Chapter 23
"I can't believe the swans are gone." I fold my knees to my chest as we sit on a blanket under one of the giant trees in the park. Colin might have said something about benches, but what he really meant was a picnic on a blanket, which includes a basket he hid in the trunk, containing a bottle of wine and cheese. He even remembered to bring grapes.
"Here," he hands me a glass of white wine.
"You should have brought beers," I say, realizing that he has poured only one glass. "You've never loved wine."
"You do," he smiles. "I remember how fast it affects you."
"Look who's talking," I laugh out loud. "All I have to do is give you a can of beer and wait for you to shame yourself."
"There's only one problem," he tilts his head. "I don't drink."
"Never?" That's new. Colin was not a heavy drinker, but he downed a shot of tequila here and there.
"Alcohol pulled my father to the bottom," he shakes his head. "I can't, the thought disgusts me."
"You're not him."
"I don't want to take the risk." He shrugs his shoulders, his face remaining blank, but the pain is in his eyes, the troubled look, tone of his words.
"No risk, Colin." No matter how much we hurt each other, he must be convinced. "If you don't want to drink it's not a bad choice, but you are not him."
"Are you sure?" He frowns, "because in the last few weeks you've been throwing accusations, implying that you're not convinced."
"It was the insult speaking in my place. I let my anger erupt, but you are not your father, and you never will be."
He nods, opens a bottle of water and sips it. We don't touch the food.
"I heard what happened to him," I say cautiously. "Did they really ask you for a donation?"
"Yes." His fingers close tightly on the water bottle.
"Would you do that?"
"Apparently." He shrugs, releasing a bitter laugh. "God, he was a shit of a human being and I was ready to save him. He couldn't enter the transplant list because of his drinking. I was his only option. He was a shit of a father, but still, my father."
"I think it's good you got checked," I whisper with great care. "But I’m glad you weren't a match, because if you had refused, you'd have beaten yourself up for it."
"When I received the negative answer, I didn't bother to come over. I didn't feel the need to part with him."
"I don't blame you." I take another sip of wine in the hope that it will dull my senses a little.
"What else do you want to ask me?" He puts the bottle beside him and straightens his legs, his face turned to me.
"I want to know what you've done all these years." I put the wineglass beside me, fold my legs and hug them. "I know you enlisted and after three years you were discharged."
"Your dad was the one who demanded I write that note to you." Instead of answering my question, he starts from the beginning, or maybe from the beginning of the end. "But I knew he was right. I pushed my clothes into a bag and knew you would look for me. I wanted you to let go, make you angry, so you wouldn't find me."
"You wanted me to hate you." And in doing so he succeeded above expectations.
"I just wanted you not to wait for me," he clears his throat, as if the words refuse to come out and he must force them. "I know you, you would have turned over every stone looking for me. I had to leave that note for you to know that nothing had happened to me. "
"So I'd think you left by choice." .
"Yes."
"It was a shitty choice."
"It was also a shitty morning."
"Can you imagine me standing in front of our guests trying to explain why the wedding is canceled? And all the giggles coming from your friends?" My tone is edged with disgust. "I heard them whispering, 'he finally came to his senses'."
"A bunch of idiots," he grimaces with clenched teeth.
They were your friends, Colin, not mine.
"What did you expect them to think? The captain of the football team woke up and realized that it wasn't the life he wanted—a wife and a baby, responsibility. My world collapsed, and they smiled in my face. I couldn't run away from them for months. The look in their eyes made me feel like an idiot."
"I'm the idiot, not you." His harsh tone doesn't relieve my insult for even a second.
"I burned the dress." My eyes water when I think about my wedding dress, what was left of it. "That night, I went out wearing sweatpants and a tank top and threw it onto the grill, soaked it with gasoline and watched it turn into ash." The flames climbed and climbed, and the yard smelled like a campfire, until my father came running out and poured a bucket of water over it. I stood still, blurred by hours of crying, confused and helpless, and didn't utter a word.
"After that I didn't get out of bed for weeks."
"I, on the other hand, didn't find a bed to sleep in." Again he tries to sound indifferent, and again he fails. No matter what he tries to hide from me, he won't succeed.
"You didn't have any money, did you?" The thought of him being hungry hurts me most.
"I spent a few weeks on the streets," he picks up the water bottle and sips again. "I think I was big enough not to be bothered. One day I ran into an army man who distributed flyers…"
"Recruiter," I conclude the sentence myself.
"Yes. We started talking, and from there. . ."
"You found yourself in Afghanistan." In the desert, on a field bed, with my picture in his head, I already know.
"Not immediately, but yes."
"You loved it, did you not? I hear it in your voice. You're sorry for what you did to me, but you don't regret your service."
"You have the ability to hear the subtleties in my voice no one else can," he mumbles.
"You didn’t answer me." He will not evade, he will give me the answers I want.
"I loved it," he lowers his eyes, "the knowledge that I was doing something meaningful. I was no longer a construction worker who barely supported his family, or an idiot who didn't get into college, the army couldn't care less. I could prove myself."
"You didn't have to prove anything to me, I accepted you as you were from day one."
"I know."
