I hope you enjoyed the last one, the townhouse with the yellow door. I'mma post a teeny bit more of that, but it is quite brief so I think I'll throw another little shortie up as well. Maybe between the two of them they will feel like a good chunk? I'm just having a little trouble deciding which one... hmmm.
Do I go with some Jonah or do I switch it up entirely and throw some maggie\grey shit out there? IDK.
I guess we'll both be surprised when we get to it.
I subbed in weebee yesterday and was so bored I thought I might take off my clothes and run around just to stir up a little excitement. Those kids are SO well behaved. I felt fairly useless. I may as well have been a manequin. Yay for that good ole master's degree in teaching.
So I had a ton of time to write but I'm pretty sure most of it was shitty. I haven't looked back at it yet but I think most of it was uninspired, overly sentimental and just weak. But you try writing longhand in an 80degree fifth grade classroom on the friday before memorial day weekend. I'm just hoping there are some nuggets that can be mulled and polished into something decent.
Anywho...
Enjoy the double feature!
Jonah flushed slightly with embarrassment to see how his hands shook as he undid the chain lock. He was ashamed with himself, but the truth was Vaughan Grey was an intimidating figure and as much as Jonah wanted to beat the man to a bloody pulp, he wasn’t certain how far he’d get against the older man.
He stepped back, door in hand, and allowed his brother to sail into the condo. He then methodically re-fastened each lock.
“Expecting company are we?” His brother asked tartly.
“You got home alright?” Jonah asked, not just ready to talk about the likely inevitability of an altercation between himself and the man he planned on cuckolding.
“Len.” Answered Nolan shortly. He leaned over sideways to see past Jonah into the open living area. From there he shot his eyes back to his brother. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
Jonah stiffened, defensive. “You’d rather I left her in the clutches of that pig?”
Nolan pulled a face and stood back up. “You could bring her to her mother’s Jonah, or to a girlfriend’s place.” He said hotly but quietly enough to keep it private. “Has it occurred to you that bringing here here is only going to make things worse for her?”
“She’s safe here.” Jonah said mulishly. ‘Safe with me’ he added silently. Nolan huffed.
“Are you?” His eyebrows were raised.
“I’ll kill the son of a bitch.” Jonah said plainly.
Nolan’s eyes widened and then narrowed sharply. “I don’t doubt you’d like to, you idiot, but I'm not gonna let you get yourself thrown in prison.” He looked like he’d dearly like to smack his brother in the head. “What the fuck are you thinking?”
Jonah’s jaw clenched. “I’m thinking I’m not going to stand by while some monster treats her like that.” Jonah barked.
Nolan ran a hand through his hair and had to turn away. Jonah heard him take three deep breaths before speaking. It was something their father did when he was irate.
“Yeah.” Was all he said. “Yeah.” He turned around, tossed his house keys into the dish alongside his brother’s. His lips were tight. “Yeah.”
He strode past his brother toward the kitchen. In an easy, friendly voice he spoke to their guest. “So we haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Nolan.”
Jonah heard Velvet laugh sweetly. “Velvet.” She responded playfully. “Though I don’t think formal introductions are necessary after you’ve helped clean up my vomit.”
Jonah heard his brother give a surprised chuckle.
“I’d say ‘my pleasure’, but…” The two shared a laugh and Jonah smiled.
He turned to join them. “Maybe we should order food?” He breathed deeply and sighed pleasantly. Let that filthy bastard try and come for Velvet, he thought confidently. At that moment he knew he could take on a whole battalion of Vaughan Greys in her defense.
“What, expired milk, rancid duck-sauce and three-year-old mustard isn’t good enough for the lady?” Nolan said, playing affronted.
Velvet grinned. “Three year old mustard? That’s a great vintage.”
Nolan grinned. “Well, then, by all means help yourself!” He said with a gallant little hand flourish.
Jonah’s lips broke into a grin too.
*************************
Jonah Delaney made breakfast, as he had every Saturday morning for the last twenty three years, but as he pushed the dark wheat bread down in the toaster he knew this and each Saturday that followed would be a private hell. It was breakfast for only two this morning. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.
Grey had just left, with the threat of blackmail on his lips and Jonah had just broken some things in the den, but instead of cleaning up he decided to make breakfast. He was famished. And he hated himself for it.
He was reminded of the days, very early in their relationship, when Velvet had moved out of Vaughan’s and into his condo with him and his brother. That’s when he’d started this Saturday-morning-breakfast-routine. She’d enjoyed it so much, been so impressed and enamored with the idea that he’d done it again the following weekend, and again after that, and like most things with Jonah Delaney it became habitual behavior. Expected.
