Five Years Ago: Part 3

“What is that?”

“What?”

“You just swiped something from the ground.”

He holds it up for her. She squints in the gray light of pre-dawn.

“It’s a rock,” she says, puzzled. “Why?”

Oscar drops it into his pocket. “Just because.”

Ren hugs him suddenly, fiercely. “I don’t want this to end.”

He feels giddy. He kisses her upturned face, briefly playing his tongue over her lips. He doesn’t know how he’s going to stand letting her go in a few minutes when they reach Atlantis. “No night lasts forever.”

A sigh rolls through her, a sad one. “I didn’t mean the night. I meant us.”

“There’s no end, baby. Not for us. This is just the beginning.”

The chill of the night desert causes her to shiver, ever so briefly. The sun hadn’t even dipped over the horizon when they set out hours earlier. Now it is utterly dark. He holds her to his side possessively, running every moment through his head.

No one had seen them go. Oscar is sure of it. The only question mark is Ren’s brother Spence, who they glimpsed trotting through the valley on his horse. Even if Spencer had seen them though he wasn’t the type to go gossiping about it.

She’d been asking to see the cave for weeks, the one that had always been rumored to exist around here and which he’d finally found on a solitary early morning hike. It wasn’t a great cave, barely worth looking at in fact when compared side by side with some of the overwhelming caverns he’d climbed into during his years overseas.

Ren didn’t care about that though. She was enchanted by the strange, romantic idea of a secret place. A place that seemed to exist only for them.

The cave was nestled into the side of the mountain with only a shallow outcropping of rock to navigate by. The entrance was a stretched, round shape, kind of like a yawning mouth. Oscar had enough sense to stuff some flashlights in the backpack that also carried bottled water.

He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he was making plans during the hike up there. After all, he’d taken care to swipe a few condoms from Monty before heading out. The entry to the cave was narrow but short, ending in a small oval room that smelled of rain and wild things.

It was there Ren sank down to her knees without a word. Enough sunlight filtered in so he could see her, barely. She lifted his shirt, ran her tongue over the hard muscles of his belly and then searched lower. He wanted her to, and then he didn’t. He stopped her before she got further. He took his shirt off and spread it on the ground, lowering her on top of it. His heart thudded in his chest even though he wasn’t shy around any girl, not ever.

But then, there were no other girls like this one.

She’d never told him it was her first time, but she didn’t have to. He knew even before her body proved it to him. Afterwards, they were silent together, skin against skin, until the light began to fade and Oscar started to worry about getting down the trail in one piece.

Now, closing in on home and facing the reality that they will need to separate for a few hours, Oscar thinks that never in the history of people was it easier to walk beside someone.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, somewhat shyly. They are within sight of Atlantis now. At night it gets swallowed up by the desert, with only a few meager lights to tell the story of its existence. Oscar is thinking about the cave, about her. He’s thinking about whether it’s possible to know you’re making one of your life’s best memories while it’s happening. He swings an arm around her shoulder.

“I’m thinking about Cowboys and Indians.”

Ren laughs. “Why?”

“This is where your grandfather made all those movies, wasn’t it?”

“Our grandfather.” She’s teasing.

“Don’t fucking start.”

“Oh, don’t be angry with me, cousin.”

“I’m as much your cousin as the goddamn president. And as for Rex Savage, never met the guy and we’ve got no blood in common.”

Ren grows thoughtful. “I guess it’s a good thing he died before he got to see what became of us, the Savages.”

He peers down at her. “It’s not so bad, is it?”

“Depends on who you ask. To August, life is just fine. To Lita, it’s catastrophic.”

Oscar has to stop walking because he needs to wrap her in his arms. He’d like her to stay there forever. “What about if I asked you?”

A slight breeze lifts Ren’s hair and he is hit with the now familiar scent of her cherry vanilla shampoo. It’s got him going again. He can’t help it. He presses himself against her so she’ll feel it too, how bad he wants her.

“Oscar,” she sighs, “I’ve never been this happy before.”

“Me either.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He kisses her, long and deep. He wants more but they are getting close to the big house and anyway she wouldn’t be up to it so soon after her first time. It’s okay. There will be other nights.

They are coming around the south side of the big house, hoping not to be seen. Beyond the town, there’s a rickety fence surrounding some crumbling gravestones. The graves are not real, of course. Nothing about this place is real. It’s a fake cemetery where actors wept artificial tears over people who’d never existed in the first place. It was all a tragic fantasy to suit a story. The cemetery has always been left alone, kind of a macabre reminder of the world of make believe. Still, it gives Oscar the fucking creeps and he’d rather be elsewhere.

Suddenly there’s soft two-note whistle from the center of the fenced off square. It couldn’t be anything remotely supernatural. But Oscar nearly jumps out of his skin just the same. There are far worse things than ghosts that lurk in the darkness.

Instinct causes him to swivel and push Ren behind him, shielding her from whatever’s coming. His fists are tight. The whistle sounds again and the footsteps are nonchalant. Oscar relaxes a little. It’s probably just Monty. He’s enough of an asshole to hunker down in the dark just waiting for someone to pick a fight with.

The left side of Oscar’s face is still swollen from the last time they went it at three days ago. Oscar got in more good shots than he took though, so that’s something. They’ve been staying clear of each other since then. That’s the way things always go between him and Monty. Either they’re bashing each other’s faces bloody or they’re ignoring each other’s existence. Oscar knows there’s some deep rage in that guy and it has nothing to do with him. Yet there must be something redeeming about Monty because Ren always insists there is and Oscar would trust Ren with his life.

“Hey,” says the voice from the darkness and it’s not Monty.

“What’s up, Spence?” Ren asks, surprise in her tone. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

By the light of the full moon Oscar can see Spencer Savage has his hands jammed in his pockets. He gives a nod to Oscar and then focuses his attention on his sister. Of all Ren’s siblings he’s the only one Oscar would tentatively call a friend. The kid’s something of a puzzle. He’s quiet and serious and has a habit of avoiding people whenever he can. He’s all right though.

Spence take his hands from his pockets, removes his hat and yawns. “Just hanging out.”

Ren crosses her arms. It’s her big sister no-nonsense pose. “You’re not going to run off into the desert again are you?”

Spence has a habit of taking off when it suits him. A few weeks back he disappeared for two days and even his hellish mother was worried. When he casually strolled back into Atlantis he seemed rather bewildered by the fuss, shrugging everyone off with the explanation the he was camping and didn’t think anyone would miss him. It wasn’t a cry for attention, not with Spence. He felt like leaving so he left. Oscar could respect that, although Ren has said she wishes her younger brother needed people, just a little.

