Chapter 6
A s the sun rises on the seventh day and a full week has passed us by, we are no closer to freedom. We are no closer to finding a way out of this barbarous basement and going home.
Home .
Sometimes I forget what it looks like.
I try to picture my lavender bedroom walls, bay window, and the vintage mirror that my grandmother passed down to me. It’s a quaint little house with only twelve-hundred square feet and two bedrooms, but it’s mine . I worked my ass off for it and laid my roots.
I was in the middle of researching local animal shelters to adopt a dog—it has been on my bucket list for a solid year now, but it never felt like the right time.
Last Saturday was spent scrolling through furry faces and cute canine bios as I narrowed down my search to find the perfect companion.
I found two contenders, though, all of them called to me with their sad eyes and heartwarming stories.
But Jasmine and Buffy were the two I was going to meet on Sunday. I printed out their photos and secured them to my refrigerator, excited for this big life change.
I got change, all right. Just not the change I ever expected.
And part of me is grateful I don’t have a pet at home waiting for me, wondering where I’ve gone, relying on me for things I cannot give.
I am the pet now .
Dean’s head is back against his pole, but his eyes are on me as I daydream about the two dogs I never got to meet. “Penny for your thoughts?”
I cut him a glance, pulling my legs up until I’m sitting Indian-style across from him. “You don’t have any pennies. Unfair trade.”
He blinks as his mouth quirks into a tiny smile. “Name your price, then.”
“You have nothing to give. My thoughts are extremely valuable, you know.”
“I’m sure they are.” Dean’s eyes are as alight as they can be given the week we’ve battled through. He dips his head to the side, pursing his lips together and considering the bargain. “All right, Corabelle. A thought for a thought.”
I raise the stakes. “How about a confession for a confession?”
An eyebrow arches with interest, his smile blooming. “This could be fun,” he winks at me. “And dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” I chew on the inside of my bottom lip, my belly doing a forgotten flippy-thing. “What kind of confessions did you have in mind? ‘ I stiffed the pizza delivery guy’ or a full-on priest confessional with ten Hail Marys and the Act of Contrition?”
Dean lets out a gruff chuckle, shifting his weight until his knees are drawn up and shrugging his shoulders. “I would never stiff the pizza guy. Unforgivable.” He ponders my question as he studies me, his head still cocked. “But definitely the second one. Let’s go all Last Rites on each other.”
I stare back at him, wracking my brain for something that is even remotely Last Rites worthy.
To be honest, I’m not all that interesting.
I pay my taxes, I drive the speed limit, I don’t owe anybody any money.
I’ve never cheated or stolen. And I always put the toilet paper roll in the ‘over’ position.
“Fine. But I’m kind of boring, so you’ll have to go first. Maybe you’ll inspire something sordid and obscene buried deep in my subconscious. ”
“Okay.” Dean’s expression turns more serious, the corners of his eyes creasing as he contemplates his confession.
His stubble has grown into scruff over the past week.
The dark hair lines his chin and jaw, giving him a rougher appearance.
Mandy didn’t like the scruffy look when he’d occasionally let a modest beard grow out.
She said it made him look like a mountain man.
I never paid much attention at the time, but now that his face is the only thing I have to look at, I have to say I disagree with my sister. It’s masculine. Rugged .
Maybe a little sexy if the face wasn’t attached to Dean Asher.
A few more minutes tick by and the suspense is killing me. He’s watching me like he’s questioning his truth bomb—possibly regretting the whole thing. “Any day now, Dean.”
A sigh escapes him. “All right. Fine.” His eyes look even bluer as they hold mine. “I had a thing for you first.”
What ?
I choke on nothing. I start coughing and sputtering, and I have to force my eyes away from him. “What are you talking about?”
Dean bites his lip with another indifferent shrug.
“Before I started dating Mandy. It was freshman year and you walked into Mr. Adilman’s class wearing that little denim skirt and purple blazer.
Your hair was all long and gold and had some kind of flower clip in it.
I thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. ”
My heart is doing the Macarena, and my jaw drops like a comical cartoon.
I think I’m speechless, which is new for me, but words aren’t coming out and even my breathing has come to a screeching halt.
Dean looks a little amused as he watches me from a few feet away, his eyes dancing over me while he awaits my response.
I don’t respond, though. I’m definitely speechless.
“Your turn,” Dean finally says, his voice soft and lilting.
