Trinity

For a moment, I think he won’t do it. This man, a whirling dervish of energy and chatter, might not be able to express whatever has him in its grip. But then I see the spark in his eyes, that nanosecond when something unstops the blockage to his heart.

“She’s in a nursing home just outside London. My sister. Lizzie. She had an accident when we were thirteen and she’s been laid up ever since. Awake but…well, not.”

My heart squeezes tight. This happened to his sister? Worse, his twin? “Fuck, that’s awful.”

I can’t imagine his pain, but now I understand so much more about this man. Those deep pockets of sadness he carries around with him. I want to fill them with love and light.

Seeming to sense my pity, he pulls out of me and smooths my skirt over my ass. It’s the moment he needs to compose himself. “She loved—loves—Harry Potter. We’d steal the latest from the library and carry it with us on our travels.”

“Travels with your mom?”

“Right. Then I escaped. Someone saw my potential and pulled me out of all that.”

“All what?”

“The madness that comes with living with my mum. To the outside observer, she’s all fun and games, but it’s not the same when you live it. Through it.”

I suspect this has shaped him more than anything else. “What did you live through, Lucas?”

His mouth twitches. “I’m okay now. Better than okay. Rich, successful, in demand by gorgeous women. Soccer coach extraordinaire, savior of ducks.”

I smile, but there’s tungsten in it. He’s not fobbing me off, not this time.

“You know, parents can be the biggest disappointments in the world,” I offer to get the ball rolling.

“You, too?”

“My mother left us to fend for ourselves, but really it was all on me. And I took that on.”

He grins. “You’re as strong as steel forged in fem-hell’s crucible.”

“I am woman, hear me roar.”

“Shout it out, love.”

I laugh, loving the lighter moment but knowing the dark must still be navigated. “What I’m trying to say is that we put them on pedestals, our parents, when they’re flawed human beings who make mistakes.”

His humor fades. “I can’t forgive her. She drove me nuts with the weed and the Age of Aquarius and all that shit, but that’s not it. That’s not the fundamental underlying problem here. She’s reckless, and her recklessness caused real damage. I don’t think people realize that. We live in this age where everyone is me, me, me and thinks their individual choices override those of everyone else. Well, that’s bollocks. When you’re a parent, you are no longer the most important person in the room or in the world. When you’re a parent, your kids come first. At least they should.”

I can relate. He knows I can, which is why he’s telling me this.

I curl up, fitting into the space between his jaw and shoulder. “Tell me what happened, Lucas.”

He takes a few shallow breaths. “I wasn’t there. I should have been there, but I’d already found my way out. At boarding school. Full ride. Out of the swamp.”

I run my fingers through his hair, encouraging, soothing.

“My mum—Starshine was her New Age name—was always on the lookout for some cheap place to stay. Or some cheap guy to make her stay. But she’d latch on to men with ideals.” He puts air quotes around that word, bitterness boxing it. “Men who were trying to stop highways smashing through forests or high-rises being built on pristine beaches. She said she believed, but I think she wanted to believe the guy. Any guy who would love her. But her search for that dragged us into hell.”

I already know I won’t like the ending, but that’s not going to stop me from listening to the hard stuff.

“What happened?”

“We were living with a bunch of hippies in Kent, in the south of England. Mum had hooked up with this guy called Cal, a real guru type, like Charles Manson but less murderous. Bloke was leading the way on this protest to keep The Man from building a golf course in Clowes Wood. They wanted to knock down the trees, but Cal had his groupies out every morning stopping the work. And overnight, he’d order people to sleep in the trees so they couldn’t get the jump on us in the early morning.”

I nod, letting him know I’m here for every word no matter how painful.

“They’d had enough, these fat cats who needed the golf course built stat. Jesus, another fucking golf course, right?” He’s started to twitch and shake his head, all that negative energy needing an outlet. All those memories fighting to break free.

I kiss his beautiful cheekbones. “It’s okay. Just say it.”

“I’d come in the day before from boarding school. Got a scholarship, didn’t I? Fancy school with a bunch of nobs, and there’s me, sleeping in a bloody forest during the school holidays. I had to—get this—run my trousers through the mud because they were too clean for the people I’d be hanging with all summer. One night I’m in my comfortable bed at boarding school, the next I’m sleeping in a fucking tree and I wake up to find the forest’s on fire!”

He heaves a breath, needing to ready himself for the next part. The worst part.

“Long story short, I was able to scramble out and down, falling the last half of the way. Cut my head—” He points at that scar through his eyebrow. “But it’s nothing. Barely felt it. I’m screaming at Lizzie to follow me and I thought she was behind me but she’s scared. Of the fire, of the height, of everything. So she—shit, she—” He pulls away. “She jumped, Trin. And I tried to catch her, she hit a branch on the way down and sustained a catastrophic brain injury, and now…now she’s in a long-term nursing home. Has been ever since.”

