Giving It Up (27 page)

“You know what they did?” she said. “They put him in the barrel, William, they did, and rolled him down the hill.”

“What? Christ, tell me you’re joking!”

She gave me a reproving look. “Who would joke about that? Anyhow, that’s not the end of the story. Poor William was in the hospital for three weeks and then stuck in bed for longer. He’d never been first in class, you know, and after that it was just downhill.” She paused. “Pardon the pun.”

“We stayed in that town just until he was eighteen,” she said, “and then we moved as far away as possible. Here, to Chicago. He got a job fixing elevators, because it wasn’t so complicated he couldn’t understand it. And it turned out to be a good thing, because there’s been lots of elevators since then, and he was never out of work, not once. So you see, everything turns out for the best.”

Holy fuck. I was pretty sure that was the saddest story I’d ever heard in my life, and I’d heard some bad shit. Honestly I’d been feeling pretty good about my encounter, if a little shaken, but now I just wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground. Not that I’d ever been to the country or the mountains, as she’d said, but I guessed I’d always expected it to by idyllic. Backward maybe, slow definitely, but
nice
. That story had not been nice.

“Linda,” I said. “I don’t know how to tell you this. But that story is depressing.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, all surprised. “Thirty-two years we were married before he passed over. And sure, he’d get confused sometimes. You know, I’d walk into a room, but he was already talking to me. But that’s not the important thing, is it?”

“I’m sorry. You’re right.” I agreed, because it was her life and William’s, and so I could hardly disparage the story without insulting her. Besides, I was afraid she’d keep talking. Jesus.

I took another sip of the cold coffee and pretended my shiver was from that and not foreboding.

* * * *

Colin didn’t come back until late.

In those dark, lonely hours I mulled over his actions. He had manipulated me in the worst way, cutting off my livelihood. I had a child, after all. What if I hadn’t called him? What if I’d taken to whoring myself to cover the bills? Would he have come after me at all if I’d never called him, or was this just a game to him?

I still couldn’t be sure that he’d had no part in Tony Yates. I had to believe he hadn’t, though, or I couldn’t even lie here in his bed.

He smelled of alcohol but not smoke as he settled beside me, in the black of night.

“What made you ask those questions?” he suddenly asked.

I thought about pretending to be asleep, but instead I stalled. “What questions?”

“You know damn well what questions. Did you talk to Rick?”

The way he said Rick’s name made it sound like betrayal. It wasn’t, and I wanted to tell him that and that Rick had been the one to approach me, but I realized that would only get Rick in trouble. “He’s my friend,” I said. “So yes, I talked to him.”

“I don’t want you to see him again,” he said tightly.

It was weird to have a conversation in the dark, both of us facing the ceiling. I turned my head on the pillow to see his profile. “You don’t get to tell me that. Or is it because I live in your house and eat your food, you get to tell me who I see?”

“Yes,” he said. “No! He’s a loser, and he wants to fuck you. That’s why you can’t see him.”

Okay, maybe in my most uncharitable moments, Rick was somewhat of a loser. And I thought that maybe he had a point about the other part. I didn’t think girlfriends were really allowed to hang out with guys who wanted to fuck them or offered to take them away to some tropical place. At least not girlfriends of guys like Colin.

“I didn’t even want to see him,” I mumbled. “I just don’t see why you had to do that. It’s really fucked up.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding calmer if not actually sorry.

We were silent for a moment, and then he spoke again, sounding almost cautious. “What about the other thing? That night?”

I know someone paid Tony Yates to hurt me because I was snooping in your brother’s records as a spy for the cops.
No, that would not go over well.

“I can’t tell you,” I finally said.

“What does that mean?” He sounded incredulous.

“Just what I said. You don’t tell me everything you do or everywhere you go, hardly anything. I tell you everything, even my secrets, just not this.”

The other reassurances, that this wasn’t a big deal, that it wasn’t anything he needed to worry about, died in my throat. I wanted to get through this without actually lying. Maybe someday when I’d figured this out, I could tell him. And maybe somehow he’d understand, but it would be better if I didn’t lie to him now.