"How did you start your business?" I pull out the next topic, which intrigues me no less. From the moment he arrived he’s been writing checks as if his bank account is particularly inflated.
"I knew the right people." He remains vague.
"A business doesn't set up without starting capital."
"Smart." He smiles, but moves uncomfortably. "You should have—"
"Don't change the subject." There's no way in he'll evade again. "Where did you get the money?"
Colin pauses a few moments before he answers.
"Fights." His voice falters.
"What kind of fights?" I, on the other hand, don't hesitate for a moment, my voice sharp and clear.
"The kind you don't talk about," he squirms under my penetrating stare. "My friend from LA knew I needed money. I have the right body, and it turned out I wasn't too bad."
Are you kidding me?
"I can't believe it," every nerve in my body tenses in response to his answer. "Illegal fights?"
"It's all consensual, no one is thrown into the ring against his will. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, but it's sports. Like football."
"Don't be an idiot, it's nothing like football." What was he thinking? Where was his head when he entered an illegal boxing ring to earn a few dollars?
"Sports, Elizabeth, no less and no more."
"Illegal gambling, Colin," I emphasize the words.
"It was a quick way to get cash, I was good and got out in time." He refuses to get back down.
"What's on time, before your broke your nose?"
"I broke it more than once," he chuckles.
"You think it's funny?" I'm losing it completely.
"The plastic surgeon did a good job. Looks natural, don't you think?" He turns his profile to me.
"Your business is illegal." His nose doesn't interest me for a moment.
"My business is legal." He turns his face toward me in a quick motion, and the look in his eyes is clear, he didn't like what I said. "From the first contract I signed to the last one, it's all legal, you can ask my accountant."
I doubt his accountant will tell me anything, if I ever bother to approach him.
"Why did it take you two years to come back?"
"I needed time to deal with my mistake." His gaze penetrates. His truth resonates between us. "I had to get to the point where I had nothing to lose anymore. Your father's threat became irrelevant and I didn't care what he'd do, nothing was worth the distance from you two anymore." The distance not only from Vivian, but from me too, I heard it well.
"So now you're rich?"
"I'm not rich," he laughs again. "I have enough. I've made the right investments, and life here is much cheaper than in Los Angeles."
"Life here is expensive," I reply coolly. "You have a child to support."
"I want to kiss you again."
His answer causes my body to stretch. I squeeze my hands around my legs, trying to soothe the struggle in my head with every nerve that wants his lips on my lips. That's the power he has over me. This is the attraction that has been holding me for nine years and refuses to release. It's his fist that closes on my heart.
"Colin . . ." My voice shakes in a futile attempt to keep him away.
"Lizzie," he leans forward, forcing me to lie back, which turns out to be a terrible mistake. This is not the position I wanted to find myself in. He climbs towards me with a catlike grace that draws the air from me. My body temperature rises and my cheeks redden. My pulse insists on running wild under his enormous body.
He strokes my face with his fingers, pulls back my hair and spreads it on the blanket.
"You're squeezing your thighs." He puts his mouth close to mine and I'm captivated, stretching my neck and giving him direct access to it.
"So you won't get any ideas," I moan, "and send your hands to forbidden places."
"My hands know every inch, remember?" his fingers smoothing over my collarbone.
"Your hands touched others," I mutter in disgust.
"My hands love only one body." He sucks my earlobe and his breath tickles my skin, making it harder to resist.
"You're all talk," I feel how every millimeter in my body responds to him. "You're full of shit."
"When was the last time you came?" he whispers, walking his fingers along my forearm, making me shiver. "You never liked touching yourself, you said you couldn't, you needed me."
Ass. He knows too much, and he hasn't forgotten. Of all things, he remembers that. Me needing him, begging him to touch me.
"When, Elizabeth?" he asks again, in an authoritative tone.
"Guess," I mutter in frustration. How miserable am I? Can't even touch myself. His name is signed on all my orgasms, from the first to the last. Pathetic.
"Are you serious?" I hear his smug tone. He scattered his orgasms across the country and forgot me. Now he's back, and he wants more?
"Your ego must be exploding now." I close my eyes and become addicted to his tongue climbing up my jaw, all the way to my mouth. His lips know the way, he doesn't need a map. He's been there a thousand times, but then my shirt rises up, just an inch, and a big hand rests on my stomach, waking me wildly from the dream.
I push his hand away, pushing hard, my head shaking from side to side. He rises, leaning on his hands at the sides of my head, as I shake under him like a wounded animal.
"Get off me." I push his body.
"Liz?"
"Get off me, now!" I pull my shirt down to cover my bare skin, hide what he hasn't seen, the memory of that night.
"What's going on?" He tilts his body to the side and gives me an escape. I jump to my feet, panting. He reaches out to grab my arm, but I shake it off.
"Don't touch me."
"Liz, what happened?" He stands up urgently, but raises his hands in submission to indicate that he has no intention of coming closer.
"Don't touch me, I want to go home." My eyes are burning and I hold my stomach tightly.
"I'll take you." He looks worried.
"No." I can't stop the tears. "I don't believe you, you'll probably try . . . I don't believe you!"
