The Rivals

by Allen , Dylan

  “What’s wrong with work people?” Regan asks, grabbing the joint which had worked its way to Dina.

  “Nothing. But they’re all so young and sheltered and so obsessed with work. I mean, I am, too. Obviously. This is like, my passion. But it’s also just a stepping stone, ya know?” She smiles sweetly. “What about you?” She cocks her head, an eager smile directed at Regan.

  I glance at Tyson and glare at him. None of what she just said matches the story he gave me when he introduced us. I look over at Celine and she shoots me one of those sweet smiles, but I don’t miss the way she can’t seem to hold my gaze.

  Who the hell is this girl?

  “Oh, I met Stone when he was ten. He stabbed my boyfriend while I was giving him a blow job and then I didn’t see him again for twenty years,” Regan announces with a smile so pleasant that it’s not until after she’s done that what she said sinks in. I turn toward Tyson, my explanation already halfway out of my mouth, “It was so long ago. I didn’t think it—"

  He slaps my shoulder, hard, “You stabbed somebody? Man, Stone. I guess that was before you took your whole do no harm oath, huh?”

  I wince, and rub my shoulder, eyeing warily, waiting for him to ask why I hadn’t mentioned any of this.

  “So, did he die?” he asks with a conspiratorial grin, and I quirk my brow at him, confused.

  “Who?”

  “The dude you stabbed.”

  I snort in surprise. “I was ten and scrawny. It was a flesh wound, right?” I try to catch Regan’s eyes. But she’s staring at Celine with barely disguised malice.

  “What was Regan like back then?” Dina nudges me and leans forward with an eager smile on her face.

  “Exactly as she is now,” I answer. Regan’s eyes flash to mine before she looks down at her lap, but she watches me under her crescent sweep of her sooty lashes.

  “She loved The Temptations and the Love Jones soundtrack. She loved to bake, loved history and politics. She was obsessed with the idea of rewriting history and living like every day might be her last.”

  “You remember all that?” Her eyes have lost the intensity they held just a moment ago and now are limpid with nostalgia.

  “I remember every second, every lesson.” I admit.

  “What was so profound that you remember?” Tyson asks, breaking the spell and saving me from myself.

  I look up at the sky, as if I have to search my memory for an answer. I don’t have to do more than blink to be back in the bakery, standing next to Regan at the marble slab kneading dough, zesting lemons, grating ginger and putting butter on everything.

  If I let myself dwell in the memory long enough, I’m sure I’ll smell the sugar and vanilla, feel the roll of sweat down my back and the ache in my forearms. I can hear her speaking the words that changed my life.

  “She told me I was perfectly made.” Saying it aloud makes my heart do something strange. I glance up and we share a smile. It’s the first time she’s smiled at me since I’ve been in Houston and that twinkle in her eye is like a door to a different time.

  I don’t know if it’s the weed or if it’s that Regan is a sorceress. Because, even with everyone watching and an entire ocean of shit between us, for the few seconds our eyes hold, we’re completely alone and back on that beach. And in that dimension, there’s only room for the truth.

  “I was in free-fall when I met you.” I say and she nods, as if remembering. “I was hanging on by a thread and so focused on surviving that I wasn’t living. And then, came you. You revolutionized the way I saw myself,” I tell Regan the simple, but powerful truth about how much she impacted my life. It’s much more than I should say, but I don’t regret it.

  While I was talking, her expression morphed from discomfort, to surprise, to pained, and now, it’s all of those things together and layered with wide eyed wonder and simple, but unfiltered happiness.

  “I said that?” She asks in a whisper

  “You don’t remember?” I laugh in surprise.

  “No, God, but I want to.” My laughter dies at the plea in her voice. I don’t know what she sees when she looks at me. But when I look at her, my breath feels like it’s tangled around my heart. I feel like I’ve fallen back through time. Back to when I was sure she was going to change my life and was stupid enough to pin my hopes on it.

  “Aww,” Celine sighs and claps loudly. “And then you grew up and became this man…she says and grabs my biceps. “I’m guessing you’ve got a huge appetite.”

  “Uh, I need to get dessert out of the freezer.” Regan stands. practically runs back into the house.

  Chapter 53

  Bleeding Love

  Regan

  “Did you eat my ice cream?” I stalk back out to the backyard, an empty carton of Bluebell’s Pecan Pralines ‘n Cream in one hand, my eyes fixed on the back of Tyson’s head.

  Like a shot, Remi is on his feet and rushing toward me. Kal is hot on his heels.

  Tyson’s guilty ass turns around and when he sees me, instead of begging for mercy, he grins.

  “Yeah, man, I can count on you to have Pralines ‘n Cream on deck—”

  As I get closer, and he sees the tears on my face, his smile falls away.

  “Reggie, hey, are you okay?” Remi steps in front of me and I slam into his bare chest. I cross my arms and glare up at him.

  “I am so sick of you assholes coming over here, eating all my fucking food, and then leaving me with nothing,” I bellow. Remi’s jaw goes slack and he takes a huge step backward.

  “Hey Reggie, what’s wrong?” Remi asks in a voice that’s too tender, and too patient and too pitying.

  “You left and didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t call me once in almost six months. How could you?” I ask him.

  His expression turns stricken. “Oh, Regan. I’m sorry.”

  I barely hear him before I whirl to face Tyson. “And you. This is my favorite. And you ate it all anyway. And then you left the empty carton in my freezer knowing that drives me nuts. Do you want to see me lose my shit? Will you stop hurting me if I let you see me bleed?” I shout.

  Tears blur my vision. For the first time I can ever remember, Tyson doesn’t have anything to say.

  “You think because I’m calm, I don’t have a heart?” I direct this question at all of them.

  “I do. And it is oceans deep, and right now, so empty I can hear it echo. You never think about me. You just do whatever the hell you want.” A sob wells in my chest. But I hold it.

  I will not cry in front of these people.

  No fucking way.

  I lift my chin. “I’m going to bed. You can stay as long as you’d like. But clean the fuck up before you leave.”

  As I turn to leave, my gaze falls on Celine. “And yes, Stone has a huge appetite. When we were in Mexico, he couldn’t stop eating my pussy.”

  Kal’s startled gasp is the last thing I hear before I close the doors behind me.

  Chapter 54

  Drunk In Love

  Stone

  Pandemonium breaks loose in the backyard. Everyone is talking at once and I’m torn between running after her and dealing with the fallout of what she said.

  “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” Tyson paces with a fist pressed to his mouth.

  “What the fuck did she mean about you eating her pussy?” Remi’s voice explodes behind me and my heart nearly stops. I turn with my hands out to block any sudden swings. “I can explain.”

  “Save that shit. I already know it all.” Tyson stops pacing and rests a hand on each hip, his head tipped skyward as if he’s searching for an answer.

  “Know what?” Remi presses, his entire body turning rigid, his shoulder tense, and his hands ball into fists, like he’s ready to swing.

  “That Stone’s the dude with his hand on Reggie’s ass in that picture,” Tyson says as if it’s common knowledge.

  “The fuck you say?” Remi’s eyes, so like his sister’s, spark black lightning right before he starts toward me
. I stand my ground, ready to do whatever. He’s got a couple of inches on me, but I can take him.

  Tyson suddenly jumps between us and to my surprise, instead of joining his brother, he puts his hands on Remi’s chest and forces him to stop. “Stop, man. Stop. Come on. It’s Stone fucking Rivers. He’s the best man I know. And he loves our sister, man.”

  Stunned. I walk over to one of the wicker armchairs surrounding the big fire pit and drop into it and look at him. My dazed mind can’t make my eyes focus, and I stare unseeingly in their direction.”How do you know that?”

  He walks to sit in the chair next to me.

  “You sent her some letters. She left them out and I was at her house one day and I saw them. I’m her little brother. It’s like…my job,” he adds the last part with a defensive uptick of his chin.

