Yesterday's Tomorrows (11 page)

M
y clothes
spun round and round in the machine, mimicking the churning in my stomach. After all this time, I couldn't imagine why Charly was reaching out to me. Biting my lip, I reached for the first envelope she had left for me at the prison. My fingers shook slightly as I pulled the letter back out and scanned the page. I wasn't the only one with a flair for drama; Charly's was demonstrated in the swirls and flourishes of her handwriting. It wasn't a long letter which could be good or bad. I sucked in a sustaining breath and began to read.

I read the letter a second time to make sure I'd read her words correctly. My initial reaction was anger. She was wrong about me. The big heart she remembered belonged to the girl I used to be, not the woman who'd been reshaped after six years in hell.

Life was hard enough living with the knowledge I'd taken someone's life, images that still caused me nightmares. During the entire hearing process, I'd been treated as if I was a cold-blooded killer, a danger to all of society. The insinuations cut deep, and Charly was responsible for them. So how she believed she was keeping me safe was beyond me.

And how dare she imply I was the reason communication had fallen off between us! Initially, despite my anger toward her, even her familiar face or letters would have been welcomed in my isolated world. She said she wrote to me but never once had I received any letters from her. No phone calls or messages of any kind. I couldn't understand why she'd lie about this, other than she was trying to build me up with sweet words because she wanted something more from me now that I was free and might have something to give to her.

Angrily, I tore open the large brown envelope only to gasp as a thin, hardback book with ragged edging fell into my hands.
Bambi
. I couldn't prevent the tears that welled up as I held my favorite childhood book. I'd read the pages so many times the pages were soiled and dog-eared. When I was a little girl, I related to Bambi, stumbling along motherless and lonely, trying to navigate a world that might have been different if she had survived.

I reached for the note that had fallen out with the book.

I anxiously reached for the envelope and peered inside. Something gold was lodged in the corner. I tipped the envelope, and my mother's locket spilled into my palm. My stomach twisted in knots as I rubbed my thumb over the engraved scrolls and swirls on the penny-sized heart. My mother apparently hadn't owned a lot of jewelry, or at least my father hadn't kept much. But one day when I was around four and Charly was ten, we snuck into my dad's bedroom snooping for something I don't even remember. When we came across the necklace, Charly recognized it immediately, and when she snapped the hinge open there were two pictures inside. One was of a trio - Charly, her brown hair in ponytails on either side of her head and a silly grin gracing her face, a younger, less haggard version of my father, and a pretty woman dressed simply in a green shirt and pair of jeans. The other one was of my mother standing sideways, her stomach obviously pregnant. Her face beamed while her hand lovingly touched her baby bump. I remember Charly trying to explain that I was the baby inside our mommy’s tummy.

The locket held the only pictures I'd ever seen of my mom. My dad never put out any pictures, and he refused to talk about her unless he was rambling in his drunkenness. I would stare at her for long periods of time, sometimes smiling in response to her smile, sometimes shedding silent tears because I'd never experience those arms embracing me or hear her voice speaking words of love and comfort.

It was my only proof that my mother had loved me at one time. I wondered if she had known the sacrifice she would make, whether she would have made the same decision to carry through with the pregnancy. After all, she had another daughter and a husband who needed her.

I did remember the times Charly mentioned about fighting for the necklace. There were times Charly would take the locket, saying I'd never known Mom, so why should I care so much? She argued she was the one who had truly lost her since she'd had a mom up until I'd been born. I'd cry, and we'd fight over who should be allowed to wear the special piece of jewelry. Sometimes she'd hide it from me, and I'd spend hours searching for the hiding place, but Charly wasn't very creative, and I'd always find it. Then it would be my turn to hoard it.

This generous side of Charly was new. Or maybe it was her manipulative personality showing through; it was hard to tell. But as much as I wanted to pretend I didn't care, she'd gotten to me. Mission accomplished. The very fact that I thought maybe she was doing this out of the kindness of her heart proved that. Most people would take the gift and ignore the meaning behind it. Instead, I was torn between wanting to believe the best of her and knowing the kind of person she'd been in the past.

But people change. I had changed, even if maybe for the worse. Was it so hard to believe that she had been changed by the experience also, only perhaps for the better?

We'd gotten along pretty well when I was little, but she always had a selfish streak. She'd fed me, but not until she'd gotten the biggest or better part of whatever we were eating. If we got any new toys or games, she was the one who got to try it out first. And if our daddy happened to be having a good evening where he was acting a little affectionate, she made sure she was the one who got to sit on his lap in his recliner while I sat on the floor at his feet.

