Inevitable Detour (30 page)

“Ah,” he says, “you want to know how I feel about you. You want the words.”

“Well, yeah. You give me nothing, Farren. You’re so”—I search for the right word—“
withholding
when it comes to relationship talk.”

“Withholding?” He laughs, and his chest rumbles beneath me.

I lift my head, finally glancing up. He’s smiling, confident, sure. “I give you everything, Essa. How can you not see that?” He loosens my grasp on his hand and reaches for my cheek.

I swat him away, but not because I don’t want his touch. “You’re leaving,” I say, choking up as I express what’s really weighing on me.

“Essa, Essa.”

He touches my cheek again, and this time I don’t swat him away. “I wish your hand could remain on me forever,” I say.

“I just promised you that I’ll be back,” he reminds me. I say nothing, and he adds, “And do you know why?”

I shrug and try to look away, but his hand on my cheek ensures I remain looking at him. His expression softens as he says, “I’ll be back because nothing will ever keep me away from the woman I love.”

“What?”

He chuckles and cups my face. “I said I love you, Essalin. Somewhere along the way, throughout this crazy journey, I fell in love with you.”

I’m still in shock. “How long have you known?”

“For a while now,” he admits.

“You love me,” I echo, amazed. I can’t believe Farren has said the words, words I’ve longed to hear. I’ve felt his love, but hearing him say it out loud leaves me happy and elated…and every other good thing you can think of.

“Essa, do you love me back?” he asks.

I touch his face, my fingers gliding along his day’s-end stubble. “You know I do,” I whisper.

“Say it,” he rasps.

His hand moves down to my lower back, caressing and soft, promising more.

“I love you, Farren,” I whisper.

“And I love you,” he tells me again.

Then, Farren Shaw shows me how much he loves me.

Let’s just say it’s a lot.

Lead-in to
Inevitable Circumstances
(Inevitability #2)

A
fter Farren, Haven, and I arrive in New York City, I keep waiting for the ax to fall, for Farren to be pulled away from me. I fear Dawson, and I loathe the thought of Farren leaving to go hunt him down. But I know Dawson and his organization must be stopped. If not, we will always be in danger.

As Farren helps Haven and I settle into his spacious, luxurious apartment—the one with the amazing view of Central Park—my worries are temporarily assuaged. Rick and Vincent are unable to pinpoint a location on Dawson, so Farren gets to stay…for now.

Farren tells me, “Let’s make the most of it.” And we do.

Farren shows me and Haven around the city. Our first two weeks are spent sight-seeing, going to museums, eating in a variety of restaurants. We even take in a couple of shows. Haven loves those nights most of all.

When Farren and I are alone, we stroll over to Central Park. We walk, and we talk. Sometimes we pack a picnic lunch and eat in Sheep Meadow. And every day I fall more in love with Farren. He loves me as well. Apart from telling me often, his love shines in his emerald eyes.

Haven, who recovers fully from her traumatic experience, becomes more and more interested in Rick. He seems to definitely like her, too. They speak whenever they can and text often. She tells me he plans to spend some time in New York City, once the situation with Dawson is resolved. Haven also stays in contact with her father. Mr. Barnes again invites her to his mansion in Connecticut, but she politely informs him she’s still not ready.

She confides in me that there are other things weighing on her mind, like deciding where she wants to finish her degree—in Pennsylvania or here in New York. When Farren gets word that she may return to Oakwood College, he abruptly takes off one afternoon, on what he terms “personal business.”

The next day, a friend of mine and Haven’s calls to let us know Professor Walsh has resigned for no apparent reason.
Good riddance
, I think.

That night, in bed, I ask Farren, “Was that your doing?”

Farren never lies to me, not after all we’ve been through, and now is no exception. He turns on his side to face me and says, “That asshole fucking broke my sister’s heart. If she decides to go back to that school, I don’t want him anywhere near her.”

