Authors: Stella Rhys
Nate had been the first to come to. His bullet had narrowly missed his kidney. I had been crying with him when a nurse rushed in to tell me that Abram had opened his eyes. Nate had nearly ripped every tube out of his body to get up and see him. Luckily, the poor nurse held him back and I had run to see Abram, who had weakly managed to joke that I please not waste his efforts to survive to gunshot wounds by drowning him with my tears.
He and Nate were both in the hospital for awhile longer. Jesse came to visit on the second to last day, followed by a throng of media and paparazzi that he ignored as if they weren’t there. I had stood outside when he went to Abram’s room. I could see through the blinds of the window that he stood beside him with his hands in his pockets, both their lips moving only every once in awhile. They hadn’t had much to say to each other but whatever it was, it had been as much closure as those two could possibly get with one another. A nod, a handshake, and Jesse was out. When he exited the room, I expected a talk of my own, but he had walked straight past me without looking back. I tried not to think about it or take it personally. I also knew him better than that and I knew that at some point, I’d see him again for our own episode of closure. But it was always hard for him to talk to me after talking to Abram.
I spent most of that week in the hospital. Rhode kept me company. When Nate was bitching too much at the nurses to let him get up and see Abram, and I couldn’t placate him myself, I threw up a prayer and sent Rhode to distract him. And that was how those two began.
The first night that Abram returned home to the Monarch was difficult, if only because he’d been instructed not to engage in any rigorous activity, sexual intercourse included. “Last time,” he grinned at me, referring to his promise to be past the rule breaking, the gambling and lawlessness. So that night, we had sex in the penthouse for the last time. I rode on top, taking it slow and letting the ecstasy build inch by inch for us both. He had held onto my hips, sliding me hard over his cock but letting me control the pace. And I’d looked into his eyes the way I knew I would every day for the rest of our lives because now I knew true and real gratitude. I finally had Abram. I had, through some miracle, held onto him when I was a breath from losing him, from never knowing the life we would have together – from never having a family and children with the man of my dreams.
And nightmares, technically. Abram and I had been through so much chaos together. Enough to last both our lifetimes. And now that we had nothing but each other, we were hell bent on never losing it.
So we took our time that night – if not for the healing bullet wounds in his back but for the fact that we’d never live or sleep in this penthouse again. Abram kept his shares of the hotel but he rarely ever went back after moving out. We lived at my apartment in Gramercy for awhile after – it worked because Rhode spent most of her time at Nate’s loft – and eventually, after an impossibly quiet morning stroll in the Upper East Side, we stopped at the same time on Sixty-First Street, in front of a romantic little townhouse with a black gate and orange-red door. We fell silently in love with it at the same time and toured inside to find a greenhouse and courtyard in the center of the building. I mentioned that it was perfectly beautiful and peaceful. Ten days later, Abram purchased it under my name.
And some months later, over breakfast in our courtyard, he finally said he wouldn’t mind, and that I should go ahead. He would never dare to tell me what I could or couldn’t do but since he’d left the hospital, I’d declined meeting Jesse multiple times because Abram still found the idea uncomfortable. But on a random Tuesday morning, he changed his mind. “I understand,” he said, studying me in the silk robe I always wore at home, my bare leg hugged to my chest and locks of my hair tumbling from my messy topknot as I looked at him with wide eyes. He laughed. “I know who you are, Isla. You know pain well enough that you hate when other people have to feel it. You might be empathetic to a fault but I love that about you. I lived to hurt others and you lived to take it away, whether it was your responsibility or not. So I get it. Go see Toro, make sure he’s fine, give him my best.”
I had wiggled my eyebrows in such a way that Abram had laughed that new laugh of his. It was a real one that crinkled his eyes to the point of the most handsome crows feet I’d ever seen on a man. “Wow. Now that’s a secure boyfriend.”