Perhaps unconsciously he set out bowls and retrieved the ingredients for French Toast. Viola’s favorite. All his children had favorites and the weekends rotated between their breakfast of choice, plus they always got their favorite breakfast on important days, such as birthdays or for special achievements. Jonah Delaney was a wonderful father. Had been an exemplary father.
Of course none of them was supposed to be home and he should have been making breakfast only for himself, in which case he’d have made an omelet or something. But he cracked the large brown eggs now for French Toast, adding cinnamon and sugar and vanilla extract and a bit of maple syrup. He crossed to the refrigerator to grab the milk and when he swung the door closed she was there.
It took all his self control not to recoil and shout. She’d startled him. His heart was thudding in his chest and ears; he hadn’t heard her approach. Instead he managed a gentle smile. “French Toast?”
Her hair was wet from the shower and she was wearing only an over-large towel wrapped around herself. He frowned but decided not to say anything, largely because he no longer knew what he should or could say to her. Had she ever shown up to breakfast dressed like that? He tried to recall. If she had, and perhaps she had, especially on school mornings when everyone was in a rush, if she had he hadn’t ever paid particular attention. Now he was acutely aware of exactly what she wore and what he knew her to be not-wearing underneath it.
She was smiling at him, a timid, sweet smile. “My favorite.”
Now he felt a little strange about making it. He was making this a special day by preparing this meal. It suddenly felt like a mistake. He should have plopped down bowls of cereal or just spread butter on toast. What the fuck had he been thinking?
He heard the mechanical pop of the toaster and he was grateful for the excuse to move away from her. He’d only put a couple of slices in the family-sized toaster, he was ravenous and just wanted something to keep his gnawing hunger at bay, and also to settle his stomach after his episode that morning. “Do you want any regular toast too?” He offered reflexively, a habit of being courteous.
“No thanks, I’ll wait for the French toast.” She replied, but reached for a banana from the fruit bowl as she climbed into one of the high barstools around the kitchen counter. She was likely fairly ravenous herself. Was he proud? He couldn’t interpret his own reactions anymore.
He hadn’t had a ‘morning after’ with anyone in more than two decades. He’d fallen in love with Velvet Calder Grey and never looked at another woman since. Until last night. Until this morning.
The morning after he’d made love to Velvet had been one of the happiest of his life. He’d known he would ask her to marry him. It had been complicated. She had been still-married to Vaughan, had been carrying the man’s child. They’d only just met days before. She’d been an emotional mess, her life in ruins. And he had fallen in love with her at first sight. Like out of some fairytale.
She’d been only a few years older than Viola was now, the thought crossed Jonah’s mind as he took an over-large bite of his buttered toast. Comparisons hurt too much. Thinking about Velvet hurt too much. What he’d done to his wife last night, what he’d done to his family, he was the worst kind of bastard. He was a monster.
He closed his eyes for a long moment and chewed the toast slowly, deliberately. He couldn’t really taste it.
What does a good man do when he’s done something awful? How does a decent man live with himself when he’s committed the unforgiveable crime?
“Do you want some help?” Her voice was chipper, unperturbed.
He swallowed the toast and felt it scrape down his esophagus. “OJ?” Was all he managed.
She grinned. “No problem.” She bounced off the barstool and headed for the fridge. He couldn’t watch when she reached up above her head for the tall juice glasses in the cabinet: The towel slipped down provocatively and he turned away, fixating instead on coating the skillet with non-stick spray and turning on the burner.
Then her small hand was on his back and her other was proffering the tall glass of juice. “Here you go.” Her voice was low and full and sweet and full of affection. His nostrils flared. He wanted to kiss her. Fuck.
“Thank you.” He tried valiantly to make his voice sound neutral. He failed. It sounded constrained, tense. She heard it. He knew she wanted to kiss him too. She was close enough for him to smell the fresh herbal scent of shampoo on her still-wet hair. Close enough for him to count the dusting of freckles sprinkled across her shoulders. Close enough and entirely too close.
He lifted the juice glass and proceeded to drain it in one long draft. She stepped away from him and moved back to her seat at the island. She was smiling. He knew he needed to do something to discourage this behavior. It would ruin him. Ruin them both. Something like a flood of panic engulfed him as he imagined what might happen should Velvet see something as suggestive as what had just passed between them. What if one of his other daughters stumbled across them and witnessed Viola’s hand placed so casually possessive on their father’s waist? He put his glass on the counter and quickly moved to dip bread in the mixing bowl. He could smell the non-stick spray cooking off the pan.
He wished he could force his hands to cease their trembling.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment