Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
Zarah
I fidget outside Zane’s study. Stella’s in the city attending classes, and even though Lucille and Ingrid are always here, Zane and Stella have strange ideas about leaving me alone. If Stella’s gone, Zane’s here, and if Zane’s at his office in the city, Stella’s at the house. I’m not sure why because when we talk about my care, it’s about me finding a freedom that makes me comfortable, and I can’t find that if I’m not allowed to be home by myself.
It’s something I want to mention to someone, maybe Jerricka, but I don’t know how to go about it without sounding ungrateful. They’re trying to protect me, but I feel smothered. I can’t admit that, though. If Zane and Stella did try to leave me alone, even if Lucille and Ingrid were here, I think I’d panic. I’d feel like they had finally gotten tired of me and abandoned me. It’s a no-win situation, and I can’t dwell on it or I’ll turn resentful.
This is all Ash’s fault.
That isn’t what I want on my mind, and as I linger outside the study, I try to arrange my thoughts into a conversation Zane will have with me. I don’t know how to ask. And more importantly, I don’t know what to ask.
“Zarah? Did you want to talk to me?”
I guess I wasn’t that sneaky after all.
I step into the study, and Zane is sitting behind his desk, tapping away at his laptop. For a long time, I was scared of him, and he tries to give me space. I was scared that if I said bad things about Ash, he wouldn’t believe me and he would treat me like he did Stella. All that’s gone, and it has been for over a year, but the feelings are still underneath. I have to remember Jerricka’s advice. They don’t only pertain to ordering a coffee in an unfamiliar café. They relate to all areas of my life, and she’ll be proud of me I took this step to talk to my brother using my words instead of running away from my feelings.
“Can I?” I ask.
Zane closes his laptop and rolls his chair away from his desk. He approaches me slowly, and I hate he feels he has to do that. I know he’s afraid the more the fog lifts, the more I’ll remember and hate him for what he did. He let Ash have control of me, but Ash is a liar and it’s not Zane’s fault he abused me.
I close the space between us, wrap my arms around his waist, and hug him. He stiffens for a moment but returns it, his strong hands splaying across my back. His tie brushes against my cheek and I breathe in his earthy cologne. I need the affection, but too much time goes by and I reluctantly pull away and sit on a couch that faces a large picture window. Ingrid’s in the backyard playing catch with the dogs, and I think after my talk with Zane, I’ll join them. I’ll need the fresh air after this conversation.
He sits next to me waits for me to speak.
“When Gage was here . . .”
He squeezes my hand and tries to pull away, but I hang on and he links our fingers.
“When Gage was here, what did you say? Did he ask about me? You made him leave.” My words come out in a rush.
Zane untangles our fingers and rubs his eyes.
Maybe they talked about something bad and he doesn’t want me to know. Maybe Gage told him I shouldn’t be on my own in the city, that he had to rescue me from the paparazzi—something I never told anybody besides Jerricka because I was ashamed I couldn’t handle it. Maybe Gage told him he thought I was an idiot, or he thought I was dirty, that I was a whore who should be locked up.
No, no, no.
Those are Ash’s words. What he would say when he visited me at Quiet Meadows.
Gage wouldn’t say something like that. He ordered me coffee and gave me a ride home. He let me pet Baby. Gage is kind. He’s Max’s brother, and Max loved me.
Maybe that’s what Gage said. He didn’t want to talk to me because his brother loved me, and I got him killed.
I can’t cry. I don’t want to cry. Tears won’t solve anything. Jerricka says it’s important to let my feelings out, but there’s a time and place to do that. Zane won’t talk to me if he thinks every time he does I’ll cry. He’s tired of hurting me, and he’d rather avoid me if it means he’ll stop.
I blink to clear my eyes and count backward while I wait for him to answer my question.
He stands and says, “Do you want the truth, even if it will hurt you?”
I nod, but I’m not sure. I’m tired of hurting, too, but life hurts. If I wanted to avoid pain, I would hide in this house for the rest of my life and not let anything touch me. I’d become brittle, unfeeling, and eventually I’d blow away, turned to dust. I’d no longer be a human who has a mind, a spirit, and a heart.
