CHERISH Read online

  But, I’ve changed. She’s changed me. I hate the distance in her voice.

  We've come so far together, but now she’s pulling back and I can see how easily she could slip away. She needs to know how much she means to me. She needs to know that I will never allow this to end. We are bound to each other and I will never let her go. Never.

  “Come on. Babe, come on.” I take a few steps, grab her tangerine-colored pea coat from the corner of the bed. The same bed I wanted to taste her in–to fuck her in–one last time before we left for the airport. The fucking knock at the door put an end to that.

  I bring the coat to her shaking shoulders. I want to scoop her up, carry her through whatever it is we have to face. In the next hour, in the next week, I don't know. All I know is everything she's ever wanted is on me, and I have to figure a way out.

  I lean down next to her ear. “Baby, I’m so fucking sorry.”

  “Me too.” She tilts her head away and her eyes narrow as she stares up at me, still brimming with tears. “I told you. Some people don’t get happy endings. People like us. It’s my own stupid fault for being sucked into this fairy tale. It was never going to work out.”

  I’m not going down this road with her. No fucking way. “We are a happy ending, Promise. We will get Jordan back. Look, we don’t know what’s going on yet. Look at me and tell me you don't believe it. Tell me that I will not breathe fire and destroy worlds to make you happy.” She looks at me, looks at my eyes then at my scar. “Fixing this . . . whatever the fuck this is with Jordan and Louis . . . is going to happen. I promise.”

  She swallows hard and I grip her shoulders. Even in this moment, I want her. I want to carve into her and take all of this away. I don’t remember a conscious moment since I laid eyes on her again that somewhere in my fire-seared brain my dick wasn’t trying to take over the more rational, civilized parts of me.

  She nods, and I can feel that her doubt is diminishing. She's starting to think more clearly. “Is Louis from Cairo? I mean why Cairo?”

  “I think so, maybe, yeah. I mean, I remember him saying something about growing up there. I know he had a wicked life. Grew up on the streets I think. I don’t think he had any sort of family. The way he talked. That’s why he got involved at CPS.” I think back through our conversations. “He said once that there was no safety net for kids like him where he was from. He knew how it felt to be thrown away like garbage.”

  I set my lips on hers, holding them there, soft and warm. I need to feel her breathe. I have the urge to slip my tongue through her lips but even I know now’s not the time.

  We stay like that for a few seconds, my thumbs tracing softly over her jawbone until I feel her shoulders drop. For a second, the tension releases and she kisses me back with a stifled breath. I remember the little gifts I bought, the three white velvet bags—two in my suitcase and one in my back pocket. I planned to give her a gift each day for the first week of our marriage. I was going to make her moan and cum a thousand ways for the next two weeks.

  My gut wrenches, knowing that it's all gone. I feel empty inside, despite the hotel breakfast we feasted on just a few hours ago.

  She pulls back, her tongue licking over her bottom lip. She takes a deep, low breath and her eyes drop to the floor. I gather her into my side and lead us toward the door.

  Northrup will be waiting.

  Louis will be waiting.

  Suddenly I feel the weight of it and my mind starts to tailspin. I'm thinking of every twisted way I’ve gotten what I wanted from enemies in the past. I fight the sickness that comes up. Will I need to use those skills on him? Use the skills I’d hoped to put away forever on the one person in my life I’d trusted beyond all others?

  I move behind her, curving her into the crook under my arm, laying it protectively over her shoulders.

  “Wait, what will I say to her?” Promise turns her head toward me.

  With my free hand I open the solid metal door to the stairs that lead down to the street. “Whatever the fuck you want, babe, I’ve got your back. You say what you need to say. But just give me the signal and I’ll take over.” I shrug. “Or say nothing, and we walk away. There isn't a single scenario that you could choose where I will not back you up one-hundred percent.”

  She moves next to me, tugging on a strand of hair that has made its way down the side of her face, having escaped from the loose ponytail running down her back.