“I know what your relationship with Toro is,” Abram smiled. He studied me for a moment, over the backdrop of our homegrown basil and sunflowers. “And I’m okay with it because the fact of the matter is that you committed to me a long time ago, whether you knew it or not. You fought off anything that would threaten your love for me. Which means you fought and defeated Jesse Toro,” he smirked. “And if you can beat him, I’m not worried. ‘Cause that pretty much means you can beat anything.”
“That’s quite a compliment to Jesse.”
“Just the truth.”
So I saw Jesse one misty afternoon – it was my first time seeing him since Vegas and it would be my last time seeing him ever again. For the first hour, we simply strolled and walked, talking about things that had nothing to do with us like a cool vintage car on Fifth Avenue or the dog that happened to run up to him as if they were old friends. It was that dog that inspired our trip to the rescue shelter we passed by. In there, we spotted two English bulldog puppies, a brother and sister freshly abandoned but seemingly oblivious to their unfortunate situation as they nestled against each other, sleeping peacefully.
“I think I need one,” Jesse blurted.
“What?” I laughed. “Why?”
“I’m going to need a travel buddy.”
“You think you can raise a puppy on the road?”
“No. I can barely take care of myself.”
“Where are you going?”
“Was thinking of driving across the country and visiting a friend in San Francisco.”
“Why driving?”
“Just more opportunities for me to get into trouble because I don’t have a good woman looking after me.” He turned to me decidedly with a look. I shook my head at him.
“Shut up.”
He smirked. “Anyway. I’m skipping Nevada for sure.”
It was our first acknowledgement of the Vegas incident all day. I managed a laugh but then it was quiet for a minute. “How’s it been?” I finally asked.
“What?”
“Your life. Things in general.”
“Oh, you know. Same ol’. Media won’t stop hounding my ass for interviews and reality shows. ‘Mafia Bachelor’ type shit,” he cracked a smile as I burst out laughing. “Man, I wish I was kidding but there’s apparently an audience for that kind of trash.”
“I can’t even lie, Rhode and I would order pizza and watch the hell out of that every week.”
Jesse broke into that Cheshire Cat grin of his. “No, that’d be bad. I’d pull too much fucked up shit just knowing that you’d eventually watch it.”
I narrowed my eyes at the distinctly dirty Jesse look he gave me. “You have problems, you know that, right?”
“Always have,” he said, hooking his finger into the cage when the girl puppy woke up. It sat, yawned and then stared at Jesse for a minute, both of them cocking their heads at the same time. “Shit,” Jesse said suddenly. And next thing I knew, he was signing adoption papers. Since the shelter refused to let him separate the siblings, he took both and kept their names. Jack and Belle.
Months later, the doorbell rang at the townhouse and since Abram was sleeping well for once, I got up to answer the door, barely wondering how my visitor had gotten past the gate. When I opened the door, I saw no one. But when I felt something lick my toe, I looked down to see Jack, distinguishable by the heart-shaped patch on his back. With him came a carrier, his toys, his blanket and a note.
Belle’s been a bad kid. She keeps beating her brother up. I know the shelter said not to separate siblings but I swear that’s sometimes for the best. Insert dark joke here. I’m off to San Francisco with the evil twin and her ten thousand chew toys. Please take care of Jack because he’s honestly the better one of the two and never does a fucking thing wrong and is exceptionally well behaved to the point of being suspicious. He’s going to be a good addition to your family. I’m sure he’ll grow up to chew some shoes but it’ll be good training for whenever you pop out a kid with your giant. I hate to break it to you but Baby Lenox is bound to have a bad streak at some point. But you guys will know how to take care of that shit.
I’ll send you a postcard from SF.
Always missing you.