  But I’m too bewildered to be angry. I shake my head. “Why didn’t you say anything in the car, or when I called you?”

  He leans back with a sigh. “Because it was obvious that it was a secret. And I thought you’d tell me your damn self.” He slaps his thighs in annoyance,

  I glance at Celine and turn back to him, suspicion replacing my confusion.

  “So, what was all that shit about me helping you set her up?”

  He scrubs a hand through his hair, his expression half exasperation, half horror. “I was fucking with you. I thought you’d tell me at some point. I’m sorry.”

  “And tonight? This whole date thing?” I nod at Celine who’s watching us with morbid fascination.

  He groans.“Regan is the most possessive female I’ve met in my entire life. I figured seeing you with someone would get her head out of her ass. She’s been miserable. And so are you. And since you both wanted to keep your secrets, I left you to it.”

  “And you used Celine to do that? That’s messed up.”

  “Don’t cry for me Argentina,” Celine drawls. She drops her sincere, sweet smile and smirks. “I got paid for tonight. And I got to sit on your lap, handsome.” She winks.

  “Are you serious?” I turn a murderous glare on Tyson.

  He has the grace to wince. “I didn’t know Reggie was gonna get blotto and fucking cry and shit. I thought she’d maybe throw Celine out and drag you upstairs by the collar.”

  “Wait, so you’re the guy in the picture that Marcel put in the paper?” Kal asks.

  I nod.

  “So, why did Regan say it was a stranger?” She looks as perplexed as I feel.

  “Oooh, ooh, pick me,” Tyson says in a high-pitched voice waving his hand like an eager school child.

  No one laughs.

  Remi walks over and smacks him on the back of the head. “Start talking, Ty. Now.”

  He rubs his head and sneers at Remi.

  Then, he cracks his knuckles as if he’s getting ready to exert himself before he starts talking. “Marcel threatened to ruin Stone in every way possible. She was worried Hayes would blame Stone when his struggle to get Kingdom’s Foundation out of the shit Thomas left it in didn't work. And she’s worried that Stone would lose his job, and she knows how much he loves his job and how hard he’s worked for it. Last but not least, she was worried what more gossip would do to her kids at school and how they’d feel knowing she’d stepped out on their dad.” Tyson pauses to take a dramatic inhalation of breath.

  I blink, dumbfounded that he knows so much. And then in realization that I know it all, too. That she told me as much that night at her house. And I was so angry, my pride was so wounded, that I didn’t hear anything but her telling me that I couldn’t handle the fire.

  “Dude, I put that shit together. If you’d get your head out of her ass for long enough, you’d be sitting with her and not out here looking like you just woke up from a bad dream,” Tyson scolds me.

  “I would?”

  “Yeah, bonehead. Now, I’m going to go apologize to my sister,” he starts for the doors.

  I get up and step in front of him. “No. Stay the fuck back. She’s mine. Mine. And I’ll take care of her. She said you don’t have to go home. I’d like to amend that - you don’t have to go home, but you gotta get the hell outta here.”

  Then I run up the stairs and go get my girl.

  I find her sitting on the floor of her bedroom, draped in a pink bathrobe, staring forlornly at herself in the mirror. Her eyes come to the door, and she glances up and sighs deeply when she sees me.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “I hate you for making me feel like this,” she says, her voice dull.

  I smile and take a tentative step into her bedroom.

  “Would you rather we didn’t feel so good together?”

  “Yes. Because, maybe then, I wouldn’t feel like Venus must have felt when Mars left her. Except, you didn’t leave. I sent you away.” She drops her face into her hands.

  My heart is a shooting star; I walk over and sit next to her, cross legged, and face the mirror. Our eyes meet there, and damn, if I don’t want to kiss her. “Mars never left her, without her, he wouldn’t exist.”

  She throws her head back and cries, “Oh God,” and then, suddenly, she grabs her side, as if in pain.

  Her honey brown skin glows like she’s just spent thirty minutes standing face up in the shower. Her hair is wet and hangs in wet clumps down her back.