He stares at me, willing me to say some trite platitude, I suppose.

“And you see her regularly?”

“Yeah. Twice a month. Make sure she’s doing all right, that the nurses are treating her well.”

I bet he pays for her care as well, though maybe it’s different in the UK.

“Your mom must have been devastated.”

His beautiful mouth sneers. “Are you kidding? All she was worried about was how it would affect her benefits and support from my dad. Sure, there were tears, but—fuck this.” He turns his head from me, like he can’t bear to look me straight in the eye any longer. “And then I thought I’d end up with my dad, but he’d already moved on with a new family. Couldn’t blame him, really. I was able to legally emancipate myself, spent the holidays at school or with mates. First time I realized I could use the law for good. For what’s right.”

If anyone has the inner resources to survive such hardship, it’s Lucas. But the toll? All this time, how alone he must have felt, and then the ultimate blow when his father didn’t step into the void. My heart breaks for that solitary boy, living with the guilt of surviving his twin, unable to lay those ghosts to rest.

“Do you see your mom?”

“Not if I can bloody help it.”

“Have you told her how you feel? How she hurt you?”

He rubs his mouth. “That’s not how she operates. She doesn’t think she did anything wrong. And trying to convince her otherwise is a waste of breath.”

“Then waste it, Lucas, if only for your sanity. Where is she now?”

“Last I heard she was living in some commune in Wales. She calls every now and then to beg for money. And I send it to her to keep her away.” His eyes are lasers. “What it boils down to is that there are givers and takers, Trin. Your sister and my mum are the kind of people who expect the world to pick up after them. And you and I and people like my dad are always going to get shafted.”

I can’t argue with him, not when he’s feeling so raw. Instead, I kiss him softly and let him know with my hands and my heart that I’m here for him.

Lucas

My girl looks unimpressed. “Lunch? At a…gym?”

“Not just any gym, love.” I point to the Potbelly sandwiches, chilling on the windowsill next to a couple of cans of ginger ale. This morning I called Trinity and asked her to stop by the office so I could take her to lunch. “You want to eat, we need to work up an appetite first.”

Her grin makes my heart beat loud and shine like the sun. After last night’s confessions, I feel lighter than I have in years. Nothing about my situation has changed, yet I sense possibility where before there was none.

She places her hands on my chest and leans up on tiptoe to kiss me. “Why didn’t you say so? I’m happy to work up an appetite.”

“Not that way, gorgeous. We’re going to punch a few things.”

“What?” She looks around at what’s affectionately known by our firm as the Punch Palace, a private gym we’ve set up on the same floor as our offices. In our experience dealing with clients, we’ve realized that they often need to work through emotions they’ve been bottling up for a while. We’ll have masks of their exes made, slap them on our punch bag Bob the Torso, and let them pummel away.

Hitting things is remarkably effective.

I extract something from a cupboard and hold it up. Her eyes widen in surprise.

“But that’s…you!”

“Yeah, I know. Usually we’d get these made only for exes of clients, but my dear partner Max got one made of me for his own reasons. I don’t know. Guy has issues.”

I apply it over the head of Bob the Torso. I had thought about getting one of Brian, but I’d rather not have that tool poisoning the room.

She gestures at the punch bag dummy. “Are you expecting me to hit you?”

I wrap my arms around her and pull her close. “What happened to you on the street outside your home made me angry, so I can only imagine what you must be going through. I don’t know how you’re dealing with it, love. You can cry about it and I’m always going to be here for a good weeping jag. You can talk about it to me or a therapist, and I’m here for that, too. But maybe, just maybe, thumping my beautiful face without actually thumping my beautiful face will make you feel better.”

“But I’m not mad at you! Or anyone, for that matter.” Her laugh is nervous. I get it. No one wants to look foolish or reveal too much when feeling so exposed.

“Indulge me.”

I grab a pair of gloves and give her one to put on. She hesitates, then shrugs as if I’m crazy while she inserts her hand into the leather cushion. I help with the other glove, lace her up, then point at the dummy.

“Hit me, baby.”

She gives Dummy Lucas a halfhearted push.

“You can do better than that.”

“It’s weird.”

“You’re weird. Just do it, Jones.”

She tries again, with more of her weight behind it this time. Dummy Lucas jerks back, affronted.

“Harder.”

Her next blow is the most forceful yet, and then I see it: satisfaction curling her lips. She shakes out her arms, gives a few bunny hops, and lines up another strike. Boom! If this was Real Lucas and not Dummy Lucas, I would not be a happy camper.

“Christ, I felt that one in the family jewels.”

“I’m kind of digging this.”

Tackling the workout in earnest, it doesn’t take long for her to find a groove. Pow! Wham! Slap! We’re sixties-era Batman over here. After about five minutes, I grab my next piece of equipment: a pair of blocking pads. I strap them onto my palms and raise them up.

