Yesterday's Tomorrows Page 11

  I reached into the drawer where I'd dumped her first unopened letter. Too many other things had happened that day and dealing with my older sister was not something I’d been ready for. After staring at the envelope for several minutes and debating what I should do, I dropped it alongside the other one in the clothes basket. It was time to either fish or cut bait, as Gammy would say, and I was tired of waiting on the sidelines to see what happened.

  Scooping up everything else I needed, I left for the two-block walk to the closest laundromat before I talked myself out of my decision. I needed to learn what was in these letters. However, call it superstitious or call it silly, I didn't want to defile my new home with whatever she had written. Taking it out with the dirty laundry seemed appropriate.

  14

  Holt

  The bar crowd around me cheered as the quarterback ran the ball across the end zone himself. James and I lifted our glasses toward the television screen closest to us in salute. This time, when James invited me to meet him for a drink to celebrate another end of a work week, I didn't decline. I had my eyes on the game, but my heart wasn't really into caring who won or lost. I simply needed to find some way to eliminate Madelyn from my thoughts, and hoped a drink with a friend did the trick. If not, maybe a bar bunny at the end of the night would work.

  It shouldn't be such a struggle, but ever since we'd established a truce, I found her on my mind more and more. And after the accidental boob botch, as I’d labeled that particular incident, I was thinking about her in ways and in places that friends shouldn't.

  Like how she fit my hand perfectly.

  Like how I noticed her respond to my touch. How I responded to her accidental touches.

  Like how when I took a shower and grabbed hold of my morning erection, it was a vision of her hair framing her face as she made that deep, throaty sound while she pulled my bone-hard cock deep into her mouth that helped me get off quickly. I stifled a groan, willing the image out of my mind.

  "Must be a quite an interesting picture running through your head over there." James was grinning at me, a knowing look in his eye. "Something you want to tell me, or should I go ahead and light up a cigarette for you?"

  I grimaced and flipped him a middle finger. I took a long sip of beer, slamming the glass down a bit harder than necessary on the polished wood. "Nothing to tell."

  He watched my actions and gave me a sideways grin. "If you say so."

  I could say it all I wanted, but it wasn’t changing the fact I couldn’t get her out of my mind.

  A burst of laughter from a corner table drew my attention. A group of young women were holding shot glasses up in a toast. They were all laughing and cheering before they drew their hands back and downed their shots. One girl, in particular, was a little louder than the rest. She had long, blonde hair that she had pulled to the side in some kind of fancy ponytail style, probably to show off her long, graceful neck. I couldn't identify the color of her eyes in the distance, but they were made up to pull off a sultry look. Her white blouse was sheer enough to reveal her black bra. I never quite understood why women liked to show off their underwear while their clothes were still on. Well, I did, but it was a bit too much like free advertising. Didn’t mean I wouldn’t mind a sample, though, if it helped me get my mind off someone else. She looked up and happened to catch me staring at her. After a few seconds, a knowing smile curved her lips, and she winked at me.

  "She's pretty." James tipped his glass in the direction of the woman.

  I shrugged. She was attractive - if you liked bold and brassy. Shy and with a bit of sass was growing on me.

  James nudged me with his elbow. "You know, it's okay if you want to get to know a woman beyond just her pussy. You're not cheating on anyone."

  Fucking hell. Was the entire cosmos in on the 'push Holt into a relationship movement?'

  I raised an eyebrow. "You been talking to Cal?"

  His look was genuinely puzzled. "No. Why?"

  I scowled. "He's on some 'you need to move on' kick, too."

  He kept his eyes glued to the screen overhead. "Sounds like big brother might be onto something," he commented with a casual shrug.

  I took another long drink of beer. "It's not that easy, J."

  He turned in his seat and stared hard at me. "The fuck it isn't, Holt. You talk, you go out somewhere casual, you get to know her, and I don't necessarily mean in the biblical sense." He grinned. "At least, not until after dinner."

  I couldn't hold back my snort, but shook my head. "And then what? Do we keep dating? And then maybe she starts to have more feelings and ends up getting hurt because ultimately I can't give her what she wants? Then I'm an even bigger ass than just laying it on the line right from the beginning."

  "You still have a heart, asshole. You're just acting more like a pussy because you're afraid to acknowledge that little fact." He turned to face me. "Do you think Claire would want to see you this way? Because if she approved of you being this miserable, then she was a bitch."

  Everything around me faded as I stood up and leaned in close to him. "What the hell did you call Claire?" The words were almost hard to distinguish through my clenched teeth, but James understood. He didn't back down but went for the kill. He'd always been one hell of a warrior.

  He gave me a knowing look. "So, you're saying she wasn't a bitch? Are you saying she loved you enough she'd want you to be happy, even if it meant without her? Cause if she didn't, then she never deserved you in the first place."

  I opened my mouth and fought for a reply, but nothing came to me. He had me against a wall, and he fucking knew it. I slid back onto my stool, sliding my beer mug the few inches back and forth between my hands. "Of course, she loved me," I mumbled.

