Between Octobers Bk 1, Savor The Days Series (53 page)

“
Truth. The way she saw
it.”

“Warts and all?” I asked, knowing Grace
would never tolerate anything less than absolute honesty.

Ethan stirred, rescuing me with a whimper.
Lily took him to the nursery, laid him in his crib, and took off
his nappy. To let his skin breathe, she said. Something I never
would’ve thought of. She rubbed his belly until he fell asleep,
giving helpful hints the doctor forgot to mention.

I made my way to the bedroom, hoping to find
rest.

My insomnia came back with a vengeance since
her funeral. Those first few nights were spent reading through her
letters to me, one painful line after another. She was angry with
me there towards the end, but I try to take comfort in the fact
that Marcus told her I wanted her and that I was waiting. I wished
he’d told her how much I missed her, too.

When I was done with the letters, I still
couldn’t sleep, so I started on her journals. I read them
consecutively, just as she wrote them. I walked through the year
she lost Sol, felt her pain, heard her cries—they are my own. And
the year that followed, the one she was supposed to spend with me.
From then on, I couldn’t think of anything but what she went
through, what that must’ve felt like. It keeps me up at night.

It’s a form of punishment, this need to know
everything. But writing’s not really my medium and I couldn’t
consider myself properly informed nor punished unless I went
through everything she did and I wasn’t ready.

Evan
—

I knew her for years. Since I first came to
LA. Rehashing every moment we spent together a dozen or more times,
I’m still not sure when or where things changed for Sheri. I knew
she was shrewd; that was part of what made her able to do her
job.

She was cross with me—that was nothing new.
She was always cross with me. I could never do enough, never meet
her standards. In her mind, I wasn’t successful until I had the
esteem of my esteemed colleagues with mantels full of golden
statuettes. She complained about everything I did or didn’t do,
every role I took, every house I never bought or trip I didn’t
take. The only time she seemed pleased with my success was in front
of other people. I thought it was her way of pushing me to be
better. For a while it worked, but sometimes I just need a sincere
pat on the back.

I guess that’s where Grace came in, why I
wanted to be around her. She wanted me, not Rhys. And Sheri at
first, seemed to like her, which surprised me, because she barely
liked anybody.

Looking back, knowing what I do, I can see
where that sweetness turned sour. Once I left to shoot, Sheri was
lax in passing Grace’s messages. When I got onto her, she blamed it
on other things. And though she had never spent an extended amount
of time with me while I worked, she suddenly had to be there
on-set. I attributed her presence to the loss of Marcus, whom I’d
always had with me while filming. I didn’t notice that her visits
coincided with those of my wife. Like a bloody fool, I sought her
advice on my marriage. I expected her to help me, back me up, but
every one of my mistakes was her opportunity. And I never
suspected.

And then, the video. I never would’ve
thought, never in a million years. But that chubby fella, the one
Arnold pissed on, he sang like a canary once the police had their
mitts on him. He bought the phone, he posted the video, he flew
into Ontario that week, and had temporary access to parts of the
set because he’s supposed to be a journalist for some supermarket
rag. But he also had proof of at least one payment for services
rendered. Filthy slag paid him with a damned cheque and that was
enough for me.

Yeah, once upon a time, I called her a
friend. And, odd as it seems, I can understand the anger and
jealousy. She and Marcus were the inner circle. Us three and that
was it. Everyone else was just people who crossed our path.

But this?
This
was her reaction? My firing her was an
automatic warrant for the lives of those I hold most dear? I want
to know why—the real reason, not a trumped up excuse.

Would I allow myself to think this was
all because of
me
and not due
to who
she
was . . . No, Sheri
had to be predisposed. This isn’t a normal response.

Marcuse says there are some things in life
that you must simply accept. He says this is one of those things
because we will never know, effectively, what her real motives
were. Maybe she really was obsessed. Maybe she hated Grace because
I didn’t, or because she couldn’t control her. Maybe she really
thought she could live my life better than I could, like she was
always saying. My money wasn’t a factor; she never had access to
it.

That fact is, no one foresaw and no matter
how hard we try to understand or change it, we can’t. The bitch did
what she did and we’ve all had to pay. My wife, my only love, paid
most dearly. I’ve no choice but to accept it. But it doesn’t help
with the hatred. I hate her for what she took, what she tried to
take.

It’s like Lily says—in the end, you have to
let go of the things you can’t help and take hold of the ones you
can. All that matters is that we’re still a family. We have each
other. We have her words and we remember her.

And for the rest of my days, I will savor
the love and life Gracie brought me between those Octobers. Because
of what she showed me and all that she gave, I can find the
strength to keep breathing.

The End

. . . for now

Dear Reader,

I just wanted to thank you for
taking the time to read my little story. I know how valuable your
time is and truly appreciate that you saw fit to invest some to my
work.

As an author, it is both
unbelievable and amazing to me that anyone would find the stories I
write interesting enough to invest in. But you have, and for that,
I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Now that you have read my book, I
would like to know what you think about it. If you loved it, GREAT!
I’d love to hear about it. And if you didn’t, I’d love to hear
that, too.

As you probably know, book reviews
are an important tool that perspective readers use to decide on
which books they’ll read. So, if you’ve got just a little more
time, please take a moment visit Amazon or Smashwords-- or even my
blogs contact page if that’s not your thing-- and give your opinion
whether it’s good or bad, I want to know how you feel and what you
think about my work. Your opinions are important to me.

Thank you, Reader. For
everything.

Between Octobers By A.R.
Rivera

**Don’t like how things
turned out? Checkout
authorarrivera.com
and click the tab labeled Alternate Ending to
read what might have been**

_________________________________________________________________________________

Here’s an excerpt From A.R.
Rivera’s forthcoming novel, September Rain, out May 15, 2015 . .
.

