Kristen Ashley - Wild Man

I waited.

Then he opened his eyes.

“She was my first,” he said quietly, his voice thick and I pressed closer. “I still loved her, Tess. Not the same as when we started but she was a big part of my life. Does somethin’ to a man to have that kind of person in his life, to be able to laugh with her about shit that went down when you were fifteen and have her end like that. She was the first to go down on me, to take my cock and to think she sold the beauty she had to give for dope burned out my insides. She was the first woman to tell me she loved me. She shared her dreams with me, Tess. What she wanted to do, where she wanted to go, how many kids she wanted to have. At one time in our lives, we talked about those things in a way we thought we’d be sharin’ them.

So, yeah, I was driven to do something about it. But Levi was wrong; he didn’t see her in a holding cell. He didn’t see all she turned out to be. I knew she was gone before she was gone and I let her go way before that and I did that for my own peace of mind because I already nearly lost my career and fucked over four other girls who needed justice gettin’ too tied to what happened to her and not makin’ smart decisions. I didn’t do what I did on a crusade to bring her back. I did what I did because Bree isn’t the only girl out there with family who loves them and old boyfriends who give a shit facin’ that life and someone had to help them and I decided that someone would be me.”

At that, it swelled inside me, so huge and so fast, I couldn’t stop myself from blurting, “I love you.”

“I know,” he replied.

“No,” I shook my head and got close, “I love you, Brock Lucas.”

His eyes lost that darkness and his hand in my hair slid down and curled around my neck.

“Baby,” he murmured.

“What you did, you saved a lot of girls,” I whispered fiercely.

“I know.”

“That’s beautiful,” I told him.

“Tess –”

“And that’s her legacy as well as yours,” I stated.

He stared at me.

I kept talking. “You cared about her that much to do what you did for others, it was you doing it, putting yourself out there but it was how you felt about her that pushed you to do it and she was the kind of person who made you feel that deeply so she gets that part. She died tragically but her death meant something to the futures of a lot of other people and that’s beautiful.”

“I never thought of it like that,” he said quietly.

“Well, start,” I ordered.

He looked into my eyes a moment then started chuckling.

“Shit, babe, when’d you start gettin’ bossy?”

“Christmas. It does shit to people,” I answered and his chuckling got louder.

Then he asked, “We done pourin’ out our hearts?”

“For now,” I replied and he smiled again.

Then his smile faded, a warm, sultry feeling filled the room, his eyes dropped to my mouth and his fingers pressed into my neck.

Then he muttered, “All right, then let’s go to bed.”

I stared into quicksilver eyes that were staring at my mouth, the eyes of the man who loved me, the eyes of a wild, rough, beautiful man who I knew but the proof had just been laid out for me felt exceptionally deeply and had an endless capacity for loyalty and I didn’t protest.

Not that I was going to anyway.

One month later…

It was Saturday and Brock had just gone out for a run, his weekend with his boys having been interrupted by them being invited to a party and they were currently there. He was set to return, shower then take off and get them and I wasn’t going to see him again until Sunday night as he intended to have “a talk” with them (in quotes because it was going to be heavy) about all that was going down.

While he was gone, I was putzing around in my kitchen.

It was my first full day off since two weeks before Christmas because Tessa’s Cakes had been a madhouse and it was all hands on deck.

The good news about this was, I could afford more nighties.

The other good news about this was, when I pulled myself out of bed every day and then dragged my ass home every night arriving late, exhausted, only to face Christmas crap (cards, wrapping presents I ducked out from work to buy or ran around the malls to get on the way home – we’ll just say my Christmas spirit took a hit), Brock didn’t like it much and told his mother about it. So of course she told her daughters about it. Then I got a visit at the bakery from Jill with Kalie and Kellie in tow and both girls were looking for jobs (Kalie, to buy Christmas presents and also to aid her goals in helping to save the world as well as for college, Kellie to buy Christmas presents and then continue to work her way to top fashionista of the sophomore class) and they wanted to work at Tessa’s Cakes.

I hired them on the spot.

They were still on the payroll working some evenings and weekends and, although business had slowed, it was not by much. They were godsends considering they were punctual, understood customer service, were hard workers, didn’t like to be bored and they were hilarious. Kellie was even learning how to decorate cakes.

In other words, they were two of the reasons I could finally have a day off.

The bad news about this was, I was overworked, exhausted and my Christmas spirit had been drained out of me. Not to mention, I didn’t have it in me to stay on the ball with all that was happening around me. Therefore I pretty much didn’t know what was happening around me because Brock locked himself straight into protective mode and told me not to worry about that shit, instead focus on the bakery and Christmas.

And I probably shouldn’t have taken him up on that but I did.

It wasn’t really true that I had no days off. I had Christmas off and New Years. But neither of these were days off, as such, considering the activity levels. Firstly, Mom was taking a long visit, enjoying an Australian summer with my sister, there Thanksgiving through the New Year so I had to be up at an ungodly hour to get their Skype. Then Brock only got the boys for half a day on both days and half that time needed to be spent having Christmas lunch/New Year’s dinner at his mother’s house, the other half at his pad and then they had to get back home so we were running around most of the day and I was doing my damnedest to make them good days for the boys because Olivia was still filling their head with garbage about me. They were visibly confused, worried about the state of affairs, worried about their Dad and struggling with loyalty to their Mom in how they dealt with me.

