And the Sweet (Addiction Series Book 2) (24 page)

TWENTY-FIVE

It's weird; for as much as the calendar, as time says I'm an adult, says I'm twenty-seven years old, I still feel like that sixteen year old kid who was left behind by his parents. The sixteen year old kid who was
never
gonna be good enough, worthy enough no matter what he did or how he acted. Or worse, the kid who at conception was looked at as a mistake of the worst kind. And because of that, I'm stunted. I'm stuck as this kid who still makes bad choices because I wasn't taught right from wrong correctly.

I know that's bullshit; I know right from wrong. Obviously. I understand and get it. But look at me: I am twenty-seven years old and I am and will always be, a recovering addict. One wrong drink and I could fall to ruin my entire life.

I am twenty-seven and I fight. I fight in the street, beating up people for money and pride. And honestly? Fuck if I really know any more why. I mean I don't need to now. You know? I won a good chunk of change that I still have saved. I dominate every single time I get picked to fight. I should be done. Fuck, I know I
am
done.

Especially after everything that’s gone down.

I had a good job, one with benefits, even. What more could I have wanted? I
am
a grown up. Right? That's what the calendar and time and my fucking
age
claim. But you know what? I still feel fucking trapped. Look at it this way, for all I've just said, the one thing that sticks out is Cecelia. She is God's honest truth, the only real, decent relationship I've ever had. And it’s something I damn near destroyed with foolishness. What the fuck does that say? 

What does that mean?

It says I’m a fuckup. It means I’m a mess.

Or at least, it did.

I know that’s what’s become of my life. I know that I have made really bad choices and I will always be paying for them in some way. But I am trying to fix things. I am trying to correct the wrongs I’ve done and make amends. Fix myself.

I will forever work to make Cecelia believe in not only me, but my love for her. I will forever show her she is my whole life and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.

In some ways, I’ve already started. But this will always be a continuing process. I won’t fail it. I can’t fail it.

It’s interesting I’ve never seen so much of the United States before. I wonder what that says about my upbringing. My wealthy parents who couldn’t be bothered to take their youngest child anywhere and left him home alone while they experienced it for themselves.

Not important to think about now though.

After leaving Chicago in a rush, Cecelia and I travel by bus through Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Georgia on our way to Islamorada in Key West, Florida.

We meet up with Marshall and Allison, like Marshall instructed for us to do, just outside of the Ocean House resort. To say seeing his face wasn’t a relief is an understatement.

It was like a godsend. A breath of fresh air and fucking sanity.

He’s always been watchful, protective of me, of Celia and I. He’s bigger than us, even with all that I’ve gained throughout the years in size, and because he’s older, and because he’s always seemed to have clarity on things I never could get clear before, I trust him. I trust him not only with my life, but with Cecelia’s. Getting to know the woman he became a better man for, seeing his love for her and seeing how good she is? That’s just icing. Especially how she took to Celia like they have been best friends for eternity instead of virtual strangers.

“Everyone thinks we’ve gone on a second honeymoon before the baby comes. That’s why they think we left,” Marshall tells me as we stand in line to buy fruity drinks, virgin and not, at some tourist trap cabana off the beach. Since I can’t help my nervousness, I watch as a sentinel, Allison and Cecelia chat on some soft beach chairs several yards away. I see the way Allison’s hand, her skin only slightly darker in shade, grips Celia’s as she talks with the other, waving it wildly. My girl laughs, shaking her head at whatever is being said.

I relax as I smile at her ease and then watch the wind lightly blowing her golden hair about her face as she tries to maintain it without losing Allison’s touch.

I’ve always loved Cecelia’s hair; it’s long and gorgeous and beautiful. It’s always so soft and smells so good. It helps that she likes it when I tug on it during sex too. But seeing how much lighter it is right now, closing in on a light honey thanks to the dye job she gave herself in Tennessee, I feel myself needing to think of unappealing things constantly. Because her hair is gorgeous. And it, like everything else about her, turns me on to a ridiculous level.