“Max left Gage a note, a letter, and asked him to look after you if he passed away. He didn’t know what would happen the night we went to that fundraiser, but he took precautions. He was a reporter, and he was used to being in dangerous situations.”
Warmth fills my entire body. Max cared enough to ask his brother to look out for me.
Zane splashes cold water all over me.
“I told him you’ve been okay, that we’re taking care of you. I don’t know why Davenport waited so long to go through Max’s things. Or maybe he had the note since the day Max died, and he was only now getting around to doing anything. I don’t know, but I said you didn’t need him looking after you. Ash and Clayton are in prison, and I call every day, Z. They can’t get to you anymore.”
“Then he left.”
“Then he left. If you’ll feel better hearing it, he seemed a little disappointed we didn’t need his services.”
“His services?”
“Davenport’s a private investigator, Zarah. He’s paid to follow people and dig up secrets.”
That’s why he was at the café the second time. Max wanted him to follow me. It wasn’t a coincidence, and he didn’t ask to sit at my table because he liked me. I’m so stupid. Maybe the paparazzi wasn’t a fluke either. “How long has he been following me?”
My brother presses his lips together. “I don’t know, and I didn’t think to ask. I doubt he’s been watching you since Max passed away. Douglas would have spotted him, and the dogs would’ve known if he was lurking around the yard.”
“He’s not coming back.” He was patient and kind, but now I know it’s only because Max asked. He didn’t seem that...I don’t know. Mean.
Zane sits on the armrest and braces his arm on a leg. “Do you want him to come back?”
I would want him to come back if he liked me, not because Max left him instructions to spy on me. “I want to know.”
He doesn’t ask what it is that I want to know, and tension drains out of me. It’s exhausting trying to explain my muddled thoughts, yet I can’t always assume people understand what I’m thinking. That’s the part of using my words I’m going to have to work on, but Zane is my brother and he knows what I’m thinking without me having to pick every thought apart. In this instance, I take the easy way out. I feel like I have a gob of peanut butter on the roof of my mouth, and my tongue hurts trying to talk around it.
He smooths his hand from the top of my head down to the nape of my neck and stands. It’s protective, and in his way, he’s telling me he loves me. At his desk, he opens his laptop and taps on a few keys. He writes something on a sticky note and holds the yellow paper out to me.
“This is his cell number. I’ll leave it up to you to contact him. If you want to invite him out to the house, you don’t need permission. You live here, and this is your home. If you meet him in the city, I...” He shudders and rests his forehead against his clasped hands. “I know I need to give you space to grow and learn and figure things out on your own terms, but Z, Gage is a man, and if you get close to him...”
“He’ll want sex.”
His gaze softens. “You’re beautiful. He’d be crazy not to.”
“Gage knows what happened to me. What Ash made me do. It’s on the news.”
“Ash gave Nathalie to me, and I used her because I could.”
“Gage isn’t like you.” The words come before I can stop them, and Zane flinches. I hurt him, and I couldn’t stop it.
He only nods. “I hope for your sake he isn’t.”
Later that day, Stella comes home after her classes and I peek into the suite she and Zane share. She’s sitting in the window seat reading a book and she looks like a poster for a motivational quote. Her face is peaceful, her lips turned upward.
“You came for me” is always fast in my heart whenever I see her. It’s how I show my gratitude. Without her stubbornness, without her grit, without her need to save Zane and reveal the truth about our parents’ deaths, I would still be a prisoner at Quiet Meadows. Ash’s hideous ring would still be on my finger, and he would still be hurting me.
You came for me.
The simple phrase conveys so many feelings, and sometimes when my emotions swamp me, it’s all I can say. Stella knows how thankful I am, and whenever the words come, whenever I can’t stop them, all she does is smile and touch my hand and say, “I know, sweetie.”
She traded places with me and lost five years of her life. Instead of hating me, she rescued me.
I’ll always be in her debt.
“Hey,” she says, setting her book aside. “What’s up?”
Another thing I admire about Stella is that she didn’t let my brother’s money change her. Her hair is fastened into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing yoga pants and a matching tank top. She’s the same woman I met in payroll except her clothes are Lululemon and her makeup is Bobbi Brown.
She helps Lucille in the kitchen, and she runs the vacuum. She’s brave enough to tell Zane off when he’s wrong, and she’s always on my side.