“Think you’re ready for Big Lucas now, love?”

“Wait, it’s one thing to hit the dummy, but what if I hurt you?”

“You won’t. I won’t let you.”

Trinity

I’ve no idea what Lucas’s game is. All I know is that after five minutes thumping his stupid face on the stupid dummy with the stupid gloves I feel better than I have in months.

Maybe I have some anger issues.

Since my attempted mugging—which I insist on labeling as such even though it could have been so much worse—I’ve been feeling lost. Helpless. Not Trinity.

I didn’t even tell the people I cared about what happened to me. I need to hold on to that feeling of control. I take care of people—people don’t take care of me.

Except Lucas. He sees what I need. He provides.

And now I’m punching these blocking pads while he stands before me, as solid as an oak, and gloriously shirtless, too. I suspect he could absorb my anger forever. Lucas, the perfect sponge for a woman’s scorn.

“Feel free to kick,” he says, and I do. Liberated, I raise my right foot and meet the blocking pad with the arch.

“Have you ever taken self-defense classes?”

“No. I—is that what this is?”

“Having a few moves in your arsenal can only empower you.”

I slap the pads with my gloved hand. He blocks me.

“Remember, Trinity, you are in control here. You are strong. You are elemental.”

I kick. I punch. I rage. I sweat. A lot of sweat.

Then I exhale, each breath leaving me with satisfaction. I’m annoyed I didn’t think of this sooner, but sometimes it’s impossible to see the forest for the trees. I assumed time would get me there. However, I’m guessing Lucas isn’t big on time. Lucas is big on action.

Feeling pretty good about myself, I launch one last kick at Lucas’s blocking pads—or what should have been Lucas’s blocking pads. I land a target all right and it only rhymes with pads. Replace that p with an n and you’ll have a better idea of the damage I just inflicted. My personal Mr. Miyagi doubles over, clutching his groin.

“Oh, God, I’m sooo sorry.” I rush to help him, though he’d probably say I’ve already done enough. “What can I do? Ice? Kisses? Ice? Blow job?”

His eyes are closed. He has lovely, long eyelashes.

“Uh, please don’t touch me, Jones. I need to get through this like a man.”

I cover my face so I won’t laugh out loud. “I’m sorry,” I say in a whisper, as if voice volume might add insult to injury.

His eyes snap open. “Admit it. That felt good for you.”

“No!” I’m horrified that he’d think that, but doubly horrified that part of me agrees. I wanted to hurt someone and my foot…slipped?

Lying back on the floor (and still protecting his balls with those ridiculous blocking pads), he laughs, knowing exactly what’s in my head. I lie beside him.

“Maybe there was a touch of the subconscious in that kick,” I admit.

“Subconscious kick to the bollocks? Great name for a band.” He turns his head, his grin big and bright. “If it helps my girl, I can take one for the team.”

My girl. “The team?”

“Yep. You and me. The team.”

I am stunned.

I have friends. I have family. I’ve never been part of a team.

Tears threaten. “Lucas—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, rubbing his nose against mine. “I’m on your side. I know you don’t always think that because of how we started out. All of that is unimportant. Judge people by what they might be, not are, nor will be.”

“What’s that from?”

“Robert Browning.”

It’s about potential. We all have it, buried inside us, waiting to be polished, or to have someone shine a light on it. I think of Lucas’s sister, a child trapped in a woman’s body, all her potential crushed.

“Are you a divorce lawyer or a life coach?”

“Priest, psychologist, attorney—not that much separating them. But that’s my job. When it comes to my personal life, just know that I’m Trinity Jones’s biggest fan. And I mean that in the creepiest way possible.”

I kiss him hard, pouring all my emotion into it. Is there any greater feeling than the one of being understood by another human being, wholly and completely?

As I slip my tongue between Lucas’s lips and absorb his moan, I conclude: There is not.

“Hold on,” he says. “Let me free up my hands.”

“No!”

“No?”

“Leave those pads on.” I push him so he’s flat on his back and I straddle his hips, giving a lascivious grind over his groin. “I’m going to take care of business. Unless your balls are too bruised for action?”

“Too bruised for action. Another great name for a band.” He raises his padded paws. “I want to touch you.”

“I think you might prefer what I have in mind.”

“But what about you?”

I fan my fingers out over his bare chest, feeling the flex of his muscles reacting to my touch. “You don’t have to be on all the time, Lucas. Your job is not to entertain me.”

He waves his pads. “Are you not entertained?”

Always, but I don’t want to let him off the hook. I want to do something for this man. Lowering my lips to his neck, I start at the pulse beating at the base of his throat. A suckle, a sip, a lick of my tongue to savor.