Staring blankly at the walls in the
interview room—feeling the restraints on my wrists, as my minds’
eye holds that moment in the smoky corridor—I see myself watching
Jake walk away. “Analog Controller used to post flyers all over
town. I would take the ones with pictures on them and spend hours
staring at Jacob Haddon. I made a scrap book and filled it with
pages of flyers and some Polaroids I took at their shows.” It made
me feel closer to him.

Here, from this prison where they tell
me what to eat, when to sleep and when to wake-up, where to walk
and for how long, when to shower and pee, it’s as if all of my life
has been no more than stray seconds jumbled together and ripped
apart. It seems random and pointless. But when I look back and put
some pieces together, they add up to one specific
night—a
lmost two years after that first meeting in
Joes Pizza.

The night I first slept with Jake.

+++

I had been to nearly all of their shows and
we always talked after, but still only at shows. He was older and
so obviously too hot for me, I wouldn’t let myself take my desire
past the fantasy land inside my head.

Analog Controller was playing at a popular
club called The Mystic Muse. It was practically on the other side
of the state and I had to get creative to make my way there. I
talked Avery into taking her moms car and the two of us ducked out.
That night at The Mystic Muse, with some encouragement from my lone
friend, I would gather my nerve and act on the lust I felt for
Jake.

Jake had those soft hands and I wanted him
to use them on me. I guess that’s the calling card of a guy who
works mainly with his mind. Soft hands with small, distinct
calluses you could only feel when he really touched you. He kept
his fingernails a little longer than traditional length, too. They
stretched to his fingertips.

Jake had a way about him—an outstanding
charm. Very large personality with a quick smile, melodic laugh,
and an air that imposed its’ will upon me—made me want to submit to
his. He made me nervous in the very best way. He made me crave
him.

He wrote about everything—good and bad—all
of his heart flowed into his music. It was almost as if there was
no part of himself that he wouldn’t lay bare for a room full of
strangers. Jake was jarringly open and I found that comforting.

That night, at The Mystic Muse, I remember
that the merch booth opened for the first time. It was before the
guys went on and Avery and me raided the coffers of our savings and
splurged. They finally had a merch booth! We’d bought their
stickers, t-shirts, and wrist bands, and were making our way to the
car. The parking lot was dark and smelled of sour beer.

A large hand grabbed my shoulder and
suddenly spun me. My heart leapt inside my chest. Avery shrieked.
And then I saw his face. Smiling. Devilish.

“Jake! You scared me.”

“Angel. I’m glad you made it.” He smirked,
“We gotta talk.” The fingers of his hand skimmed along my forearm,
those scratchy nails leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Someone called to Jake from the club
entrance. When he turned to see who it was, I stole a questioning
glance at Avery. Her face mirrored mine. I didn’t know what to make
of that copied look. It was as if she was answering my question
with a question.

“What do I do?”
I asked, and she replied with,
“What
do you want to do?”

I looked back at Jake, deciding to follow my
heart. “Where?”

“You know the long hallway at stage right?
Follow that until you pass the bathrooms. Then it’s the third door
on your right. I gotta do something, but I’ll see you there?”

“Sure,” I nodded.

Jake turned and I became a puppy dog,
trotting after him, leaving Avery gaping in the parking lot with
her arms full of band paraphernalia. Jake chuckled when he saw me
following and slowed down.

Once we were inside, he took a cautious look
around and asked me to wait a few minutes before heading into the
back of the club. I was never good at waiting, so I counted to
eight-hundred and fifty—figuring that took about five
minutes—before making made my way towards the stage and slipping
into the hall behind it. I followed the dimly lit corridor until I
came to the third door on my right, just like I’d been
instructed.

Releasing a deep breath, I swung the door
open. It was dark inside. I was about to turn around, sure I had
the wrong place, when a light flicked on. Then, Jake was peering at
me from across the room, in front of another doorway. Beside him
was a large couch. It looked just like the long black one inside
the bars VIP section, only more worn looking. The cushions were
covered with a plaid blanket.

All my anxious enthusiasm doubled.

“What is this . . .” I was going to finish
with ‘room,’ but the tremors in my voice collapsed the walls of my
throat.

He’d said he wanted to talk, but the way he
looked at me and the loaded air made me want to sweat, scream, and
simultaneously jump for joy.

Jake either didn’t notice my nerves or
didn’t care as he made his way towards me. I watched his hands
slide up to his temples and sweep his brown, chin length hair
behind each ear. His eyes were dark and his face held an air of
something I didn’t recognize. His tee shirt was plain, all black
and untucked. The short sleeves were rolled up, accentuating the
definition in his arms. His jeans were dark blue, cuffed at the
bottom over biker-style boots.

“This is me,” his luscious lips murmured,
“asking your permission.”

“Permission for what?” I managed to ask,
once I tore my eyes away from his mouth.

“I’d like to have my way . . . with
you.”

Everything inside me clenched. Except
my eyes—those popped wide open. And my mouth went desert dry. It
was like a line from a movie or something. Did he just say he
wanted
his way
with
me?

He was all longs legs, casually swinging
until he got close enough to set his hands around my waist. And I
swear my heart stopped beating. His hands around my waist! Which,
amazingly, felt like a whole new part of my body. Did I have a
waist before that moment? I’d seen it and used it to bend and move.
Beyond that, all my waist had ever done was sit above my hips. I
had no idea so many nerves could exist in one area. All at once,
they sprang to life and went crazy—hyperactive nerve endings
flaring up around my waist and spreading, quickly turning every
inch of my body into a burning furnace. His fingers stoked my
desire. But all they were doing was lightly grasping my waist.