I don’t need Marshall to give me shit for sporting a semi while talking to him while thinking about her.

She had me trim a few inches off of it, so it comes to the middle of her back now, and she’s wearing it down instead of in her typical ponytail. But that’s part of the point. The color is different, she’s wearing it different. She, in some ways, looks different. Especially with the big sunglasses she’s sporting that cover more than half her face.

She looks like a movie star right now.

Well, other than the sling she still sports as a result of the gunshot wound she suffered during our standoff with Hagen.

For the same reason, modifying my appearance, my once ear-length dirty-blond hair is cut so short it’s nearly buzzed allowing it to look more brown than blond at this point. And I have allowed my facial hair to grow out, filling in close to a beard. Cecelia really likes the beard, especially between her thighs.

Fuck. I need to focus.

Right.

I look different.

We’ve worked hard to look different.

After basically fleeing Chicago, there wasn’t really time to stop and shave my face. And I wasn’t going to waste time shaving prior to our escape. After a few days on the road, the growth was significant enough that I’m not too recognizable. And being someone who has always kept either a clean shave or a short level of scruff, this is a different look for me.

It was decided as we entered Tennessee that dyeing our hair, or at least changing it would be a good idea. Just in case. So lighter went Cecelia and very short became my new look. Cecelia tells me she misses my hair. Misses being able to grab at it, tug on it, run her fingers through it. Gotta admit, I miss that too.

But for the time being, until enough time passes or we feel comfortable enough to return to our original looks, this is who we are now. While Chace Delane and Cecelia Santos still exist, we pretend to be other people. At least for now.

After all, our hotel room is booked under Sharon and Karl Agathon. It’s funny because Marshall was the one to pick the names, telling us how hot actress Grace Park is and that Battlestar Galactica is his favorite show of all time so we need to go with it.

Apparently after leaving rehab, he caught an episode, liked what he’d seen, started watching it religiously, and that was that. He claims he “shipped” the
Athena
and
Helo
story like a ridiculous fangirl, even following along on the shows messageboards online.

I may or may not have laughed for a good twenty minutes after he let that last part slip. And he may or may not have slugged me for it.

I won’t admit it to him, but Celia and I binge-watched that damn show after we got settled in our room, wondering who these people are we’re “named” after. It’s not a bad show – again, not letting him know that. And Grace is in fact hot. Celia has a thing for the guy who played Helo, by the way so it works out well for us. We can lust after ourselves.

Still. It’s strange to pretend to be someone else and still myself at the same time. But we have to be different.

From what I’ve seen though, it’s working. Marshall almost didn’t recognize us until we were standing right in front of him and Allison. He’d been startled to realize we’d changed our appearances, but then understood why we’d done it. He likes to rub my head, tells me it’s soft like a baby’s bottom. He’s always been a weird guy. But I’m so grateful for him.

With Marshall and Allison hanging around us here, no one looks at us odd as we try to maneuver our way around the island, scrambling and twitchy that the boogeyman could be following behind us somewhere. We’re just another couple on vacation with some friends.

“I mean it came up really quick. But I acted as though we’d just forgotten to mention it. I called work the other day, and thankfully they’re still good with it. Ally’s job was much easier to work around since she’s independent and selects the clients she wants.” We collect our drinks and move back toward our girls. They’re still close, holding hands. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. How is she doing?”

I look at Celia, squinting through my sunglasses, watch her laugh at something Allison says and feel my heart beat quickly. “Better. Still has nightmares, but they’re not as bad as a few weeks ago.”

That’s right. We’ve been in Islamorada for almost two months now. And
with
Marshall and Allison. They’d both taken extended vacations without even thinking too much about it, claiming to work, friends and family, it was for the holidays since Christmas is only a couple weeks away and after the new year, they wouldn’t have these chances alone any longer.

