Hell Bent (6 page)

S
he is
as antsy as a condemned prisoner on her way to the electric chair. I wonder what she’s hiding. There has to be something behind her behavior; there’s too much that is real about her to act the way she does.

I pull up to the house and sit there for long moments, waiting for her to say something. She seems to be holding back. Is she afraid? Will she make a run for it? Somehow, I don’t think so. This feels more like she trusts me now. I’m beginning to think of her like a wild colt, all legs and frustration at being contained. She has a defiant soul but is still obviously protective, of Milly, at least. There is a passion within her that has nothing to do with the present, I can sense this. There is something in her past, and I wonder if she dated a bad guy at some point.

“Susie…” I begin, and I can see her open her mouth to protest at my use of her nickname, but she thinks twice about it and says nothing. “Do you trust me?”

She looks sideways at me, suspicion in her eyes. “Why?”

“Just a simple question. Do you trust me?”

She looks at me for several minutes, staring into my eyes and at the soul I know she can see behind them. “Yes,” she says finally.

“Good,” I answer softly. “You can always trust me, no matter what happens between us, now or ever. Do you understand that?”

She nods tentatively after a moment of hesitation.

“Do you believe me?” I ask.

She nods again.

“Good. I want you to know that whatever you tell me, stays between us. I will never betray your confidence, and you should always feel that you can talk about anything that lies on your heart.”

“Why are you saying this?” she asks, puzzled eyes and upturned eyebrows suggesting she might be going into her defensive mode again.

“Shhhh….” I say and reach out to put my hand over hers on the seat. She starts like I shocked her, but doesn’t pull away. “Everyone needs a soft place to land, Susie, and I want to be that for you,” I say simply.

Her mouth opens to ask me why again, but she thinks twice and just says, “Okay.”

This seems to calm her, and I can see her shoulders drop a bit as if a cumbersome weight is being removed. She draws in a breath and looks out the rain-drenched window next to her. The lights from the surrounding houses are blurred in the droplets, causing them all to become a glowing lamp that makes the interior of the truck feel cozy and intimate. I can smell a light scent from her, accentuated by the humidity in the air. It’s soap, perhaps a shampoo, and definitely not perfume. She’s not the perfume type. I yearn to smell her hair closer, but like the nervous colt, she needs to trust in graduated steps.

She keeps her hand beneath mine, and now, I pick it up just enough that I can slide my index finger against her palm. Slowly, I pet her palm, and as I do this, I see her lay her head backward against the headrest and close her eyes. Against the wet window, I swear, I can see moisture on the crest of her cheeks, just beneath the honey-bear brown eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper, not wanting to interrupt the tenderness in the air between us.

“Nothing,” she murmurs. The moisture has become formed tears, and she is keeping her eyes tightly closed.

“Susie, who did this to you?” I hesitate as I ask the words, not sure what lies beneath the tears.

“No one.”

The simple response says so much. She hasn’t denied there was someone; she just refuses to identify them. This tells me the wound is deep and very, very old. I don’t want to destroy this by pressing her, but I fear I won’t get another such opportunity.

“Did you love him?” I risk asking.

Her shoulders shudder a bit, and I know she is crying in earnest. Eventually she says quietly, “Yes, very much.”

I give her a few minutes to settle into the memory. “Did he know you loved him?”

She shakes her head so faintly, I can barely detect it in the dimness that holds us. “I will never know,” she whispers. “He left my life a very long time ago.”

I hear these words with some sense of shock. This is not an ex-boyfriend to whom she refers. This is someone further back. Is it a first love, or someone even closer?

“What was his name?” I ask softly, continuing to stroke the inside of her palm in an encouraging way.

“His name was Dad,” she bursts out, and at this point the dam ruptures, and soft sobs break through; she is crying in earnest. I cannot help myself but pull her into my arms.