Or maybe not, because he’d sat up, practically vibrating with anger.

“This isn’t just anything,” he said. “This is you accusing me of raping you.”

“You didn’t rape me,” I said, rather calmly, I thought. “I asked if you paid that guy to rape me or hurt me or anything at all. You said you didn’t, and well, I believe you.”
So that’s that
, my tone said.

He made a disbelieving sound.

We paused with only the sound of his harsh breathing and mine to fill the air.

“I mentioned it to Philip,” Colin said.

I sat up too. I hadn’t expected Colin to figure it out, but of course he would. It only made sense that if someone paid Tony Yates, and if it wasn’t Colin, that Philip might know something about it. That was the same conclusion I’d come to, only I saw Philip as the enemy and Colin didn’t.

“What did he say?” I asked, dreading the answer.

With good cause, it turned out, because Colin answered, “He said you were an informant for the cops. That you were digging around for information about his guys.”

I held my breath as if my very exhale could incriminate me. “What did you say?”

“I said he was full of shit and punched him in the face.”

A sharp laugh escaped me. I clamped my lips shut.
Very inappropriate
, I scolded myself. Still, a small smile curled my lips. He’d believed in me. He’d defended me. And Philip had gotten what was coming to him.

“I hit my
brother
.”

I sobered. “I’m sorry, Colin. Even if he deserved it, I’m sorry.”

“Allie.”
Are you
, his tone asked,
an informant? Did I turn on my own family in defense of a traitor?

“Are you going to make me answer the question?”

“Are you going to make me ask?” he said.

I sighed. “I can promise you this. I have never given the cops any information about you or Philip or anyone, okay? I never have and never will. I’m on your side. Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” he said, and only then did I breathe normally.

His long, large body sat sprawled on the bed, its indolent pose belying his intensity. And, in fact, as we sat there, I felt his breathing change. The air shifted even as we sat very still. Turned out anger was a powerful aphrodisiac once we’d gotten over the fighting part.

Except for the first time with Colin, I wasn’t sure if I wanted it. I wasn’t sure I
didn’t
want it either—fickle me—but I was nervous. My mind flashed to the ridiculous bullfighting photographs in Philip’s study. This must be how a bullfighter felt, standing in front of a raging force over which he had no control, waving his red flag, even as he wondered what the fuck he’d gotten himself into.

I’d had sex how many times? Almost a dozen, over the months. All with mean, angry strangers. Bullies, really, but that wasn’t Colin. He wasn’t a stranger or mean or a bully. He was an angry Colin, and that made him entirely unknown.

I’d let him fuck me, even let him hurt me, but what if he went too far? An even scarier idea occurred to me. What if I didn’t want it? I didn’t want him to hurt me. Maybe I didn’t even want him to fuck me.

What then?

I pictured myself, cowering behind the red flag, scuffing my boots on the dirt. I couldn’t run—he’d only chase me. I couldn’t fight him—he’d only beat me. As laughable an idea as it was, the only thing left to do was tame him.

I reached out and cupped his cheek. His breath puffed against the inside of my wrist in time with my pulse. I curled my fingers in and stroked the backs of my knuckles up along his temple. He tilted his head into my caress, and I caught my breath. He stayed my wrist in his hand.

He tugged, and I fell over his lap, facedown. He held me there by my wrist while his other hand slid up the back of my thigh. His fingers explored between my legs, not teasing or asking but feeling and taking.

The pleasure was there, but I didn’t like it. His legs under my stomach, the bed pressed against my face, my ass exposed. What a whore. No more,
please
.

I made a small sound in my throat, maybe a refusal, definitely a complaint. I didn’t know what he made of it, but he rolled me off him. Then he was on me, kissing me. When I didn’t open my mouth, he moved down, down.

His hands were rough, pulling off my shirt, touching my body, pulling me apart. His mouth was demanding. He wanted everything, but I couldn’t give it to him. No, that wasn’t true. I could give in to him. My body was wet with anticipation, my mind slipping to that dark, quiet place, but I didn’t want to.
No.