The endgame, though, was always wanting to help Cecelia and myself not only adjust to life elsewhere, but to also feel safe.

“I’m glad to hear that. Ally and I have been really worried about her.” Marshall cuts me a look that tells me he’s worried about me too and I just nod. We’ve had a really traumatic experience. Shit can’t help but linger.

As we get closer to the girls, hear them talk about baby names and how ridiculous the soon-to-be grandmothers are becoming with their need to buy tons of clothes, I stop Marshall one last time.

My palms feel sweaty as I hold the glasses in my hand and though I’m not nervous, I feel edgy.

“Hey, so, do you remember that conversation we had months ago where you told me about the baby and how I should start to think more about my own future and not so much about the doom and gloom?” I ask feeling slightly stupid and completely obvious at the same time.

Marshall looks at me, then at Cecelia and nods. “Yeah, mostly.”

Nodding and swallowing hard, I press on. “Do you remember what you told me to think about exactly?” My voice squeaks and I clear my throat because even though I’ve made up my mind, it’s still a nerve-racking topic for anyone.

Marshall nods again and I see a smile begin on his face. Fucker.

“So, it’s not going to be white, but what would you say about standing up for me at my Christmas wedding?”

EPILOGUE

Several years later…

Life is a strange thing. It can be very bitter. Tear you down, break you apart until there’s nothing left of you, and then stomp on you some more for good measure. Or it can be very sweet. Build you up, show you who your real family is, even if they’re not all blood related, or even the same skin color, and give you the greatest gifts in the whole world.

One of those gifts is my marriage to Cecelia. We were married a few years ago, four days before Christmas. It was a beautiful ceremony and I had the prettiest bride to ever walk the earth.

Marshall was my best man. And he truly was the best man, especially after pulling some strings to get Melody, Stretch and my brother and his family down to Islamorada to witness our ceremony. 

We never thought we’d see any of them again so to know this man who I’d met in rehab, met at a low point when I thought no one cared about me came through for me? I admit it, I cried. I’m talking full on sobs. Stretch was Melody’s plus one and I am so glad to see them trying to have something of their own.

They like each other. Hagen is gone. They can be together now.

Seeing my brother though, that was a breaking point. I bawled like a fucking baby in his arms. He doesn’t know everything that’s gone down, none of the blackmail or what lead to it, he just knows we had to leave Chicago quickly. Well, that and Cecelia had been shot. But he still loves me, supports me. Is there for me. And he loves Celia like a sister. I am so thankful she not only has Melody, but Allison and Tandy in her life now too.

It’s been a few years since everything went down in Chicago but we don’t feel comfortable enough to ever return there. In fact, we’ve moved to Havana now that Americans are allowed in the country.

We’re still learning the language, Celia at a quicker rate because of her heritage, but it’s been a good decision. Especially after hearing news from back home.

After her return to Chicago after the wedding, we heard from Melody that some of Hagen’s crew were looking for us. They’d stopped into Coco one evening, asking questions about her coworker with the long brown hair. Hagen had talked about us constantly and sadly enough had shared our video with many of his guys, so they knew not only who we are and what we looked like, but that we were the last people to see him. His driver that night had no problem talking about the two who were with him before the warehouse burned down taking him with it.

Thankfully they didn’t know about Hagen’s obsession with Melody.

Since that time though, a new leader has taken over and Hagen is old news. We’re not on their watchlist. They have bigger fish to fry.

Still, we have no desire to tempt that kind of fate.

Just in case.

Another person who will never bother us again is Fife.

During his visit, Stretch and I talked. We shared some personal information, not a lot since I don’t want anyone knowing some things, but enough, and came to be the friends I’d always thought we were. I took his number, and once I got my new one, gave him a call. Not only does it allow me to have someone else in my corner, but it also keeps me informed of anything Melody may not hear about. She never liked the fights, and though Stretch has decided to retire from them completely, he still keeps in touch with some of the guys.