Jesse
I never got the postcard from San Francisco and his phone was out of service by the time I called in concern. But months after that, Rhode sent me an article which stated that “Mafia prince Jesse Toro” escaped police custody in Italy after being arrested for breaking into an aquarium with his dog after hours and simply spending the night. I was pretty sure that meant that he was doing fine for his standards. Then Rhode sent another article several months after that, in which “American playboy Jesse Toro” crashed a wedding in Tokyo, much to the delight of the newlywed couple. That one was chock full of pictures that Abram and I scrolled through, all of them depicting Jesse, his hair grown out and looking like skateboard Sean again, drinking beer with a bunch of other crazy-looking guests that he no doubt pumped up to the point of madness, their tongues out and their ties undone. That confirmed to me that he was fine.
And since then, I hadn’t heard a thing. But with those articles in mind, it wasn’t hard for me to imagine the very Jesse Toro life that he was living on the road, wherever he was. And while I had a feeling I might vaguely worry about him till the day he found “a good woman to look after him,” I thought at the same time, whatever this was, it was the best I could hope for.
Sitting in the kitchen, I grinned as I watched Abram, the tough parent between the two of us, cave and feed Jack a piece of steak. Even if I tried to forget Jesse, I’d always look at Jack and think of his sister traveling the world somewhere in a spiked collar, wreaking every kind of havoc she could as Jesse’s partner in crime and favorite girl.
~
I awoke with a jolt the next morning. His arms circling around me, Abram had me laying back down within seconds, his hand on my heart, feeling my pulse as he kissed my cheek, my forehead, murmuring his routine of distraction to me in the way he did every time I had one of my nightmares. They were becoming more and more rare, but I almost minded them less knowing that I’d wake up to something cute and mostly random in my ear. Last time, after starting it with the usual
it’s okay
and
baby,
Abram had murmured our entire grocery list for the day, his sweet whispers of
rosemary
and
that weird club soda you like
cracking me up so hard I almost cried.
This morning, he murmured something I understood less. “Just Nate, Rhode, your parents, Sylvie and Leonard.” I breathed deep, Abram’s voice soothing me despite the fact that I wasn’t sure what he was saying. I just loved how he never questioned his role as the man who comforted me, who loved me no matter what was wrong. “You can wear whatever dress you find in your closet or we can go buy something right now,” Abram murmured, pulling me on top of him and laughing when I ignored him, laying my groggy head on his chest. “And we’ll put a bowtie around Jack and he’s going to wear this cheesy little pillow to hold the rings.”
My cheek resting on his heart, I opened my eyes. I froze, holding my breath and saying nothing, simply continuing to listen.
“And when we wake up tomorrow, you’ll be my wife.”
I lifted my head and looked up at Abram and his adorable morning hair, wearing the world’s biggest grin on his beautiful face as he proposed to me in boxers, in our bed. “Abram?” I breathed out a laugh, tears starting to brim my eyes. “Is this a dream? I can’t tell. But I’m positive I woke up just now.”
“You did,” Abram laughed, hoisting me up so that my lips were just above his. “This is real, Isla.” He kissed me. “It’s never been anything but real.”
My lips curved in bliss against his, my entire world coming together on the kind of lazy Sunday morning I’d been picturing for ages. “Okay, then let’s do it.”
“Yeah?” I could hear the fresh excitement in Abram’s voice. “Alright. You and me, Isla.”
“Yes, Abram,” I bit my lip back, savoring the word. “Us.”
Finally.
The End
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Turn the page for a sneak peek of
DARE ME
a standalone romance by Stella Rhys available September 30, 2015
Sneak Peek of
DARE ME
by Stella Rhys
Available September 30, 2015
CALLUM
Lake and I never had a chance at normal. She was drop dead gorgeous from day one – our maid’s granddaughter who became my mother’s living spoiled doll. I hated that girl with all my heart and at the same time, I worshipped every inch of her skin, every word that she spoke. I lived for her and the twisted game of Truth or Dare we created to feed or fucked up needs for shock, shame and one-upping each other. Lake was my drug, my bad lifestyle choice.
