To the Steadfast (6 page)

He tastes like mint,
and I wrap my legs around his hips, urging him closer.

“I missed you. Where
have you been?” I ask in his ear.

He responds by pulling
my bathing suit bottoms down over my hips and throwing them on the ground. He’s
in a pair of board shorts, but he inches them down with one hand while the
other is cupping my breasts, lightly grazing my nipples under the fabric.
There’s a crinkling of a wrapper as he slips a condom on. The table is at the
perfect height and when he pulls my hips to the edge, he’s able to slip into my
warm depth. I wince at the pain, but it subsides as pulses of pleasure take
over.

We both groan at the
impact and take a moment to gather our senses before moving against each other.
He’s fast, impatient, and rough. Different that our last encounter, but I like
it. The friction builds as he plows into me, shaking the table from the impact.
He pulls my legs from their locked position behind his back.

“Grab your legs,” he
demands.

I lie back on the table
and grab my thighs to keep them in the air while he moves against me. He brings
his hard length out all the way before slamming it back into me, making me
scream out with each thrust. Pain, pleasure, I can’t decipher between the two.
His fingers begin stroking me and as he alternates between rubbing and tapping
me. It isn’t long before I’m screaming. He collapses against my chest, pulsing
against me. He rests for a second before pulling out and putting his clothes
back on.

“You’re great,” he
says, bending back over to kiss me on the cheek.

“You, too.”

“We better get this
beer out to the party before people get pissed.”

He throws my bottoms in
my lap and begins setting up the cooler with ice and beer. When the beer is in
the cooler, he puts a hand on my cheek and gazes into my eyes.

“I want to take you
out,” he says. “I don’t mean to fuck. I don’t know, I like myself when I’m with
you. You see more than my family name.”

Mischa doesn’t date. We
all know this. He spends time with girls, but he never takes them out. I want
to scream and jump up and down. I want to cry. I want to tell the world, but
“Really?” is all I can say.

“Yes, I definitely do.”

He sets a beer beside
me before picking up the cooler and walking away. I’m left in a state of awe,
shock, and admiration.

Mischa Cromwell wants
to take me out.

Mischa left minutes
ago, but
I can’t seem to gather my
bearings to leave this garage. I creep to the front of the garage and press the
control to open the automatic door. It takes forever for the door to lift, but
when it does, I tiptoe out into the bright sun and look around the driveway.
Not sure where to go or what to do, but I’m not ready to go back to the party.

“Looking for someone?”
a voice calls out.

I spin around, my heart
racing, to see Killian standing in his driveway only yards away.

“Killian, you scared
me.” I put my hand to my chest and bend over slightly to catch my breath.

His hair is slicked
back against his head like he’s just gotten out of the shower and a pair of
jeans sit snugly against his hips. I’ve never seen him without a shirt on, but
he’s got a ripped six-pack that I’d love to run my fingers across. I raise my
eyes to his face, but it’s too late, the damage has already been done.

“Were you checking me
out?” he asks with a smug look.

“No! Gross.” My face
pinches up in horror. I’m not interested in Killian, but what’s the harm in
checking out a good physique.

“Why are you sneaking
out of your garage?” he asks.

“Why are you hanging
around my garage?”

He points to his dog
that’s jumping around his front yard. “Adama needed to go to the bathroom. I
heard the door open and decided to see who emerged from the great beyond.”

I hold my hands out for
the golden cocker spaniel to come to me, but he’s too busy chasing bugs and
ignores me.

“Fine, Adama! I don’t
like you anyway.”

Sarcasm rolls off
Killian’s tongue. “He feels your pain.”

“You wanna join us?” I
say, pointing to my backyard, where the noise level has almost reached
intolerable levels.

His gaze falters, but
he shakes his head. “A high school party? No, thanks. I have some friends
coming over in a few.”

“Hey, we’re not all
that bad.”

“Well,
you’re
different than the others. You’re….you.”

“I try.” I bow
slightly. “How’s your mom and dad?”

He opens his mouth to
answer, but we’re interrupted by Mischa opening the gate from the backyard and
walking over.

“I’ve been looking for
you everywhere.” He wraps an arm around my waist and gives me a kiss on the
cheek. Killian’s gaze hardens as he watches us.

“Hey, I’m Mischa
Cromwell.” Mischa holds out a hand, which Killian shakes. They have to know
each other, they’re about the same age, but it’s unlikely they hung around in
any of the same crowds. Killian only associated with the basketball team.

 “Yeah, I know. I’m
Killian. You were a grade or two below me.”

An awkward silence
breaks out, but Mischa keeps a firm grip on my hand. I playfully slap Mischa on
the chest. “Guess we better get back to the party. See you later, Killian.”

“Bye.” He picks up
Adama and turns away.

Mischa doesn’t say
much, but when we’re a good distance away, he lets go of my hand.

“How do you know pretty
boy Killian?”

“He lives next door.” I
shrug nonchalantly.

“Well, he was staring
at you like you two are sleeping together.”

This makes me laugh.
“Uh, no.”