“Not today,” he answers casually. He looks at Oscar. “Actually I was waiting for you guys.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, I saw you head up to the trail earlier. You had to come home sooner or later.”

A light in the big house flicks on and then off again. Ren looks toward the house and frowns. “Something happen? Monty steal one too many beer cases and get carted off by the Consequences PD?”

“Maybe. But that’s not why I was waiting.” Spence clears his throat and fixes them both with a look of sympathy. Considering it’s Spence, this seems as abnormal as a jackrabbit playing Tic Tac Toe. Oscar can feel Ren’s rising tension. He takes her hand.

“Spill it,” Oscar orders. “What’s going on?”

The boy scratches at his head and seems to mull over his words carefully. “Look, I don’t have a problem with whatever’s going on between you, but not everyone feels that way.”

“Eh, whatever. I can handle Monty.”

“I’m not talking about Monty. He can be a dipshit but he doesn’t have a big mouth.”

For some reason a cold finger travels up Oscar’s spine. “But someone does?”

“Yeah, “ Spence admits slowly. “Someone does.”

Ren sucks in a breath. “Goddammit, why can’t Bree mind her own fucking business?”

“Who says Bree had anything to do with it?”

“Well who the hell else is a hair-flipping tattling little gossip?”

Spence exhales and glares at his sister with rare annoyance. “Jesus, Ren. You guys think you’re fucking invisible or what?”

Oscar lowers his head, understanding perfectly. Why were he and Ren kidding themselves that no one around them would notice anything was up? Here they were in an isolated place in the middle of a dull summer and lately they’ve been all over each other. He’d found a way to justify it, telling himself that they’d broken no laws and no one should raise an eyebrow over two teenagers getting together, not in this day and age. But now he silently curses his own fantastic idiocy. It’s not that simple. Not when the two teenagers in question both have the same famous last name.

Spence squirms, apparently regretting his brief outburst. He sighs and runs his hand through his dark hair again. “Look, this is the deal. Oscar, as long as you make my sister smile I won’t be getting all up in your shit. But we all know my mother’s an evil bitch and right now she thinks she’s found something to get bent out of shape about. I just wanted to warn you, that’s all.” He hops over the low fence and starts to walk away into the night. He spins around once and repeats, almost apologetically, “That’s all.”

As soon as the night swallows up Spencer Savage, Ren exhales and buries her face in Oscar’s chest. His arms circle her body and he imagines himself creating a protective cage where she’ll be safe. Safe from Lita, safe from the judgment of strangers, safe from the world.

“It’ll be okay, baby.” He hears his own confidence, tries to make it real.

“Will it?” she asks in a small voice. It’s the first time she’s ever hinted at doubt.

“Of course,” Oscar whispers. He kisses her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead.

She pulls back a few inches and tilts her head back, peering up at him defiantly. “I meant what I said. I love you. Not like a silly, giggly kind of crush that my sisters fall into every other week. I love you and it doesn’t matter what time or anything else does to us. Even if the worst happens and we’re ripped apart it will change nothing. I’ll still love you, Oscar.”

Ren is suddenly crying and he rubs her back, whispers nice things, tries to soothe her. Something about her desperate tone alarms him. Ren isn’t like this; she doesn’t dissolve into hysterics. The words she choked out were so strange, impassioned.

“I know,” he assures her. “I know. I’ll still love you too. Anyone who wants to whine about how we’re too young or too reckless doesn’t understand a fucking thing about us. It’ll be okay,” he says once again, her face cupped between his palms. “I swear it.”

There’s no way to know how much time passes as they stand at the fenced edge of the cemetery in the moonlight and hold one another. It’s late but the hour is irrelevant. Oscar breathes her in, kisses her occasionally, and wonders what on earth in his history of casual conquests led him to deserve a girl like this.

Finally she pulls away from him, murmuring that she’d better get back to her room before anyone decides to make a stink about her absence.

The porch light is on at the big house. They hear voices, female voices, talking quietly so they circle around to the back. Ren has permanently disabled the lock on her window so that she can climb back inside without alerting anyone. Slowly, she raises the small, square window and cautiously ducks her head inside. She looks back with a smile of relief and Oscar gives her a small boost to help her through the window. Once she’s inside, she leans through the window, kisses him quickly, and then is gone without saying anything else. No more good nights, no more I love yous. Oscar likes how she knows they’ve already said all the words they need to say tonight.

As he walks away and heads in the direction of the brothel, he cups his hand around his pocket, the pocket he’d stuffed the rock into. On one hand it seems like a childish thing to do, scavenging for a souvenir. Hell, two months ago he would have howled with laughter over the idea of doing such a mushy, pussified thing because of a girl. That was a long time ago though. Everything is different now.

There’s music coming from the little house. It’s the kind of music with screeching lyrics about violent things. It’s Monty’s music. Oscar isn’t going to worry about running into the eldest Savage brother though. Chances are Monty is still balls deep inside that squirrel-faced snatch who’d followed him home. He’ll probably pass out at some point. With any luck he already has.

Oscar lingers in the darkness, thinking about the promises he made to Ren, about how everything would be okay. It will be okay. Nothing on earth could make him let go of her as long as she wants him. Whenever Mina gets herself cleaned up and returns he’ll have a talk with his flighty mother. She has her flaws and they are substantial but Mina Savage is nothing if not romantic. The idea of clandestine lovers will appeal to her. Mina will help them until he and Ren are old enough to be free from everyone else’s temper tantrums. They can’t stay in Atlantis of course but Oscar’s had enough of the scorching desert anyway. He wants to show Ren what the rest of the world looks like. He wants to show her everything.

A pinprick of light catches his eye. It’s a few yards to his left, very close to the old fake brothel. Oscar waits for a few seconds and it returns. A tiny orange light that flares and disappears, the light of a cigarette. He tenses, getting ready for a showdown with Monty.

But the owner of the cigarette shifts and Oscar can make out a female profile. “You’re running around pretty late, young man.”

Before he clearly sees her face he recognizes the voice, even though she hasn’t spoken directly to him since the day Mina deposited him here. Annoyance pricks at him. What the hell is it with this family that they’re always skulking around in the darkness waiting for someone to talk to? First there was Spencer accosting them in the cemetery and now Lita prowling around the sagging front porch of the brothel. It creaks under her heels as walks across the rotting floorboards.

“It is late,” he agrees. “Past my bedtime in fact so you have yourself a good night. I’m turning in.”

Lita Savage chuckles. It’s a gravelly, unpleasant sound, probably because her throat muscles aren’t used to laughter. “Come here for a minute.”

“Why?”

“Why not, Oscar?” She sounds too happy. Either she’s high or she’s fucking with him. He doesn’t feel like talking to her. He just wants to get back to his bed and jerk off for a while to thoughts of Ren.

