it starts with you
and ends in black
Avery
We’re into October and it’s been a few weeks since Link bounced me out of his club. Between him working late into the night, me having class every morning, and working for the Maysons a few afternoons a week, it’s hard to find time together.
“Avery, you’re a terrible liar,” my cousin, Paige, says. “Look, I’m the last one who’s going to press for information, but I am calling to give you the heads-up. Everyone was cutting it up this weekend how little Avery has a secret boyfriend and they want the deets. So, Ave, if you’re hiding some new crush, it’s just making everyone talk more. You can tell me. Is he a frat boy or some smarty-pants? And by the way, I’m not sure which I hope for more—smarty-pants can be hot, too.”
I look at the open document on my computer I should be working on for my research project instead of letting Paige dig for information. But a boyfriend? Frat boy? Crush?
Not one of those terms does justice to the man who’s weaved his way into my heart and dug a place so deep, I’m not even sure how to handle it. Crush doesn’t begin to describe what Link means to me.
Before I met Lincoln Forester, I had no idea there were men in the world who weren’t meant to be merely boyfriend material. The word boyfriend is an insult to Link. He’s more.
So much more.
“No. No boyfriend,” I say, feeling good about telling the truth for once. I should just come clean, but I really don’t know how to broach the subject of me being with Link.
“Really?” Paige asks. She doesn’t sound convinced whatsoever.
“There must not be enough going on with the Carpinos in Omaha if everyone’s imagination is going crazy about me.” I try and change the subject and ask about her and Cam’s baby girl. “How’re Rose and the kids?”
It doesn’t take much because I hear the love and awe in her voice. “Rose is growing like a weed and Jordy and Cara are amazing with her. Cam never puts her down when he’s home. She’s a Daddy’s girl already. I can’t believe she’s six months old.”
I lean back in my chair and smile. “I’m so happy for you.”
“And should I be happy for you, too?”
“Well…” My smile turns into a grin and I almost open my mouth to share a little with one of my favorite cousins. Just when I’m flirting with the idea, another call beeps in. When I pull my phone back, I see it’s my mom and reality hits me. “Paige, I’ve gotta go. It’s my mom.”
“No!” she exclaims. “Don’t hang up. You were about to spill. Tell me!”
“Maybe next time. Love you.”
“Wait—"
I don’t wait. I switch lines and answer, “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
Like always, she jumps right in like we’ve been talking for an hour and orders, “You need to book your flight for Thanksgiving. Traveling at the holidays is a nightmare. I’m hosting this year, so I’d love to have you home as early as possible so we can spend some time together before I have to start cooking for forty-eight hours straight.”
I start to pack up my books. I had two hours to kill before Link could meet me, so I nabbed a private study room in the library. I have to leave for Sophie’s to babysit, so we’ll barely have time for a quick lunch.
“My professors assigned projects that are due at the end of the semester,” I lie to my mom. This lying thing is getting out of hand but I’m trying to ease her into the idea of me skipping Thanksgiving, which is going to be harder than any final I could ever take. Carpinos do not miss major holidays. Period. I have a feeling any effort of easing I might make will do no good with Tia—the drama-mama—Carpino. “I’m not sure I’ll have time to make the trip home this year.”
I stack my books and cringe internally as I wait for a response.
“Mom?” I finally call for her.
“Are you serious?” she whispers and that cuts deep. I love my parents and they love me, but I have to be in Nashville the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I hate to admit it, but it’s more important than any Carpino holiday-hoopla, no matter how much I miss them. “Can’t you work on your projects here? You can work while I cook.”
I squeeze my eyes tight, knowing I’m hurting my mom’s feelings and muster my courage. “Sorry. Group projects.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her voice cracks and I brace. “I’ve just never spent a holiday without all of my children before. Ever.” As if she needed to drive the point home, she adds as her voice rises theatrically, “Since I gave birth to every single one of you!”
I wince and pull the phone from my ear to save my hearing.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I try. “I promise, I’ll be home for Christmas.”
“For the love of stockings and mistletoe—were you thinking about skipping Christmas, too?” she screams.
“Mom!” I cringe, hoping no one heard me in the next study room and continue on a whisper. “Stop screaming. No, I’m not going to skip Christmas, okay?”
“I can’t believe it,” she expels and it sounds like she’s sniffling. “What are you going to do for Thanksgiving? I don’t want you eating a veggie-burger or take-out Pho and I really don’t want you to be alone.”
I quickly contemplate telling my mom about Link, coming clean about the person who has been monopolizing my time and heart, but I’m not sure sharing the fact I’m seeing a twenty-eight-year-old man who owns a nightclub would be a good idea right after I told her I was skipping Thanksgiving. “I won’t be alone, Mom. Sophie invited me to have dinner with the Maysons.”
Nico hasn’t really gotten over his freak-out about Link and me yet, but Sophie forced her husband to stand-down and according to Link, he’s still “in possession” of his balls.
Not that I’ve met his balls. I haven’t.
Link has recreated many scenes like the one at his piano at The Knot—meaning he’s given me plenty of orgasms but it hasn’t gone any further than that. The last few nights, Link has even crawled into my small double-size bed after four in the morning, taking up more than his fair share. But who am I to complain when I get to curl into his big chest to sleep a few hours in his arms before I have to trudge to class?
Even with all the orgasms he’s managed to fit into our crazy schedules, I can’t deny it’s left me wanting more. And I feel really sorry for his balls. They have to be a deeper, darker shade of blue than his eyes at this point.
