Rage (26 page)

TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

Phillip brushed sand from his hair as he heard her lock the

bathroom door. He tried to pull the terrycloth robe around him-

self as best he could. He glanced in the mirror and thought he

looked like he belonged in a gay porno set in a seedy bathhouse.

He snorted. “One size fits most, indeed.”

After ten minutes of waiting for Stephanie to reappear, he

meandered over to the bathroom door and tapped on it with his

knuckles.

“Steph?” he called out, noticing that the sound of water

running was conspicuously absent.

“Ummm…I think I should stay in here.” Her quiet voice

sounded like a small child afraid of punishment.

“You can’t be serious,” he laughed. She said nothing.

“Stephanie. I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

“Yeah. Our track record says otherwise.” She laughed a

humorless laugh. He smirked naughtily. She was in no way

wrong about that. “We can’t behave ourselves fully dressed in

public. I think half dressed in my hotel room is a recipe for disaster.”

He sighed and slid down the door, resting his back against

it. “Fine. Have it your way. Let me just start by saying if I had known you were pregnant, I would have never left your side.”

He heard her sigh and could tell that she was sitting directly

behind him. He imagined her with her back to his, the thin piece of wood all that stood between the two of them. “I know that. I

think that’s the main reason I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to be with me. Especially if you wanted kids

and there was a strong chance I couldn’t give them to you.”

He considered her snap decision and imagined how afraid

she’d been in her weak and medicated state. Her laser sharp, ever strategic brain hadn’t failed her even then. He had to admit, her 166

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choice made a lot of sense.

“What are the other reasons?” He nervously picked at the

sand wedged under his fingernails. Phillip felt reluctant to hear her response, but this conversation was long overdue.

“Things between us were…fine…more than fine. We were

really happy—at least I was. Why screw up a good thing with

bullshit vows and expectations? Quite honestly, we barely knew

each other. We definitely didn’t know each other well enough

for that kind of commitment. But I
was
ready to take things to the next level, Phillip. In my mind that meant moving in together. I wanted to feel like I was connected to you on some emo-

tional level. Every time we got together, it was so physical.

Don’t get me wrong—the sex was always amazing, but I hoped

if we saw each other more frequently, it might turn into some-

thing…deeper. As it was, every time a conversation turned seri-

ous, one of us usually cracked a joke.”

He opened his mouth to object and realized he had no ar-

gument. He’d wanted all the same things. “Or one of us picked a

fight. You’re not wrong. I suppose I thought if we got married,

all of those things would just fall into place.”

She paused, and he heard her blow her nose.

“I was going to tell you. That’s why I kept calling you.

Where were you?” Her voice sounded shaky, as if she were

afraid of how he’d respond. Phillip bit the inside of his lip.

“I went away. I hid out. I drank and smoked and hung out

with an Irish setter. I realize it’s not nearly as glamorous or exotic as the stories the tabloids made up, but there it is. I couldn’t be around anyone or anything that made me think of you.” He

heaved an exasperated sigh as he remembered the heartache.

“Which was everyone and everything. Then a very wise man

told me to stop being a twat and go find you and fight for you.

And I set out to do just that. Then Clive told me he’d shagged

you, and he seemed to have photographic evidence of it.”

“That bastard,” Steph muttered under her breath. Phillip

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smiled to himself, but frowned immediately when he realized

how much he’d missed her casual cursing.

“I miss this,” he blurted. “Just…talking to you.”

She responded with silence. That hurt more than he cared to

admit. He quietly cursed himself for his faux pas. He didn’t want to admit any weaknesses to Steph, but it was far too late to worry about such nonsense. He blundered on.

“Maybe we should have tried this a long time ago.”

“What?” she croaked.

He exhaled in a huff. “Talking through a barricade.”

He heard a thump against the door behind him. It sounded

like her throwing her head back.

“Stephanie…I love you. I can’t explain it. I can’t quantify

why, so don’t bother asking. I wish to God it weren’t true, but it is.”

Her voice cracked as she spoke. “But you were with
that

girl
from the video.”

He felt nauseated at the mention of it. “It was once. I wish it

had never happened. The whole thing was ridiculous. I was

drunk and lonely. I can’t change that it happened.”

Steph said nothing, and he found himself curious. He fought

with himself about it for a moment, but found he couldn’t con-

tain the question. “Was there anyone else? I mean, besides

Christopher
.”

The thought of Christopher in her bed touching her made

him want to wretch.

“I was with Pace. Once. After Cheyenne showed me…the

video.” He buried his head in his hands. Pace Turner. That stung.

He’d always been threatened by this one name from her past,

mostly due to her calculated choice
not
to rave about him like she always did Kevin. “Phillip, it’s none of my business who you were with. You moved on. I’ve moved on. I’m with Christopher

now. We both just need to…keep moving on.”

“Nothing you’ve said changes how I feel about you. Not

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even a little. I wish to God it did, to be blunt. If I could turn it off, believe me I would have a long time ago. I can’t. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. You’re the only person I’ve ever let inside my armor. I have absolutely no bloody defense against

you.”

He heard her sniffling. “Stop. Just stop.”

“Why? Because you love me, too and fighting it hurts?”

“Please—I just need a normal life.”