She tucks her soft head beneath my chin, curling against my chest, and all I can think is that I want to keep her there forever, safe and under my watch. I will never let anyone hurt her. I will kill anyone who tries.

She feels so right against me, fitting into the armor of my chest so that each of her tender parts is surrounded by my muscle and bone. She is absolutely meant for me, I realize. This is enough for now, I will not force anything more from her.

She cries softly against me for a while, and then I pull her closer to me and cradle her in my arms. After a few moments, I slowly disentangle myself, get out of the car, and run to her side. I lift her out, slamming the door with my foot. I carry her up the sidewalk and unlock my apartment, then shove the door open with my hip. I take her to the sofa in the center of the room and gently lay her down amongst the cushions.

She is lying in a fetal position, the sobbing done but damp cheeks and silence remaining as testimony. I slide down next to her, pulling her against me and holding her as I would a small child. She does not resist and even shifts so that she can mould more closely into me.

I gently stroke her soft hair, at first with the tips of my fingers and then cupping her head in my hand. She is so childlike—a woman in a kid’s brave body. I use my index finger to tip up her face and bend to kiss her pouty lips. They are tender and quivering, but she opens her mouth to accept me. I am cautious, knowing that this is not yet the time. She must come to me.

I continue to stroke her hair, pushing the strands behind her ears and then pulling them loose again to fan against her rosy cheeks. Her eyes eventually close, the long lashes holding tear remnants. I kick off my shoes and shift my legs onto the cushions. There is an afghan over the sofa, and I pull this to cover her.

Eventually, I can feel her breathing is even and I know she is asleep. I sit this way for a very long time, holding what I know is the most precious gift ever given to me. She is everything I want, but fear cannot exist. I make a vow to look after my precious gift, my Susie, and to fix whatever it is that makes her so defensive. I drift off to sleep, with Susie in my arms.

L
ight forces
my eyelids to open, and I recognize that the sun is shining through the east window, its blinds left rolled up from the day before.

Susie, however, is gone.

I
find
an early bus that drops me close to the apartment and drag myself inside. I call in sick, and I can hear the dubious voice of my supervisor on the other end. I never do this.

I make a cup of tea and find a stale bagel in the refrigerator that I coat with the bit of butter left on the dish. This is soothing to me, it reminds me of my childhood—tea and toast are often all I can remember.

I fall onto my bed and sleep. The annoying ring of my phone awakens me hours later, and I realize it’s the longest I’ve been able to sleep in one stretch for years, maybe forever. The call is from Milly.

“Susie, where are you?” comes the predictable question.

“In bed.”

“Alone?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I can feel the old me coming to the surface.

“Nothing. I am worried. You aren’t at work.”

“Do you track me?”

“Well, yes, sometimes I do. Someone has to look after you.”

This makes me think of rainy nights, warmly scented cabs, and strong arms. I like the thought, and Milly’s worrywart voice interrupts my reverie.

“I can look after myself,” I say, not for the first time. Milly is silent and I know I am hurting her feelings. “Hey, you ninny…it’s
my
job to look after you, not the other way around, you know.”

This seems to appease the hurt and she chuckles. “Cam and I are going to a movie tonight. Would you like to come along?”

“Thanks, but I’m not third wheel material,” I respond.

“Maybe you could invite Bryce?” she asks in a suggestive voice.

“Why did you call?” I ask, changing the subject that is suddenly getting far too close to my heart for comfort.

“I am worried when you aren’t where you are supposed to be. You’re always so dependable.”

“Yes, good old dependable Susie, that’s me,” I say.

“Well, you’re in a crabby mood so I will let you go,” Milly says a few beats later.

We hang up, and I feel bad that I was short with her. She doesn’t deserve the residual of my confusion.

There is a knock at my door, and I scramble from my bed, still fully dressed, and answer it. It’s the car repair guy, and he hands me my keys and points to the VW sitting against the curb.

“What do I owe you?” I ask.