“Fine,” she sighs when he still hesitates. “I’ll come to you.”

The closer she gets the more the air smells like decaying flowers. Oscar has to force himself to stand his ground. All he knows about Lita Savage is what Ren has told him. It would be enough to make anyone with some common sense a little wary, but Oscar detects something even worse than the gold-digging bitch that Ren has described. This woman is pure poison.

She takes a drag on her cigarette and looks him up and down. He can’t quite read her expression in the dark but he’s not sure he wants to.

“How have you been, Oscar?” she inquires sweetly. “I’ve been meaning to check in with you to see how things are going.”

“Fine,” he answers slowly. “No complaints. Hey, I never thanked you for opening your home to me. So, thank you.”

“Hmm, yes. Wasn’t my decision at all.”

“I get it. Well, thanks anyway. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll leave you to your night.”

“Wait a minute,” she murmurs, and suddenly she’s right there, running a palm over his chest. It’s a seductive gesture and Oscar recoils instinctively.

“Are you out of your mind?” he growls.

“No, not tonight.”

“Don’t fucking touch me again.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t address your aunt with such profanity.”

“You’re not my aunt.”

“Technically I am.”

“Lita, what in the hell do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

She can’t be serious. She just can’t be fucking serious. She’s not laughing though. He looks around to make sure they are alone. If anyone else is around, he doesn’t see them. Telling her to piss off might not be effective. Oscar glares at her and decides to remind her of the way things are. “In case you don’t realize it, what you’re proposing is illegal.”

“Illegal?” She tries out the word. “Illegal. Now why do you think so?”

“Because I know damn well that there are laws protecting kids here. And by American standards, I’m still a kid.”

“No, you’re not,” she answers matter-of-factly.

That takes him back a step. She’s goddamn crazy. Has to be.

“You look confused, Oscar. Let me explain. I called in a favor from an old friend of the family who happens to be a private investigator. Now, there wasn’t much record of you, but there was enough to conclude you’d been in the New York State system for six years when Mina scooped you up.”

He feels like he’s missing a crucial deduction. “So?”

“So that was twelve years ago, Oscar. Twelve years. Remind me what six plus twelve is again?”

He doesn’t answer. She nods. “That’s right. You’re eighteen. At least.”

Though vaguely unsettled, he remembers something Ren told him. Something he believes completely. “You’re a liar, Lita. You lie all the time. You don’t know how to do anything else.”

“Maybe,” she shrugs. She drops her cigarette on the ground and grinds it beneath her heel. There’s no warning when she grabs his shirt and rubs her body against his. She has the same willowy build as Ren but there’s nothing soft about her. She’s all hard edges and claws. He fingernails scrape the back of his neck as she pulls his mouth in. He tastes tobacco and something vaguely garlic as her tongue searches for his. Repulsed, he pushes her away.

“What the hell?” he snarls, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand to purge the taste of her.

Evidently unruffled, Lita straightens her skirt and lights another cigarette. “I might be lying,” she purrs. “I might be searching for any reason to fuck that hot, hard body of yours, Oscar.” She shrugs her bony shoulders. “Or I might not be. Either way, you’d better think twice before screwing any more slutty teenagers because that could get you in trouble. Especially since I’m letting you know that you’ve got a better option.”

“You’re fucking sick,” he shouts at her back. She’s already started walking away, strutting toward the big house as a handful of bats fly directly overhead. She keeps walking, giving no hint that she heard him.

Once she’s out of sight the sordidness of the encounter catches up to Oscar and he sinks down on the brothel porch, feeling queasy. Even though the stink of her awful perfume still hangs in the air he can’t quite believe what just happened. It’s not the first time an older woman has taken a liking to him. Hell, two schools ago he had a brief and dirty thing going on with the headmaster’s wife. This was different though. Even if Lita Savage wasn’t the mother of the girl he’s crazy about, he wouldn’t touch her if someone paid him. She is lethal.

Oscar removes the rock from his pocket and all thoughts of Lita Savage fade away. She’s either nuts or drunk and won’t likely bother him again. As for all that nonsense about diving into his history, who cares? So what if he’s eighteen and not seventeen? He doesn’t care. His mother obviously doesn’t care. Anyway, there’s not much chance it’s actually true. According to Ren, Lita can’t tell her ass from her elbow.

Ren. Ren. Loren.

He pictured her stripped down to her underwear, cozy beneath her bedcovers, a smile on her face as she drifts off to sleep. She’s thinking of him, he knows it. What she’ll never know is how it nearly killed him to keep his hands off her for the longest time. It had to be the greatest testosterone restraint on record. And even after that first incomparable kiss under the moonlight he’d forced himself to go slow because he knew that’s what she needed. Tonight though, that sealed everything between them. They did the deed and they said the words. It makes no difference how old they are or how many Lita-type monkey wrenches are thrown in the way.

She’s his now. She always will be.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

REN

I was always a miserable performer. Lita was forever scheduling screen tests during pilot season in Hollywood, that brief period when all the new shows are looking for their casts and would-be actors from across the nation camp out in seedy Boulevard motels hoping to catch a break. I never got any callbacks.

“Loren does not project.”

“Loren is uniformly expressionless.”

“Loren fails to occupy space with confidence.”

It didn’t take long for Lita to give up on me. Monty and Spencer wanted nothing to do with any of it, but Brigitte and Ava were willing so I guiltily thanked the greater powers for giving me some sisters my mother could exploit.

Speaking of sisters, Brigitte’s been avoiding me ever since I cough cough ‘assaulted’ her in the kitchen. I can only guess what kind of sobbing show she’s putting on for her private Blue Room interviews. I’m not going to ask. If I want to know I’ll find out when the show airs, just like everyone else.

As far as Ava goes, she knows I’m rattled. She always waits until the crew is gone for the night before pulling me aside and asking if I ‘want to talk about i..

I do not.

I do not want to talk about Oscar. No, not Oscar, Oz.

I do not want to talk about the contemptuous look in his eyes or the crass things that came out of his mouth or the way I had to bite the inside of my cheek to try to stop the trembling that threatened to devour me.

I do not want to talk about how every sexually deprived nerve ending in my body begged to be handled by him right there on the dirty floor of the barn.

I do not want to talk about how maybe if I fucked Oz – the man who was once Oscar - in the filthiest way possible I could get rid of it all. Maybe all it would take is ten minutes of animal humping to silence five years worth of grief for what we had, for what we lost. It must have killed some part of him too. I saw it in his face the night he walked away. Once I proved myself to be a coward I was nothing to him.

“Ren?”

A hesitant knock on the door, a soft voice. Ava.

“Ren?”

