CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Give Me Something
SERENITY
Delilah becomes more of a nightmare every day, and she’s not even here to torment me, but unlocking this cupboard, watching hundreds of files fall to my feet, is torture at its finest.
Ever since Lake and I started getting closer and opening up to one another, this secret has been eating me up inside.
I can’t hire a private investigator. There are no funds to splurge on unnecessary stuff. Especially not a PI, which guarantees nothing to me. It’s a risk I’m not willing to take.
I’ve gone through these files countless times, but I’m going to tackle them again, because Lake is working his butt off, and if I randomly go to jail, it’ll ruin us.
I don’t want Lake to be hurt. I’m scared of happening. These lies I’ve collected, like playing cards, are bound to screw up everything, and I’m really liking everything in my life.
Other than this. I need to resolve my hidden life. The sooner I bury this, the sooner I can confess it to Lake, and the quicker we can move on, and maybe that sounds crazy, but I know if I fix myself before anyone discovers this brokenness, everything will turn out fine. It has to. So, there’s surely a clue in these documents, something I overlooked. Literally anything would help me out of this mess.
My hand grips the edge of my counter, and I keep myself stable as I lower onto my weary knees and move some papers to empty space on the kitchen floor, but the moment I shift onto my butt, and the cool tile hits my bare thighs, I fill with regret at even trying to tackle any of this.
I grab a stapled document, shaking my head to myself.
The document shows a plastered image of my old car, and a bunch of bold text. Every spot my focus lands on makes me feel icky.
After investigators found my ID at the Luna motel, they showed up at my doorstep to ask me a few questions. I was taking time off, mourning the loss of Delilah. Jimena and Maggie were stopping by every day to force me to eat and to convince me I didn’t kill my sister. My mental state wasn’t at a high.
My ID was the only evidence for weeks. I understood why authorities would question me, but I thought my answers cleared me from suspicion, and considering I wept out at least half the water in my body as I told them about my sister, I believed they understood. Until a witness came forward.
She was staying at the Luna the night Mr. Mancini disappeared. A woman with a similar description to mine stumbled into Ms. Valeno’s door, the witness.
Ms. Valeno, startled by the noise, peeked through her window.
The blonde woman met a man a few doors down, and they quietly argued. Ms. Valeno continued watching them through the crevice of her blinds, worried that the fight would escalate to violence, but she left briefly to grab her phone, and when she returned, she saw the blonde enter room 106.
Naturally, the room belonged to Mr. Mancini.
I recall the events in my mind. For the longest time, I assumed Mancini was someone my sister met, or she knew someone who knew him. Maybe they got high together, accidentally placing her at the scene of a crime and inevitably framing me. But then there’s the guy Delilah was arguing with. Nobody knows what they were fighting over. Ms. Valeno couldn’t decipher their hushed words.
I pick up another set of papers. These papers cover the second time investigators returned to my home. I remember feeling terrified. The conversation tone shifted. They directed the questions at me, instead of keeping them universal. I thought I was in danger, so I hired Tommy.
Then I realized I had no money to keep him as my lawyer, so I tried to reach out to my parents for help, but they didn’t speak to me for months. My dad at least hugged me at Delilah’s funeral, but my mother pretended I didn’t exist, and when I managed to blurt out what was happening with investigators, I was told to handle it myself. They shut me down, not because they couldn’t help me, but because they blamed, and still blame me for her death. They refuse to help me still, but at least they speak to me again, I guess.
Hiring Tommy was the right choice, but I had to sell my car to keep up with payments. I’ll admit, that’s a stupid thing to do when the police are questioning if you’re a killer.
***
My stomach grumbles. Lake is working and I doubt he’ll want to cook after a busy day. Although, he seems to like his job so far. Last night, I was quizzing him on his homework. I have zero idea what we were talking about, but Lake was answering every flash card correctly.
I want to surprise Lake with a superb meal, like he does for me, but I’m not skilled at cooking. If I had time to learn more recipes, I might be a more suitable wife like my mother, but I’m far from being that imaginary woman, and it’s all thanks to investigator Lawrence.
He came by a third time and asked me about my car. I told him I’d only speak to him with my lawyer present, because somewhere in my un-educated brain, I thought that would force him to leave me alone, but it wasn’t my brightest idea. He took that as me being suspicious, so he tracked down my old vehicle, confiscated it and put it into evidence.
I look around the floor and pick up the document about my car again. I stop reading part way through to pull cheddar cheese out of my fridge. There’s one thing that’s hard to mess up. A grilled cheese—simple to cook and simple to eat. So I hope Lake enjoys it.
