Exodus Page 3

  “Sean!” I push through a family, nearly knocking down a little boy with sticky hands full of candied apple. I right him and apologize before I dash through in the direction he went. Turning in circles, I spot a bench nearby and leap onto it, combing the sidewalks and nearby alleys.

  “No, no, no!” Panic consumes me when I come up empty. Ears pricked; I search fruitlessly until I hear the faint but distinct rumble of an engine roar to life. I leap in the direction of it and run down an alley before I round the corner. It’s there I slam into an invisible wall when I’m met with a silver stare. Dominic leans against Sean’s Nova, his arms crossed as he drinks me in. Sean spots me from where he stands on the opposite side of the car, taking one last look at me across the hood before he climbs in the driver’s seat. My gaze drifts back to Dominic as his eyes trail me from head to foot. Heart lurching, I take a tentative step forward, and he jerks his head, refusing me.

  “Please,” I whisper, knowing he can clearly read the plea on my lips as my tears fall rapidly. Emotions reflect in his silver eyes as he lets me in fully, his fingers twitching at his sides. I know he wants to erase the space, to erase the water pouring between us.

  “Please,” I beg, unable to handle the ache. “Please, Dom, please don’t go,” I cry out to him. I can feel the struggle in his refusal as he slowly shakes his head in reply. It’s his eyes, not his posture that conveys the most. In his gaze I see longing, regret, and resentment for our collective positions. And it’s enough. It has to be.

  I hadn’t imagined his affection for me. I hadn’t imagined a minute we spent together. No one can cheapen or dismiss what we had. No one. And I won’t ever let anyone take it away from me.

  But I get no assurances from either of them as I stand there—bleeding out, and that’s what terrifies me the most.

  Dominic tugs at the handle behind him and opens the door while Sean keeps his gaze trained forward, either to grant us this time or because he can’t look at me any longer. It brings me no comfort. I drink in Dominic one last time and let him see my tears, my love. Covering my chest with both hands, I close my eyes and mouth the truth.

  “I love you.”

  It’s when I open them that I see his raw reaction to my confession. He takes a step forward, his face marred with indecision a second before he snaps our connection and joins Sean in the car. And in the next breath, they disappear.

  It’s then I know whatever battle they fought to keep me in, they lost.

  And ‘one day’ may never come.

  There’s a scene in one of the Twilight movies where Bella remains unmoving in a chair—riddled in heartbreak—while staring out the window watching the seasons pass before her eyes. And on my balcony, as the trees shed and deaden before giving new life to fresh blooms, I realized I’d lived the past three seasons of my life much the same way she did when she was deserted by love.

  Love may have had its way with me last summer, but when the first snow began to drift toward the ground, it was my hate that grew. Hatred for a nameless man who took a large part of my happiness away by putting me in a state of exile.

  Now when I ache for those that deserted me, I replace it with loathing for the fire-eyed man who gave an executive order to keep me in my respective place—which is nowhere.

  The holidays came and went, and I went home. I spent winter break with my mother and Christy, all the while nursing my shattered heart, a heart filled to the brim with love without a soul to shower it on. And not once in that time did I regret a minute with either of them.

  I was thankful.

  I was grateful.

  I knew myself better because of that experience with them. It wasn’t just a summer but a season of discovery. I assume most people go through life never exploring themselves as in-depth as I did. Those days of lust-filled trysts and nights I spent with my lovers beneath a canopy of green trees and twinkling stars reshaped me.

  As the minutes, hours, days, and months passed, I didn’t spring back to life. I simply went through the motions.

  I kept my memories close, until one day, I forced myself to start living again. School was easy, and my job was made easier the closer I got with Melinda and a few others in the night crew. None of the brotherhood spoke to me—none of them. Whether in town at a gas pump, or a chance meeting anywhere else, I was invisible to those who had the marking. I hadn’t just lost my boys, I’d lost my friends too, including Layla, and everyone else associated with the brotherhood.

  The bastard kept his promise. I’ve been completely on my own.

