Five years later

Tatum

Leaning my head on the empty glass case, I pinch my eyes shut and exhale. “You’ve almost made it through today. Just a few more hours,” I mutter to myself.

Nausea swirls without any warning in my empty stomach. My head swims with regrets of years wasted. My heart feels weighty as if the blood pumping through my veins becomes too thick to help give it a steady beat.

My anger throughout today has worn me out, and I swear to all things holy if I have to place another piece of delicious chocolate in a red heart-shaped box, I might scream to the Gods up above that made me loathe this day.

My store is closed; lovers are celebrating, and as I allow the resentment of how much I hate this day to take over, I want to kill the man who made me hate it as well as lose my trust in every man.

Today should be my wedding anniversary, and even though I’m thankful it isn’t, it still doesn’t mean all the years I spent with Sam don’t surface and disturb me. They cloud my mind and become as thick as my blood. They assault my brain from every direction with one of the last conversations I had with the man I loved.

“Why in the hell are you letting this get to you? You know the answer, Tatum.” I curse myself. The answer a daily reminder. Because at the end of the day, through all the pain, all the heartache, he never loved me back. “Right, and thank fuck he didn’t, or I’d be screaming to the Gods for an entirely different reason.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as if closing them will make his pathetic, disgusting voice disappear. It doesn’t; if it does anything at all, it rolls across my brain like thunder. Booming across the valleys on my skull and replaying like an echo over and over until his vocals are fresh and his shocking words ring loud in my ears.

I found out I got the job two weeks ago, Tatum. I knew you would be upset; that’s why I was waiting to tell you until after we were married.

What in the hell kind of excuse is that?

I never became the dirty, rotten scoundrel's wife. Lying sack of shit who isn’t worth all the heartache he caused me. Crooked, conniving scoundrel is what he is. I hope he’s choking to death on his stupid job.

“Speaking of shit, I need to get a move on with my shitty life,” I mutter.

My anger always comes in vicious surges, and when it does, it turns into sorrow and glides through me in full measure, and even though I try to stop it, try standing on my own two feet, there are days like today when I wish the smile on my face would be one caused by someone who loves me.

With a heavy sigh, I lift my head at the sound of the door opening, and I take in the only person who has held my hand, wiped my tears, and helped pick my aching heart up off the floor in the past.

“Not today, Erica, please,” I beg when I see her mouth open and head tilt in my direction. I gaze down at the clenched piece of chocolate in my hand, so, so afraid that when I look into my sister’s eyes, the anger I’ll see in her stormy ones will double mine.

I place the sweet treat in my mouth; the milk chocolate awakens my senses and reminds me of why I decided to finish college to get my degree in business and re-open our mother’s store, Sensual Chocolates, in the first place.

For the first sixteen years of my life, our mother owned this small store located in the heart of The Original Farmer’s Market in Los Angeles. It was her dream. She loved chocolate, loved working alongside everyday people, and like me, she didn’t do it to become rich; she did it because of the smiles she cherished when people walked out of her store. She loved it, and her love for all things regarding this little slice of heaven in the City of Angels passed down to me. My store is my life, and hearing my internal thoughts makes me overly sad. I really do need to kick my own ass into gear and find someone who will truly make me happy. The one person who I can trust with my heart as well as my body.

My tiny piece of the world pays my bills, provides me with a small house just outside of the city, and has given me the same pleasures it has her, but it’s not enough. Not anymore.

Chocolate cures many things, kids. One day, you’ll see what I mean. She said those words to us as many times as she said she loved us. It wasn’t until I fell in love with Sam that my heart started skipping around in my chest when he would give me chocolates after our relationship blossomed into something beautiful that I discovered her meaning.

Chocolate makes people happy because it tastes good and provides a moment of breathing room from hectic and often stressed-out lives. For some, chocolate is a guilty pleasure, an aphrodisiac that could lead into a night of pure, raw passion, and most people are firm believers in the old proverb that the forbidden fruit is always the most satisfying. Just seeing the delicious candy or inhaling its wonderful aroma has quickened the beat of many people’s heart. It speaks love without saying a word, and it screams sensual seduction in a way I’ve heard many stories about but have yet to try.

It’s also a momentary filler for depression. For one brief moment, nothing tastes sweeter; however, when it’s gone, your life, your heart, and your world are back to shattering all over again.