Not that I am concerned for Asshole Walsh, but I do have to ask, “You didn’t, um, hurt him, did you?”

Farren laughs and rolls to his back. Staring up at the ceiling, still chuckling, he says, “No, Essa. I didn’t have to
hurt
him. He was easy to persuade.”

“Well, for the record,” I begin softly, “I’m glad he’s out of Oakwood. For Haven’s sake, if she does decide to return. But also for the other girls he took advantage of.”

“Hmm…” Farren murmurs.

I don’t ask him for specifics of how he “persuaded” the prick to quit. It doesn’t matter. Some things are best left unknown.

Farren peers over at me, and, after a minute, I say, “What?”

“Just wondering what
your
decision is going to be.” Brushing a swatch of my blond locks over my shoulder, he continues. “Are you going back to Oakwood in the fall, or are you staying here?”

Farren already informed me that with a few phone calls—from him and, not surprisingly, his influential father—I can attend Columbia this fall if I want. Farren doesn’t know that I made my decision on this subject a while ago. Without further ado, I tell him my decision. “I’m staying, Farren.”

Farren scoops me up and settles me on top of his hard body. He winds his hand through my hair and brings my face close to his. “Kiss me, Essa,” he demands huskily.

I kiss him with fervor, and he kisses me back with even more intensity. He kisses me with heart, soul, and finesse, making me gasp when we stop. I take a breath, and then say, “Wow. Guess you like that decision.”

“You think?” he teases in a sultry tone.

His hands travel down my back till he’s cupping my ass. I wiggle into place, straddling him. As always, he’s up and ready.

When I mention this to him, he laughs. “I am a soldier, Essa. I’m always prepared for action on a moment’s notice.”

“Hey…” I smack his shoulder. “You’re supposed to say you’re always like this”—I press my core to his sex—“because of me.”

More serious now, he says, “It is because of you, Essa.”

“I love you,” I tell him.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

I start to rub back and forth on him, but he stills me with a hand on my hip. “Wait,” he says.

I feel him throbbing—as am I—so I ask, “What’s wrong?”

He chuckles, and I know from the timbre that he just wants control. Sure enough, he slides into me unrepentantly, eliciting a throaty moan from me.

“Nothing is wrong, Essa. Everything”—he thrusts up into me and I moan—“is just perfect.”

Yeah, everything is perfect. Our love is solid.

The following day, I meet with a career-services counselor at Columbia. She hammers out a schedule guaranteeing that I graduate in three semesters. It puts me a little behind schedule, but I’ll end up with a major in journalism and a minor in business.

When I return to the apartment, anxious to share the news with Farren, I find him whipping up dinner in the kitchen. He’s hot and adorable in dark dress pants, a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and an apron with a rooster on the front. The printed message below the rooster reads, “Kiss the Cock.”

“I don’t think Haven will appreciate your humor,” I say, nodding to the apron.

“What?” He looks down, all innocent. “It means the chicken.”

“Yeah,” I reply, laughing, “sure it does.”

He looks over at the clock on the wall. “Damn,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Haven will be home soon. I was thinking if we had more time, you could
show me what you think the message on the apron means.”

He looks so delicious that I definitely would not mind showing him. But it’s true that Haven will be back soon. I sigh and raise a brow. “Later?”

“Most definitely later,” he replies with a smile that melts me. He adjusts himself discreetly and then returns to chopping up some green peppers. “So,” he begins, “how’d it go today at Columbia?”

“Surprisingly well.” I give him the details, and then say, “I think the business minor will keep my parents happy.”

Chuckling, he asks, “Yeah, but what do you think they’ll say about your living arrangements?”

I plan on staying at the apartment. “I’m twenty-two,” I state, “an adult. I can live wherever the hell I want.”

With an assessing look, Farren says slowly, “You’ve changed a lot, Essa.”

“I have,” I agree.