And I’d fallen in and out of love with her a thousand times till the day she disappeared.
LAKE
I know I ruined Callum Pike and going back to New York may be the worst decision I’ve ever made, which is saying a lot. But I’m willing to risk it. I never wanted to leave and now that I can, I’m going back – to be with the man I made, who made me. I know I screwed him up. I know he’s hardened and become cold. I know the love we had is gone. But I need him now more than ever and no matter how much it hurts, no mater what kind of sick or satisfying way he decides to torment me, I’m going to fight through it.
I’m going to repent for the way I broke him and I’m going to find the Callum Pike I loved again – even if it tears me apart.
~
Let me start by saying that Lake and my relationship never had a chance at normal. I blame my mother’s generosity. Growing up, she let Lake stay at our place while her grandmother cleaned, so for as long as I can remember, she was at my house Monday through Friday, from after school till Elena went home at night. I didn’t care when we were little. I could ignore her if I wanted to. But as we got older and Lake grew beautiful, my mother’s fondness multiplied. She paid for her ballet lessons. She brought her on family vacations with us to Paris, the Hamptons, St. Bart’s. She went out of her way to hunt down anything Lake ever mentioned she wanted or liked or so much as fucking looked at. Maybe it wasn’t my mother’s generosity so much as her undying need for a daughter.
And a fucking stunning one at that. Lake’s honey brown waves were just a shade darker than her smooth skin and she had a raspy voice that lilted out between perfect heart-shaped lips. I probably hit puberty early because of her. Sprung countless hard-ons that had her name written all over them. So for the height, build and sexual appetite that landed me all those older girls in high school, I should’ve probably thanked her but I vacillated between lust and cold, hard resentment my entire adolescence. Because everything I worked hard for, Lake was simply given.
It was like that from the start but got to its worst in high school. I’d spent three hours a night for half a year applying to The Mercer School but when Lake was sixteen, she said she liked our uniforms, so my mother bought her way in. She had Lake’s casual stays at our house turn into something permanent when Elena got sick. She tore down a wall so Lake’s new bedroom could fit a walk-in closet, because every drop-dead gorgeous sixteen-year-old girl deserved a walk-in closet the size of a railroad apartment. She had me look after Lake at school and report back on how she was doing. I forced myself to lie and pretend that she was just being the perfect girl my mother dreamt of instead of telling her that Lake had every boy in school and half the teachers lusting after her with the way she walked around, back arched and tits pushed halfway out her uniform. All verbal warnings with that girl. I got written up for taking a piss without permission but Lake walked around Mercer with her nipples an inch from showing and the teachers only smiled and motioned for her to pull her shirt up.
I fucking hated going to school with that girl.
She’d already infiltrated my home life and I’d known from day one that it was only a matter of time before she wormed her way into my social circle. It took barely a week before she was a fucking staple, despite the fact that she had no money, played no sports and was a “proud Christian virgin,” for Christ’s sake. She had nothing in common with any of us. But she did have a tight little body and the face of an angel hiding a dirty secret. Whenever she felt mischievous or had some sort of impish thought – basically every fifteen seconds – those big hazel eyes would narrow into this cat-like bedroom gaze that was what my dad wound up blaming when he confessed to my mom before the divorce. But that’s a whole other story.
Plain and simple, I hated her. I hated that she dated my best friend and formed an unbreakable bond with my girlfriend. I hated that she heard things about me that I didn’t want her to know. I hated that my friends hit on her every chance they got and became horny, bumbling idiots if she was home when they came over. I hated that I eventually lost my best friend because I had to kick his ass for pressuring her for sex. Because of my mom, this random girl became my damned responsibility, and I wound up hating her as much as I fucking loved every inch of her skin and every goddamned word that she spoke.