“Ren’s not here,” I mumble and pull the pillow over my face. I don’t know what time it is. The sun is fairly high and the room grows hotter every minute. I’m sure I could find something more useful to do than lie in a bed of self-pity.

But I’ve made my own bed. Now I should be forced to lie in it.

I cackle to myself over the metaphorical non-humor of the situation. I think I’m losing my marbles, one marble at a time. By this time next month they will have all leaked out.

“Can I come in?”

I fling the covers off and unlock the door. Ava cracks it open slowly and pokes her head inside. She looks around with worried confusion, like she’s crossed an unfriendly international border. She needs to do something about her roots. I can see the red peeking through.

“Hi,” I wave.

“Hey.”

She smiles. Ava has the most amazing smile. When Ava smiles you feel like the sun has just shined directly on you.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly ten.”

“Shit. I forgot I told Spencer I’d help him with some chores. On second thought though, I’d probably just get in his way.”

Ava chews her lip. “I saw Oz heading out with Spence pretty early.”

“Oh. Oz.” Defeat. Anger. Lust.

“Anyway,” Ava continues as if an elephant hasn’t just entered the room and stands there, swaying his bulbous trunk and blinking at us. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind watching Alden for a few hours. Bree asked if I would go with her to the Western Edge Stables. Apparently she’s signed us up for a roping class.”

“A groping class?”

“Shush, you heard me. The photo crew was here early in this morning. Even if Monty wasn’t doing that ridiculous photo shoot today I couldn’t ask him and I’d rather not drag the baby out when there’s nothing for him to do there.”

“Hold on, hold on.” Jesus, a girl can’t even sleep in for a few hours without all kinds of crazy news erupting. “Ava, you know I’ll gladly look after Alden anytime so don’t even worry about it. Now who is here? And Monty is doing what exactly?”

“I told you yesterday. Photographer from one of those celebrity rags is in town and got Monty to agree to some barely clothed on-location photo ops. They headed for the mountain trail a few hours ago. She wanted Spence too but of course he told her to fuck off.”

“And Monty didn’t? Monty tells everyone to fuck off.”

“They must have caught him in an unusually good mood. Plus I saw him checking out the photographer’s ass so he’s probably expecting a tip.”

“Naturally.”

Since the girls need to leave in a half hour I hustle through a shower and don’t bother about drying my hair. In this climate it dries quickly on its own anyway.

When I get to the kitchen, Ava is kneeling on the floor beside her son and Bree pretends like I haven’t just entered the room. She’s wearing a short swing dress with cowboy boots. If I had to guess I would say dresses probably aren’t well suited to cattle roping lessons but since no one asked me I’ll just keep my mouth shut.

“I’ll wait in the car,” Brigitte declares and shoots me a wounded look before flouncing out of the house.

I do feel slightly guilty because I don’t know for sure if she was the one who aired all the dirty Oscar laundry at the feet of Vogel Productions but it doesn’t matter anyway. Really, if it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine. I should never have expected the private past to remain private. That’s what you get when you open the door and let in the cameras.

“You and Auntie Ren are gonna have so much fun,” Ava promises her boy with a smile and a kiss.

Alden looks at me with dubious blue eyes. I’ve never been the type to get all mushy about kids but this gorgeous little boy, my nephew, owns a piece of my heart without even trying. I hate that he’s in the middle of all this garbage. Ava does the best she can, but I should make more of an effort to help her.

I grab a cup of coffee and sit down on the floor beside my sister’s child. “You like chickens, Alden?”

Slowly, thoughtfully, the little boy nods his head.

“Well how about you help your tired old aunt feed all those chickens and clean out the coop?”

I know Spence probably already took care of that before the sun came up but I figure if it amuses the kid it wouldn’t hurt to do it all again. Alden gives me a gap-toothed grin and Ava plants one more kiss on his little head before mouthing the words ‘thank you’ and heading out the door.

Alden is wary for few minutes after his mother’s departure but then returns to his hyperactive little self. I’m laughing as I get his shoes tied and let him out into the yard. I forget to notice whether there’s a camera following us but when I glance around I see Rash filming away at a discreet distance. I suppose I am becoming immune to being watched after all.

The day the chickens showed up, Spencer built a solid enclosure so they wouldn’t become a coyote meal. It’s positioned to take advantage of the shade provided by a sprawling mesquite tree that’s probably been there for a hundred years. The enclosure is probably five times the size it needs to be for four lousy chickens. Maybe Spencer has plans to expand the flock after all.

After I hand over the bowl of feed to Alden, I sit down on a wide tree stump and laugh as my nephew throws the bowl’s contents straight up into the air. It turns out little kids are good medicine. I haven’t laughed as much in weeks as I have in the last twenty minutes. The chickens are going berserk, pecking at the food as fast as their skinny necks will let them.

I feel the shadow at my back before I hear his voice.

“You babysitting the kid or the poultry?”

That’s how he always starts a conversation these days; some off-the-cuff remark that kicks my blood pressure into high gear. No matter what he says it sounds thickly sensual. Since our barn encounter I’ve managed to keep interactions to a minimum.

I don’t fool myself though. I know I can only avoid him as long as he lets me. And sometimes I’m not even sure I want him to.

I don’t turn around when I answer. “I’d heard you were gone for the day.”

Oz opens the gate and strolls inside the chicken enclosure. He stands closer to me than he needs to but I don’t even flinch.

“So is that why you decided to emerge from the cave? Because you thought I was gone?”

“No. I don’t care where you are.”

“I’m sorry I bother you so much, Ren.” He sounds the opposite of sorry.

“You are not.”

“I am. I always tell the truth.”

“So do I.”

“Do you now?” he says quietly, almost bemusedly. “That’s interesting.”

“I don’t want you. I don’t want you. I DON’T WANT YOU!”

I wonder if he’s thinking of those words, if he can hear them plainly as if they are being hurled in live time. I know I can hear them. Their echoes are etched into this landscape. They are permanent.

“This is a stupid conversation.” I have to tilt my head to see him. Somehow I manage to get hit in the eyes with the sharpest rays of the climbing sun. It hurts.

Oz shifts slightly. He’s not standing as close to me anymore, but I can see more of him now. I wish I couldn’t. He’s filled out a lot in five years, all in exactly the places a woman would want a man to fill out. He crosses his tanned arms and whistles a few notes.

A bolt of desire slices across my lower belly and settles between my legs, throbbing. I don’t know if it’s a memory from my love-crazed teenage self or if it’s something new. Either way it makes no difference. I just want him. Despite myself, I want him bad.

Oz stops whistling and gestures to my nephew. “So I never got the whole story. How did Ava wind up with a kid?”