  The more time that passes, the more I decide I’m better off. Any communication or association with anyone related to Sean and Dominic would only give me hope of a future that isn’t coming.

  At the end of spring, I’ve successfully completed my first two semesters of college with a near-perfect GPA and am now on the last leg of my year working for my father. I’m three-quarters of the way to honoring our deal with only a few months to go.

  One summer left in Triple Falls, and I will be free of Roman Horner and my obligations to him, and my mother will be financially set.

  Freedom is close.

  Roman hasn’t returned from Charlotte since our last exchange, and I don’t expect him to. He hasn’t so much as made an effort past a weekly email. As I suspected, he never lived here. If anything, this house seems to have been blueprinted as a shrine to his success.

  By this summer’s end, I’ll no longer have to deal with the lingering anxiety about a possible face to face. Not only that, but I’ll also have a large portion of his fortune signed over to me, and our ties will be severed.

  Oddly enough, I’m in no hurry to flee Triple Falls.

  The town and its people have grown on me. I no longer mind the monotony of my workdays. But now that the semester is over, my days off are my own again, and filling them is becoming a hard task.

  I’ve been spending them wisely.

  I hike and often. Never on the trails that Sean took me to, I’m no longer a masochist in that sense. But I’ve grown stronger, my muscles no longer screaming after long treks in the woods and up mountain cliffs. I’ve brushed up on my French with my app, determined to eventually spend my summers abroad with the aid of a flush bank account. And now that the temperature has stopped lingering on brisk, I’ve resumed sunning, swimming, and reading out in Roman’s courtyard.

  I’ve allowed myself to dream up a new normal, having last call beers with my co-workers and attending a few of Melinda’s family functions just to pass the time. I’m trying hard to be a present friend to her, the way she has for me.

  But tonight presents a new hurdle. After eight months of painful silence from both my lost loves, I agreed to a date.

  After a scalding shower, I line my lips shimmering-red while recalling Sean tracing them stretched around his cock, stifling the memory of the sounds he made, his pleasured grunts, his long exhale when he came.

  “You have a date. A date, Cecelia.” I close my eyes, hindered with memories of my last one.

  Dominic’s barely-there smile crosses my mind as I vividly recall tracing his muscled skin with my bare toes in the front seat of his Camaro.

  Cursing, I grab some tissue and wipe away the smudge in my lip liner.

  “Date, Cecelia. Concentrate on your date. His name is Wesley. And he’s polite, educated, and hot.”

  Not Sean hot. Not Dominic hot. And despite my immense hatred for him, no man on Earth is The Frenchman hot.

  And fuck him for it.

  Every time I think about that arrogant bastard, my blood boils. I may never get his audience again, but I refuse to let him have the power he once did over me. He took my happiness away without a second thought, passed his judgment and inhumane sentence before he strode away. Months ago, I would have gone along with any of his plans just to be near them. But time has been on my side. It’s healed me. It’s strengthened me and enraged me.

  I dare him to cross my path because of the way he single-handedly ripped
us apart.

  But Sean and Dominic allowed it—and to me—that is unforgivable.

  These grudges I hold close, they keep me objective, in hindsight. They also keep me angry and resentful—all tools I need for forward progress. One day, when I don’t need the anger, I’ll forgive them for the way they hurt me, for myself. But it’s not happening any time soon.

  Shaking my head, I concentrate on my eyes, going heavy on my mascara. My headspace is all wrong for this, and I know it. But I need this last step. I need to get back out there.

  I’ve stopped waiting for ‘one day’ in exchange for a ‘someday’ and ‘some other.’

  And maybe that ‘some other’ is Wesley.

  My phone rattles with an incoming message on the vanity, and I buzz Wesley in, opting not to give him the gate code. Lesson learned on that front.

  Filled with anticipation, I take the stairs in a new curve-hugging halter dress my favorite shop owner helped me pick out. Primed for possibility, I run my fingers through my hair as I reach the door.