“Trin,” he gasps as if I’ve given him so much already. As if I’m giving him everything. His padded hands levitate a few inches off the floor before he remembers that he’s trapped. I chuckle at the conclusion he’s forced to draw.

“You are a witch,” he murmurs, not unkindly.

“A good witch with spells”—another kiss—“and potions”—a light bite of his pec—“and sexy magic.” I suck his nipple into my mouth, then lick underneath, moving down, down, down. Slowly I work my way south, dipping my tongue into every ridge, mapping his body, learning his nooks and crannies. My journey takes me down that light dusting of hair, the goodie trail arrowing over those steel-cut abs.

“What do we have here?” I slide a palm across an intriguing bulge. With excruciatingly slowness, I lower the elastic waistband of his shorts past the springy tufts of hair.

“Emancipare,” I whisper close to his dick.

He pushes up on his elbows. “What? A Harry Potter spell?”

“I’ve been studying. For pub quiz.” Emancipare is the charm used to release someone from their bindings. And what a charm it is. Out he pops, saluting me with such joy that I can’t help my chuckle.

“Don’t laugh at my dick.”

This only makes me laugh more.

“Trinity, love.” He places one of his blocking pads over his very erect cock, and I’m laughing my head off now at the image of Lucas trying to either cover up or create friction.

“Help me out,” he groans.

I take him in hand, indulging in a rough pump of his dark, delicious cock. Entranced, I watch how it flushes with blood with each stroke of my hand, how the muscles of his abdomen tighten with each erotic pull. Heat flares between my legs, damp and slick.

“Tell me what you need, baby.”

The struggle to admit he needs anything, even this most basic of comforts, is writ large on his face. Lucas is such a lovely, generous man. I need him to understand it’s okay for him to deserve this.

I slow down. His breathing escalates.

“Lucas. Whatever you need.”

“Tell me how I taste.”

Ah, employing my expertise. I know it turns him on when I showcase my stuff. I lick the broad head, tasting salt and musky maleness. “Full-bodied.” I run my cheek along the side of his erection. “Meaty.” Applying butterfly kisses, I go deeper down his length. “Hints of…nuttiness.” The velvet nap of my tongue glides over the dusty-dark balls, carefully, given the blow I landed a few minutes ago.

Returning to my initial task, I slip my hand up and down, up and down.

“Harder, love.” His eyelids have fallen to half-mast, his lust-stoked pupils barely visible through slits. “Faster.”

I give him what he needs, while that spot between my thighs, the one where I crave fullness, blooms with every drop of pre-come dripping from Lucas’s cock. The moisture smooths the glide, letting me give him more of that fast and hard stroke destined to bring him higher.

“Take off your shirt,” he gasps. “Need to see.”

“What do you need?”

His moan is animalistic. “Your tits. Your gorgeous fucking tits.”

I don’t want to let go my grip to pull off my tee, so I use my free hand to raise my shirt to above my breasts, still encased in a plain black bra. I pop one of the girls out. It’s a touch sleazy, and perfectly suits the vibe.

“You wet, Trin? Tell me.” He moans loudly. “Fuck, please tell me you are.”

I can’t get the words out. I’m so turned on right now, watching him fall apart under my touch. He’s close, so close, so—

He sits upright, and before I can respond, he’s on his knees before me, the blocking pads thrown aside. With both hands, he yanks down my yoga pants and plunges his fingers roughly between my thighs.

I lose my grip on his cock, but I find it again, and now it’s a race to reach the peak for each other first. His rough-worn thumb works my clit, while two fingers fork inside me, curling my body toward him. We kiss. Messy, completely devouring each other. I can’t focus on my (hand) job because Lucas is yet again putting me first.

That tricky bastard.

I scream as the orgasm shudders through me, radiating from throbbing center to every extremity. So strong I’m left weak, my head falling to his shoulder as Lucas wrings twittery aftershocks from my body.

He pushes me on my back on a gym mat and leans over me, his cock in hand. Two quick strokes is all it takes for him to come, a ropy spurt across my chest. Exhausted and sated, he collapses beside me with his arm across my torso.

We don’t speak. We don’t move. He’s not inside me, but I’ve never felt closer to another person.

“Not sure I’m going to survive you,” he finally says.

“Because I kicked you in the balls?”

He turns his head slightly to bathe me in his true-blue gaze. “Yeah, right in the balls.” But it sounds like he means something else. And I know exactly what he’s feeling.

Another moment passes while we lie there, then Lucas asks, “Do you have a passport?”

“I do.” For the tour of Scottish distilleries I never got around to taking.

“Think you might want to come to the UK with me in a couple of weeks?”

I lean up on my elbow, but before I can respond, he speaks again. “You could stay in London while I’m visiting Lizzie and when I get back we could take in a show—”

“I’d like to meet her.”

His breath leaves him in a whoosh. “Yeah?”

“Definitely.” Then I kiss him before he can change his mind.