Stolen Fate (21 page)

I sleep most of the day away in anticipation of meeting Drayden later on for dinner. When I check my phone I discover a voicemail from him, letting me know he’ll be picking me up at seven and for me to be ready.

He’s punctual, arriving at my door exactly when he says he will.

I’m wearing a fitted green dress, which compliments my dark tresses nicely. I know it’s the right choice for the evening when I see the look of pure desire plastered all over his face as he slowly scans my body.

When his eyes finally make their way back up to my face, he says, “You look beautiful, Essie.”             

“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Warner.” He’s wearing a pair of dark dress slacks, a crisp white shirt and a suit jacket, but no tie. I love him in a suit and tie. But how he stands before me now is dressy yet casual, putting me a little bit more at ease. If that even makes any sense.

The whole time he walks us to his car, he keeps his hand on the small of my back. There are a few times when I try to squirm away from his touch because it’s doing naughty things to my body, but his hold on me only intensifies until I’m right back where he wants me.

Right next to him.

Halfway through our dinner, I’ve already debated half a dozen times about whether to halt this thing from developing between us before it goes too far. I flip-flop continuously between wanting to start something up with him and telling him we can only be friends.

Either way, I decide now is a good a time as any to get him to open up to me a bit more about his life and his past. If he truly wants anything to develop between us, either romantic or a friendship, then he has to start sharing some of his secrets with me.

“So,” I start, “can you tell me who Elizabeth was to you?” I bring my fork to my lips, eating as if I didn’t just blindside him.

“I…I don’t really want to talk about that, Essie. We’re having such a good time; why ruin it with my past?” He continues to eat, as well, but there is much more tension in his hold of the utensil than there is in mine.

“What is the point of all of this,” I say, gesturing between us, “if you won’t tell me anything about yourself. I hardly know anything at all.”

“Well, what’s your story, huh? Why don’t we start with you?” he retorts, deflecting the conversation back into my court.

“I’ve already told you my whole story. Back in the beginning.”

“The whole story?”

“Yes,” I say, confused at his slightly-accusatory tone.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I respond louder, practically drawing the attention of every other patron in the restaurant.

He looks over at me and cocks an eyebrow before finishing his meal. “Well, that’s a discussion for another night then.”

We eat the rest of our meal in silence. I’m not sure what he wants from me. I told him the whole truth about my background. My same old story. No parents, being bounced from foster home to foster home until I took off when I could. He knows I hustled my way through life.

Damn, it’s how I met him. He was my newest hustle.

But what does he think I’m hiding from him?

The only thing I’m keeping to myself is the horrific details of the time when I was made to do unspeakable things, especially at the tender age of fifteen.

I’m going to keep those details locked far away. But there is no way he could have found out about that. Is there?