  I lean forward and sniff.

  She leans away. “What are you doing? Why are you smelling me?” She scrambles to her feet. “Why are you even here?” She asks, her speech slurred.

  “Why are you wet?” I remark.

  “Because I just showered, Einstein,” she says her chin tilting up and her eyes glaring, “You haven’t even said..." she pauses to burp, or hiccup. I can’t tell quite which it is.

  She blushes prettily and I can’t do anything but smile.

  She’s a fucking mess, but she’s my mess.

  “Now, go away before I vomit on you,” She says and points an imperious finger at the door.

  “You wouldn’t,” I laugh incredulously.

  “I would,” she says grumpily. She tightens her little silk pink robe around herself. And everything it’s clinging to is everything I’ve been craving that she won’t let me have. I need to get to the bottom of this shit so we can start fucking again. I miss that body.

  “Tell me why you’re angry with me,” I demand.

  She bites her lip and shakes her head miserably. “I’m not angry with you. I told you to move on and you did. I just hate everything because I want you for myself.”

  Her misery is palpable, but I’m not sorry to see it. In fact, her words are music to my ears. If she wants me then, we can do this.

  “Regan, we’re two consenting, single adults. I’m not here to fuck you and run. I want to make an honest woman out of you. I have since I was ten years old. I just had to grow up so you wouldn’t go to jail for being a pedophile.”

  “Don’t be gross,” she mutters, but a tiny smile lifts the corners of her mouth.

  “I did it. I’m a man. I can make my own decisions. And live with the consequences of them.”

  “But you love your job, you wanted it so much, if they fire you, you’ll hate me.” she moans.

  “Hate to break it to you…but if that’s the reason you won’t be with me, I’ll hate that more. You don’t get to decide that my job is more important than you. And, I don’t give a shit what your ex-husband or my brother have to say about it. We have something special. When is the last time you slept as well as you did the nights we spent together? Have you had any conversations as good as those? Has your body ever hummed the way it does when I touch you? Have you ever felt a connection as life-changing as the one we have shared since the instant we met 18 years ago?”

  I cup her face in mine, tilt it up to mine. She shakes her head, her eyes full of misery.

  “You won’t. Not in this lifetime. Or the next. Not unless it’s with me. But you’ve got to hold on as tight as I am. Or this won’t work.”

  She stares at me, unblinking, befor
e her face crumbles. “You don’t understand. I’m not…right,” she blurts.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I love you,” she wails, tears turning her dark eyes to a glittering obsidian. “Being with you is dizzying and exhilarating and exhausting and sublime in a way that I didn’t know anything could be. But…you don’t know what I’ve done…what I am. I ruined Rebecca’s and Matty’s and Jack’s lives. And I can’t make any of it right.”

  I shake my head, confused. “Who the hell is Rebecca?”

  “Oh my God, Stone…” she gulps—and then she doubles over and vomits all over me.

  I rush and pick her up, grimacing and gagging when the smell assails me before I can hold my breath. I rush us both to the bathroom and pray I’m not sick, too.

  She groans and I strip her robe off and hold her up with one arm as I turn on the shower with the other.

  “Oh, Regan.” I stroke her hair and when the water is warm enough, I carry her in and put her down on the bench. I strip my clothes off and get in with her.

  I wash her hair with her ginger shampoo and comb all the snags and tangles out. I prop her in my lap, her back to my chest, and give her a good massage with a conditioner.

  She lets her weight rest against me, with her eyes closed, and a small smile tilting up the corners of her soft, wide lips.

  I lift her off my lap and sit her down on the bench beside me. Then, I drop to my haunches in front of her, grab her washcloth and douse it with the vanilla soap.

  I start with her neck and work my way down. I scrub every inch of her and inhale a lungful of vanilla-flavored steam. I’m methodical, and don’t linger. She needs sleep and so do I.

  I brush her teeth as best as I can, dry and lotion her, and dress her in a sleep shirt with the words, “No rain, no flowers,” scribbled on the front.

  Indeed.