  I look down, unable to keep myself from smiling. “Unless.” I smirk and brush my hand from the top of her head and give the twisted silk of her hair a soft squeeze. “Unless you ask her to move in with us. If that happens I’m not sure we’re gonna see eye to eye, babe.”

  She lets out a little snort. “You either have my back or you don’t, Fitzgerald. You’d better decide.” She brings a hand across her body and taps it playfully on my shoulder as we step into the stairway.

  My eyes adjust to the dim light in the stairwell, catching a movement off toward my left. I dart my eyes and my muscles tense. Then I realize it’s just a shadow of the clouds, filtered through the dirty windows, moving quickly in the strong wind.

  I can't relax. My whole mind is wound up so tight that I'm seeing everything as a threat.

  “I still can’t believe she’s alive.” Promise runs her hands up over her cheeks and up into her hair. “That she would come back, now. Like I wasn’t good enough–Jordan wasn’t good enough–to come back for before. It just doesn’t make sense. I mean, she left us with . . . with some nutjobs over the years, and now she comes back. Why? Because Louis is so bad she can’t stand the thought of Jordan with him? Something is either very wrong with Louis or this is all just a big joke.”

  Or she’s a fucking nutjob herself.

  All the moments I’d spent with Louis crash over me as I push open the door to the street, remembering the good times. Remembering my friend. Trying to hold back the fury that threatens to overwhelm me as I detect that helpless little girl in her voice, the one I promised to protect. Was there ever anything that Louis said or did that would suggest this?

  Then I realize that it doesn't matter. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her. Nothing. I've killed people before, in the line of duty, and I'll do it again if I have to. The realization comes as a shock, even to me.

  This is the first time in my life that I am scared of myself and what I might do.

  Promise

  I wish that Beckett could take care of everything for me. I hate that I want that but I do. I want to avoid all of this and just let him make it all better.

  And the thing is, he probably would let me do just that. And he probably could make it all better.

  But he’s also taught me that I stand up straightest when you rise to the challenge, not when you slump down into something easy. For too long I’ve let everyone else in my life dictate which direction I take I look back and hate the ways I’ve let people use me. Treat me like a thing to be discarded. I’m finding my backbone with Beckett right behind me to prop me up when I doubt myself.

  All this is on me. If anything is going to change then I'm going to have to find a way. That woman gave birth to me, whether I like it or not. Jordan is my brother. My responsibility. All I want to do is curl into Beckett and let him take it all away, but I have to keep going, because I have to get Jordan back.

  He matches my steps as we walk into the basement parking garage of the loft building. Neither of us speaks. I don't think either of us can think of anything to say. Since no one else lives here, there is nothing unusual about his Suburban being the only car down here, but it feels eerie, abandoned.

  Beckett squeezes my shoulders, his arm draped over them, heavy and solid, making me feel his protection. I can sense that he is on guard. The palpable energy of a soldier radiates from him as his shoulders pull back and his head swivels from looking down at me to scanning the empty, gray space around us.

  Our steps fall together, the way that an army unit marches in time. Little pebbles and
glass crunch softly beneath each of our footfalls, meeting the solitary drip, drip, drip of whatever is coming through the cracks in the cement ceiling.

  Louis’s ceiling.

  Louis’s building.

  Where Beckett’s father died.

  In a fire.

  And we still don’t know how it started. The questions we thought answered by Louis’s security tape have now been multiplied ten-fold.

  I have to think about breathing.

  Beckett’s face is tight as he drives. He hasn't said a word since he buckled me into the passenger seat.

  Neither of us wants to say it. Neither of us wants to admit that maybe this is just how our lives are going to be. There’s no picket fences and PTA meetings. No neighborhood barbecues for us.

  We are the Sneetches but without stars on our bellies. I think somehow it is easier to just live in constant misery than to have these little peeks through the curtain where you get a glimpse of how it feels to be close to happy.

  The fall back down into misery, where life intends for you to be, is far more painful from those highs. Best to just stay low I think.