So, suffice it to say, even protected from that shit by Brock, it still leaked in and I had also descended from really not liking Olivia to pretty much hating her.

Brock had had two dinners with Olivia since the first drama (yes, two, the bitch). This did not fill me with joy but luckily I was too exhausted to build up any emotion about it because that emotion would probably not have been pleasant and Brock came home from both dinners looking like he wanted to rip someone’s head off so I needed to look after my man.

In other words, just like Elvira warned, Olivia was playing every game in the book, not listening to a word Brock said and that situation had not gone away.

Though, that said, after dinner number two, Brock came home not only looking like he wanted to rip someone’s head off but also declaring, “That’s it, done with that shit,” which I suspected meant dinner number three would happen when hell froze over. And this was also part of the reason for “the talk” with his boys this weekend.

I had no clue what Damian was doing and Brock didn’t fill me in. I figured my man was honest enough with me that he would tell me if there was something I needed to know so I kept my head down and did what he told me to do, focused on what I needed to be doing and that was not lapsing into a coma.

So right then, due to pure habit, I was in my kitchen thinking for the first time in my life if I saw a cake I’d scream my head off.

And thus I was also realizing that I hadn’t had a vacation in over a year and I was wondering, since Brock hadn’t been in his job too long, if he could get a week off and we could go to a beach somewhere.

And when my mind skidded into this thought, it moved onto other thoughts of beaches, water, tropical drinks that tasted like liquid candy and the fact that local fashion dictates would mean for the vast majority of time Brock would be in nothing but swim trunks.

And this was what was pleasantly occupying my mind when a knock came at the door.

My pleasant thoughts evaporated, I looked at the door and my first instinct was to run downstairs and hide in the guest room.

Another knock came and I heard Martha shout, “Tess! I know you’re in there because I can see your car and his new fancy-ass truck! Open up!”

Oh man.

Martha was on a tear.

I sucked in breath reconsidering the guest room and instead considering escaping out the back.

Then, because it was Martha, I walked to the door.

I opened it to see Martha plus Elvira as well as another black woman with tawny eyes and an enormous afro that had to have its own zip code and they were all accompanied by a woman who, at first glance I would have sworn was Dolly Parton. After blinking, I saw she was younger but she still had the masses of fabulous platinum hair, enormous bosoms and she was wearing skintight stonewash (yes, stonewash) from shoulders to toes (including platform boots made of stonewash). The entirety of this was adorned with what looked like a layer of glitter not to mention a heavy array of rhinestones decorating the shoulders and down the front of her jeans jacket.

Whoa.

“You exist,” Martha snapped and my eyes moved from Dolly to her.

“Hey,” I said softly.

Suffice it to say, with my life as crazy as it was, I didn’t have time for Martha except for some random texts and quick phone calls.

And suffice it to say, Martha wasn’t down with that.

She pushed in and her posse pushed in with her, Elvira giving me a wide-eyed look that spoke volumes and those volumes were that I needed to brace because Martha was on a tear.

She didn’t have to warn me. I’d known Martha a long time. I knew before I even opened the door.

Damn.

I closed the door behind them, turned and trailed them as Martha made a bee-line to my kitchen, introducing, “This is Shirleen and Daisy, they’re friends of Elvira and Gwen’s.

Gwen met Shirleen during her thingamabob and with Shirleen came Daisy and with Gwen came Elvira and with Elvira comes me and now we’re all here.”

I looked to Shirleen and Daisy and greeted, “Hi guys.”

Daisy gave me a bright smile and I knew she was Daisy because she said, “Hey, I’m Daisy.”

“You’re Tessa of Tessa’s Cakes,” Shirleen (the black lady) announced like I didn’t have that information.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“I been to your place, like, a lot. Too much. It’s important for a black woman to have booty, but not a Tessa’s Cakes booty. You owe me at least ten pounds, you get what I’m sayin’?” she stated.

“Uh… yeah,” I replied because I did but even if I didn’t, she was kind of scary of the Elvira variety so I still would have agreed.

“Only two things better in the whole world than your frosted sugar cookies with daisy sprinkles and those are pigs in a blanket and a man with a fine package. This I know as fact,”

she declared, I blinked at this unusual compliment, Daisy emitted a little giggle that sounded like bells, Elvira grinned big at me but Martha shouted.

“What the frig? ”

We all turned to her to see her glaring at the empty, ornate, milky green glass cake stand at the edge of my counter (I’d rotated).

“What?” I asked.

Her eyes cut to me and she jabbed a finger at the cake plate. “What’s that?”

I looked to the cake plate then I looked to her.

Then I answered, “That’s my fabulous, ornate, green glass cake plate.”

“It sure is fabulous,” Daisy agreed, eyeing my cake plate. “I need to get me one of those.”

But Martha’s eyes narrowed, as in went squinty, I knew what that meant so instead of thanking Daisy, I kept my focus on Martha.

“It’s empty,” she pointed out.

I looked at the cake plate then at her.