Stella is my sister and my best friend.
I still get tongue-tied around her, and I fumble for something to say. She’s patient, and she scoots a little, inviting me to sit on the padded bench.
Sitting opposite her, I look out the window. Snowflakes are blowing in the wind. Maybe they’ll stick and will have snow in the morning.
She touches my toes with hers. Her nails are painted the same color pink as mine and for some reason that comforts me.
“When will you and Zane have babies?” I blurt out. It’s not what I wanted to ask, but the silence was starting to grow uncomfortable.
Stella thinks about my question and lifts a shoulder. “I’m not sure. I like my classes. We’re enjoying being together without responsibilities. There’s plenty of time. How about you? Are you thinking about babies?”
This is why I like talking to Stella best. She treats me like a normal person. She doesn’t say anything about how a pregnancy won’t be healthy until I’m off all the drugs. Or how I’m not seeing anyone, or how making babies mean sex, and I’m scared of men fucking me because I haven’t separated intimacy and violence in my mind and I may never until I can find a man who’s patient and willing to show me at my own pace.
“Sometimes I think about having a family, but it’s scary.”
She squeezes my hand and taps her toes on the tops of mine. “When I was growing up, I didn’t have a mom, and I’m scared to be one. I don’t know how.”
It helps to know Stella’s scared of things. Sometimes I think she’s the bravest person I know.
“I would be their aunt,” I say.
“And when you have children, I will be theirs.”
This cheers me. Stella will always be part of my family. “I love you, Stella.”
“I love you, too.”
I know she’s telling me the truth. She came for me.
“Were you just hanging out?” She leans her head against the cold glass. The snowflakes have thickened and some land and melt on the window.
“Max asked his brother to look out for me.”
Stella has never met Gage. She was in Florida visiting her family when Zane and I went to Max’s memorial service.
This piques her interest. “Oh, yeah?”
“He wrote Gage a note in case he passed away.”
I tell her about the coffee and Gage giving me a ride and then Zane telling him to leave me alone.
She acts like she doesn’t know, but I’m sure Zane already told her this. To ask her advice. It could be why he gave me Gage’s number so easily. Stella might have told him to let me find my own way, and I appreciate it if she did. Even though Zane is trying to protect me, I need to be able to live my own life.
“Is he good looking?” she asks, and I blush.
Gage is handsome, in a tough-guy kind of way. “He has tattoos, lots, I think, and hazel eyes.”
“You like him.”
“He’s tall.”
“Tall men are hard to kiss because we’re short,” she says.
She’s teasing, but I nod. “How would we kiss?”
“He’ll pick you up.”
I know that’s true. Zane picks Stella up all the time, and the idea spooks me and thrills me at the same time. It sounds romantic, but one of the men who paid Ash picked me up and threw me against the wall like a ragdoll. My head hurt for three days.
“Do you know what he does for work?” she asks.
“Zane said he’s a private investigator.”
“Sexy. Let’s look him up.” She slides her phone out of the pocket that runs down her thigh. Typing into the browser, she searches Gage’s name, presses on a result, and whistles at the screen. “He’s handsome.”
Stella hands me the phone, and the website for the Davenports’ PI business is on the screen. The homepage features Gage and an older man. The text says he’s his dad. And there’s Baby sitting at his feet.
“He’s nice to me because Max told him to be.”
She pulls the phone out of my grasp, zooms in, and studies him. “I think he’s nice to you because he’s a nice guy.”
“Not because Max said?”
“Not all of it.” She pauses and lifts a corner of her mouth in a sympathetic smile. “You’re lonely. Gage is the first man you’ve met since Max died. Do you want to meet someone else? You don’t have to latch on to Gage. The city is full of men who would love to date you.”
My pulse quickens. “They know what Ash did to me.”
“They’ll understand, Zarah. Ash was a powerful man. You couldn’t say no, and neither could the other women he mistreated. The women in his escort service, the women who worked at Ladies and Gentlemen—they were all used and abused. They’ll find men who will love them and have healthy relationships. You will, too. I promise.”