I’ve basked in many happy examples of what she meant. The toothless smile on a child, the women who claim it’s better than sex after a breakup, and then there are the men who come in with that certain look in their eyes, the one that tells me they are hoping the box of chocolates they bought will enhance their date’s mood; then there are the people like me, the ones who eat it because it’s the tiny piece of something sweet and wonderful they allow themselves.

The truth is, chocolate is the cure-all secret love drug, and up until the day she became sick with cancer, our mother was devoted to this store as much as she was to her daughters. She ran this place until she became too sick to get out of bed. Erica was already at college when Mom found out, and our dad ran off with another woman years ago. My older sister came home as often as she could to help until neither one of us could take care of her anymore. Hospice took over, and we lost her the summer after my senior year of high school. The store also closed down, until I re-opened it a few months after graduation from college. If it hadn’t been for our mom being a smart business woman and paying the lease on this building for ten years when she found out she was dying, I don’t know what I would have done.

“You sold out again. I’m proud of you,” Erica says, smiling. “Mom knew you would want this place. It’s another twist of fate. Good fate.”

Untying the apron at my waist, I finish chewing my hazelnut truffle and force a smile as I glance at the woman who people say could pass as my twin. Her face is made up, her eyes are smoky and dark, and I know what’s coming out of her mouth next before she even says it. She wants to go out.

“I agree. It’s Valentine’s Day. I was nearly sold out before we opened.” My response is snide and a detour around how much I don’t want to talk about fate or what today means. “I’m sorry, Erica, that was rude of me.” A doubtful frown scratches a visible line across her forehead, causing guilt to attack me. I know she worries about me whenever this day rolls around, but she shouldn’t. I’ve done my best to move on with my life, and whether she wants to believe it or not, I try to be happy the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year. Today, though, I just want to be left alone.

“I know you're sorry. That little remark proves what I’ve been telling you for years. You need to get laid, little sister.”

“More like I need to be thoroughly fucked.” I let out a laugh while her jaw hits the floor.

“Hello, who are you, and what have you done with my sister?”

“Ha, aren’t you the funny one.” I’ve been here all along. Just sequestered, is all.

“Have you started sampling the goodies in the back room? God, you need to try one of those new clit vibrators; they stimulate everything down there,” she says, serious as can be.

“Stop,” I laugh, holding my hand up. She has no idea the things I’ve done with the samples I’m sent or the fantasies I use while testing them, and not one of them has been about my ex.

Erica and I didn’t understand why we weren’t allowed to go in the room we deemed ‘the back room’ when we were growing up. We were told it was for adults. As children, we shrugged it off. It wasn’t until I was around fifteen that our curiosity got the best of us and we slipped in to discover a wide range of vibrators, lube, and melting chocolate. Plus all kinds of kinky toys. We were appalled and grossed out thinking our mother sold them or possibly brought them home to use in the middle of the night. Now, they’ve all proven to be quite handy. All but the chocolate for me, that is.

“I don’t want to know what you do or with whom with everything you take from my dirty little secret room.”

When her study of me becomes too much, I turn and make my way to the industrial fridge. I reach for a box to start restocking, and that’s when I notice one of my best customers forgot to come and pick up his order. I frown; worry surges my veins. Something must have happened for Roman to forget to come pick these up for Joslyn. Chocolates have been her biggest craving during her pregnancy. She’s in here a few times a week. She and I have become great friends, and I know with the stress she’s been under trying to get ready for the baby and keeping up with the band, she would love these.

I grab the box, shut the door, and place them on the counter.

“You don’t look fine. It’s six o’clock, and you're still at work. You should go home and put on those new leather pants and go out with Caroline and me.” I keep my shoulders pulled back when all I want to do is slump them forward.

I love my sister more than anything, but I’m not like her. I want a man who loves me. One to wake up next to every morning. I’m old-fashioned that way. I also have needs. Needs that Sam never met. My own sexual wants that he was never willing to try. I might have loved him because he was all I knew, all I thought I needed, but the man was as dull as a board in bed. So, until I find that man who loves me and wants to please me, I’ll stick with my vibrator and my fingers.

I feel moisture touch my eyes, and I blink several times to try to keep the tears from falling. It doesn’t do me a bit of good when I miss the touch of a man. The simple gesture of holding hands. Cuddling and talking. I miss living. I miss life. And I’m stuck somewhere between the hate I feel and the stupidity of not saying ‘Fuck it’ and going out and getting that thorough fuck I desperately need.