“So you’re not sleeping
with him?”

“No!”

“I hope not because if
you’re going to be sleeping with me, you can’t be with anyone else. Do you
understand?”

 “You don’t own me,
Mischa. Until you commit to me, you don’t own me.” It comes out harsher than
expected, but I’m certain it’s a lie. He owns my heart. He’s owned my heart
since the first moment I laid eyes on him.

The rest of the party
goes by in a blur. The same repeats on Saturday night and Sunday night, and my
friends have taken over the living room and guest bedrooms. I’m supposed to be
studying for finals, but partying all night and sleeping all day leaves little
room for much else.

The next thing I know,
I’m waking up on one of the patio chairs with the sun in my eyes. I grab my
phone to see it’s after eight. If my calculations are correct, it’s Monday and
I’m already late for school. I sit up and look around. I’m all alone, and I
barely remember the weekend with Violet. Mischa showed up around midnight each
night and we hooked up, but that was the extent of our relationship. I don’t
even know where he went during the day.

 I decide to cut my
losses and begin the cleanup. There weren’t many of us, so the place isn’t too
trashed. Plus we stayed outside most of the time. I pick up all the bottles
scattered around the tables, empty the trash, and go inside to take a shower.
The housecleaner will make the beds and change the sheets.

As I step out of the
bathroom, I hear the clanking of the front gates closing. Either my Mom or the housekeeper. 
I get dressed and walk downstairs just in time to see my Mom waltz in. She’s in
a crisp pantsuit looking extremely perfect. Her dark hair falls around her
shoulders. She’s aged well with her olive complexion and large gray eyes. Most
people will say I look like my father, but even having a fraction of my
mother’s beauty is fine by me.

“What are you doing
here?” she comments before setting her purse and luggage down.

“I wasn’t feeling well
so I stayed at home.”

She flips through a
stack of mail on the table. “Just don’t make a habit of it. Anyway, good thing
you’re here. Nona’s home is having a family get together tonight. You need to
make an appearance.”

“Nona?” I exclaim,
jumping closer. I don’t dare touch my mother, she doesn’t like it.

“Yes, don’t be so
dramatic. Your father is going down there this evening. I’ll expect to see you
there later on.”

“Yes, of course.”

Nona, my only living
grandparent, and I haven’t seen much of each other lately.

“Oh and Dakota?”

I wince.

 “Next time you have a
party, please tell your guests to close the gate behind them. We have privacy
for a reason.”

She doesn’t say
anything else before walking away.

“Yes, ma’am,” I mumble
in a sarcastic tone.

I follow her into the
kitchen and begin fixing myself some coffee.

“Oh, and one of your
teachers called me this morning.”

My shoulders drop. “Oh,
really?”

“Don’t play dumb.
Apparently, you are falling behind in math. He wants to have a parent-teacher
conference.”

“Hmm.” I take a sip of
my coffee and hop up on one of the barstools.

“I don’t have time to
waste meeting with all your teachers. I expect your grades to improve or I’ll
be taking your car keys.”

I’ve heard it all
before. They won’t really take my car, I think. “Fine.”

“I mean it, Dakota.”

“I said fine!” I don’t
have the patience to deal with all her nitpicking so early in the morning.

There’s a tap on the
sliding glass doors and one of our gardeners, Julio, walks into the kitchen.

“Mrs. Lombardi, you
drink this?” He holds up a tan pitcher.

“I’ve been gone all
weekend.” My mother sighs loudly and looks to me. “Dakota, did you drink it?”

I study the pitcher. It
looks familiar. It hits me. Violet drank the red stuff from it on Friday night.

“Violet might have
drank it. Sorry, Julio. Was it your Kool-Aid?”

He laughs, which makes
my mom huff and turn away from us while typing furiously on her phone.

“Miss Cody, this was
hummingbird food.”

Coffee sprays from my
mouth and splatters across the counter.

“Dakota!” my mom
shrieks. “What is your problem?” She grabs a sponge and begins wiping it up.

“Wait, Violet drank
hummingbird food?” I hold back a laugh by putting my hands over my face. “Is it
poisonous?”

“No, it’s just sugar,
water, and red food coloring. I have to make more now.”

I stand and rush to the
stove. “No, I’m sorry. Let me make it.”

I can feel my mom’s
eyes on me the entire time as I wait for her criticism.

“Maybe you should make
some friends that know the difference between bird food and juice.” Her words
are like venom, but I try my best to ignore them.

 “It was an honest
mistake.”

“Who is this Violet
girl anyway?”

“Violet Cromwell. She
and I had a few classes together last year.” I’m not surprised Dad hasn’t told
her anything about the drug bust and the fact that I’m not supposed to be seeing
her; they rarely talk. I relish in the way her face distorts when she hears the
name.

“The Cromwell girl?
Figures,” she huffs.

Nona’s home always
smells weird,
but no one else
seems to notice. Family day is in the cafeteria. My father hasn’t shown up on
time, as usual. Some last minute appointment. Mother is running late as well,
but that’s okay. Nona and I sit at a round table playing a game of Rummy.