Those women aren’t dealing with six years of drugs, they aren’t dealing with a mind like Swiss cheese. Things are harder for me, and I can’t trust my feelings. I can’t rely on my gut reaction or women’s intuition. I’m afraid I won’t be able to date a man and figure out the type of person he is before it’s too late. The look in his eyes. The feelings portrayed in his touch. A caress can turn into a painful grip in seconds, and I won’t know until he’s hurting me and I can’t escape. Kisses and lies can fall from the same lips.
“Let Zane set you up with someone he trusts. We’ll double date and do something low-key. Dinner and a showing or something. It’s time to get you out of the house.”
If Stella’s with me, I think I can do it. “What about Gage?”
“Gage is Max’s brother. You feel close to him because Max was nice to you and so was Gage. I think you need to see what’s out there, and then, if you can’t stop thinking about Gage, you know it’s real.”
“Okay.” I trust Stella, and there’s wisdom in her words.
A double date.
The last double date I went on was with Ash and Zane and Stella. “Not Temptations.”
Her eyes harden. “Not Temptations. Never again.”
Ash took my virginity that night while a group of people watched and cheered him on. He didn’t use anything and came inside me. Trapping me against the wall, his semen dripping down the inside of my thighs, he whispered in my ear, “You’re mine. You will be mine until the day you die.”
He almost made his promise come true.
Stella came for me.
A double date sounds nice.
Zane sets something up for the next evening, almost like he wants to get it over with, but Stella assures me that’s not the case. A new photographer is holding a small debut showing, and Zane thought it would be perfect.
My date is someone who works at the company, and I wish he wouldn’t have done that, but it’s only dinner and a showing. I don’t want the guy to think his job depends on how the evening goes or if I like him. It’s what Stella thought when Zane promoted her.
Zane only shrugged and said he trusted him. He’s a good worker, treats others respectfully, and doesn’t lie.
Because of our histories, honesty is a must.
Ingrid lounges on my bed and watches me dress. She suggests dusting a bit of glitter over my collarbones, and I do, liking the sparkle. She hugs me quickly, wishes me a good evening, and retreats to her room.
Stella’s half a staircase in front of me, and I hear my brother hiss, “Christ. Stella.”
When I reach the bottom, he's kissing her, and his hand is inside her dress, gently kneading her breast.
Displays of affection churn my stomach. Zane loves Stella and he shows it in the way he touches her, but if I can't let a man touch me, how will he show me affection? How would Zane show Stella he loves her if she couldn't tolerate his touch?
It’s something I worry about.
“I’m so lucky,” he murmurs into her hair.
Brushing a kiss against his cheek, she says, “Don’t forget it.”
She’s teasing, but he says fervently, “Never.”
It’s a promise. An oath.
I need a love like that.
“Zarah, you look beautiful,” he says, turning to me. Hesitantly, he flutters a kiss over my cheek. “We have a table at The Hidden Fox at seven and the showing begins at eight. We’ll be fashionably late.”
“Who’s my date?” I ask as Zane holds my coat and I slide my arms into the sleeves.
“His name is Tate Knutson. My age and well-educated. Friendly. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”
We pass the hour into the city chatting about the company and how we’ll celebrate the holidays. It disappointed Lucille, but as a family, we decided to skip celebrating Thanksgiving this year. You could argue and say I have plenty to be thankful for, but I don’t agree. I can’t avoid Christmas, but I wish I could. Stella’s parents are flying in from Florida, and they’re excited to see her. They’ll only stay for a couple of days because her sister and her family can’t visit this year, but even two days will be too long.
I’m nervous about meeting them, and I wanted the first Christmas in our house to belong to only us. I would disappoint Stella if I told her that, and the last thing I want to do is hurt her feelings. Besides, if I say anything, she might celebrate the holidays in St. Petersburg, and I don’t want her to leave.
While we talk, Zane nurses a whiskey and Stella sips generic sparkling water that Zane, for some reason, likes to stock in our fridges. She doesn’t drink anymore, and I know it’s because she doesn’t want me to feel left out. I’m still on too much medication and I can’t, but I’ve told her I don’t mind. I miss sipping a glass of wine, and apple martinis will always be a favorite of mine and Stella’s.
Douglas lets us out on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, and when a hostess shows us to our table, everyone stares and whispers behind their hands. We’re heroes to a lot of people, but there are still thousands in the city who hate us for what we did to the Blacks. They did business with Black Enterprises and Clayton and Ash made them rich.