One night, nearly a year after Celia and my escape, Stretched called and told me Fife had been found dead.

There was a drug raid at one of the seedier motels and there was Fife, sprawled out on the floor, laying in his own vomit from an overdose. Turns out he’d been scouring the city for a new dealer after Hagen went missing and the new guy he found gave him some bad shit. He’d used too much, started puking on it and choked to death.

I know it’s bad karma, but I can’t say I’m sorry to see him gone.

He was a piece of shit liar and manipulator and yeah. Karma can kiss my ass on this one.

So, like I said, it’s been a few years now since everything went down. And Cuba has been good to us. Allowing us to move here with few questions asked.

Besides being the last place anyone from Chicago would think to look for us, should they decide to all of sudden, Cuba does not have an extradition agreement with the United States. It may have been in self-defense, our take down of Hagen, but we still killed him. One can never be too careful what the law thinks about a situation.

We’ve managed to get some work here too. Celia and I both work at Melia Habana, a stylish high-end hotel in Havana. She tends bar and I help out with the flashy cars that come through, making sure they’re taken care of while guests enjoy the sights.

It’s simple work but we don’t want strenuous. We still have our nest egg from my winnings and the money we’d saved from our checks. And it helps too that the hotel allows us to stay in one of the rooms at a discount.

We’ve talked about our future, Celia and I. We’ve talked about what we want out of our lives and we’ve decided that we’re not going to stay in Cuba forever. While it was close and perfect for our needs, it can’t be something we rely on forever. We even started taking online classes for college, me for a degree in sports medicine, and Celia for business administration.

Looking back on those dreams we talked about in rehab, we know we want to travel. South America, Europe, hit up the Maldives maybe. Of course we plan to save a little bit more money before we jet set off. And thanks to my brother’s accounting advice, we have a bank account that earns high interest so we can now afford these dreams we have.

In the end, we talk about where we want to settle.

“New Zealand,” Celia tells me as we lay in bed one night, sweaty, out of breath from making love for the past hour.

“New Zealand?”

“I want to see where the Lord of the Rings was filmed.”

She giggles, the sound warming my very soul as I tickle her for her reasoning. But as we quiet down, I run the tips of my fingers along her breast, across the pebbled nipple and the bar that still cuts through it. I continue across her stomach, twirling it around her belly button and its slight lift.

Looking back up into her eyes, I smile, my face unable to help itself as I feel that slight rise of her body. “Why else?”

“Because…because I don’t want to run anymore.” She sighs heavily, her fingers sliding through my hair, and I feel my entire life precipice on this moment. “Because I want those things I have always been so scared of before. A family, a chance to make things right.”

“I want that too,” I tell her lifting to lay between her thighs again, my cock already hard and wanting. I’m careful to not lay on her completely though, wanting to see her face.

It’s funny, though she’s just now saying it, just now letting herself
feel
it, it won’t be long until we
are
a family. A real one. With a chance to make things right.

Cecelia is four months pregnant. We’re going to have a baby. A little one of our own. A chance to right the wrongs of our pasts. A chance to give our future something sweeter then we were ever allowed to know.

Though she’s terrified, I know Cecelia will be an amazing mother. And with her by my side, I know I could never fail as a father. I’m excited and elated. And there is nothing in this world sweeter than these moments.

In the quiet of our room, with thoughts of our future dancing behind our eyes, I slip inside my wife, my beautiful Cecelia, letting her body push and pull at mine, love mine as it loves hers until completion steals our breaths.

She’s my best friend. My sidekick. The only woman I’ve ever wanted. The only woman I will ever be with again. I can’t wait to meet our little one. I can’t wait to live our life. I can’t wait to experience the sweeter side of things.

For too long we tasted nothing but bitterness. Now it’s time for us to bask in the sweetness life has to offer.

And this time nothing is going to stand in our way.

The End…