WYATT
As I pull into traffic, hopping on the freeway, away from the airport and towards my mother’s house, I see Circe slowly and gradually relaxing in the seat. I’ve had panic attacks before, but I’ve never seen one like Circe just had. Thank God I was able to be there for her for once. It took me and Mother by surprise, but I think she’ll be all right now.
She looks out the window, taking in the familiar sights of the state. Maybe she sees it as a homecoming, not as a tourist. We’ve talked about it at length, and I think it’s a fear of being so close, yet so far away. When she ran all those years ago, her fear was that of never seeing them again, even though it was her who left. She’s not a hardened bitch, and whenever she thinks of her mother, her father, and everything that’s missing in her life, part of her is regretful. She ran without thought or wonder of what the future might hold.
Looking out at the milling cars, at the traffic that was snarling to a dead stop on the way over, we venture out of the airport where things begin to free up.
“I think we should go out to dinner. A late one, at least, after you pick up Jamieson. What do you think?” Glancing in the rearview mirror at my mother, her face shows no malice or contempt. Even after today, it still feels foreign to see her relaxed and openly looking for a way for her children to have a satisfying moment with her.
As I merge into the HOV lane and pass a few of the slower vehicles that were lazily heading down the freeway, I mutter about them. “Let’s go a bit over forty-five, dude.”
“Wyatt!” Circe chimes in as I admonish the driver. “What do you think about dinner? Your mom asked.”
“Sorry. Yeah, okay. I think you might have to be the one to ask Whiskey, though.” Her crestfallen face shows her unhappiness when she realizes I’m asking her to converse with Whiskey one-on-one. They don’t talk, ever. Since Dad’s death, I think that particular relationship will be strained even further.
Resigning that I won’t be the rift fixer, she huffs, blows out a tight breath and nods. “You’re right. Thank you, Wyatt.”
Smiling up at the mirror so she can see me, I turn to Circe—my Siren, my love—smiling. God, I have to tell her soon. I need to say it before I burst. She’s become a major part of my life in a short period of time, and she hasn’t really had an opportunity to see my mother and I in a heated battle. This could cause her to run for the hills if this truce ends abruptly. Taking her hand in mine, she clutches the bundle of roses closer, giving them a hefty sniff.
“Thank you for these. They’re beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful. And you deserve them.”
A playful confusion streams across her brow. “And why, Mr. Crown, did I deserve these?”
As the traffic starts to speed along at a consistent clip, I consider what to say that’s not corny. I’ve never done this, and it’s all so foreign to me. “You’ve ensnared me, my Siren of the Sea. I had to find a way to entice you away from the waters to make you mine.”
“Such a smooth talker. What will I do with you, mister? Should I throw you back to land and leave you alone? Or pull you under the waters and hold you forever? Decisions, decisions.” It’s rhetorical, and I love that she’s thinking of keeping me.
With traffic moving smoother as we’re away from the inner city, towards the rolling hills of Malibu, the highway lights flick on.
With her here, I’m gleeful. Circe’s coming to my family home, where I grew up, and where I intend to tell her that I want to spend the rest of my days with her. That perfect ring I found on Rodeo is custom, petite, and an understated beauty, just like her. It’s two carats rough, and I knew it was meant to be hers. Mother doesn’t know, but I can’t wait to share the news with her.
If we can go out to dinner, maybe I’ll ask her then? China is supposed to be around too. She promised to be around later for a heart to heart. Since Dad’s death, China’s become reserved and standoffish with me. It unusual for us to be this way because we talk to each other about everything. Tonight, while it’s quiet, we’re going to slip out to the track for a few passes. It’s when we talk the most, when oil is burnt and rubber is shredded on the edges. I’m going to kick her ass and she’ll bitch, but I’ll love it even more because I know she’s gaining on my ass daily. The track has always been the decider for me. It’s what fuels me and makes me breathe a little easier, and China pushing me makes me better.
“What would you like for dinner tonight, love?” I ask Circe as I absently stroke the back of her hand with mine.
She shrugs, but the movement seems tight, telling me she’s still not relaxed. “Honestly, I slammed back a few slices of veggie pizza before I hopped on the plane. I could do with something light.”
“I think we could manage that,” Mother states. “Circe, would you mind handing me my phone? It’s there, in the console. I’ll call Cassidy to make up a light snack plate for us instead of going out.” Avoiding calling James is what she’s doing, but I’ll let it slide tonight.
Pulling her hand free of mine, I lift my arm up so Circe can reach into the console.
“Shoot. Hang on.” Trying to veer around a pothole in the roadway causes Circe to drop the phone at my feet.
“Crap, hang on. I’ll grab that. Sorry, Mrs. Crown.”
So she can reach down by my driving foot, Circe loosens her belt and tilts over.
“Please, remember to call me Marca, Circe,” she reminds Circe as she bends close to me.
Trying to keep my concentration on the road and away from Circe’s mouth so close to my cock, I look up to the rearview to distract myself. My mother winks, then grins. It’s so wide, I’d say she’s related to the Cheshire cat. Looking down to the floor for just a second, I kick the phone closer to the seat.
I move my leg over a bit to give Circe access. “Is that easier now? I think I got it closer to the—”
There’s a screeching of tires. Metal scrapes and tears, and the indescribable volume of cars banging against each other is deafening. Shifting like dinky toys on a track, I watch the white rose petals fly like confetti.
I know the outcome of this; someone will die.
The last thing I see is the deep russet of blood dripping onto the crisp white petals as they crash against the dash, splitting the perfect roses into a shattered mess.
That’s when the world goes black.
To Be Continued....