I read over the document as I prepare to cook dinner, pulling out butter, bread, and a pan. I flick on the stove and I put the document on the counter next to me, freeing my hands to grind cheese. My attention stays split in half, flicking my gaze between highlighted paragraphs and my fingertips—ensuring I don’t grind them off into the grater.
They found coke residue in the glove box, and a needle tucked between the backseat cushions, but the worst part of it, light brown hairs, the same color as Mancini’s, in the trunk of my car.
The hairs couldn’t be tested for DNA, but it was enough to bring me in for a formal interrogation anyway, and that long hour of batting off questions, while my non-comforting lawyer argued with investigators, is what led me to today.
With Tommy’s help, we’ve been doing a decent job pushing, and building evidence that my sister is involved. Not me. I’ve done drug tests and been the best upstanding citizen ever.
Until I committed marriage fraud, but that’s besides the point.
I flip the grilled cheese; it looks dry. I suck in a breath. I don’t think I cut enough cheese, but it’ll have to do.
“Tester sandwich,” I mumble. “I’ll shred more cheese for Lake’s.”
The newest information in Mancini’s case devastated his poor family. They’ve been holding onto hope that their son is alive. Like how I held onto Delilah being innocent.
Everyone has changed their minds since the cops discovered his severed hand. I could sit here and blame his family for threatening Boston police and holding both their money and reputation over them, but I don’t. If I was Mancini’s mother, I’d do the same thing. It’s a horrible mystery. I just can’t take the fall for it.
Once Lake’s grilled cheese is done, I go back to my spot on the floor. I take a bite of my sandwich, scanning over various pieces of information and reports Tommy has written, but like every other time I’ve snuck into this cabinet in the last few months, I feel another crack burst in my heart.
“Seriously, what have you dragged me into?”
There’s nothing new. I’ve thought of everything. I’ve studied this case more than I’ve studied anything in my life.
“Ms. Valeno described the man in a dark hoodie and jeans.” I roll my eyes as I read aloud, mocking the investigator’s voice.
Something. Give me something.
I flip through pages, drawing myself into every paragraph, but nothing hints at anything new.
“She never noticed if the man entered 106. However, prior to Ms. Valeno going to sleep, the man walked by her window. She did not get a distinct description of his face, but he was pulling at a bejeweled silver chain on his neck.”
I bite into my grilled cheese and tug at the bread with a mild, bubbling anger. So they’ll frame me for murder, but not search for the bedazzled man? I think he’d be easier to spot than an average-height blonde woman.
A jeweled chain. I almost spit out my grilled cheese.
My mind flickers back to a memory of a man holding out his palm. His empty hand pries at the chain on his neck. There are different shiny charms all over it.
Delilah had a boyfriend. I knew he wasn’t a great guy, but that’s all the information I gathered from him. He came by a few times. Delilah called him Dom, but I have no idea what his last name is. Or if Dom is even his real name.
Was he the one arguing with her?
I jump at Lake’s truck, rolling up the driveway.
My half-eaten grilled cheese slides across the counter as I toss it, and fly to my feet, throwing open the cupboard door and grabbing at papers.
It’s like the closet I had growing up. I just threw stuff inside and hoped it would stay shut.
The amount of papers I threw around without thought earlier makes my blood pressure spike. I hurl as many as I can back into the cupboard, but then my blood pressure breaks world-wide records when Lake’s key slips into the door. At least I remembered to lock it today.
The more papers I shove in, the more papers seem to fall out. With frustration ripping through my fingertips and sweat creeping to my skin’s surface, I crumple document after document, forcing them inside.
“Angel?” He shuts the front door behind him.
“Shoot,” I whisper. “Get in the thing!” I shove the last paper inside, slamming the door shut and digging my knee into the solid surface to keep it shut as Lake calls out my name.
“Yeah!” I shout. My eyes dart around for the key, and I throw my arms into the air when it isn’t where I left it.
I can’t take my knee off of the cabinet door. It’ll pop open and spill my secrets.
Now it feels like Lake is gunning it down the hallway, even though his steps are normal. I twist and turn. Each thud of his feet makes my body think it’s suffocating and I start caving into myself, but in a glimmer of hope, I spot the key in the sink. I grab onto it, lock the cabinet, shove the key back on top of my fridge, underneath some mail, and take back my discarded grilled cheese from the counter.
All in the matter of three seconds, before Lake comes into my sight.
He holds up a brown bag. “Got us food.” His arm drops. “Didn’t think you’d make anything.”