“You’re a sharp guy. Surely the biological basics aren’t lost on you.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Tell me Ren, are you contractually obligated to challenge me every chance you get?”

“No. Care to answer your own question?”

“No.” He’s giving me one of his black-eyed glares. “No goddammit, I’m not.”

“Lower your voice!” I jerk my head toward Alden even though the kid is obviously not listening to a thing. He’s squealing and frolicking around after the chickens.

“I’m not the one screaming,” Oz responds mildly.

I have to stop myself from staring at his lips. I have to stop myself from staring at his chest; his broad, absurdly muscled chest that provocatively stretches the fabric of his shirt from all the hard power that coils beneath it…

“Loren.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Huh? Where?”

He’s giving me a funny look. It might be because I sound completely sun-addled. He pulls his hat off, rubs the sweat off his forehead and waits for me to make some sense.

My mouth is as dry as the ground. “I think I need some water.”

Without pausing, Oz tosses over the bottle he’d been carrying. It’s warm and half gone. I gulp it down anyway

Alden lets out a triumphant little yip as he clutches a fistful of chicken feathers. I’m watching him and then I reach into my bra, ripping out the microphone. Even though Ava’s history is widely known, I don’t feel like being the one to broadcast it. I look up at Oz but he just raises his eyebrows and shakes his head.

“No,” he snorts. “I don’t always wear a leash just because some fucker in a suit says so.”

“Fine. So, about Ava. She can act like the simple-minded socialite. She’s more like a walking heartbreak. I don’t know if you heard about it wherever you were, but she had a role in a short-lived sitcom and started hitting the celeb party scene pretty hard. She got involved with a costar who happened to be one of earth’s more colossal turds. Things went sour even before she got knocked up. The show was cancelled mid season and loverboy wasn’t about to stick around and play daddy. He happens to be another like us, with a famous last name but without two dimes to rub together so there’s no point chasing after him for child support. And that’s just the way it is.” I pause for a breath. “Ava’s a good mom. She is.”

“I believe you.”

I shoot him a sharp glance because he sounds like he might be taunting me, but he’s just watching the kid run around with a thoughtful gaze on his face.

Alden suddenly trots over to me, beaming. “You,” he says and promptly drops the chicken feathers in my lap. I fuss over the bent, half-bald feathers and thank him profusely. Before returning to his chicken torture, Alden stops and stares at Oz. Oz stares back.

Once Alden is back at his games, I try to return Oz’s water bottle. He ignores my outstretched hand.

“Tennessee,” he finally says. “I’ve been there for a little while. Got a job, a nice place.”

“And before that?”

“Before that I wandered.”

“Wandered?”

“Yeah, wandered.”

“You come across any other people in your so-called wanderings?”

A roughish smile crosses his face. “I came in a lot of other people.”

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss, standing stiffly.

“What?” he says innocently. “You don’t want to hear about it? I’m trying to evoke some nostalgia here.”

“You’re disgusting, Oz.”

“Probably. But you’re a shell of what you were, Loren.”

I can’t breathe. If words could pack a punch, those particular ones are made of pure dynamite. Oz Acevedo, formerly Oscar Savage, just distilled my worst horror into one sentence. And he knows it. He waits for me to say something and I desperately want do want to say something. I want to cut him as deeply as he’s just cut me. I want to hurt him. So I tell an enormous lie.

“I was just a stupid girl. In the long run you didn’t mean a damn thing to me.”

He doesn’t even blink. “Ditto, sweetheart. You were just a ripe cherry to pop.”

I’m shaking. I’m going to explode. “God, you’ve turned into such a foul-mouthed pig.”

He answers me casually, like he doesn’t care at all what I think. “And you’ve turned into a feeble-minded wreck.”

He doesn’t wait around for my response. He stalks away without glancing back and disappears around the corner of the barn.

Alden remains oblivious that there is anything more interesting going on than the sight of flustered chickens. Stoically I sit back down and try to banish Oz’s final words from my mind. I don’t know how much the cameras have captured. At this point I can’t force myself to care.

For the rest of the day I focus on Alden. I feed him lunch, I tend to his scraped knee, I welcome him into my lap when he asks for a story. When Ava gets home she finds us on a back porch swing. Alden shouts with joy when he sees his mother and practically vaults out of my lap and into her arms. I stare at my sister and her child, at the pure, unsullied love between them. In a way I’m almost jealous.

Ava sits down beside me and sets the boy in her lap. She starts chattering about the disastrous cattle roping experience. Evidently Bree ignored all instructions and managed to get thrown from her horse, earning an ass full of sand and gravel.

“Well,” I say with false cheer, “I suppose that’s the end of the Savage cowgirl days. Perhaps we should try being farmers instead.”

Ava’s watching me. “Everything okay on the home front?”

No.

“Yup. Everything is fine. If you guys will excuse me, I think I’ll head to the kitchen and bake a cake.”

“I thought you never cooked anymore.”

“I don’t.”

“You used to cook all the time. Back in the bad old days when we lived here. If not for you, we would have been eating cheese sandwiches every night.”

“Just trying to contribute.”

“Ren?”

“What?”

Ava sighs and heaves herself up with Alden in her arms. “I’d better put this kid in for a nap or he’ll be the devil later on.”

Someone has been keeping the fridge and pantry well stocked. I have no difficulty finding enough necessary ingredients to bake a yellow cake with buttercream icing. Once I’m in the rhythm of kitchen activity I decide to cobble together a dinner of roast chicken, pasta salad and baking soda biscuits. The oven is something of an antique but it still works when it needs to.

As soon as I start setting food on the table, my siblings seem to magically materialize. It’s all too familiar. Lita floated far above kitchen tasks and we couldn’t exactly eat out every night all the way out here, even if we’d been able to afford it. If there was any cooking to be done so people could eat, then I was the one to do it.

I wash dishes in the background as Ava happily feeds her son, while Bree grudgingly takes a few bits of salad and then limps elsewhere, when Spence wanders inside looking as rough as if he’d just spent a few hours running with the bulls, which might very well be accurate.

There are cameras.

There is no Monty.

There is no Oz.

The sun is sinking below the horizon by the time I finish putting the kitchen back together. Cate Camp knocks on the door. She wants me to know that I seem to have misplaced my body mic. I don’t answer her. I’ll play the game again tomorrow. Tonight I don’t feel like being wired. In a few hours the crew will drive back to town. Of course, cameras are installed all over the property but they seem more innocent when they aren’t attached to people.

I invent work for myself by cleaning up the house. It’s mindless and nearly pleasant. Anything to avoid thinking about Oz. Every strange sound makes me recoil though. I’m always afraid it’s him. And in a sick way I hope it is him.