He tried to kiss me again, and I turned my face away. He made a low sound like a growl, and then flipped me over onto a pillow. I knew what would happen next. The way he pushed apart my knees and tilted my hips and parted me there, it all meant I was going to get fucked.
No!

“No,” I whispered.

He thrust inside me, hot and thick.

“No,” I said.

He pulled back. I thought he would pull out.

“Yes,” he grunted, and then he thrust again, and again, deeper each time, filling me, invading me—
Get it out!

“Stop,” I said. “Colin!”

He froze. “Allie?”

It was his name that had caught his attention, so I used it again. “Colin, stop.”

In a heartbeat he was out of me. I was whipped around onto my back, and he was crouching over me. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?

“No, I just—” I was fucking this up, that’s what I was doing. I’d done this before, in the alley, in my car, once in the bathroom of the club, what was one more time? But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t want to. Not right now. I’m sorry.”

“Jesus, Allie.” He rolled down to the bed beside me, breathing hard.

We lay there side by side, both flat on the bed, with only his cock standing up, gently waving in rhythm with his breaths, as if to say
don’t forget about me!
Neither of us had forgotten, I was sure.

“I thought it was…fuck, I thought it was a game,” he said in low tones. “I thought that’s what you wanted. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” I said, my voice small and stupid. “I know that’s what I asked for before, but that’s not…I didn’t want it now.”

“Okay,” he said, but he sounded confused.

“I’m sorry.”

“Allie,” he said, then paused. “You’re allowed to say no. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that,” I said, too quickly and too brightly.

“Fuck!”

“I’m sorry,” I practically wailed. “I’m so messed up.”

“Shh,” he said, pulling me into his arms. He whispered things into my hair to quiet me while his hands stroked down my back, while we both ignored the thick, damp cock bobbing between us. Damned insistent things, cocks.

It was okay, though, because he didn’t freak out or get mad, but of course not. He’d always been tender with me, but there was this block built up in my mind. It wasn’t even about men, like I’d thought, or cocks or fucking, but about saying
no
.

I ignored the urge to tell him I was sorry,
again
, or to offer to make him come. It was hard to do, with his cock practically begging for my hand or my mouth, and I so wanted to make him feel good. That way we wouldn’t have to lie here thinking about me and my ridiculous issues. Yes, pleasing him was so much better, but if I did that, I’d have nothing. I’d gained one small thing by saying no, by meaning it, by insisting it. I’d gotten my consent back, and I wasn’t about to give it away so easily. Not ever again if I could help it.

Men could take my body if they were stronger than me, and they usually were. I never fooled myself about those women’s self-defense classes or mace cans. Where I came from, pulling shit like that got you killed. The important thing was to be able to get up and walk away from it after.

I’d given away so much more than that, though. The physical pain had been over in a week. But I’d made it all worse when I gave away my consent, when I’d set out to prove that sex didn’t matter, that getting raped was the same thing, and that men didn’t listen to
no
.

But not today. Today I’d said no, and he hadn’t forced me. He hadn’t left. Not even when the air cooled my skin, still damp with a sheen of sweat. His breathing evened out, and with his arm still wrapped around me, he slept.

With my hand shielding Bailey’s eyes, I poured water over her soapy head. I only had to finish up her bath and put her down to bed before I could join Colin downstairs to watch the movie. I’d left him in his study after dinner. It was half past eight, and I was eager to pin him down, safe and secure from the looming drop across town.

Nothing would happen. Nothing
should
happen, after all. Philip’s drop should go down as planned, and the cops, if they’d heeded my note, would stake out my empty apartment. Still, I couldn’t shake the bad feeling that had shrouded me all day.

By the time I slipped from her room, frazzled, it was past nine o’clock.

I checked the study first. He wasn’t there. I strode through the living room, kitchen—no Colin. I peeked out of the burnished amber curtains I’d made for the living room. His truck was gone.

Surely he’d only left to grab some popcorn or drinks or something. Or maybe he really hadn’t liked my movie selections. Feeling antsy, I went into the kitchen, where I saw a note sitting on the small stack of DVDs I’d rented.