  "Then stop using her as an excuse not to live. Be happy, man, and I don't mean this fucking crap you spew that you've moved on. Changing careers was just another way for you to hide. Hell, man, we almost had to put you in the ground once before. I'm not going to keep letting you bury yourself under piles of paper and meaningless sex as a fucking substitute for the dirt." He slapped my back and squeezed my shoulder to soften his harsh words.

  He threw up his hand before I could make an excuse. "Think about it." His phone chimed. He smiled as he read the message and typed something back. "That would be my lovely Kelly." He stood as he finished his beer. "Sorry, dude, but her face is prettier than your ugly mug, and frankly, she keeps me saner than you do."

  He reached for his wallet, but I waved him off. "It's on me."

  He grinned. "As it should be. I don't just give away my invaluable advice, you know?"

  I rolled my eyes. We did the manly back-slapping hug and then he left.

  I sat back down to finish my beer. I didn't blame James for ditching me for Kelly; she was good for him. She softened his hard edges while calling him on his bullshit, and he'd lay down his life for hers, I was sure.

  James and I had met in the Corps during boot camp and then were stationed together with the Second Division at Camp Lejeune. We'd become fast friends as well as brothers-in-arms, and we'd had each other’s backs ever since. So even though I wanted to rearrange his face for questioning me about Claire's love, I knew he was coming from a good place, much like Cal had been.

  I'm not sure anyone would understand why I found moving on so difficult. Oh, I knew others who'd lost someone they’d loved were able to find love a second time around. Some were as happy as the first time, and some were maybe even happier. But I'd made promises, and I hadn't found a reason yet to break them.

  "Promise me forever, Holt. No matter what happens, promise you'll always love me, and you won't be tempted by other women while we're apart."

  I stared down into the cobalt eyes of the naked woman who was pinned to the bed beneath my body. A single tear trickled out of one eye and ran down her temple. I reached out and caught the drop with my finger before it hit her hairline and placed a tender kiss to her lips.

  "I will, baby. I promise I'll com
e home to you. Only you, Claire. I love you so much."

  "I love you, Holten Andrews. And I can't wait to be your wife. We'll be so happy! Now let me give you some extra incentive to come home safe to me..."

  That had been one of the last moments we had to ourselves before I left for Parris Island for boot camp.

  Now James's words had me questioning that promise I'd made.

  Damn James and his talk about finding someone.

  Damn my interfering family telling me it was time to move on.

  Damn Madelyn Stone for whatever magic she wove around people.

  And damn me for falling under her spell.

  I didn't want to go home alone where thoughts of Maddy would be waiting. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the way Maddy was eclipsing my memories of Claire. After all, I loved Claire. I didn’t love Maddy. And even if I did feel something more for her, it was too soon to label it.

  You felt something for Claire right away, my inner voice reminded me.

  Yes, but lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place, I argued.

  True. Maddy’s more like the tide that keeps rolling in, eroding those chains around your heart.

  "Steelers fan, huh?" A sultry voice warmed my ear and blessedly distracted me from my internal debate.

  I glanced up to see the blonde I'd been watching earlier slide onto the barstool that had been vacated by James. Her black leather skirt slid high enough I could see the lacy tops of her thigh-high stockings. She lifted a hand to signal for the bartender, causing her blouse to fold in such a way to further expose her bra that was filled out nicely. Quite nicely, actually.

  "I'd like a Screaming Orgasm," she said, shifting sideways in her seat to face me.

  I bet you would. I realized she was talking to the bartender, but she was definitely dropping a hint to me. Maybe not the most original flirtation, but she was pretty in a rocker girl kind of way, and I could use the distraction, so I grinned back at her.

  "Thanks, sugar." She gave the bartender a wink then turned back toward me. "Are you here alone?"

  "Turns out I am." I shrugged and deliberately made my tone non-committal. I didn't want to give the wrong impression that I was up for more than anything other than a good fuck, if indeed this led where I thought it might.

  The bartender brought her creamy looking drink. I studied her as she offered me a coy look and slid her brick-red fingernails up and down the cocktail stick. She pulled it from the drink knowingly puckered her lips around it, then slowly sucked one of the cherries into her mouth. It didn't take a genius to see what she was mimicking. My cock strained against my zipper, reminding me of how long he had been lonely.

  She glanced again at the television then leaned forward and rested a hand on my knee, her fingers rubbing small circles on my thigh. "Are you really interested in this game?"

  I stared at her exposed breasts and gave her a slow grin that usually made women practically fall into my lap. "As a matter of fact, I am. But I could probably be convinced to check the score tomorrow." I reached for her hand.

  Maybe I did need to let Claire go, but in the end, this was the only way I knew how.

  15

  Maddy

  My clothes spun round and round in the machine, mimicking the churning in my stomach. After all this time, I couldn't imagine why Charly was reaching out to me. Biting my lip, I reached for the first envelope she had left for me at the prison. My fingers shook slightly as I pulled the letter back out and scanned the page. I wasn't the only one with a flair for drama; Charly's was demonstrated in the swirls and flourishes of her handwriting. It wasn't a long letter which could be good or bad. I sucked in a sustaining breath and began to read.