"Liz, breathe."
"Don't tell me to breathe. God, what was I thinking? I'm a joke, I'm such a miserable joke."
"I don't understand, I don't want to hurt you, I swear."
"You swear?" I roar. "You swore you'd be there for me, and now you’ve come back to fuck me? You're something special, you know that?"
My body can't bear the burden. The nausea in my stomach is climbing up, too many tears and feelings that have to find a way out. I lean forward, my hands on my knees, and throw up on the grass.
"Elizabeth . . ."
All I can do is raise my hand to warn him not to come near.
"Oh, hell…" he falters, but the despair in his voice doesn't bother me anymore.
You can go there—to hell and back. I wonder how many girls will wait for him there, in perfect bodies that life didn't scar?
I focus on my breathing. If only I could get air into my lungs and soothe the crying. If I could just breathe, all this would pass.
I close my eyes.
I'm not throwing up anymore. The aftertaste is bitter and salty from my tears.
You are fine.
You are fine.
You're out of your mind.
"Take this." I hear Colin's voice behind me. From the corner of my eye I discover the bottle of water he is holding out for me. Without thinking I take it, slowly straightening up and unscrewing the cap.
"What the hell was that?" His rough voice reverberates as I close my eyes again and fill my mouth with water, turning my head aside and spitting into the grass.
"It was a reminder, for me," I mutter and close the bottle. "If you knew me, you wouldn't go near my stomach."
"Why didn't you stop me then?" he asks accusingly.
"Because I'm an idiot." I try to catch my breath.
"Do you really think all I wanted was to sleep with you?" His becomes more somber and troubled by the minute.
"I have no idea what you want." I throw the water bottle at his feet.
"I want my family back!" His answer freezes the air around me. "I want you and Vivian, I want to fix what I broke. I want to take her to daycare, bring her home and teach her how to ride a bike. I want her to have brothers and sisters."
"Well you'd better find a new woman!" A sharp pain constricts my heart. "Go find a new wife, because this girl won't be able to give you what you want. Not you or anyone else."
"What are you talking about?" He takes a step toward me, but I run back.
"Stay away." I push my hand toward him, and he stops. "While you enlisted and went to fight for the country, I was fighting for myself and my child. I saved her, but I lost my womb. I was bleeding on the operating table and the doctors had no choice. So you'd better find someone else to make you kids, Colin, because the only child I will ever bring to the world I already gave you."
Even in the light of the headlamps, I can see the shock on his face, his body taut at my words, the understanding that seeps through.
"Let me guess," I say venomously, "you can’t fix that."
His eyes dart, his gaze dropping to my stomach and rising back to my eyes, but it’s his silence I feel the most. "Don't you have something smart to say?"
"I love you," he answers in a trembling voice.
"Don't make me laugh," I sneer at him. "You don't love me, you want the dream, the house with the white fence and the children playing in the back yard."
"We have a girl playing in the back yard."
"You want more. You probably want a little football team, or at least one son to carry your name, correct me if I'm wrong."
"You're wrong." His voice is steady, full of confidence.
"I'm not." I shake my head. "Maybe it's better for you to chase Lauren, she must—"
"Don't do that," he points his finger at me. "You know she doesn't interest me."
"I don't know anything." I burst into uncontrollable laughter. "I'm so stupid that I deluded myself that we had a future."
"You think you're stupid, because you lost your womb?" The shock in his voice is evident.
"I can't have more children." I can barely get the sentence out of my mouth.
"I heard the first time you said that."
"And you went silent."
His silence was the loudest thing I've ever heard.
"What was I supposed to say?" His blue eyes are burning at me. "That I'm sorry? Would it give you back your womb?"
"It would make you human and not an unfeeling robot."
"You think I'm a robot?" For a moment it’s like you could cut the tension between us. "Do you think I don't care you were lying in the operating room alone because I wasn't there? That I don't want to scream and break something?"
"You broke enough things already." I wave my hand at him.
"Marry me."
I stare at him wide-eyed, and he doesn't take his eyes off me. We are in the midst of a giants’ battle, but the giant in front of me has lost his mind.
"Jesus Christ!" Laughter bursts out of me, rolling from my belly out until my eyes begin to tear. "You're disturbed, you know that?"
I have to stop laughing, but how can I? It's so ridiculous!
"Marry me." He doesn't move, his feet remain frozen and firm. The only thing that gives him away is his chest going up and down.
"I'm going home." I giggle another little laugh as the effort to stay serious fails. "You can tidy up the romantic picnic you've organized, and return from la-la-land. You've proposed to me in this place before, and we both know how that ended, so forgive me if I refuse your seductive offer."
His silence takes its place between us when we exchange glances once more. Colin's eyes flash as I shake my head and lock my jaw so as not to laugh again at his delusional offer. I turn my back on him and walk across the grass toward the path that will take me far from the man who, without a doubt, has gone mad.
Marry him? In what parallel universe does he think it's going to happen? In what parallel universe does he think I will make that mistake again?
I don't think so, mister. You can go back to your business, to the gym, to the stupid cheerleaders who fall in your trap, but you can't come back to me.