  “You know I love you.” Beckett breaks the silence as the truck glides along the street toward Precinct 5, where the woman that gave birth to me is waiting.

  He sounds desperate, but what am I supposed to say? I just nod. “Yes. I know.” I glance to see those crazy blue-green eyes catch mine and even with the craziness swirling around me, my belly still does six kinds of flips. I sigh. “I know.”

  “In a way that will never be undone. No matter what.” He's staring at me, truth in his eyes, only taking glances at the road. “You could do anything to me and I would still love you. I want you to understand what it means when I say that to you. It’s permanent. Like a tattoo on my heart. It will never end.”

  I don't know what he wants from me. “Why are you saying this? I know you love me; you tell me about a thousand times a day.”

  “Because, you need to know that for me it’s different. I wish there were another word. People say they love a hot bath. Or they fucking love coffee. And it’s impossible for me to imagine using the same word to describe how I feel about you. So I need you to get it.” He checks the rearview mirror, pausing before his eyes settle back on the road in front of us. “I need you to understand what that little insufficient word means when I say it. To me it's infinite. You could leave me, carve out my heart, do your worst and it wouldn’t change the love. I just want you to know that.” He clears his throat as he brakes to a stop at a red light, his hand squeezing mine.

  I take a long, deep breath through my nose, unsure where this is leading and still feeling the knots inside me. I'm wondering where Jordan is and what my mother will have to say. I mean, it’s been nine years since she saw me. There is so much to say. And yet there's nothing to say.

  I cross and uncross my ankles, letting the warm air blow across them. The weather's colder than it should be in July and I kick my purse farther toward the passenger door, trying to get closer to where the heat is coming through from under the dashboard. Why is this stupid traffic light taking so long?

  “I love you too.” Despite everything that's going on, my belly still flutters being this close to him. Seeing how he looks at me. “Is there something else you are trying to tell me?” The way he’s talking and the timbre of his voice is raising the hairs on my arms.

  There's a long pause, but just when I feel like the other shoe is about to drop I look over to see him break into a half-grin. His eyes light up and he brings the back of my hand to his lips, holding it there for a long moment until the light turns green and he eases the Suburban forward.

  “Well, I mean I’m telling the truth when I say I’ll still love you if you do all that. Carve out my heart and whatever. I'll still love you.” He entwines his fingers in mine and brings my hand against his chest where I can feel the thump of his heart. Then his lips break from a grin to a full smile. “But, don’t. I mean it, don’t. Because if you ever leave me, you know I’m tracking your ass down and cave-manning you right back to me. You know that too, don’t you? I say you can leave, but you can’t.”

  “Yes, I realize.”

  He’s trying to ease the moment and I want to appreciate the effort, but every part of me is desperate to know where Jordan is and if he’s okay. And my mom. All those years ago she told the judge that she didn’t want me anymore. Or Jordan. That was the last I saw of her and I have no idea what to expect. Right now, I’m fairly sure throwing up is on the agenda for today.

  Beckett holds my left hand in his against his chest. He’s palming the wheel, taking a wide left turn into the precinct parking lot, and suddenly I can’t breathe again. He's got my left hand, so I bring my right to my forehead, rubbing and squeezing, draping it down over my eyes and nose, blocking out the light. I squeeze my eyelids shut. Anything to take away the nausea.

  “Babe, stay with me. I’ve got you today. And every day from now on. Take a breath. I’ll carry you through this if you need me to. You just focus on me, tell me what you want and don’t want. I’m your personal concierge for the rest of your life so let me do my job.” Another one of those smiles that make it nearly impossible to think about anything else. He is so beautiful, inside and out.

  He's trying so hard. I know I have to say something. “I can’t believe we got married yesterday.” The strain in my voice makes each word slow and thick.