“I’m on my way to lunch before I have to babysit. Can I call you tomorrow?” I ask as I hear her blow her nose.
“I’ve got to tell your dad. You might be getting a phone call from him.”
I sigh. My dad, Nic Carpino, will understand but he’ll also do everything he can to make my mom happy. This means he’ll do his duty and try to talk me into coming home for Thanksgiving. “I’ll look forward to talking with him.”
“Love you, Avery-bear.” I can tell she’s forcing a smile into her voice as she reverts back to my childhood nickname. “I don’t want you to feel the least bit bad about missing Thanksgiving. I’ll be fine.”
Holy shit.
I ignore her last comment. “Love you, too, Mom.”
I disconnect the call and dial Link.
He greets me. “You left me alone in your bed this morning. Again.”
I smile and throw my stuff and MacBook into my backpack. “You know I had class. I already got yelled at for missing by Dr. Witch. Oh, and I talked to my mom.”
“How’d that go?” I hear him shutting the big door at The Knot as he moves around.
I bring him up to speed on my mom-drama.
“Don’t sweat it, little one. Your mom sounds like a fairy godmother compared to mine. I’m sure she just misses you.”
“She does,” I agree. “At least she didn’t go into her tangent of how this wouldn’t be an issue if I were enrolled at Nebraska or Creighton. That was her go-to for the first year-and-a-half I was here.”
“At least you’re going to college,” he mutters and I hear the sounds of his truck starting up. “I disappointed my parents by going against their plans and skipped college altogether.”
“See?” I say and flip out my hand to no one. “There are other routes in life besides college. I’d do anything to quit if I could make a go at songwriting.”
“Not that I want you to quit, but we’re working on that.”
I smile, because really, he’s working on that harder than I am since I know not a soul in the industry. At first, I argued but he insisted on making some calls, using what limited contacts he’s made over the past few months. The whole reason there’s no way in hell I’m going home for Thanksgiving is because the night before Turkey Day, Link booked the band who’s been playing my music and he somehow got a not-so-small record label to come and listen. I’m crazy nervous and keep telling Link I don’t think I can be there because I might throw-up on them.
That wouldn’t be a good first impression.
He laughed and told me he’d drag me there if he had to.
But what if they hate my song? Or worse, only marginally like it and say it’s not good enough. I think that would be awful. To be mediocre at something I love doing might break my heart.
Link cuts into my thoughts. “We’ll do Thanksgiving at Susan and James’. You never know, maybe we’ll have something to celebrate.”
I roll my eyes and try to guard my heart. “They’re not going to sign the band to a record deal, optioning my song, right then and there.”
“Maybe not, but we’ll know if they’re interested.” He puts an end to the subject and asks, “Where are we meeting? I’m starving.”
“Sushi?”
“Sounds good, baby. I’ll see you there.”
Disconnecting, I slide my phone into my back pocket and stand to heft my backpack over my shoulder. I open the door and am about to switch off the light when I realize I forgot my sweater and turn to reach toward the chair.
In a blink, the room goes dark and I’m slammed, face-down, onto the table. I’m not sure if it’s the surprise or the pain that’s more jarring.
“Don’t make a fucking sound.” A large hand smothers my mouth, pinching into my skin so hard, there’s no way I could call for anyone if I tried. I do manage to wince, causing him to squeeze my jaw into a vice-grip so tight I’m sure to bruise.
He yanks me up while turning and pushes me face-first into the corner next to the window, making certain we’re out of sight from anyone passing by. Ripping my backpack down my arm, he lets it fall to the floor with a thud.
I flinch and writhe with all my might, but he’s too much. Pressing into me roughly with his large frame, I can’t move and tears sting my eyes, spilling over no matter how hard I try to blink them back.
“I gotta message for your boyfriend.”
His breath is heavy as he thrusts his face into the side of my head. I jerk the best I can, but it only irritates him further, causing him to pull me just enough to slam me back into the corner. This time I feel his groin pressed ridiculously hard into my back and I whimper. My fear and pain stir together, creating a dreadful potion. The salty tears, pouring down my face, are leaking through his impossibly strong hold.
“You tell Forester to fuckin’ pay up for what he took from us in Vegas. He cost us a fuck-load when he stole our stable. Either he owes us a new group of whores or the cash for what we’ve lost in the last few months for his deceit. If your boyfriend doesn’t pay up, we’ll collect on our own.” I can’t even process what he means about Link, because this guy’s sweltering, repulsive breath turns wet over my ear as his slimy, heavy tongue swipes my skin. Sliding down my back, he presses his now hard erection into my ass. “I might just start with you. You’d bring high dollar.” And then trailing off, he adds, “I always knew your boyfriend had good taste in snatch.”
My body freezes, my insides cringe, and I wonder if this is it. After years of following all the rules, doing the right thing by avoiding parties and late-night walks across campus, this is going to happen to me in the middle of the day in a study room at the library. I can’t even think about what he’s saying about Link.
“Forester knows what we want.” His hand not covering my mouth slides sadistically down my body, leaving nothing to the imagination of what will happen to me if they don’t get what they want. He rips my phone out of my back pocket and after tossing it to the floor below us, I feel him move and hear the crushing of glass under his shoe.
I’m sure it’s hardly been a minute, but after what seems like forever, he finally lets me go, but not before slamming me into the corner one last time. I don’t have a chance to turn and get a look at him. By the time I pick myself off the floor in the eerie, blackened room, the door clicks, shutting innocently, not at all hinting at what just happened.
I never laid eyes on him.
But I’ll never forget his threat.