So, I’m back to my main question. What the hell does he think I’m hiding from him?

~~~~

We’re completely silent on the drive back to my place. The radio is playing but it’s doing nothing to shake this uneasy feeling. There is a lot we still have to discuss if we’re ever going to move forward, whether it’s as friends or something more. The only problem is neither one of us wants to go first.

We’re both hiding something, something which could be the very thing which would bring us closer, but we’re both stubborn people. I know he isn’t going to open up to me without some more incessant prodding. Just like he knows I’m not going to open up to him without the knowledge my secrets will be safe with him.

I’ve grown to have strong feelings for Drayden, but I’m still unsure as to whether these feelings are mutual. I’m fully aware he desires me, but does he even really
like
me? Does he think about me as much as I think about him? Is he consumed with as much guilt as I am?

Losing our child was neither one of our faults. I know that deep down in my soul, but it’s so hard not to blame myself. I surely don’t blame him; although I kind of guess he lays partial blame to himself.

It’s in his eyes.              

Shortly after the death of our son, Ethan, he carried around such guilt; it was dripping from his pores. I saw it in the looks he would give me. I would see it in his form. I even heard it in his whispers when he thought I wasn’t listening.

But I’m tired.

I’m tired of wanting him but not being able to have him. I’m tired of blaming myself for my own misery. Yes, I did bad things. And no, I’m not going to blame it all on what happened to me growing up, although what happened
did
help shape what type of person I became.

I’m tired of trying to prove to myself I’m a different person now. Because I am.

The hope of Ethan helped shove me toward the path I was truly meant to be on. I wanted to be a better woman ever since the first time I felt my son kick.

My little boy made everything real.

Losing him only proved life is tangible and there are no guarantees, so if I want something or I want to be a certain way, well then, I better get a move on.

I know I initially started out this evening half-prepared to convince Drayden why we shouldn’t be together, but I’m not so sure anymore.

But first thing’s first: he has to open up to me if he wants me to trust him fully.

Once he pulls up in front of my apartment, he shuts the car off, gets out and comes around to my side to open the door for me. Taking my hand, he helps me out and we walk toward the front of the building.

“Well,” I say, “thank you for dinner, Drayden.” I can’t very well tell him I had a nice time because we really didn’t talk about much. The food was good, but that’s about it. Once I asked him about Elizabeth, he shut down.              

We really are no further along than we were yesterday. At least at his house last night, we shared a moment. One which was gone to soon. But now, it’s all awkward again, sexual tension so tight you can slice right through it. We simply can’t seem to build anything on top of it.

I stop by the front door and turn my body toward his. I’m not sure what’s going to happen, but I sure as hell don’t want to make the first move. If there is even a move to make. After about thirty seconds of silence, he speaks up. “Aren’t you going to invite me inside, Ess?”

“Uh…I wasn’t planning on it.” The wind picks up out of nowhere and blows my hair right in front of my eyes. Tucking it back behind my ear, I continue to look up into his beautiful face.

He moves closer. “But I know you’ve thought about it.” He moves even closer. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not wrong, but I don’t know what good would come of it. You still don’t want to tell me anything about your past, and I’m still not willing to move forward in whatever this is between us until you do.”

A pent-up rush of air comes swirling out of his mouth. He’s frustrated and I don’t blame him.

So am I.

“Fine,” he says quickly.

“
Fine
what?”

“Fine, I will answer your questions, but it goes both ways. You’ll give me the information I want, as well. Fair is fair.” He grabs my keys from my hand and opens the door. I guess he doesn’t want me changing my mind or anything.

Once we’re inside, I walk straight into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine I thankfully have stashed away for emergencies. I’m not much of a drinker, although you wouldn’t know it from the past couple months. Sadly, I used alcohol as a way to numb myself. It worked for a while, but the longer I did it, the worse I became, so I stopped drinking a few weeks ago.

However, tonight is an exception. I need to take the edge off if I’m going to be having any kind of in-depth conversation with the one man who can truly ruin me if he so desires.

“Do you want some?” I ask him as I raise the bottle in the air for him to see.

“No, thanks. I want my wits about me for this.”

I plunk down on the couch next to him, my leg brushing against his as I situate myself into a more comfortable position. I take two big gulps before setting the wine glass on the table.

Well, here goes nothing.

“So, can you please tell me who she was?” I’m careful with my attitude. I don’t want to come across as bitchy or insensitive. I know something awful has happened, and I don’t want to trivialize it by using the wrong tone.

Taking a deep breath, he dives right in, probably to get it over with as quickly as possible. “Well, Elizabeth and I were high school sweethearts. Everything about our relationship was cliché. I was on the football team. She was a cheerleader. We were both going to attend the same college so we could be near each other. Then after we graduated, we were going to get married and start a family.” He leans his head back on the couch. “We were really in love. She was my whole world. But after college ended, I went to work for a local construction company and she got a job with a local law firm. Our days were long and we hardly had time to see each other, even though we lived under the same roof. I started getting jealous, questioning her all the time which would only lead to more fighting. Then one evening, when she came home late, I exploded. I hadn’t been able to reach her so I started drinking, which only made things worse. I wasn’t listening to anything she told me, cutting her off every time she tried to speak. I think I knew she wasn’t cheating on me, but I was so frustrated our plan wasn’t turning out like we had dreamed. I wanted her to be as upset as I was, so what better way to do that than pick a fight over something stupid, right?”

He looked over at me to gauge my reaction so far. He sees the true interest in my eyes and finishes his story. “Anyway, we continued to argue but she got so fed up with me, she decided to leave and take a drive. Anything to get away from me. But of course, I couldn’t just let her calm down. Or myself, for that matter. So I followed her out to the car and got in the passenger side. I wasn’t about to let her go anywhere until I had said my peace. Our argument became so heated at one point, she took her eyes off the road and in that split second, another car came barreling out of nowhere and crashed into us head-on.” He stops for a bit to collect himself, but after a few minutes, it doesn’t look like he’s going to finish.

I put my hand on his knee and give it a gentle squeeze. He flinches at my soft touch and looks over at me. His eyes are glassy, and while I know this is very difficult for him to do, I don’t want him to stop. “What happened, Drayden?”

He gets up and walks toward the kitchen, his back to me the whole time. “Elizabeth was killed on impact. And I…well, let’s just say I had more broken bones than not. I was in intensive care for six weeks before they even felt comfortable enough to give any kind of good news to my family.” He turns around to face me, a look of pain and regret etched into every line on his beautiful face. “That was six years ago, but the guilt I carry with me is still fresh.”

Rising from the couch, I make my way toward him. I want to comfort him and tell him it isn’t his fault, but I’m not sure if it will do any good. I try nonetheless. “Drayden,” I say as I reach out to touch his arm. “It wasn’t your fault. Couples fight. They do. It was just a horrible accident.”

He dismisses my words as if I haven’t even spoken them. “You know what I thought when they told me the chances of me having kids were slim to none?” I shake my head. “That it was the start of the kind of punishment I deserved.”

“Oh, Dray.” I lean in to give him a hug but he keeps his distance, holding my arms to maintain the space he obviously needs.

“Then when I found out you were pregnant with my baby, those old feelings resurfaced all over again. I deserved to live with my punishment, and you giving me a child was like me spitting in the face of fate, taunting it yet again. And then….then Ethan died. And again, I knew it was the punishment I deserved.”

He lets go of me and walks back toward the door. Is he leaving? Is he going to throw that heavy shit out there then just take off?

Oh, hell no!

As he’s about to make his escape, I race past him and slam the door shut. He’s surprised by my outburst because he releases the handle as if it’s on fire and takes a couple steps back.

“It wasn’t fate’s doing or punishment for you which made our baby die. It was mine. Or at least, I used to think so. That it was my fault because of what I did to you. But over time, I realized it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Not yours or mine. What happened was something unexplainable. We will never know why. We just have to find a way to live with it and move on the best we can.”

I’m tired. Tired of the
what ifs
and of the whole blame-naming game. If the purpose of me being pregnant was to show me there’s a better way to be, then I will grab on to the revelation and run with it for as long as I can.