I’m boring. All I do is work, visit my sister, or drive to see Roman and Joslyn when I know they are home alone. Otherwise, for reasons I’ve never spoken to anyone except Erica about, I avoid their place as much as I do the ocean.

I can’t imagine what would happen if someone were to walk into my life and shine the light and make me want to live again. To sweep me off my feet, to love me and make me come alive. This mistrust in my chest is holding me back from achieving my true goal—to be happy.

I know Erica wants that for me, too. She’s one of the few people who know me and what I went through after I learned about the secret Sam kept from me.

Something inside of me breaks when she walks toward me with her arms outstretched just waiting to embrace me. God, she is strong. I would give anything to be more like her. To not let life’s cruelty hold me back from going out and living.

“Come here, sis.” I collapse willingly into her chest. Everything tempers inside of me as my cheek hits the softness of her jacket and her arms wrap tightly around me.

Sadness rolls upward from the tips of my toes. A sweet, tender memory and those soft jolts of power I felt on the worst night of my life prod at my brain.

This certain recollection hits me at an odd time. Erica smells like the ocean, which reminds me of the man who helped drag me out of the freezing water when an undertow pulled me beneath.

He clutched me to his chest, strong arms holding me, the huskiest voice I ever heard hushing me when I wanted to rip Sam’s head off while Erica wiped my hair out of my face and tried to soothe me with her comforting words. The man’s gentle voice has haunted my dreams. He disappeared after I came to; his identity was a mystery until Sam angrily told us who he was while he stood there dry as a bone. The bastard never jumped into the water to save me.

Dean Wagner, the drummer for the rock band Trained in Black, had eyes as warm and rich as milk chocolate, his arms felt safe and secure, and I’ve never forgotten him; never thanked him either. The sad thing is, I’ve had plenty of chances to do so. I’ve just avoided him. Kept my distance because I know today is as hard of a day for him as it is for me.

I push those thoughts of Dean away and allow myself to give in to the tears that have fought me all day. I knew they would eventually win. I was hoping my pieces would shatter when I was home alone in bed.

“I'm good, Erica. I’m going to go home and sleep,” I half lie. I am going to go home, but I won’t be sleeping.

I pull away, grab a tissue, and wipe my eyes.

“Alright. Let me at least walk you to your car,” she whispers, her eyes dropping to the name on the box. Even though she doesn’t say anything, I can read her thoughts. Erica thinks I should tell Roman and Joslyn that I know Dean. She also thinks I'm ridiculous about all my reasons why not. One in particular. Sam dug deep into the death of Dean’s son only to come up empty-handed. He claimed there was more to the young man dying than the story the media gave. He thought the boy was into drugs like his mother, and he created hell for Dean. I wanted no part of it, and he promised me he let it go after Dean beat the hell out of him, but Sam had promised me a lot of things. I haven’t spoken to him since the night we were supposed to be married, so I have no idea what kind of things he has been up to, but I can’t be a reminder to them of that.

“Okay,” I say, thankful she doesn’t bring it up again. I take a step back, pick up the box, and place it in a bag, grab my coat and purse, set the alarm, and lock up.

“Call me if you need me, Tatum,” she says when we round the corner and stop alongside my car.

“You know I will. Now, go have a good time.” I lift me head and place a kiss on her cheek, climb into my car, and wave as we both pull out of the parking lot.

When I grab my phone to give Roman a call, I gasp when I see four missed messages and two voicemails from him. I hit the button, his shaky voice coming across the speaker.

“Hey, Joslyn’s water broke. We’re on our way to the hospital.” Oh, my God.

“It’s me again. Didn’t want to bother you on the busiest day of the year. I have a son; his name is Nash. He’s healthy and beautiful, just like his perfect mother. Sorry about the chocolates.” I chuckle at how abrupt he is. I also let a few tears fall. The man is a new father, and he’s apologizing for forgetting.

I burst into tears and head for home.

Before I even realize it, I’m pulling into my driveway, running into the house and straight to bed with my heavy heart so full of nostalgia for what this day represents. Life was taken on this day six years ago, and another one was now brought in.

I’m happy for my friends and sad for me. Because I want that kind of love, and I don’t know if I’ll ever have it.

There’s only one thing I can do about it, though: stop feeling sorry for myself and go out and find the man meant for me. Or keep living alone.