  Beckett settles our hands onto my lap, our fingers still twined together. I look down and I’m mesmerized by the intricate ivy of veins that stand up over the bones in his hand. His hands are as stunning as the rest of him. I stare at the contrast of his darker skin against my near ghost white complexion. His long fingers dwarf my hand in his. It makes me think how Jordan looked up at him on our wedding day like he was bigger than life.

  I can see Jordan’s face as he stood next to Louis and Beckett in the front of the church. What I remember most about that day was the joy.

  Not just happiness. Joy.

  It’s different. Beckett told me the difference and once he did, it was so clear. Happiness is something conditional.

  Joy is infinite. Like you are touching a greater power.

  I break the silence. “Do you think they can find Jordan? Bring him back?” Frustration clenches my stomach as I feel how helpless I am. Even more than when I fought for Jordan over the last year.

  “One way or another, babe, we’ll get him back. If they can’t do it, I’ll fucking do it myself. Let’s just get inside, see what other info they have for us. You can see your mother or not, doesn’t matter to me, then I’ll figure this out. Okay? It’s what I do.” Beckett catches himself and lets out a tiny sigh. I see his jaw muscles harden. “It’s what I did,” he finishes as his eyes scan the packed parking lot. “Damn, are they giving away get-out-of-jail-free cards today? What the fuck?”

  We drive up and down until we are in the far back end of the parking lot. There are several open spots here, against a ragged chain link fence that separates the public lot from the police lot, where there are about ten patrol cars parked.

  Finally, he swings the truck into an open spot, giving my hand one last squeeze before releasing it to put the vehicle in park.

  I’m still staring at his hand as he pushes the button to shut down the engine, then reaches over and grabs his phone from the console between us.

  I don’t remember ever noticing a man’s hands before like I do with him. Now I can’t imagine how one person could have so many parts of him that are so incredibly sexy. Seemingly normal parts. Even his knuckles are sexy. And even right now, with everything else storming around inside of me, I have to acknowledge the way he ignites a part of me I didn’t know existed before him. I want to pray.

  Pray more than breathe.

  I’m not sure I know how to pray. I’ve worn this tiny gold cross around my neck because it was one of the only things I had from my childhood with mom.

  It was her mother’s. She used
to always tell me, don’t ever count on God for anything. I still used to sneak the little cross out of her jewelry box and play with it when she wasn’t home.

  Which was a lot.

  Then, one of the many nights when the police showed up with Child Protective Services in tow, I had it around my neck and I’ve kept it there since.

  I’m not honestly sure how I feel about God. I do know if there is a God, in whatever form that may be, I’ve got some serious questions to ask when the time comes.

  Beckett jumps out and whips around to my side. I know better than to even attempt to open my own door. The click of the latch and he extends his hand like I’m Cinderella stepping down out of her pumpkin coach. Only, we’re not going to a ball.

  A gust of wind whips some garbage around our feet and catches in his canvas jacket, spreading it open. He makes a simple white t-shirt look extraordinary. Pulled across his chest tight enough you can see the peaks and valleys of each hard chiseled square of pectoral and abdominal muscles. He is a warrior. And I am more thankful today than ever before that he is on my side of the battle line.

  “Listen.” He squares my shoulders with both hands and turns me to him. “You just give me one look. One word and I’ll take over. Take you out of there. Okay? Do not take more than you can. This is deep, babe. Your mom. Jordan. All of it. You want to bail, there’s no shame. Say the word and we're out of there. Okay?” His eyes are latched onto mine, eyebrows high, the textured scars on his left cheek pulling a bit with the movement of his brow.

  I'm so lucky to have him in my corner. I nod. “Okay. Can you go first in front of me? I just . . .” I blow out a defeated breath and look up at the sky for a second before bringing my eyes back to his. He tips his head, listening. “Can you go in first? I don’t want to just bump into her. Or be surprised. If I want to see her, I want it to be when I’m ready. I know that sounds weak, but I need a barrier.” The tips of his fingers tighten on the backs of my shoulders. My stomach can’t decide which of the thousand ways it’s wants to grind and twist to make me the most uncomfortable.