Finally the crew departs. I linger on the front porch with the lights off, listening to the fading sound of the two trucks heading toward Consequences.

Montgomery lumbers up to the house with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle in the other. He pauses and takes a drag on the cigarette while squinting at the fading light in the western sky. It looks like he’s already made some progress on the bottle.

“Where’s your fan club?”

He shrugs. “Gone hours ago. That bitchy photographer had some ideas but I couldn’t get excited about the idea of more of my dick pics floating around the world wide web so I passed on that.”

“Charming,” I mutter.

“You asked,” he yawns.

“I guess I did. Anyway, there’s food in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

Monty doesn’t answer. He doesn’t move either. He just stands there puffing on his cigarette while staring into the distance. After a full minute of silence he tilts his bottle in my direction. At first I shake my head but then I take it and cough back a mouthful of liquid fire. Whiskey.

When I can see straight again I realize Monty is watching me. “I thought he was an asshole then,” he says. “I still think so.”

“Oscar?”

“Oscar. Oz. Whatever.”

“Well, I guess score one for you being right then.”

“I don’t give a shit about being right. But maybe just because he’s an asshole doesn’t mean he’s a dickhead.”

“Monty Savage Reasoning at its finest.”

“Just saying, if he wanted to really fuck up your life he had his chance.”

“Cameras are still around,” I grumble. “He’ll get more chances.”

“No he won’t.”

I’m curious now. “Why?”

“Because he’s leaving, Ren.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

OZ

Fuck it all. I’m done.

The way we are with each other, it’s nothing but toxic.

In the afternoon I take a long hike and it’s while I’m among the lizards and the snakes that I think about every word Ren and I have exchanged since I got here. However hostile she is to me, I manage to one up her every time. I can’t seem to help it.

Every day I’m becoming a worse version of myself.

Did I come here to mess with her head? Or did I come here because despite the pain of the past and the silence of five years I still had some hope? That maybe with one look we would find our way back to those two kids who connected so strongly, loved so hard.

I don’t know the answer. I never did. This has been one massive fool’s errand. The whim is over now. Loren Savage and I are strangers. Oscar Savage never existed. It’s time for me to duck out of this fantasy and return to the world of Oz Acevedo.

Evening is well underway by the time I get back. The minute I see Atlantis again I know what I need to do. Once I’m in my room I’m practically kicking shit around from one side of the floor to the other in my haste to pack. It doesn’t seem important that I’ve left the door open until Monty regards it an invitation to park himself in the frame and blow cigarette smoke into the room.

“Why don’t you take your temper tantrum somewhere that doesn’t share a wall with me?”

“Fuck you, Monty.”

“Fuck me,” he chuckles and inwardly I groan because I can tell where this is headed and at the moment I don’t feel like being locked in mortal combat with this jackass.

I drop a duffel bag on the floor and meet his eye. “You want to do this in here or outside?”

“Don’t look so terrified, Mr. Oz. At the moment I’m not excited about cutting up my knuckles on your face.”

“Lucky me,” I mutter, picking up the duffel bag and zipping it shut.

Monty continues to smoke. He leans against the doorjamb, all puffed up with big ideas about his cocky ass. He’s insane if he thinks he could take me down, especially right now. Right now I feel like I could punch my way through six feet of cinderblock before it would sting. I hate the smell of cigarettes.

“You know, Oz, I keep trying and I just can’t figure out what the hell your end game is.”

“Well, you keep on figuring. You can even send me a postcard when you reach a conclusion.”

His tone gets darker. “I think you’re actually just biding your time, waiting for the right moment when you can hurt her the most.”

“God, you’re smart, Monty. That’s exactly what I’m fucking doing. That’s why I’m packing up all my shit and getting myself hell and gone from you people and your sick reality.”

Monty has no answer for that. He doesn’t leave right away either though, so I just keep packing, breathing out of my mouth so I don’t have to smell his disgusting smoke. After I zip the duffel bag closed I notice he’s finally gone. A second later I hear the front door. Good. With any luck I can get out of here without running into him again. Him, or any of the other Savages. If Vogel Productions wants to chase after me for breach of contract or whatever those people call it, best of luck to them.

I throw two hastily packed bags over my shoulder and head for my truck. It’s parked about twenty yards away, all by itself. I toss the bags into the back bed and slam the door. I think I heard the crew truck taking off a little while ago, which is a good thing because I’m not too excited about explaining myself to anyone right now. There’s an acrid, smoky taste in the air. A fire burns somewhere up north, sparked in the dense forests surrounding Flagstaff. I hear that the season has been dry, meaning any fire will spread quickly. Not down here though. There’s not much in the way of brush so when fires start they don’t burn for long.

There are just a few more things I need to grab and then I’ll be out of here. It’s quiet, no one in sight, so I should be able to make a clean exit. Now that I’m thinking about it, instead of heading back home straight away I’d rather take a detour for a week or two. Someplace cold. Someplace that looks nothing like the barren wastelands of the Sonoran desert. Montana sounds good. I’ve always been meaning to go see Glacier National Park. This is a perfect time for a fresh odyssey.

So why is there a gnawing hole in my chest right now? Tomorrow morning I’ll wake up somewhere else. I’ve spent five years troubled by the idea of what would happen if I ever saw Ren again. Now I know. And the answer is nothing. Nothing good, anyway.

Yes. At least now I know.

Once I’m back in the house I spend a few minutes snatching up the rest of my crap. There wasn’t much to begin with. And if there’s anything I’m forgetting it’s either replaceable or not worth having in the first place.

After some quick searches on my phone I calculate that I can be in Montana the day after tomorrow, especially if I push through and drive until morning. I’m so keyed up, I bet I’ll end up doing exactly that.

When I return to the truck I stop in my tracks for a second because something that looks just like Loren Savage is sitting in the passenger seat. She doesn’t turn her head even though with the window open she must realize I’m ten feet away. She just sits there all statue-like, not even blinking. Her long dark hair falls over her shoulders, grazing the swell of her breasts.

I open the driver’s side door and climb inside even though I almost can’t stand being this close to her. “Hey, you lost?”

“Yes.” Her voice is a husky whisper. “I’m lost.”

I toss the rest of my crap into the back and lean against the side of the truck. “I don’t think I can help you with that, Ren.”

“I know you can’t.”

She’s too beautiful. I don’t want to look at her anymore. Instead I look at the last wisps of light in the western sky. “What the hell do you want from me then?”

“I want you to drive into the desert.”

“What for?”

She looks straight at me. “Just drive,” she whispers.

“Just drive,” I mutter, but I jump behind the wheel.