  I just want to laugh again without the sad pause of recollection at the end of it. Without erasing from my present by lingering in the past. I just want to feel some sort of closeness again, one that has nothing to do with the men who refuse to exit my dreams, the way they have my life. More than that, I want to see if I’m capable of feeling a flutter, an inkling, any sign of life other than acknowledging the beating my heart has taken.

  Just knowing there is a chance will be enough.

  “Please,” I whisper to anyone listening. “Just a jolt, a whisper, something,” I plea just as Wesley pulls up and steps out of his truck. It’s when his brown eyes rake over me and flare before he flashes me a set of perfect teeth, that I know, for me, the date is already over.

  Nothing.

  That’s what I felt. Absolutely nothing. Not during dinner, and not now when Wesley takes my hand in his while walking me back to his truck. Not a flutter, nor a single ounce of anticipation when he opens the passenger door and gently pushes my hair away from my face before leaning in.

  That gesture triggers me, and I turn my head at the last second, unable to bear it. It isn’t Sean’s caress, and they aren’t Dominic’s lips. Wesley dips his chin and looks over to me.

  “You’ve been hurt?”

  “I’m sorry. I thought I was ready.”

  “It’s okay. Just…I felt like you weren’t really with me when I was talking at dinner, and I couldn’t shut the fuck up.”

  “It’s not you…” I cringe and know shooting him would have been more merciful by the change in his expression.

  He has the good grace to chuckle. “Ouch.”

  I want to crawl beneath his truck. Instead, he helps lift me into the cab and leans in. “It’s okay, Cecelia, I’ve been there.”

  I gaze over at him, guilt-ridden. “I’ll pay for my half of dinner.”

  “Just how much do you intend on insulting me tonight? And what kind of assholes have you been dating?”

  Unforgettable assholes with a side of motherfucker.

  “I wouldn’t blame you at this point if you make me take a cab home.”

  “You’re painfully honest, but I like that.” He bites his lip, his eyes lifting to mine. “Painfully beautiful, too. I’ll just be flattered that I was your first attempt. And maybe,” he shrugs, “we can try again sometime.”

  “I’d like that.”

  We both know it’s a lie, but I rest easier in it as I click my seat belt while he rounds his truck. A silence ensues when he joins me, messing with his radio on our ride back. I’m thankful when he finally speaks up. “So, was it someone from around here?”

  “No. It’s just some asshole I dated back home in Georgia.” The lies are getting easier to tell. But the truth is not an option.

  Wesley leaves me at my front door with a friendly hug and an offer to call him when I’m ready. As he drives off, I curse my faithful heart and slam the front door aggravated with myself.

  Disheartened, I haul myself up the stairs and into my bedroom. Sliding my sandals off, I pull my cell out of my purse and shoot off a message to Christy.

  Project Get On With It was a complete failure.

  Christy: Don’t give up, babe. Whoever it is will be a Band-Aid right now anyway.

  I’m still not ready.

  Christy: Then you’re not ready. Don’t rush it. You’ll get there.

  What’s going on with you tonight?

  Christy: Netflix and chilling. Wink emoji. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.

  Go, girl. And you better. Love you. Night. X

  I decide to make peace with my progress. I went on a date, successful or not. It’s a start.

  After plugging my cell in on my nightstand, I pull the covers back, sit on the edge of the bed and run my feet through the plush carpet.

  Attempting to live a ‘normal’ life after two octane-fueled relationships is exhausting. All these months later, I still miss the chaotic nights, the mystery, the anticipation, the connection, and the sex. God, the sex.

  I’ve given myself enough time to grieve. If my heart would just follow my head, I’d be so much better off. I run my fingers across my untouched lips and decide to opt for a morning shower to scrub off my makeup. Tossing the throw pillows off my comforter, I move to settle in with a new book and freeze when I see the metal pendant waiting on my pillow.

  Wrapping my fingers around it, I bring it eye-level, disbelieving of the weight of it and what it means before shooting off my mattress. My heart rockets into motion as I scan my room.