“All paid up,” he says spritely and disappears down the stairs before I can argue with him, as if he is expecting it.

“But…!” I call after him, and he ignores me.

I close the door and look thoughtfully at the keys in my hand. How does he even have the keys? It’s all such a blur, but a pleasant one. I shrug and head to the bathroom and run a shower. As I soap myself, I can smell a familiar aftershave clinging to my hair. I can feel his chin lying on my head, keeping me close, as real as if he is in the shower with me now.

Once I am dressed, I head down to the car and drive to the grocery store, feeling rather domestic all of a sudden. It’s an unexpected treat to have the day off work, and while there is some guilt involved, I rationalize that I have vacation days saved that I have not yet taken.

I leave the store and look in wonder at the items in my bag. Why have I bought wine, and what’s with the steaks? This is highly unlike me: I seldom splurge on such luxuries, choosing instead to save my money. Money means security. It means I can survive on my own and will not need anyone, ever. Money means I can pay off my student loans.

As I head to my apartment, the cell blares. I see a convenient parking place and pull into it in time to answer.

“Where did you go?” It’s him.

I feel a little disjointed, sort of embarrassed, by the intimacy of his voice, and I recognize that things have changed between us.

“Home.”

“Why?”

“I live there,” I answer with the obvious.

“Don’t do that, Susie. Not with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t use those smart-ass remarks to hold me at arm’s length. Remember? You can trust me.” His voice is warm and possessive, familiar.

“I remember,” I answer quietly. Then I have a thought. “Hey, let me return the favor of having my car fixed. Why not come to dinner tonight?”

There is a delay, and I begin to feel rejected. I am just about ready to laugh and pretend it’s a joke when he answers. “There is nothing I would like better.” I feel relief all the way down to my knees. “What time?” he asks.

“I’m off work today so anytime is fine.”

“I’m on my way,” he responds, and the line is now dead.

I am sitting there like an idiot, holding a cell phone, and there is a man on his way to my house. I quickly shift through the gears and head home, hoping to get there before him.

I run up the stairs, feeling relief that he hasn’t yet arrived. Once inside, I toss the groceries on the table and rush to my closet, whipping out outfits until I find something that suits my mood. I don’t often wear pastels, they make me feel vulnerable, but today I pick a pink shirt that I think will contrast my dark hazel eyes nicely. I finish dressing and quickly dab on lip gloss before heading to the kitchen to put away groceries. Just at this moment, a knock comes at the door.

“Don’t you have a job?” I ask as I open it.

It’s not Bryce standing before me, but Milly’s mother, the senator.

“May I come in?” she asks in a tone that sounds more like an order.

I feel dumbfounded. I am not even sure she remembers my name half the time, but evidently she does, because here she is.

I stand back and let her pass. The acid in my stomach is churning, and I feel ill. She walks a few feet into the room and turns, her expensive heels clacking along my floor with authority. I leave the door open behind me as the feeling of being trapped begins to smother me.

“How can I help you, Sabrina?” I can feel myself wanting to stutter.

“Susie, right?” she says in a voice that sounds like a judge handing down an edict.

“Yes.”

“You’re friends with my daughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Senator, for some years now. We met as children if you might recall, and I am her Maid of Honor.”

The senator blanches a bit at the words, and I suddenly lose all fear. She is afraid, and that makes her vulnerable. She is here for a favor; I can feel it in my bones.

“Susie…” she stumbles for a brief moment, “my daughter is a tender-hearted, vulnerable young woman.” I nod. She continues. “She…as you know, I’m sure…had that bout with…a disease that was horrible to watch, and it may have left her infertile.”

I fucking hate how she refers to Milly’s lymphoma as a
disease
, as if it were a case of childhood measles.

“Yes, ma’am, I am aware of this and have been for some time. What can I do for you?”

“I want you to do something for me.”

“What is that?”