“No, no.” I smile as bright as I can. “Takeout sounds so much better. Much better than this. I didn’t even put enough cheese on it.”
Lake snickers. “Fifty percent of a grilled cheese is cheese.”
My chest continues heaving, but I keep my smile glued to my lips. “You’re better at math than me, Phoenix.”
Something shifts in him. It’s a microscopic twirl in his eyes, but I notice it. He drops the bag of takeout on the kitchen island and comes closer. I stay quiet as he takes the grilled cheese from my hand. Then he grabs a plate out from the cupboard, placing my sandwich on top if it. He stays in my proximity, hovering in front of me, as he removes the pan from the stove and lowers it into the sink.
“What’s going on, Angel?” He tugs at his tie, loosening it and letting it hang around his neck.
“Hm?” I force out.
He tucks my hair behind my ear, and then his fingers smooth along my chin, tilting it upward. “You’re anxious, honey.”
The softness in his tone makes my cells stop rushing through my bloodstream. I go mellow, almost melting, from the single, gentle touch of his fingers.
“Just tired,” I say. Not a lie. “My tattoo is really itchy, too.”
His eyebrows draw closer, and I stare into his eyes as he investigates every part of my face. “That’s not all.”
Oh goodness. No, no, it isn’t, but I don’t want him to hate me. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want Lake to see my truth when he’s just discovering how to stand on his own feet. He’s busy with the work life he’s thrown himself into. Our tattoos are itchy and irritating, and I know so well how irritated Lake is with himself. That he’s still trying to be this better man and I just can’t slide my scraps onto his plate. I can’t.
So I turn my head and give my sandwich a dirty look. “I’m a little upset I can’t make you a half-decent grilled cheese.”
Also not technically a lie.
His hands seize me by my hips. “That’s not important, Angel.” He pulls me closer to him. “You have dinner.”
I roll back my neck. “Please tell me you didn’t just buy something for me. You need to eat—”
He shushes me and motions himself backward, keeping his hands on my hips and dragging me along. “Stop worrying.”
As I try to figure out how to possibly stop worrying about anything ever, I end up nuzzled against the side of the kitchen island, and Lake stands right behind me. The graze of his lips against the back of my ear sends a shiver throughout me, and for a moment, I stop thinking at all.
“Got myself food,” he whispers, “but I don’t want it. All I want is my Serenity.”
His Serenity.
My eyes fall closed. “I like that idea.”
“Put your hands in front of you,” he says, planting a gentle kiss on the center of my spine.
I reach my arms out in front of me, sinking the tips of my fingers into the chilly granite. Lake moves his hands over the curve of my hips. He stops at my thighs and moves back up before laying another kiss on my neck.
My thighs tingle. “I take it you had a good day at work?”
He pulls up my shirt to expose my lower back, kissing me more, making my body tremor. Nothing but gentle sweetness. That’s all he is. And every kiss is a reminder of how patient he is with me. Lake Phoenix never rushes me. He takes his time with me, like I’m one of those tiny brownies he could eat in a bite, but instead he does it in three.
“It was alright.” He lifts my shirt higher, exposing as much of my back as he can. “Thought about you all day.”
He adds, “can I take this off?”
My eyes stay closed, and I nod my head. “Yes. Do what you want. Please.”
“Good girl, Angel, always using those manners.” He uses one hand to urge me to lift my arms, and then he pulls my shirt over my head, discarding it somewhere behind us.
My whole body heats and the temperature only increases when he runs his hand along my bare back. Then those same kisses trail on all of me. They’re so light and tender it makes me arch, and tiny goosebumps sprawl around my skin.
“How was your day, Serenity?”
“It was—” I’m cut off by my own moan as he sinks his teeth into my shoulder. “Good,” I muster. “It was good.”
This man drives me insane and simultaneously prevents me from madness. But before his teasing takes over, and I end up undone from his touch, I spin to face him. I seize his cheeks in my palms because I can’t help myself from kissing him.
He breathes my kiss right into his lungs, and he lets my lips press softly against his for a few seconds, before diving, deepening it with his tongue. His hand trails up my spine, curving into the back of my head and holding my neck steady where it is.
My hands slide up his face, and the world stills as our kiss stays slow and heavy. Rocking our tongues between each other and pressing our lips harder. I’m back to my trance of filling with so much air, so much life—it’s almost addicting, but then my eyes flutter open. I repeat the same movement of my pinky, catching onto the jagged skin buried in his hairline.
For whatever reason, it makes me sad.
I pull my mouth from his. “Lake, what is this?”
He hums with a pout on his face, but then his features shift back to his regular, stony expression when I poke at the harsh line. “Just a scar,” he says.