A little while later, I discover my parents have changed a little as well. When I resolutely declare my intentions for my future—living arrangements, change of school, and all—they are surprisingly accepting. The newly assertive me can be persuasive, I suppose. They don’t even cut me off financially.

Still, if I’m going to be an adult, it’s time to start earning some of my own money. I resolve to find a job for the summer. Haven is signed up for an acting workshop that meets every weekday morning, and Farren has frequent meetings with his father. I need something to do, too. There’s still no sign of Dawson, but I know it’s only a matter of time. A job will keep me occupied, and it will keep me busy when Farren has to leave. So, on one particularly bright and sunny summer afternoon, I apply at the coffee shop around the corner from the apartment.

“I’m not crazy about you working there,” Farren’s says, later in the day, when I tell him of my new employment.

“Why?” I inquire, baffled.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t have a specific reason.” Sighing, he then admits, “I guess I just want to keep you protected at all times.” Farren is not immune to worrying about me, same as I worry for him.

I wrap my arms around him. “I like when you’re protective,” I assure him. “But trust me, I’ll be fine.” When he huffs, I remind him, “The coffee shop is, like, two minutes from here.”

“I know.” He nestles me close to his strong body. “Just be careful, Essa. Don’t trust anyone.”

Three days into my new employment, Mr. Barnes asks Farren to accompany him on a business trip to a third-world country. His father wants him there as protection but also as a consultant. I’m beginning to get the impression Farren’s father fully intends to leave his empire to his remaining children at some point. I think that’s why he keeps trying to connect with Haven as well.

Before Farren leaves, it’s my turn to ask him to be careful. And then I add in a sad voice, “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I’ll only be gone two weeks,” he replies in a conciliatory tone.

“Still…” I trail off.

He knows this will be hard because we’ve been together almost every day for more than two months solid. Enfolding me in his arms, he softly murmurs, “I’ll miss you, too, Essalin.”

And then he leaves.

With Farren gone, I decide to fully immerse myself in my coffee-shop job. I spend time getting to know the other employees. I ask them about their kids, their spouses, their lives. I get to know all the regular customers, too, and most of them are pretty cool.

One particular guy catches my eye. Not in a romantic way, of course. It’s just that my heart goes out to him. He’s around my age, a college student. At least, that’s what I assume, since he trundles in every morning with a passel of textbooks. The guy is kind of cute, in a nerdy, klutzy kind of way. He wears glasses and has a mop of reddish hair, but it works for him. He gets noticed by women in the shop, but he only talks to me. I guess that’s because I am infinitely patient with him. Like, when his books slip from his grasp, I help him adjust them before they fall. When he drops his money on the counter, I pick it up for him. And when he almost knocks over his usual order—iced coffee—I always catch it before it topples.

Our conversations are a series of him saying, “I’m so sorry…Oh, let me get that…Shit.”

My responses are “Don’t worry about it…I got it…You’re good.”

One morning, before walking away after paying, he squints at my name tag. “Essa,” he says. Looking up at me with soulful brown eyes hidden behind glasses, he adds, “I’m Justin, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Justin,” I say, and then I shake his hand.

And so it goes.

On the day Farren is set to return from his trip, I wrap up my morning shift early. Klutzy, red-haired Justin is walking to the door just as I am. I notice he’s completely distracted, peering down at a paperback in one hand, wrapped up in reading. His iced coffee is in his other hand, way out in front of him, almost like he’s unintentionally clearing the way. Customers step left and right, avoiding him. But it’s too late for me. Justin wrecks right into me, and iced coffee spills down the front of my green work shirt.

Looking aghast, he says, “Oh, hell, I didn’t see you there.” He puts his paperback down on a table and starts reaching for napkins nearby. “I’m so sorry, Essa.”

I take the napkins from him and start dabbing. But they’re no match for the soaking I’ve received. When it’s clear the napkins are not helping, I say, “I better go clean up in the ladies’ room.”