At this point I know the surrounding land pretty well. The terrain isn’t that rough until you get real close to the mountains. I drove slowly, using the brights to guide my way around towering saguaros and spectral Joshua trees. After coasting for over a mile I stop and switch off the engine, waiting.

She’s watching me. My eyes are pretty sharp in the dark, probably on account of spending so much time exploring the underground.

Damn, the beauty of her can still catch me off guard. Her full lips are parted slightly and I think about tasting them, sucking them. She stares at me for a moment and then glances around the dashboard.

“You got a camera in here?”

“Fuck no.”

With no warning she grabs my hand off the steering wheel and presses it firmly to her tits. The hot flesh beneath her flimsy shirt arches against my palm. All the blood in my body roars straight into my cock. Whatever she’s doing, I’m not about to put a stop to it. I flex my hand, lightly squeezing.

“Harder,” she whispers.

I get both my hands on her, one palm on each pleading tit, and start kneading them roughly. Ren gasps once, then melts right into the seat, letting out a soft moan and covering my hands with hers. The more I work her the more she gets off on it. She wants me to be rough.

Fine. I’ll give it to her rough. But it will be my version.

With a grunt I ball up the front of her shirt in one fist and haul her toward me. I feel the snap of her bra breaking as I get her straddled across my lap. Her hair has fallen in her face so I seize two handfuls of it and yank hard until she winces and finally looks me in the eye.

“I know what you’re doing,” I growl at her.

She cocks her head to the side. “Do you now?”

“You think if we go at it this way, all filthy and empty, that you can kill every bit of unfinished business there is between us.”

She just stares, stubborn and silent. But the flash in her eyes tells me I’m right.

I push open the door and drag her outside with me. I slam the door shut and press her against it, pulling her skirt up and parting her legs with my knee.

“You know what? I need you gone for good too and maybe this is what it’ll take.” When I push my hands between her legs she shudders and grips my shoulders as her body rocks against the rhythm of my crude stroking. She’s ready all right. This is what she’s here for. My cock is so hard I’m about to bust out.

“Tell me that’s what you’re after.”

“Yes, Oz,” she pants through gritted teeth. “This is what it’ll take.”

“And you know that once I’m done with you tonight you’ll just be another dumb snatch I’ve greased.”

She flinches but doesn’t back down. “And you’ll just be another disposable dick. Like you always were.”

I take a step back and yank my shirt over my head. “I’m not kissing you. I’ll never kiss you again, you cold-hearted bitch. Kissing means something and this don’t mean shit.”

“No, it doesn’t mean shit.”

I drop my pants and close her hand around my cock. She gasps slightly and squeezes her way along the hard flesh. This is what I’ve fantasized about. But there’s a crude, angry quality to it now. I let her stroke me for a few more beats before I swat her away and start pumping my junk myself.

“Get it all off.”

Her hands grasp the hem of her shirt but then she hesitates.

“Now, Ren. You wanted nasty and I’m going to give it to you nasty as all fuck, but that means I’m sure as hell not undressing you all gentle and sweet.”

“Fuck you,” she sneers, “if I wanted gentle and sweet I wouldn’t be here.”

“Glad we finally understand each other. So get all your shit off and get spread out.”

Her chest heaves as she gets rid of her shirt and her torn bra. “You’re despicable now. I really hate you.”

“You don’t hate me at all. But you will by the time I’m done tonight.”

I know there are some condoms in my bag but it takes me a minute of hunting around in the dark to find them. Ren still has her skirt on and she’s slow about sliding her underwear off. She hasn’t moved from the side of the truck. The tailgate creaks in protest when I tug it down.

For a second the insanity of the situation hits me and I’m almost ashamed. If I still had some shreds of decency to rub together I would drive her back to Atlantis, bid her a cordial farewell and then drive off forever. What’s about to happen isn’t going to do either of us any good but somehow I can’t stop it.

I don’t want to stop it.

I snap my fingers at her face. “Now get your spoiled little ass over here if you want to do this.”

Ren slides slowly around to the back and faces me with her tits bared and her skirt bunched up in her fists. My cock is pointed straight as a thick arrow and with my teeth I tear open the condom wrapper.

She’s staring at my cock and she’s still clutching the sides of her skirt around her thighs like she’s about to go wading in shallow water. That drives me slightly crazy and I grab the fabric, crudely yanking it over her hips until she’s forced to let it go and puddle on the ground.

Goddammit, why does she have to be so beautiful?

Her high gasp makes me think she might just be all talk here so I shove my hand between her legs to find out.

“Fuuuck,” I groan because she’s so open and ready I lose two fingers inside her without even trying.

“No!” She pushes my hand right out of her and spins around, bracing her hands on the flattened tailgate and rubbing her lush little ass against my extended cock. She knows what she’s doing, teasing with that ripe little cleft until I almost forget where I am and who I am because above all else there’s the big fat fucking need to get my shit buried in a tight spot.

“We’re doing it like this,” she whispers.

Ren’s long dark hair cascades over her bare back and there’s never been anything that screams SEX as loud as this goddamn woman bent naked over the truck and trying to swallow my cock with her ripe ass. She jerks her head suddenly, swinging her hair aside and looking back at me to bark out a terse order. “And Oz, you damn well better make it hurt!”

I could. I could bore straight into that sweet center like a fucking jackhammer and pound pound pound without mercy until she cries. Instead I get my hands around her hips, arch her body slightly and slide carefully into the tight, slippery entrance I had once been the first man to find a way into.

“Oz!” she gasps, then groans as I get into the rhythm.

Damn you. Damn you. Damn you. I loved you. Damn you.

She’s clenching, arching, doing everything she can to push back and work her body so that I’m reaching the sweet spot. I’m not gentle. I squeeze her tits, suck her skin and keep pumping until she’s so far gone into her moaning ecstasy she probably doesn’t remember her own name. That’s when I slide a hand underneath where we’re joined, find her swollen clit and press down with two fingers until I feel the shudder of a powerful orgasm start to claim her.

Then I abruptly stop. It’s kind of cruel but that’s the idea. I take my hand away, pull my cock out and grab a fistful of her thick hair, clawing my fingers close to her scalp and then tugging hard enough to make her yelp.

“You still want me to make it hurt, Ren?”

“Oh god, yes!” She grinds her lower body against the hard shell of the tailgate, desperate for release, bringing a perverse smile to my face. If I so much as fucking breathe on that needy little pussy right now she’ll come so hard she won’t be able to stand up afterwards.

But I’m not giving that to her.

She told me to make it hurt and I’m damn well going to make it hurt, just not the way she had in mind.