“From what?”
He wraps his hand around my lifted arm. He avoids my tattoo, attempting to tug my finger away from the scar, but my inked skin ruins his chance at a good grip.
He huffs. “Not important.”
“I want to know,” I insist. “You tell me about your other ones when I discover them.”
Lake drops his head onto my forehead and sighs. “It’s not a fun story, Angel. One of the worst concussions of my life.”
My earlier sadness flips into something new. Something of fire and tenseness. Anger. And despite not reading my books lately, the classic words pour off my tongue. “Who caused it, Phoenix? Who did this?”
His eyes soften, and a weary smile sneaks onto his face.
The answer I was expecting, based on the few stories I know—mostly from Brooks—leaves my husband’s mouth. “My dad, Angel.”
I press my toes into the cool tile and lift myself higher into the air. I still can’t reach the scar, but I kiss the side of his temple. He returns my gesture with a kiss to my cheek, but then he forces me back to my usual height by pushing at my hips.
“Let me think about you,” he says. “Not about the past.”
I shut my eyes for a moment until I can find the composure to nod my head, because I’m tempted to know every detail. I want every part of his life to become part of mine, but sometimes not knowing it all is a better form of support. So I open my eyes, and my mouth stays sealed, just in time to witness my husband lowering to his knees in front of me.
“I’ve never been much of a worshipper, Serenity, but I’ll be damned if I don’t spend my life crawling on my knees for you.”
The words. The glow in his eyes. I can sense my knees threatening to cave in. He said spend his life. Here. Doing this. Forgetting about rough scars and hopeless memories. Lake would rather be here, creating new ones with me.
He pulls at my jeans. “Off, Angel, before I starve.”
“Gosh,” I choke, quickly unbuttoning my jeans and tugging down the zipper.
He drags the material down my legs, and once my jeans are pooling at my feet, I step free of them, letting Lake toss them away. I’m half naked in the middle of my kitchen, but my husband still doesn’t rush.
He kisses up the back of my legs. Taunting my flesh with that tender touch that makes me simmer. “You like that, honey?” his voice muffles against my calf. “Does testing my patience make my angel happy?”
Like is such an understatement, but I’m quickly morphing into disarray, and I know anything below a yes will make him stop kissing me, so before I slip into a mess of noises, I croak out, “yes. I do.”
My body pulses when his hands return to my bare thighs, and he smiles, chuckling lowly, like seeing me desperate for his touch allows him to stretch his self-control further. Just so he can tease me more.
He stares up at me, rising on his knees to nudge my bottom onto the counter. My breath hitches in my lungs as he takes my leg onto his shoulder, pressing more comfort from his lips into my ankle and shifting up my leg.
On his knees for me.
Here he is, this pretty man on his knees for me.
“Hell, Serenity,” he breathes, raising my other leg onto his empty shoulder, and taking his sweet time to work his kisses all around, until there isn’t an inch of my skin that isn’t on fire and left tender by him.
I lay back my neck, rasping out a soft groan into the air, and causing my husband to moan against my flesh. “There you go, my pretty girl.”
I push myself deep into the counter, letting Lake pull me closer until there’s only a sliver of my ass on the granite. “Lake.” I toss my hair out of my face, then I take my chance and bury my hands back in his waves.
Lake looks up for a moment, holding me in his soft eyes, and finally letting himself loose, sinking his tongue, then his teeth into my inner thigh.
“Tell me what you want, Angel.”
Another tug of his teeth. I carve crescent moons into his scalp, rolling my hips closer to his face, longing for more of this. More of him.
“You, Phoenix,” I wail. “You.”
He shifts closer, grinding his teeth right into my skin, and humming in response to me. A gasp shoots out of me, and sections of my hair stick to the corners of my wet mouth. My thigh twitches, nearly clamping around him when he bites again.
“You wanna give me my fill, Angel?” he rasps. “You wanna let your husband make you squirm and beg?”
“I haven’t shaved in a few—”
He shushes me by dragging the skin of my thigh between his teeth and sucking, looking right at me with narrowed eyes. “Even better, Serenity,” he mutters.
I shudder. “Yes, then. Yes.”
My hands wrap deeper into all the hair on his scalp, and I pretend the soft press of the lone finger on his scar is sending in waves of healing to whatever physical and mental trauma remains.
“Good girl.” He tells me, “we’re done being anxious after this. I’ll eat it out of you.”
My heart throbs. “Yes, Phoenix.”
And that’s all he needs to close in and suffocate all my desperate, needy desires.