“Do you have a
boyfriend yet?” Nona asks, picking up a few cards.

I roll my eyes. “We’re
not talking boys today.”

“Why not? I’m so bored
here. Come on, gimme some good gossip to hold on to.”

I hold back a smile and
lean in close. It’s quiet in here and I don’t want anyone to hear what I’m
about to tell my Nona.

“Okay, but if you tell
Dad, I won’t visit for a month.”

“Cross my heart.” She
makes a cross shape along her chest. “Testicles, spectacles, watch and wallet.”

I cover my ears.
Ew.
I don’t want to hear her say the word testicles. “Nona, that’s gross.”

She sets her cards down
and attempts to wink at me, but she’s having such a hard time coordinating it,
I can’t help but laugh. “Would you rather I tell you about how your grandfather
had a dickiedo? His belly popped out further than his dickie do.”

“Nona!” I hiss again,
getting a disturbing chill up my spine. “If you bring up male genitals again, I
swear I’ll leave.”

“Oh all right, but if
you’re gonna be a nurse like I was, you will have to stop being so squeamish. You’ll
see balls of all sizes and shapes. Some that look like gourds, some that hang
low, and wobble to and fro, some that are hairy.”

“Nona! I’m not being
squeamish.”

“Tell me about this
testicle boy.”

I pinch up my lips
before smiling slowly. “I’m
sorta
seeing a guy. His name is Mischa.” I
make sure to stress the word sorta because who knows what we are doing.

“Mischa, huh? Is he
cute?”

“Very.”

“And did you meet in
class? Is he one of those football players you girls like to go for?”

“Nona! No, he’s a senior.”

She waves her hand at
me with a slight tsk. “Makes no difference to me. Your grandfather was almost
ten years older than me and we got married after two weeks of dating.”

She gets quiet like she
does whenever she talks about him.

Nona is in her late
eighties. My parents had me late in life, they’d never expected any children,
but somehow I’d managed to get through. Some might call me their miracle child,
but my parents just refer to me as a mistake. They’ve never said it to my face,
but I can see the annoyance in their eyes when they look at me.

“Where’s your mother
tonight?” Nona asks.

Speak of the devil.
I shrug. “Oh, who knows.”

“Why are you getting
upset?”

Redness blushes through
my cheeks. “I’m not.”

“Are you on your
period?” she yells.

I drop my cards and
look around to see she’s caught the attention of a few nearby tables. “No-na!”

She gives a cackle and
pushes her wire-rimmed glasses up further on her nose.  “I thought that might
be why you’re hormonal.”

“No, I’m not on my
period. Let’s just finish the game, I’m winning.”

“Fine with me. Have you
thought about college yet?”

I purse my lips. We’ve
had this conversation before, and the answer is always the same. “Dad still
wants me to go to Columbia, but I don’t want to be so far from you.”

“Don’t worry about me.
We can still talk on the phone. Have you thought about going to the same school
as your grandfather?”

“Tennessee Tech?”

“Yes, I hear the
nursing program is excellent there.”

“Not really. I haven’t
really thought about anywhere else honestly. I figure since Dad is paying, he
has the final call.”

We’re interrupted by my
father sitting down in the seat next to me.

“Mother, Dakota.” He
acknowledges us each with a nod. “Sorry I’m late.”

Nona waves a hand at
him and mutters, “Testicles.”

“Nona!” I cry out.

“What?” my father asks.

“I said typical,” Nona
fibs. “I was just chatting with your daughter about her plans for school.”

He takes off his coat
and hangs it on the chair behind him. “Columbia and then medical school. End of
discussion.”

“I don’t want to go to
an Ivy League school. I don’t want to go to medical school. I want to go to
nursing school,” I complain.

My father glares at his
mother for a moment. He’s silently blaming her for my attitude. “Why be a nurse
when you can go all out and just be a doctor?”

“Fine,” I say. I only
want to drop the subject.

“I’m getting a tattoo!”
Nona announces, breaking the tension between my father and me.

“Where?” I ask.

My father drops his
head in his hands.

“On my arm. I’m thinking
something crazy like Tweety Bird or something.”

“Tweety Bird?” I ask.

My father pulls up a
picture on his phone of a bigheaded yellow bird.

“Cute. Do it.”

“Don’t,” he tells Nona.
“You’ll get Hepatitis C.”

Nona shakes her head.
“I’m well aware of the risks, son.” She begins dealing a hand of cards.

“Speaking of risks,
Cody, are you planning on volunteering at the hospital again this summer?” he
asks, picking up his cards.

I’ve been volunteering
for the past two summers. It isn’t much, but I visit and bring gifts to the
patients who have none. “I plan on it.”

“Good. I’ll turn in
your application to the director.” He stands to kiss Nona on the forehead. “I
have to get back to work. Emergency shortage. Get home at a decent hour,
Dakota. See you next week, Mom. I’ll stay longer then, I promise.”

He pats me on the top
of the head like I’m six and walks away. This is the first time I’ve seen him
since he picked me up at the police station, and he stays but a few minutes.