I slow blink my thoughts into actual words, then shake my head. “It’s still your turn. It’s one-hundred percent still your turn. What are you even talking about? Was your turkey sandwich laced with all the drugs?”
Dean laughs, sliding his socks across the floor and stretching out his long legs. “I thought I was taking that one to the grave,” he admits with a grin. “But I couldn’t let you go on thinking I hated you. That’s so far from the truth.”
“You sure could have fooled me. You could have fooled everyone. Why were you such a jerk to me?”
His grin slips. “I told you. I was a kid, and that’s what dumb boys do when they like a girl. They pick on them.”
“I’ll never understand that.”
“Yeah, it’s stupid,” he says. “Then we both grew up, and giving each other hell was just a part of who we were. There was no going back.” Dean is staring at me, almost knowingly. “And you can deny it all you want, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.”
I set my jaw, my emotions spiraling into a frenzy. I’m not sure what to make of Dean’s confession. I can’t process it. It goes against everything I thought we were .
I gulp back more questions and choose to reroute the subject. Dean’s bomb did happen to trigger something somewhat juicy. “I lost my virginity to Mr. Adilman.”
He gapes at me. “What the fuck?”
I crinkle my nose, not entirely proud of that fact.
“I was nineteen. We ran into each other at a bar—Mandy and I had just gotten fake I.D.’s.
He gave me a ride home, one thing led to another, and…
” I feel my cheeks flush at the memory I’ve kept to myself for ten years. “I’m sure you can figure out the rest.”
Dean fidgets with his cuffs as he blows out a breath. “Shit, Cora. You gave it up to your high school English teacher? Mandy told me Brandon was your first.”
I feel my eye twitch at the mention of Brandon—my first long-term relationship and a huge source of contention between me and the man I’m staring at.
“I’ve never told anyone about it. Not even Mandy.
” My eyes narrow, irritation with my sister flaring to the surface.
“I can’t believe she tells you about my sexcapades. Ew.”
“She tells me everything.”
I huff at him. “Your turn.”
Dean parts his lips, about to speak, but he hesitates. His eyes glass over as a mask of uncertainty sweeps across his face. I can see him swallow, and I wonder what else he can possibly throw at me.
“Uh… it’s about Brandon.”
My body freezes up. “What about Brandon?”
Dean’s ankles are swinging side to side like he’s nervous. He catches my gaze and replies, “He was cheating on you, Corabelle.”
I stare blankly at him, unsure if I heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”
“He was cheating on you. I caught him outside The Oar with his tongue down some floozy’s throat. I roughed him up a little and told him to break it off with you or I would break his face.”
I continue to stare.
“I knew it would destroy you, so I told him to blame it on me. You already hated me. It was better than letting you hate yourself, or having you think you weren’t good enough for that douchebag.”
Still staring.
Dean releases a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment and then braving my stare once more. “Say something, Cora.”
I open my mouth to reply, but only a strained squeak emerges.
I’m overwhelmed by the truths spilling out of Dean’s mouth.
I don’t know whether to be livid that I’ve gone three years still pining over a disloyal man, thinking Dean sabotaged my relationship just to hurt me, or touched by the revelation that Dean was trying to protect me in his own screwed up way.
I’m about to tell him that I’ve gone fifteen years thinking I wasn’t good enough for him —for his friendship.
For his respect. For his decency. But I don’t get the words out in time because Earl’s boots are making their way down the creaky basement steps, and I’m about to get raped for the seventh time in a row.
Dean and I turn to the sadistic fucker who is advancing on us with a devilish leer.
“I have some new tricks up my sleeve for my pets today,” Earl tells us, slapping his hands together and rubbing his palms.
Oh, God . What could he possibly have in store for us? Torture? Sodomy?
I feel queasy.
I expect him to saunter over to me like he usually does every morning before work, but instead, he approaches Dean. I stand to my feet, anxiety bubbling in my belly.
Earl snarls at Dean, “Are you ready to have some fun, my dirty dog?”
I start rattling my chains around, sickened by the very thought. “No! Leave him alone.”
Dean remains sitting with a straight face. “Go fuck yourself.”
“Oh, it’s not what you’re thinking.” Earl throws his hands up, shaking his round head back and forth with a broken laugh. Then he pulls out his pistol and places the barrel at Dean’s forehead. “I’m no homo. Now, stand, pet.”