“You look so much like him. What’s your name?” I hesitate. She holds her fingers to her mouth like she has a cigarette between them. She doesn’t. With a grin that lifts easily on one side, she says, “You don’t have to tell me. I know already. I know. I know you. I used to see you as a baby. He even let me hold you once.”
Reason is hard to hold on to when you’re looking into the eyes of a crazy person. “Why would he do that?”
“You should ask your father.” She taps her imaginary cigarette, and asks, “Why are you really here, Alex? Do you go by Alex like your dad?”
“Why did my father try to kill you?”
“For your mother.” Her voice is too steady, too comfortable, speaking of my mother as if she would harm a fly much less a human. “I need money.” She slinks closer. “You’re so handsome.” When she tries to touch my face, I back away. “Discount for your friend if you have cash.”
I dig out a hundred-dollar bill and toss it on the couch. “Don’t waste it. What is your last name, April?”
“How did you find me?”
“Your drug dealer.”
“Kingwood,” she replies, her eyes growing heavy as she slumps back down on the couch. “I know you. Alex Kingwood.” Alex Kingwood. She knows my name. “Bring me food.” For someone so drugged, she certainly seems to have lucid moments.
Cruise hits me on the arm. “We should go.”
I should be mad over the lack of real answers, but she’s a mess and I’m lucky I got what I did from her. “I’ll bring you something next time. Take the money and get yourself something to eat.”
I turn and start for the broken door but stop when she says, “She said you were a good boy.”
When I turn back, her eyes are closing, her body sinking onto the couch until she falls sideways. Running back, I try to catch her before she passes out, but I’m too late. Her chest is rising and falling. Her sleep is deep. “Fuck.” I ask Cruise, “What do I do?”
“She can’t ride a bike in that condition.”
Staring at her, I run my fingers through my hair. “I need to get home and talk to my father.” I have to leave her here, even though the place is every shade of vile. “Send her some food tomorrow and every day after.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
My Harley hides in the night—the matte black sleek, the price point just as high-end as the custom-built bike. It’s not meant for neighborhoods like this, neither are Cruise and I. It makes me wonder if we’re in over our heads, or in too deep, like I told Sara Jane.
Sweet Sara Jane. She’s going to be the death of me if I don’t get myself killed first. The woman’s got me by the balls and heart, and I think she’s finally figured that out. I speed down the alley and round onto the street. Cruise is next to me as we head to the bridge.
Looking over, I see his smile and roll my eyes. That situation may have been a mess, but after years of research and dead-end leads, it’s good to have something to chase down. I feel victorious. I enjoy the wind blowing through my hair, the chill of the night coursing through my veins, and the anticipation of returning to Sara Jane.
Shelly took her to the manor when I left. She wanted to go to bed, be there for me when I return. Maybe that’s how we are now—open and honest—with everything out on the table. No more secrets. A weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I float toward the light, allowing the weight to sink to the dark.
I like this feeling. Floating to the surface instead of drowning. Peace. It brings me peace that I don’t have to do this alone, behind a cloak of deceit. Together we’re strong enough to make it. My father was so wrong. “Part of not shutting me out is trusting I can be more to you now I have some idea of what you need. I love you, both the dark and light.” Fuck, I’m a lucky bastard.
When we cross the bridge, I lift my left hand and wave once. Cruise nods and takes off down a side street that leads to the penthouse. I drive straight. I have a lot of shit to deal with when it comes to my father, but that’s nothing new. Our relationship is complicated, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve entered the prestigious neighborhood that my family’s manor anchors at the end. The gates of the driveway open, and I speed up until I reach the garage. It opens and I pull inside, parking the bike.
I hurry inside, my anger tempered by thoughts of Sara Jane. Taking the stairs by two, once I reach the top, I rush down the corridor to my quarters. The house is quiet, the hour just going on five. I open the door quietly. My sweet angel is asleep on the bed, the room tinted blue from the moonlight filling it.
Unzipping my leather jacket, I let it slide down my arms and toss it on the couch. I toe off my shoes while unbuttoning my shirt. I drop it on the floor and walk into the bathroom. Whipping my undershirt off, I toss it to the hamper, and miss, but I don’t care. I leave it and strip down my jeans. After brushing my teeth and taking a piss, I walk back into the room and climb into bed, hoping I don’t wake her.
I’m too restless, my body wide awake, my mind reeling with everything from confessing to Sara Jane to April and her connection to my father and me. “I know you. Alex Kingwood.” What did April mean?
Lying next to Sara Jane, I see the freckle she has just above her upper lip on the right side near the center. She didn’t have it when I met her. It’s something that became a part of who she is, a lot like me. A lot like she is to me as well.
When I was little, I once caught a firefly and ran to the terrace to show my mom. When I opened my hand, it was dead. My mother took the bug from my hand and held it in her palm. She cupped her other hand around it and said, “Life is delicate. Hold your hands together but not so tight that you smother it. Let it breathe. Let it live.” We walked to the closest flowerbed and buried the bug. I remember her closing her eyes and saying a silent prayer.
The next night I caught another firefly and cupped it in my hands. When I opened them, the firefly flew away, and I started to cry. My mom held me, and told me to open my eyes. When I did, the light of the firefly was within reach. I didn’t try to catch it, though I could have. Instead, I stayed in my mom’s arms, watching it do what it was made to do—create magic. Fly freely.
I cup the delicate skin of Sara Jane’s cheek, and her eyes open. The hazy look in her eyes only adds to her peaceful beauty. Her hand grasps my wrist and she turns to kiss my palm. My firefly has brought beauty to a life that had lost it, created magic by showing me how to love. I have to let her breathe to let her live. And if she strays too far, I have to trust she’ll return.
She whispers, “You came back to me.”
“Always.”
A sleepy smile graces her lips.
“Go to sleep, Firefly.” I kiss the freckle, her lips, each one of her eyelids, and the softness right under her left ear.