Like I said, we had no chance at normal with the way we grew up. While she worshipped my mom like a goddess, Lake was smug and cheeky to me. She was a teenage girl and all too pleased with the fact that she was beautiful enough to control people – with the fact that she got a
yes
for every request of mine that was met with
no
. So I grew to enjoy tormenting her as payback. I liked how her cheeks looked flushed pink. I told our friends all the stupid, self-conscious things she said after ripping from my bong. In class, I picked her for every question on the book that I knew she couldn’t answer. Since she loved to tease, I locked her out of her room in just her towel. I pointed every time her top washed off at the beach. I did anything I could to piss her off.
In return, she worked her charm harder. She customized the way she behaved around everyone in my life so they were thoroughly enchanted, catering to her every whim. She acted like a sweet, innocent angel to them but to me, she was a smirking, lilting, devil.
And till the day she shattered me to pieces, we kept at our game. It started when Elena got sick and Lake’s Aunt Paula, came to take over cleaning. Unlike fiery Elena, she was boring. Presented no challenges. She did whatever we asked, gave us whatever we wanted. She was so dim she reached right up to hand us whatever we pointed to, too absent to realize she was giving say, a full bottle of Ketel to a pair of fifth graders.
So we started the game of truth or dare.
What naughty little thing would finally get Paula’s attention? Stealing the joint from her purse? Lake dared me to swipe it and I dared her to take the first hit. The next year, our dares graduated to sneaking out of the townhouse with Paula’s cash, running down the street to buy soda and candy and condoms just to see what they looked like. Years later, I’d let her watch me put one on. I dared her to give me something to look at, to get me hard enough to show her how a rubber worked. And Jesus fuck, did she come through.
Yeah.
The challenge had most definitely taken a turn by high school. It had nothing to do with getting in trouble, but pushing each other past our furthest physical, emotional and sexual boundaries, the lines of which grew fainter with every minute we spent together. It helped that we always picked dare.
Because for every “truth” you uttered, the other person could pass a turn for free, and that made for a boring day with no scandal or shame, which was everything Lake and I grew to fear. We needed those things. Thanks to each other, we grew up fucked in the head, living off the daily adrenaline of shocking, arousing and one-upping each other. I dared her to streak down Sixty-First Street in just her schoolgirl skirt. She dared me to jerk off in front of the window. I dared her to flash Mr. Price her tits. She dared me to start an affair with Miss Kane. I said she couldn’t seduce my girlfriend. She proved me more than wrong. By college, we had a handful of threesomes under our belt. But I always favored having Lake to myself because that was how it was meant to be. I was the first to see her body naked, the first to touch it, the first to show it pleasure. I was the one who took her virginity when she was finally ready and the one who knew every part of her, inside and out. That body belonged to me.
Growing up, that was my truth.
By the time we turned twenty-one, I’d fallen in and out of love with Lake at least a thousand times. And she knew it. But she still chose to disappear one day, without a word to me or my mother, who took only a couple months to turn grey and spiral into depression. She had invested love and time into Lake, chosen this exceptional girl over her husband. Over me. And Lake had shown her gratitude by vanishing into thin air one rainy Sunday morning. She had taken several things of ours with her – things worth a small fortune – but we didn’t blink twice over that shit. All we wanted was to find her but after she sent that one message asking us to stop, we did.
And I went back to hating her, with a passion a million times deeper than any one I’d ever loved her with. On top of that, I went on to accomplish every last goal that, depending on her mood, she said I would or would never achieve. I broke all the hearts she claimed I was going to and I became the cruel, powerful man she declared I’d be when we were only thirteen. And I managed to do it all without missing her once. I wouldn’t let myself so much as think of her. Lake was a bad lifestyle choice. An addiction. And I had to stay sober to build my empire, make my fortune and care for my mom. Which is exactly what I did. I found a way to love my life stripped of the twisted girl who made me, who I made.
But as of this morning, she’s back in Manhattan. And despite the war I went through to forget her, I have to have her.
In every way that exists.
DARE ME
(a standalone romance) Available 9/30/15