glazed over details.

  “I wish you’d find a nice boy to date. You have too kind of a heart to not share your love with someone.”

  I chuckled as I finished the last bite of my meal. “Can’t force that stuff. Besides, I’m not sure I have the energy or the time to start from scratch again.”

  She tsked and shook her head. I’d had a lasting relationship that went belly up six months ago, and the recovery had been rough. The one before it had ended in a catastrophe as well. It made me leery of the whole dating process. My trust in men had been ruined, and I wasn’t one to simply fuck around for fun.

  I knew Ma just wanted me happy.

  I pushed my plate aside while my mother finished her meal. It was painful to watch.

  She moved her fork around her plate before bringing it to her mouth, empty of any food. When she tasted the bare fork, she repeated the task again with no better results. I itched to help but clutched my hands in my lap instead, knowing better than to offer.

  After another ten minutes of watching my mother search blindly for her food and finishing her meal, I cleared our dishes. We settled in the living room with after-dinner coffees and chatted while we waited for my mother’s program to start. I caught her up on my work while she told me all about the mini projects she’d started recently.

  She talked excitedly about a phone call she’d received earlier in the week from her sister back in Colombia. I was glad they kept in touch after all these years. My mother had expressed sadness more than once about leaving home so young and following my dad when he wanted to immigrate to Canada. They’d both been barely out of their teens.

  Once Law and Order blasted from the television, loud enough the neighbors would be up to date on the episode, my eyes could barely stay open. My long day caught up with me, and I regretted telling Phoenix I’d visit that evening. Since my mother wouldn’t know the difference, I rested my eyes while I considered my weekend.

  I volunteered at a soup kitchen most Saturday mornings, tried to make it to a kickboxing group on Saturday nights when I could, took Ma to church Sunday mornings and—if I was feeling up to it—went to a support group in the afternoons for families with loved ones who were deaf and blind.

  I really didn’t leave any time for myself. No wonder I was tired.

  By the time I said goodbye to Ma and drove across town to Phoenix’s, I was beat and couldn’t stop yawning. Whatever his reasoning for needing me there, I hoped it was quick. My bed was calling.

  “Hey,” Phoenix exclaimed as he yanked the door open, beaming with a face-splitting smile. He scanned me and frowned. “You look whipped.”

  “I told you I was too tired for this tonight. One beer and I’m out. I can barely stand upright right now. I spent an hour at the gym before my shift, worked ten straight, cooked, and visited Ma. And for the record, I slept like shit last night.” Phoenix let me in, and I followed him to his kitchen. “What was so important it couldn’t wait another day?”

  Phoenix handed me a beer and encouraged me back into his living room where some stand-up comedian worked through his routine on the TV. The boxed laughter timed perfectly with the end of his segment just as Phoenix flipped it off and dropped onto the couch.

  “So, any chance you’re available to come to a wedding in two weeks?”

  I made myself comfortable on the recliner and quirked a brow. “What do you mean? We talked about this and agreed it was a very bad idea.”

  “Change of plans.”

  “Not following.”

  Phoenix drew a deep breath and tipped his head back before letting it out, studying the ceiling. “It’s gonna be a busy day. The likelihood is, my parents won’t even know you’re there. They haven’t seen you in years. Besides, if they do recognize you, they won’t say shit. Not anymore. I didn’t think it through, and I want you there. Can you come?”

  Something in his body language told a different story, and I studied him, wondering what he wasn’t saying.

  “Why the change of heart? We both know your parents are set in their ways. If they discover me there not only do I put myself in the line of fire but you risk some deep shit too just because we’ve kept in touch. Nothing’s changed with them, and I’m fine not going. In fact, I’d rather not ruin your big day just by showing up. They’ll pitch a fit if they see me and you know it.”

  Phoenix rocked his head to the side and grimaced. “They won’t.”

  “And how are you so sure?”

  Phoenix licked his lips and hedged before blowing out a breath.

  “Because Arden came out a year ago. Yeah, I never told you, and no, my parents don’t agree with
any of it, but for his sake, they’ve swallowed their opinions. Or mostly. The worst that will happen is you’ll get dirty looks. I’ll probably get lectured until my ears bleed, but I can handle it. Besides, I’ll be skipping out for a long honeymoon after anyway. I should have thought of it sooner. I mean, I did, but… I know I’m still asking you to put yourself out there, but they wouldn’t dare become vocal with you. Not anymore. Not like before. It would risk hurting Arden, and they tiptoe around him. Believe me.”

  My beer grew heavy in my hand as I stared at Phoenix, processing his words. Groggy with exhaustion, I didn’t think I understood correctly. Arden was gay? Little Arden who I rescued at the college two weeks ago whose glacial blue eyes had imprinted themselves into my mind? Arden whose presence at the college this afternoon had tugged at me in a way I couldn’t understand and made my heart skip a funny beat.

  He’d come out a year ago?

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me your brother is gay?”

  Phoenix shrugged and tipped his beer to his mouth. “Never thought it was important.”

  “Not important? In your family! Jesus, Phoenix. Are you blind?”

  Of course he wouldn’t think it was important. It wasn’t Phoenix who’d suffered the abusive words and cruel threats from his parents. He’d only endured the residual effects of being my friend. That wasn’t the same. He didn’t understand how cruel society could be if they wanted to. How cruel a gay person’s family could be if they wanted to be. I couldn’t imagine for a second how suffocating it would feel having parents like his and making the decision to come out regardless of the consequences.

  Arden must have known what he was doing, but why take that risk? I didn’t condone a lifetime of closet living, but in his situation, it would have been understandable.

  “Does he still live at home?” I asked when Phoenix continued to blink in confusion.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Wow! Just… Wow.” I set my beer down and rubbed a hand over my head. “So out of the blue, you decide it would be safe for me to come to your wedding? You said he came out a year ago, so this isn’t new information for you. Why, two weeks before the event, are you suddenly inviting me?”