Tate’s already sitting at our small table hidden away from the other patrons in a separated alcove on the second floor, and he stands as we approach. He’s shorter than Zane and not as filled out in the shoulders, but his eyes are kind. His blond hair shines under the dim light, and he wears a suit well. Maybe Zane told him I don’t like to be touched as he only holds my hand in a brief, gentle clasp and says it’s a pleasure to meet me.
The food’s good, and Tate is a natural storyteller. I like him, but he doesn't give my stomach the fluttery feeling Gage does whenever he looks at me. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe I shouldn't be looking for a tingle, a sense of anticipation. Maybe I need slow and steady.
Zane pays our bill, and in the lobby, Stella squeezes my arm and shoots me a thumbs up behind Zane’s and Tate’s backs. I'm comfortable enough to let Tate hold my coat, and his hands rest on my shoulders as I do up the buttons. He holds the door open for me, and we step outside onto the sidewalk, his hand lightly pressing against my lower back.
The weather is chilly and the bright city lights hide the stars, but it's pleasant to walk to the gallery two blocks away.
I slip on an icy patch, and Tate steadies me, his arm around my waist. “I don’t want you to fall. Can I hold your hand?”
Zane and Stella are a little ways up the block. They're talking about something they don't want me to hear or they're giving me privacy to relax. If that's their intent, it's working and I say, “Thank you.”
His hand is warm and soft, and he doesn't grab me too hard. “Are you doing okay?”
I bristle, but then I sigh. I don't want to be treated with kid gloves, but I need it. When it comes to men, when it comes to them touching me, I need them to go slow and I can't resent any man who gives me what I need.
“Yes. The meal was lovely.”
“It's a nice little place. Never been there before. Do you guys own it?”
We weren't treated like we owned it, and we paid before we left. I can only tell Tate the truth. “I don't think so.”
“Do you know anything about the photographer we're seeing tonight?”
“No. Zane made our plans. I'm sorry. I must seem dull.”
“Not dull. Quiet. Reflective. It's nice. Still waters run deep and all that, right?”
I look into his face to see if he's mocking me, but he's thoughtful himself, holding my hand and walking down the sidewalk demanding nothing but my company.
Tate cups his hand under my elbow to give me support up the stairs and opens the gallery’s gleaming glass door. An attendant hangs our jackets in a closet, trading them for tickets, and Tate pockets ours.
Zane and Stella have already started to mingle, and he catches my eye across the dim room and nods, acknowledging I’m here and safe.
I drank coffee at dinner, and out of solidarity for my situation, Tate turns down champagne and orders two lime sparkling waters from the bar.
“Thank you,” I murmur, lifting the fizzy drink to my lips.
“You're welcome.” He brushes a piece of hair out of my eyes. I don’t like his fingers so close to my face and I try not to flinch. “You're very beautiful, Zarah. I hope after tonight, you’ll let me see you again.”
He’s given me no reason to be scared of him, and I force myself to say, “I'd like that.”
Tentatively, he places his arm around my shoulders, his fingertips grazing my skin, and we walk from picture to picture. They’re sexual, some graphic, bordering on violent. Tate’s touch turns into something nasty, perspiration beads over my skin, and ugly things wiggle inside my belly. One photo is of a man pushing a woman against a window, a city spread out behind her. Her legs are wrapped around his narrow waist, and her dress is twisted up around her hips. The man wears his jeans low, no shirt, and the city’s light shimmers off his skin. He’s gripping her ass, the veins in his forearms popping. I know they’re having sex.
She's enjoying what he's doing to her, but when I look at them, I feel arms trapping me. A cock pressed against my sex. I'm not excited, I'm not willing, and I know he'll hurt me. He wants to.
I start shaking, my drink splashing out of the squat glass. I’m suffocating, and I try to keep my cool. Tate’s mesmerized by the couple and doesn't notice my distress.
Desperately, I turn away, and my eyes meet Gage’s. He's with the barista from the café. He said they weren't a together, but they look cozy. Tall and gorgeous, wearing a skimpy cocktail dress, she’s hanging on him.
Use your words.
“Excuse me, I need to freshen up.”
“Sure. Are you feeling all right?” Tate rescues my drink. I hope he doesn't notice the spill on the floor.