“I know all about you. That may offend you, but anyone who is as close to my daughter as you are, is going to go through some scrutiny. She and her sister Madison are all I have. Well, and now I also have a new husband and a stepson, but that’s beside the point.”

I hear her and wonder at her motive. She isn’t the motherly type, and I know there’s another agenda at heart. I feel hatred rising as bile in my throat.

She continues, “I know you’re a nurse, as she is, and I am told you’re a damned good one. You know what she is facing,” she went on.

I choke at this because she is confirming what I fear. Her use of the word “is” says it all. She’s had Milly tested. She knows whether or not my friend can have children. Damn, she probably knows just how high Milly’s chances of recurrence are.

“What do you want?” I ask her bluntly.

She wastes no time. “I want you to lie to her and, if you cannot do that, leave her alone. Get out of her life.”

I am in shock, trying to comprehend her words and to attribute some sort of logic to them.

“Why?” is all I can muster.

“You will only upset her, worry her needlessly. She is healthy and normal right now, and you seem to have considerable sway over her. I won’t have that interfering with her future happiness.”

“Hers, or yours?” I ask brazenly.

She stares at me, and there is a look in her eyes that says it all. She knows I know what she’s up to, and she wants no interference from me.

“Senator…” comes a male voice behind me. Bryce is standing in the doorway. He acknowledges Sabrina’s presence in a voice that could be likened to a warning growl of a guard dog. “Susie is her own woman, and she makes her own decisions. She is not a member of your staff, ma’am, and therefore not subject to following orders…not from anyone. With all due respect, ma’am, I would appreciate it if you would take your leave now.”

Bryce takes a step to the side, indicating to Sabrina that her presence is no longer desired. The senator’s face grows mottled with anger, and she strides from the apartment and down the stairs with a furious indignation.

I stagger backwards a bit at the ferocity of the scene in my living room, and at the realization that it is not the senator who calls the shots, but the man who stands before me.

“You’ll get fired,” I whisper, my face pale and my heart racing. “Sabrina has connections everywhere, and her new husband is a Marine general, you know. Joint Chiefs of Staff and all that.”

“Perhaps,” he says, closing the door behind himself and coming toward me. “It will not be the first time, nor the last, and frankly, my world is changing, and I’m suddenly not terribly satisfied with where I am,” he says in an enigmatic explanation.

I decide to leave it lay as I collapse upon my sofa. My heart is still pounding, and I wait for the waves of nausea in my stomach to subside.

“What is she doing?” I ask, of Bryce and of the Universe simultaneously.

Bryce sits beside me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling my head against his chest. “It’s not for you to worry about. The senator is used to bullying people to get her way—at least that’s what Cam told me of her. You are not under her control and what you do is your own business. You and Milly are grown women. If Sabrina approaches you like this again, you are immediately to come to me. Is that clear?”

He is quite serious, and I nod in acquiescence. This relaxes me, and I feel better already.

“Let me start dinner.”

“Not just yet,” Bryce commands.

With this, he turns me a bit on the sofa and is taking my chin in his hands. He bends and kisses me, deep and long. I can feel the air between us, and its current is charged with longing, with chemistry. It’s the first time in my life I can remember wanting to breathe in someone else’s breath. It is suddenly the most enticing, delicious thing I can imagine.

Suddenly, the kiss is ended, and Bryce pulls back, his eyes serious and filled with desire. He is controlling himself because he is afraid of scaring me, I realize with a start. I want to assure him that it’s okay, but somehow the luxury of knowing how badly he wants me, and yet is willing to hold back to give me space, is more precious than any gift ever given to me. I am immensely content and want to savor this feeling.

I smile gently at him, and his eyes sparkle back. With this, I rise and head to the kitchen, chatting aimlessly about whatever comes to my airy head. It feels good to be silly, and when I look at him, he is smiling. I feel an anticipatory excitement I cannot remember. Life is suddenly good—very, very good.

The senator’s visit forgotten, I set about cooking for the man who is now in my life.