I rarely complained. One of the few times I did, my father gave me a disgusted look and told me that good girls didn't complain. Then he dumped Charly from his lap and stormed off to his bedroom. We almost immediately heard the clink of bottles. My big sister had glared at me with a look of almost hatred.

From then on, I was careful to be a 'good girl,' always trying to avoid a fuss, always putting everyone else's needs ahead of mine in the hopes that someday they'd appreciate everything I did and love me.

It never happened. Not even when I made the split-second decision that changed a lot of lives.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Whatever Charly’s motivation, genuine or devious, I wasn't going to play along. Whatever worries she had lay at her feet. I was neither responsible nor interested.

I closed my eyes and hugged the book and necklace close. I had them back, and I would cherish them as much as I ever had, no matter how I’d gotten them.

I
groaned
in pleasure as I sprawled on a chair with my pants pooled around my ankles. I stared through half-opened eyes at the woman from the bar kneeling between my legs. She'd introduced herself as Michelle, but it was a name that I wouldn't be calling again, so it didn't really matter. I'd made it clear I was only interested in the next couple of hours and she agreed, saying she was only in town visiting friends and looking for a distraction.

Once we got to her hotel room, she didn't waste time pushing me into a chair and sinking to her knees. She fisted me in her hand, running it up and down my length several times before licking the head. Her lascivious eyes rose to mine as she took me in her mouth. She definitely knew what she was doing. I twisted her hair around my fist and held her head while she sucked and licked me even harder.

Knowing it wouldn't take long to find completion, I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the chair and let myself enjoy her obvious skills. There was no need to draw our time together out; I was here for only one reason. I didn't need to look at her as she worked her mouth up and down my cock. I didn't care what emotions flickered across her face because I wasn't interested in her. I'd make sure she was equally pleasured and then be on my way. I understood that made me a huge ass. I owned that; no need to try to pretend otherwise.

After Claire, women were merely a pleasant diversion, a warm place in which to find relief when jerking off in the shower didn't cut it anymore. The first time I'd had sex after Claire died, I'd suffered so much guilt I rushed to the finish line. As soon as it was over, I went home and drank until I passed out. Having sex with other women had grown easier over time, but it remained what it was - only raw physical pleasure.

This evening wasn't supposed to be any different. Usually, I pulled images of Claire from my memory bank while I got off, but tonight I couldn't move past visions of soft, dark auburn curls and brown and green eyes. My balls tightened as I pictured Maddy's mouth sucking me.

"I'm going to come," I warned. I was a gentleman, after all; I didn't want to assume she was going to swallow anything.

She grunted and sucked even harder, and within seconds I groaned loudly and shot my load down her throat, the entire time envisioning Maddy's face.

Michelle released me from her mouth and stood gracefully. She straddled my legs and settled on my lap, grinding her warm center over my still semi-hard dick. She leaned forward, but I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back before her mouth made a connection with mine.

I never kissed anyone. To me, kissing was an intimate sign of affection between true lovers, not just two people randomly fucking.

I hadn't kissed any woman since Claire.

Her pout turned into a gasp as I palmed one of her breasts through her blouse and leaned forward, gently biting the other nipple through the material. Her head fell back as I began to unbutton her blouse, allowing my fingers to drag along her bare skin. Her moan was only overshadowed by the ringing of my cell phone.

"Don't answer it," she begged when she noticed my efforts froze.

I was tempted to comply with her wishes. Michelle had a beautiful body, and I could easily go one more round with her, maybe more if it helped me work Maddy's image from my brain. Plus, I owed her an orgasm. But as the Imperial March, my ringtone for John McCloskey, continued to play on my phone I knew I needed to answer it. He wouldn't call this late on a Friday night if something important hadn't come up. I fumbled for my phone, nearly knocking her off my lap as I reached for my pants. She clung tight and ground harder.

"Hello?"

"Holt. I'm glad I reached you."

"What can I do for you?" I barely contained my hiss as Michelle continued to grind against my dick, which was beginning to respond again at her touch.

"I need you to find Madelyn."

"Madelyn? What do you mean 'find' her?" My attention was immediately diverted from my dick to the fear I heard in John's voice. I grabbed Michelle's waist to halt her erotic motions.

"I received a security call that her apartment building is on fire, and I have no idea how bad it is or where she is." Abruptly, I pushed a very frustrated woman off my lap and quickly began to redress, ignoring the scowl on her face. I couldn't stop the rush of fear that chilled the fist-sized space in my chest.