  I read the letter a second time to make sure I'd read her words correctly. My initial reaction was anger. She was wrong about me. The big heart she remembered belonged to the girl I used to be, not the woman who'd been reshaped after six years in hell.

  Life was hard enough living with the knowledge I'd taken someone's life, images that still caused me nightmares. During the entire hearing process, I'd been treated as if I was a cold-blooded killer, a danger to all of society. The insinuations cut deep, and Charly was responsible for them. So how she believed she was keeping me safe was beyond me.

  And how dare she imply I was the reason communication had fallen off between us! Initially, despite my anger toward her, even her familiar face or letters would have been welcomed in my isolated world. She said she wrote to me but never once had I received any letters from her. No phone calls or messages of any kind. I couldn't understand why she'd lie about this, other than she was trying to build me up with sweet words because she wanted something more from me now that I was free and might have something to give to her.

  Angrily, I tore open the large brown envelope only to gasp as a thin, hardback book with ragged edging fell into my hands. Bambi. I couldn't prevent the tears that welled up as I held my favorite childhood book. I'd read the pages so many times the pages were soiled and dog-eared. When I was a little girl, I related to Bambi, stumbling along motherless and lonely, trying to navigate a world that might have been different if she had survived.

  I reached for the note that had fallen out with the book.

  I anxiously reached for the envelope and peered inside. Something gold was lodged in the corner. I tipped the envelope, and my mother's locket spilled into my palm. My stomach twisted in knots as I rubbed my thumb over the engraved scrolls and swirls on the penny-sized heart. My mother apparently hadn't owned a lot of jewelry, or at least my father hadn't kept much. But one day when I was around four and Charly was ten, we snuck into my dad's bedroom snooping for something I don't even remember. When we came across the necklace, Charly recognized it immediately, and when she snapped the hinge open there were two pictures inside. One was of a trio - Charly, her brown hair in ponytails on either side of her head and a silly grin gracing her face, a younger, less haggard version of my father, and a pretty woman dressed simply in a green shirt and pair of jeans. The other one was of my mother standing sideways, her stomach obviously pregnant. Her face beamed while her hand lovingly touched her baby bump. I remember Charly trying to explain that I was the baby inside our mommy’s tummy.

  The locket held the only pictures I'd ever seen of my mom. My dad never put out any pictures, and he refused to talk about her unless he was rambling in his drunkenness. I would stare at her for long periods of time, sometimes smiling in response to her smile, sometimes shedding silent tears because I'd never experience those arms embracing me or hear her voice speaking words of love and comfort.

  It was my only proof that my mother had loved me at one time. I wondered if she had known the sacrifice she would make, whether she would have made the same decision to carry through with the pregnancy. After all, she had another daughter and a husband who needed her.

  I did remember the times Charly mentioned about fighting for the necklace. There were times Charly would take the locket, saying I'd never known Mom, so why should I care so much? She argued she was the one who had truly lost her since she'd had a mom up until I'd been born. I'd cry, and we'd fight over who should be allowed to wear the special piece of jewelry. Sometimes she'd hide it from me, and I'd spend hours searching for the hiding place, but Charly wasn't very creative, and I'd always find it. Then it would be my turn to hoard it.

  This generous side of Charly was new. Or maybe it was her manipulative personality showing through; it was hard to tell. But as much as I wanted to pretend I didn't care, she'd gotten to me. Mission accomplished. The very fact that I thought maybe she was doing this out of the kindness of her heart proved that. Most people would take the gift and ignore the meaning behind it. Instead, I was torn between wanting to believe the best of her and knowing the kind of person she'd been in the past.

  But people change. I had changed, even if maybe for the worse. Was it so hard to believe that she had been changed by the experience also, only perhaps for the better?

 
We'd gotten along pretty well when I was little, but she always had a selfish streak. She'd fed me, but not until she'd gotten the biggest or better part of whatever we were eating. If we got any new toys or games, she was the one who got to try it out first. And if our daddy happened to be having a good evening where he was acting a little affectionate, she made sure she was the one who got to sit on his lap in his recliner while I sat on the floor at his feet.

  I rarely complained. One of the few times I did, my father gave me a disgusted look and told me that good girls didn't complain. Then he dumped Charly from his lap and stormed off to his bedroom. We almost immediately heard the clink of bottles. My big sister had glared at me with a look of almost hatred.

  From then on, I was careful to be a 'good girl,' always trying to avoid a fuss, always putting everyone else's needs ahead of mine in the hopes that someday they'd appreciate everything I did and love me.

  It never happened. Not even when I made the split-second decision that changed a lot of lives.

  Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Whatever Charly’s motivation, genuine or devious, I wasn't going to play along. Whatever worries she had lay at her feet. I was neither responsible nor interested.

  I closed my eyes and hugged the book and necklace close. I had them back, and I would cherish them as much as I ever had, no matter how I’d gotten them.

  16