CHINA
I thank all things holy that the girls weren’t here to watch the prettier than pretty Ryan-Reynolds knockoff arrive. To say I was surprised is the understatement of the century. Pulling up, I heard the distinct rattling sound of a beautiful car. Looking out the window of my room, I’d expected to see of him driving a worn out, rusty, worm eaten, panelled lumber wagon. Instead, he drove through the gates and pulled up in front of the garage in a brand new, sparkling clean, Porsche Cayenne Turbo S in purpurit metallic. I knew this because I know cars as well as I know bikes. Well, that, and I’d actually built and priced one before I bought my Tesla.
Watching him, I waited for his exit. I was almost thinking that everything I’ve noticed about him was imagined, faked by my desperately convoluted mind. But nope! Definitely not. Everything about him was fantastic and droolworthy.
Grabbing his bag out of the back, my jaw hits the floor as he slings it across his expansive shoulders and walks toward the house with a saunter to rival Vin Diesel. Oh, bloody Mary, that walk is scrumptious. It’s solid and controlled, with purpose and conviction. He’s a man that knows how he looks, how he feels about himself, and he has confidence in his own persona.
Now that I’ve seen him out of uniform twice, he’s absolutely nothing like I’d expected. My mind thought of a guy with no class, no style, and no money. I figured that he’d be chomping at the bit for an opportunity to live the life of luxury with me, that he would be a guy who’d need constant surveillance. My stereotypical thoughts were that Risen would be a guy wouldn’t sell or post pictures of me. I’ve been sadly mistaken, and genuinely surprised by my expectant, obnoxiously cliché mind.
Why is he a cop when he obviously has money? Is he a dirty cop on the take? How is it that Trellis knows him? Did they run in the same circles? Was it school or a girl? How the hell is he driving an almost two hundred-thousand-dollar car?
Does it matter? Not really. Looking down at my ankle, I’m reminded of why he’s here, and why I need to avoid everything he stands for. And like a mantra, I repeat, stay to my side of the building, stay to my side of the building, as if it will help me. I know I can do this. I know I can handle the temptation of a pretty, wrapped up toy, but only if I avoided him like the plague. Then maybe, I’ll pass through this unscathed.
Turning from him as he progresses past my view, I walk away from the window where I was watching like a stalker. As my phone rings, I check it and laugh.
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. Didn’t want to give me the good news?” Good news? Who said this was good? Sure, Wyatt, it’s good news. I’m on lockdown in my own home with a police officer that one of your good friends doesn’t want to share why he hates him.
“Oh. Hmm, how do I start? This isn’t good news.”
“Doll, you have more luck than anyone I know.” He laughs joyously into the phone. He’s enjoying this way too much. “You were given house arrest in the best place on the planet for someone like you, or me. You have a track in your backyard. You can train, you can work out in the pool, run, or rest your mind, Doll.”
“You’re a bit too cheery about this, don’t ya think?”
“What other course of action would you rather have, Doll? This is great. There’s no orange jumpsuit, and no girlfriends that want to show you what a wooden whittled dildo is like.”
“Yep, that’s it. Put Circe on the phone. They need to back off your meds.” Rolling my eyes, I walk into the hallway and giggle. Starting off toward the back of the house, to one of my favorite hangouts, I walk out into the California sun. The feel of the Pacific moisture on my skin is a relief, and I hate to admit it, but I agree with Wyatt. I could have been in an orange jumpsuit, only feeling the sun on my skin once a week for an hour. So, yeah, it’s good.
“Will you at least listen to your big brother? Look at this as a way to learn.”
“Learn what? Better manners? How not to get caught? Or is it how not to find and keep trouble coming your way after family members die?” The line is silent for a second as I walk down the trail, away from the house. I’ve just shocked Wyatt into becoming the first Crown mute. Not normal, I tell ya.
When he does speak again, it’s muted, saddened, and crushed. “China, don’t be like—”
I cut him off, because I don’t want to get into it today. “I gotta go. Tell Circe to make sure the male nurses give you a sponge bath.”
“Be good at least, please?” Wyatt says quietly.
“Love you, Cas,” I say sweetly, trying to end the awkward conversation.
“Love you too, Doll.” As he hangs up, I place the phone in my pocket, leaving the despair I was about to wallow in back at the house. Venturing down the trail, soaking up the rays and the blistering heat, I’m reflective on the past. Living in Cali, you get used to the drier seasons where the rains are nonexistent, and the wildfires are so common that people buy fire suppressants more often than sprinklers. The scrub is an adornment in your yard, even the cacti hardly flower, and if you’re lucky, like us, you have astrograss that doesn’t need watering, looking fantastic all year round. Passing the edges of it, walking into the scrubby parts of the property, I start down the trail toward the sea level and our private beach.
Being careful with my footing, I venture further away from the house, hoping that this ankle guard dog will let me. Checking it every so often, the light doesn’t change in its blinking, doesn’t change color, and there’s no sound associated, which I’m assuming means I’m in the clear to traipse around our whole property.
Halfway down the trail, about fifty feet above the water, we have a stilted deck. It has a retractable covering and a lockable, drainable box that holds folding zero gravity patio chairs. Only in really awful weather does the sea lick the beams, but as a precaution, we make sure nothing can be swept out to sea.
Leaving my cell phone up on the deck, I walk down until I reach the shoreline. Kicking off my sandals, I take up residence at my favorite place to think. Whenever anything was a mess as a kid, when I was having a bad day on the track, or I’d just had enough of my big brothers kicking my ass, I’d hide out down here on this sea worn rock to think away all the world’s problems. Nothing was resolved, but it was therapeutic to think I was in control of the mess I’d made. With the disaster that has befallen me now, I think I need this rock more than ever.
Kicking back, soaking the sun into my soul, I breathe in the release I need. I can’t blame the officer for anything that’s happened. He wasn’t an instrument of my controlled freefall. To be honest, he’s been more the kite slowing me down before I hit rock bottom. He’s stopped me from turning into a Lindsay Lohan or Miley Cyrus. And to have company other than Cassidy or Ciccero may be a gift. Not to mention, he’s sexy as hell to look at.
Clearing my mind, I sit back on the rock and allow all the stress to drain away into the warm water that’s licking my feet.