She’s light enough so that I can flip her over with ease. The moonlight pours over her tits and her belly and every cursed perfect inch of her. All I want to do is bend my head and use my mouth, my tongue, to worship all of her until the sun reclaims the sky. Instead I spread her legs wider, grip her hips and plunge inside, barely hanging on to my own reason when she arches her back, bends those pretty tits toward my face and lets out a low, throaty moan that I’m dead sure will give me mental jerkoff material until the day my cock stops working. She’s so close to the edge she’s shaking and I’m about ready to bust my load wide open but I pull out again anyway.

“Please,” she moans, shaking her head from side to side, “I need…”

I climb on top of her. “Look at me.”

She’s drunk with passion, can hardly hear me. “Wha-“

With a roar I grab her face in my palm, my fingers digging into her soft cheeks until she winces.

“Look at me, Loren Savage! You better open up and fucking see me!”

She opens her eyes and there must be something terrible about the look on my face because they widen with alarm. That’s when I plunge into her again. Hard. Deliberate. She responds with a wild buck of her hips and a scream of pleasure that’s swiftly drowned with my mouth.

I’d told her I wouldn’t kiss her and true to my word, this is no kiss. This is a ruthless invasion of tongue and force that doesn’t let up until we are both trembling from the spasms of our violent climax.

“Oscar,” she sighs softly when I finally let go of her.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

No, that’s not this night. That was another night, a long time ago. It happened to two utterly different people who are long gone. They won’t be coming back.

I don’t watch her as she pulls her clothes back on. I sit there on the edge of the tailgate, naked and hollow, saying nothing. Every ten seconds or so a flash of lightning burns the sky and shows the mountains hiding in the dark. The wind kicks up slightly, rustling the dry mesquite leaves and stirring the dust on the desert floor.

Ren is beside me now, waiting. Waiting for me to say a word, waiting for me to hop back in my truck and leave her out here to find her way back alone. Without acknowledging her at all I manage to locate my clothes in the dust.

The used condom has already been tossed somewhere into the darkness. Usually I’m scrupulous about such things but fuck it. The desert can keep that one little sordid piece of us.

Once I’m behind the wheel again, Ren climbs into the passenger seat beside me and folds her hands primly in her lap as I steer the truck back to Atlantis. There are lights on in the big house, not surprising since it isn’t really that late. It’s not even nine o’clock.

I brake to a stop about fifty yards away from the house, close to the sadly overgrown plot of what was once a fake cemetery in a dozen old west movies. On one side, the caretaker’s house squats behind the dark, silent brothel. On the other the white clapboard church stands sentinel. Last week when I ducked inside there I noticed weeds poking through the floorboards and thought it was possible no one had walked the floor in years. I suppose that for Spencer the old church is simply not a caretaking priority. It’ll probably just fall over one of these days. In the distance, the faded letters on the broad Mercantile are visible if I squint. I allow myself to have a few seconds to take in what I can see of the place in the dark because I’ve already made up my mind.

This will be the last time I ever see Atlantis Star. This will be the last time I see Ren.

She already has her hand on the door but she pauses without opening it. If she’s waiting for some poignant last words she’s not going to get them. Even though my heart is full of chaos, confusion, even sorrow, it has to be this way. If I ever had any doubts that we’re an unhealthy mix, that frenzied fuck fest in the desert just answered everything.

I never really did want to hurt her. Not years ago when she kicked me out of her life, not when I landed back in Atlantis amid all the surreal camera craziness and not even tonight when she opened her legs and begged me to.

She was, and is, the owner of my heart.

She whispers my name. “Oz.”

I have to pretend I just don’t hear it because I’m aching to pull her against my chest and stubbornly keep her no matter what it might do to my sanity.

I just turn my head and face the open window. It’s as definite a refusal as I can muster without saying the words. If I try to say anything right now I know I won’t end up leaving. And at this point I’m leaving as much for her sake as for mine. Thanks to this circus the world would sniff out a ‘cousin fucks cousin’ scandal without a care about whether there’s any actual biology involved. They would harass her to the end of time. Funny how after everything I still care about how she feels.

So I wait in silence until she gives up and slowly opens the door. She’s probably combing her brain to figure out how to bid a final farewell to a hated ex-lover. I guess she can’t come up with anything because after a moment I hear her footsteps heading in the opposite direction, toward the big house. Only then do I look at her, just to catch one final glimpse of the swing of her hair and the straight line of her back before she melts into the darkness.

There’s nothing to do now but start the engine and head for the road. In two minutes I’m outside of Atlantis and I don’t look back.

Now that I’m out of there can I start to think straight again.

Really, I lost my grudge against the Savages a long time ago. Maybe it never existed in the first place. I was angry and hurting for a long time so whatever reasons there were for my exile seemed unimportant.

I do know one thing. No matter what she says these days, that girl loved me once. She loved me as much as I loved her. But the world is filled with a million sad stories, stories of what’s been lost and who has suffered. Ren and I, we’re just another of those stories.

And now I can finally say that the story has ended. Not happily, but ended just the same.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

REN

Nothing seems real tonight. Not the ache between my legs or bruised sensation still on my lips or the fresh smell of the approaching rain. My steps are leaden as I leave Oscar and I don’t take a breath until I hear his truck roaring away into the night.

Spencer happens to be coming around the side of the house with a thick coil of rope around one shoulder when I reach the porch. I try to avoid being bathed in the yellow porch light, but it’s not enough to escape my brother’s scrutiny. He stops, staring. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing. “ My voice sounds froggy so I clear it and try again. “I was just out for a walk.”

“You look pretty messed up for a walk.”

“Yeah, well. It got windy, okay?”

Spence glances in the direction where Oz’s truck disappeared. The sound of the engine lingers but the taillights are no longer visible. He must have already gone around the bend of the road that leads out of Atlantis. He’s gone. There will be no answer to the misery in my soul.

Could I have stopped him from leaving? No, there’s no use running after a man who finds you contemptible. Twice now I’ve watched him leave. At the moment I couldn’t say which occasion was more devastating. I’m not as raw as I was five years ago though.

Perhaps my transition is complete. I’m a ‘cold-hearted bitch’ who has finally turned to stone.

Spence shifts his weight around and seems like he wants to say something but Monty interrupts, flinging open the screen door like a cocksure king busting out of his castle. He steps onto the porch, still holding the same bottle as earlier, but in the glint of the moonlight I can see it’s not as full. Nonetheless, the look he gives me is sharp-eyed and suspicious, not dull and drunk. Montgomery could always hold his liquor. He crosses his arms and looks from side to side as if he’s searching for a hidden predator. He gives me a nod. “What’s going on, Ren?”

For a second I try to pat my wild hair down, then give up. I realize that the shoulder of my shirt is torn but there’s nothing I can do about that right now. I can’t make myself care much about appearances at the moment an

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 731