  “Sean? Dominic?”

  I walk into the bathroom. Empty.

  The balcony. Empty.

  Desperately, I search the house only to find all the doors are locked.

  Not that that could stop them, it never has. The proof lays in my hand.

  Hopes soaring, I secure the clasp around my neck and dash toward the back door. Gathering my rain boots from the hall tree, I shove them on and grab the pocket flashlight from my slicker. Seconds later, I scan the courtyard with the weak beam.

  “Sean? Dominic?”

  Nothing.

  I make a beeline for the woods, past the football field of newly cropped grass, the warm metal on my neck giving me the first inkling of hope amongst the wreckage. I’m nearing a sprint by the time I reach the small hill leading up into the trees and the clearing.

  The sight that greets me there takes my breath away. Tall grasses sway before me littered with yellow-green light from hundreds of fireflies. They float from the brush into the thick branches, glittering like diamonds high above before disappearing in the beam of the full moon.

  “Sean?” I search every corner of the clearing, scanning every shadow in the trees with the flashlight. “Dominic?” I call out softly, in prayer that one or both is waiting for me. “I’m here,” I announce, searching the dark forest for any sign of life, the light in my hand doing little to aid me. “I’m here,” I say, fingering the cut of the necklace.

  “I’m here,” I repeat in vain, to no one.

  There’s no one here but me.

  Utterly confused, I turn in dizzying circles, searching, hoping, praying for any sign of life, and come up empty.

  All the hope I felt just minutes before scatters on the wind, rustling through the tall, shimmering pines above me. But I don’t dwell in the ache. Instead, I palm my chest and watch the symphony of light playing both above and at my booted feet, their melody soundless, but captivating. Entranced by the moon and light show, I thumb the raven’s wing between my thumb and forefinger.

  One or both has claimed me as their own.

  Someone put the necklace on my pillow.

  I call out for them once more.

  “Sean? Dominic?” The air seems to still around me as an inkling of a presence hits, hard. I go ramrod straight when a deep voice laced with French brogue sounds from feet away.

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  He emerges from the shadows of th
e thick cluster of trees to my left. I back away, clicking on my flashlight and aiming the beam at him.

  “What do you want?”

  “Want? From you, nothing,” disdain dripping from his tone as he comes into full view.

  With the help of my pocket light, I can see his face clearly, not a single shadow clouding the smooth planes, strong nose, or the angular cut of his jaw. Too bad I hate him, or I could appreciate the beauty of his mask. I click off my light, willing the shadows to swallow him, but even in the darkness, he shimmers in masculine beauty under the brilliant moon and amongst the fairy-like bugs that surround us. He’s dressed much like he was when I met him, save the jacket and skinny black tie. He looks completely out of place in a button-down, slacks, and polished shoes.

  “What are you doing here? Dressed like that?”

  “I could ask you the same.”

  I’m still dressed for my date, save for my polka-dotted rain boots, in full makeup and hair. Equally as overdressed for a midnight stroll in the woods. “I live here.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Semantics. And these aren’t your stomping grounds anymore.”

  “I’ll stomp anywhere I fucking want.” His eyes are filled with the same flaming cruelty I remember from our run-in last year. His voice just as thick with condescension and grudge. And as easy as it would be to walk away, I want him to know that I’ve made my mind up about him, just as much as he has regarding me.

  “You’re disgusting. This air about you,” I hold up my palm and wave it. “Like you have some right to act this way, to treat me any way you want to.”

  “Is this going to be a ‘do unto others’ speech? Because I guarantee you’ve fucked me enough by existing.”

  “You’re ridiculous, and not at all worthy of a conversation.”

  “You forget who you’re talking to.”

  “Yeah, well, you can tuck your cock back in, asshole. This isn’t a pissing contest.”

  “You have a disgusting mouth.”

  “You’re a prick and a bastard, and my mouth and manners belong to civilized humans, not entitled sociopaths with zero compassion.”