It seems she is indeed trying to kill me, and all it takes is a dress change to do it. Dressed in a short muted gold dress that plunges into a deep and very noticeable V in the front, she smiles at me as we walk down the stairs. She changed her heels insisting it was too much sparkle for one outfit, trading them for even higher light brown shoes. She called them nude, but they’re shoes so nude doesn’t work for me. She promised to wear them and show me how good the red soles look draped over my shoulders if I ended the ridiculous conversation.
Sara Jane’s hair hangs down. It’s lighter these days like her burdens. She says she feels more herself with golden hair. I feel like I’m sleeping with a new woman. In many ways, I guess I am. We’ve both changed on the inside. I’m glad her inner glow shines on the outside. Her happiness is contagious to all around her, including me.
Her arm wraps around mine as we walk outside to cheers and catcalls. We circulate in opposite directions, and I keep my eyes on her. It’s hard to take them off her actually. The short skirt and higher heels make her legs look long and lean, and I have a million positions running through my head every time I look below her waist. Dirty thoughts I’m sure are written all over my face.
Red lips move through congratulatory smiles and thank yous. I don’t have to be a part of their conversations to read her body language. Often, her hand will run over the fabric above her scar. I wonder what she thinks about when she does that.
I think I know. She doesn’t want to talk about how I killed a man, but she knows. I killed the man who tried to kill her. I killed the man who killed Chad.
Chad’s absence is almost tangible. Standing with Cruise, we were shortchanged. Chad had a lot more to give, but we were fortunate to know him. It’s a reminder of a time I was racing toward a certain death, wanting to end the pain I felt when my mother died. I thought finding the killer and making him suffer would heal me. I thought revenge would be sweet.
I was wrong.
It was never about the search for answers. It was about the journey and the hard lessons learned. It was about holding the woman who held my soul in my arms and watching the life drift from her. It was then I prayed to something greater than myself to save her or give her peace.
But the answer was: I could give her that peace. I just had to remember who I was when I was with her. “Excuse me,” I say, leaving one group and walking straight across the party and slipping my hand into Sara Jane’s. Her gaze lifts to mine, and she smiles. Pulling her to me, I move us away from the others. “I forgot to give you something.”
“What is it?” Playfulness coats her question.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, handing it to her. She types in the password and the screen lights up. “I bought you something special.”
Her smile extends before she looks at the phone. “You didn’t have to, you know? I’m happy spending the day with you, our friends, and family.”
“I know. I wanted to.”
She looks at a photo and the curve of her lips go straight before her mouth opens. “What is this, Alexander?”
I run my finger across the screen to show her the next photo. “It’s a house. I know you hate the manor, so I thought you might like a house. I mean, it’s more like a cottage really. Small. So small. Like my quarters might be bigger, but I thought maybe you’d like it. It’s called a starter home. Normal couples buy them as they start their lives together.”
“What? No, this is crazy. You bought a house?”
“For you. For us. For our family. If you want it.”
“I want it.” Her arms fly around my middle and she brings me to her. With just a whisper between us, she says, “I love the house, but you’ve forgotten, babe. We’re not just any ordinary couple. No matter how hard we try.”
Ordinary will never be possible when you own an empire, even a crumbling one. “It’s got a high-end security system in place, so we may not be ordinary people, but when we’re home, we can pretend.”
“You’ve thought of everything.” She kisses me, and adds, “Your present’s out front.” Reaching into the deep V of her dress, a key comes out, and she dangles it before me. “I hope I bought the right one.”
“I like the looks of this.” I’m about to sprint to the front of the manor, but she says, “Also, I spent $118,000. Hope you don’t mind.”
Chuckling, I remind her, “What’s mine is yours, baby.” We didn’t sign a pre-nup. What’s the point? Everything of value, everything that means anything to me, is wrapped in that little mini-dress and naughty smile. Having money to share with her is just bonus.
Cruise follows me to the front where a brand-new custom built Harley-Davidson is parked. Silver. Not black.
Light.
Not dark.
Knight in shining armor.
Not a dark prince at midnight.
From behind me, she says, “Sometimes even the bad boys have a good side.” I turn around and kiss her. Strong. Firm. With all my love for her.
She knows my moods. I have my mother back, but I’m dealing with aftereffects of shit I don’t like to talk about. The trauma of almost losing Sara Jane. The horror of killing a man in cold blood. The terror of not knowing if I’d leave that dungeon alive. The gnawing fear that perhaps we aren’t completely safe . . . I haven’t gone back to that place. I sold the penthouse and will never return to that building. I struggle with the dark feeling that I’m suffocating in the gloomy shadows. Thankfully, Firefly doesn’t mind the moonlight keeping us company at night. I find comfort in the soft glow through the night. I don’t talk about any of this, even with Cruise, who seems to need the same escape.
She says, “You’ve been driving the car lately, but I know how much you loved the freedom on the bike.”
“I love it.” The black Harley wasn’t feeling like me since my return. I still rode it, but not as often. “It’s perfect.”
I like to ride. I miss riding. Riding allows me to work through what happened, what I’ve done to others, and what I’ve seen. Riding allows me to take a breath and remember that my Firefly is alive and waiting for me at home. And she always is—with open arms every day and closed arms around me at night. A few moments I don’t want to remember. Like when she told me she wouldn’t leave me earlier because even in heaven sometimes we can’t escape our own hell. That takes time. Maybe it takes little cottages with white picket fences and silver, not black, motorcycles. Or maybe it only takes her.
I always knew she’d save me. One way or another, she was determined. I don’t care what sins I’ve committed. I seek forgiveness from only one—Firefly.
“I should go back to the party. Don’t be long, okay?”
As our hands slip away from each other’s, I reply, “Okay.”
Cruise walks around the bike and says, “I’d do it again to get another day like this.”
“Don’t go soft on me, Cruise Control.” I taunt him, but I get it. “It’s good to have a day without fears or remorse. It feels good to feel happy.”
“I’m happy for you.” He holds his hand out and when I shake it, he smiles. “I’m happy for me too.” He laughs but then confesses, “I had a gun in my mouth when your mother showed up.” He never talks about the torture he suffered, whether that’s for him or me, I’m not sure. I watch as some foreign emotion flickers through his eyes. “One minute. One minute that changed my life. One minute that saved it.”