Maybe not so empty after all
, I thought as I recalled James’s words that I still had a heart.

"Obviously, she isn't answering her phone, but I'm still out of town and can't go check on her. Damn it! Why didn't we make sure she had a cell phone?" There was a crackling noise, and a female voice sounded in the background, followed by John's hushing and assurances he was doing what he could. "Emma and I will try to get back tomorrow, but in the meantime, I need to know she's safe and taken care of. Find her and put her up in a hotel until we learn how much damage there is."

There was another scuffling noise, and Mrs. McCloskey's panicked voice sounded on the phone. "Holt, dear, please find her! She's been through enough without this happening."

Whatever magic Madelyn wove, it was clear both of the McCloskeys were caught in her spell.

"I'll find her." I was already grabbing my jacket.

"Call me as soon as you do." John was back on the phone.

"I will." I abruptly disconnected the call not wanting to waste any more time. I tossed an apology over my shoulder to a bewildered and pissed off Michelle Whoever.

The door slammed shut, muting her shouted, "Asshole!"

I pounded the call button to the elevator. Why was Madelyn Stone constantly an issue for me? It wasn't enough her face was all I could see tonight, even blocking out Claire's? The irony that it was Maddy herself cockblocking my attempts to get her out of my head wasn't lost on me. But I couldn't deny my concern for her. She was a friend, after all.

I was grinding my teeth by the time I reached the lobby. I was ready to punch something by the time I got to my car. I was almost sick to my stomach as I neared Madelyn's apartment and saw the multitude of emergency vehicles blocking the street.

There was no place to park along the street, but the fire trucks were blocking any traffic anyway, so I shut off the engine and left my car in the middle of the street. I took off running for her building. Tongues of orange and yellow flames licked their way out broken windows on the fourth floor while billows of black smoke rose from the roof. I ignored the yellow police tape and darted onto the lawn, but a police officer was quick to stop me. "You need to stay behind the line, sir."

"I'm looking for someone who lives here,” I panted, winded by my sprint as well as by fear. “We can't get in touch with her."

His severe look eased. He gestured toward an area to my left. "We've staged an area over there for all tenants. You'll probably find her there."

I gave a jerky nod and hurried in that direction. All around me women sniffled, children with wide eyes clung to a blanket or stuffed animal, and men stood quietly with stunned looks on their faces. But nowhere did I find the petite redhead I was looking for, and no one I asked could tell me anything about her. Finally, one little boy pulled on a dark-haired woman's sleeve. She bent down so he could whisper in her ear, his eyes nervously flickering between her and me.

"He say he no could sleep and was looking out the window. He see your friend leave earlier, but he not know if she come home or not.” She spoke with an accent and her eyes were sympathetic. "I'm sure she okay. She a smart and good girl."

She was both of those things, but that didn't guarantee her safety. Claire could have been described the same way, but it hadn't saved her. I wanted to cling to the hope that she wasn’t home when the fire broke out, but where would she go so late on a Friday night? A date? That thought added to the already hollow feeling in my stomach.

I thanked the woman and her son and grabbed the arm of a passing Red Cross volunteer. "I can't find someone who lives here. She's not here with the rest of the residents. Where else can I look?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't know. We're working right now to get all the names of the tenants and their locations to make sure they're all safe. What's your friend's name?"

"Madelyn Stone."

The volunteer scanned the papers on her clipboard. "I'm sorry. I haven't met up with her, yet. But don't worry..."

I was off before she finished her platitude. Don't worry? How is one not supposed to worry when you can't find the very person whose apartment is burning?

I was an action-taker; I hated standing by helpless to find her.

I had to keep reminding myself all these other people had made it out safely. There was no reason to believe that Madelyn wasn't somewhere among the crowd of onlookers that had gathered to watch the midnight drama. I moved through groups of people, not bothering to apologize as I bumped shoulders or accidentally knocked someone off balance. I made my way to the man pointed out as the fire chief. I was about to demand a list of all that was being done to ensure no one was trapped in the building when I spotted a small figure walking hesitantly down the sidewalk.

Despite the darkness, the slight build drew my eye. I hurried in that direction, hope hastening my steps until the figure stepped under a streetlight. I stumbled in relief at finding the object of my search. I had to pause and gather my wits together. I wasn't fazed by the extreme relief that surged through me at her appearance; that was human compassion. But the intense desire to protect and take care of her as I witnessed the shock and despair etched on her face? That was more than altruism. It was more than friendship. It was caring a little too much.

In a matter of minutes, I understood what it would be like to lose Madelyn Stone from my life.

It was unsettling.