“Yes. I just need a moment.”
I don't wait for him to reply, and I hurry through the crowd. They’re laughing and talking and blushing. The last picture I pass is of a different couple, the man’s fingers tangled in his lover’s hair, and he's sinking his teeth into her shoulder. The woman's face is a contorted expression of pleasure and pain, and a tear drips off her cheek, the photographer catching it as it falls.
I stumble into a dark hallway, but I don’t know where it leads. It doesn’t matter. I drop onto a bench and struggle to breathe.
A hand pushes my head down, and it feels too much like one of my jobs forcing his cock into my mouth.
The memory twists, jagged in my mind, and I gag.
“Breathe or you’re going to hyperventilate.”
I choke.
“ Breathe or you’re going to pass out .”
Gage. His voice is rough, full of concern. I relax and do what he says. The pressure turns into a caress, and he rests his hand on the nape of my neck.
I will my stomach to settle down. I almost lost my dinner.
Humiliation crashes through me and I can’t stop it. This will always be my life. Who I am. Racy pictures will trigger anxiety attacks. I’ll always panic whenever I think about sex. I’ll never be able to let a man love me.
Tears of shame drip from my eyes. Gage’s thumb rubs along the side of my neck and the light back-and-forth motion soothes me. My breathing returns to normal, and I lift my head and wipe my face with the back of my hand.
“You’re always catching me crying.” I try to laugh.
“The exhibit not what you thought?” he asks, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbing at my cheeks.
“Some of them flustered me, I guess.”
“Who are you with?”
“Zane, Stella—”
“Your date?”
“Yeah.”
“They should’ve known better.”
“It’s not Zane’s fault. I tell him to treat me like a normal person, and he does. He probably didn’t think to check ahead.”
“Still—”
He doesn’t understand. “There’s no ‘still.’ If he would’ve known how provocative the exhibit was going to be, he would’ve changed our plans and that’s exactly what I don’t want. I want to be normal. I wanted a simple night out.”
Gage nods. “I get it, but perhaps a little warning would have been nice.”
“Maybe, yeah.”
He pauses and folds the handkerchief into a neat square. “Can I show you something?”
“What?”
“One of the pictures out there? Then I'll help you find your date.”
He mutters something that sounds like “Lucky bastard” but I'm not sure. He's staring at the floor and he shoves the damp handkerchief into his pocket.
“Okay.”
The photos are lurid and beautiful in a crass way, but I don't know what he wants me to see.
He doesn't touch me as we step out of the back hallway and join the exhibit. The guests are casually roaming from picture to picture like I just didn’t almost have a nervous breakdown, and the photographer, a slim man wearing glasses, his beard shaped in a goatee, accepts congratulations. His work is close to selling out.
Gage stops in front of a couple in a dark corner. I can see why this one is hidden away.
The grainy black and white photo is of a man and woman like most of them in the showing. She's backed against the wall, the man trapping her wrists above her head. He has his other hand wrapped around her throat, but not hard. Like he only wants to touch her. He’s shirtless. Jeans slung low on his hips. She's wearing a dress or a nightgown, I can't tell which, and her right breast is exposed, the material ripped in what we’re supposed to think is desire.
And I do. There isn't violence in the photograph. The looks in their eyes conveys passion, lust, and love.
“Do you see?” Gage asks. “Sex doesn't have to hurt. He's claiming her because he loves her, and she's letting him because she loves him, too.”
“Right before that shot, he asked her to marry him and she said yes.” The photographer stands next to us, his hands in his pockets.
“She’s beautiful,” I murmur.
“He said it was love at first sight.”
“Is this picture still available?” I ask, surprising myself. This is not the kind of photo I would have purchased even before what Ash did to me.
“This one? Yes.”
“I want it.”
“Thank you. That’s kind. Syd Miller,” he says, holding out his hand. “And you are?”
I grasp it without hesitation. “Zarah Maddox.”
“Miss Maddox. I apologize. I had no idea you would be here tonight. Can I ask why you want this particular photo?”
I look at Gage when I speak. “Because one day I want what she has. Excuse me, gentlemen.”
I find Tate and we join Zane and Stella, and no one knows that because of Gage, I’ll remember this night for the rest of my life.