“You’ve never had a normal life, Steph.” He closed his

eyes, knowing she was pushing him away hard and knowing he

was fighting a losing battle.

“I can’t, baby.” She hadn’t called him that since the cottage,

and her doing so now felt as if she’d sliced him with surgical

steal. “I can’t deal with the constant fighting. I don’t want the paparazzi trailing me in the dairy aisle. I’m tired of psychos cornering me in public restrooms and mauling me because you

shaved your beard. And they do this when we are
not together.
”

His heart seemed to dissolve and trickle to the floor. He

heard her crying through the door, and it was the most awful

sound he’d ever experienced. He turned and placed his palm

against the door. He inhaled twice, wanting to be sure to steady his voice and his resolve.

“Alright, love. I’m so sorry for everything. The last thing I

want is to cause you any more pain.”

Her breath hitched loudly, and he swore he could feel her

trembling through the thin door. When she spoke, her voice

sounded woeful, but committed. “I just want to stop hurting.”

He flinched at her words and ran his hands through his hair.

“If you want me to go, I will.”

Silence. That was all the answer he needed. She was done.

It was over.

It took him a minute to gather his strength. Finally, he

pushed himself up to standing. “Alright, Stephanie. I’m going.”

He squared his shoulders and took three steps toward the exit

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when he heard the bathroom door open. He whirled in surprise.

Steph stood in the doorway, her chest heaving and eyes rimmed

red. She rushed to him and buried her face in his chest.

Phillip froze, his emotions colliding inside him like bumper

cars. Steph was the most maddening person he’d ever met, and

part of him wanted to shake her like a rag doll. The other wanted to peel off her robe and tie her spread eagle to the bed. He knew he was morally obligated to split the difference, so he cradled her against him, feeling her tears spill onto his bare chest. The minty scent of her damp hair drew his lips down to the top of her head.

“Phillip…please.” She looked up, her raw eyes devastating

him. Her voice cracked, and she seemed to choke out the words.

“Stay a little longer.”

He nodded without hesitation. She reached out, took his

hand and led him to the bed. Climbing under the blankets, she

beckoned him to do the same. He followed her onto the bed,

coaching himself not to become aroused. He’d often imagined

ending up between the sheets again with her, but this was far

from the flavor he’d pictured. There was a sense of finality, of pomp and circumstance. He took a deep breath as he settled in

next to her. This was the last time he’d ever touch her, and he

wanted to remember every moment of it, to commit every inch

of her to memory. The smell of peppermint, her velvety skin, her soft, warm body alongside his.

He placed his arm around her and she cuddled into him, and

in moments she was shaking with sobs and grasping him as if her

life depended on it. All this powerful emotion from Stephanie

Brier? His mind reeled, and his chest felt weighty, making it take extra effort to breathe. Why now? Why couldn’t they have been

so honest and naked with their feelings before? It wasn’t fair. It made him despondent and more than a little angry. He wanted to

hit someone, to break something, to take her away from every-

one. But his hands were tied, and she’d laced the knots. As al-

ways with Stephanie, he had no choice but to simply ride the

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wave.

He felt her leg slide up and over his as she curled in close.

He wrapped both arms around her tightly and kissed her fore-

head. “Shhh…, love. Please don’t cry.”

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Steph knew that she was dreaming the moment she spied

the little gold ponytail poking out from between the slats of the rocking chair. She realized she was in the cottage, but it was not Phillip’s restored version she dreamt of. This one hadn’t been

restored, so the windows were partially boarded, and the interior had reverted to its previous dilapidated state. All of the furniture was draped in white sheets except the rocking chair that Phillip had used for firewood the night they’d spent stranded here so

long ago. The rocking chair was currently occupied.

A heavy layer of dust caked the neglected windows and

muted the bright morning sun. There was just enough light for

Steph to see a girl clutching a teddy bear perched on the rocker.

Her eyes never left the ponytail as she slowly circled the chair, recognizing Jonquil in her signature violet dress and patent

leather Mary Jane’s. She was almost in full view of the child’s

face when the sound of a camera shutter clattering caused her to whirl in the direction of the broken mirror in the corner. Her

mother smiled at her as she advanced the film.

Steph rolled her eyes. “For the love of god, Ma. Time to go

digital already!”

Her mom simply continued to smile in her tolerant way and

walked right past Steph. She was so vivid and real, Steph had to suppress the urge to reach out and touch her. When she turned to look after her, she saw her old tea set spread out on the floor.

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Stephanie’s mom started singing a lullaby she’d often sung to

Steph. It was actually “Dreams,” a Fleetwood Mac song, but as

with most experiences in Steph’s childhood, her parents danced

to the beat of a different drum. Steph broke out in gooseflesh as she watched the little blonde girl sway back and forth to the melody of the song as she and Steph’s mom and the teddy bear had a

little tea party in the spot where she and Phillip had first been intimate.

In the part of her mind that knew she was dreaming, Steph

was freaking out at the horror-movie-like quality of it all. An

avid Stephen King reader, she was scared shitless.

Jesus. Mary, and Joseph! If I see a balloon or a clown, I’m

outa here!

And yet
Steph found herself joining them, crossing her legs Indian style. She realized she was wearing her red cowboy boots.