Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise Stories Book 2) (8 page)

After Sofie’s declaration that she didn’t want anything from me, I found myself at Carrie’s, a small establishment outside of the main town that entertained through nightly displays of tits and ass. I wasn’t there for a performance. I’d had my share of women over the years. I’d even faltered in the past year in hopes to rid my mind of Sofie. It was only Malinda, I reasoned, and most of the time, I couldn’t complete the action. Thoughts of Sofie’s innocent sexuality ruined the potential of a decent blow job or a quick lay. The show at Carrie’s did nothing to excite me, but it was a mindless place to think, despite the raunchy pop music or the dirty classic rock used as background noise to the girls dancing on stage. Not to mention, it was one of the few places I went without risk of being acknowledged.

“Mr. Callahan, a pleasure to see you again.” Chrysanthemum was the owner of this strip club. Her mother had owned a dance studio in town. It was doubtful this is what she hoped her daughter would aspire to with her dance experience. I’d been here enough for her to recognize me, introduce me to a few girls, but I never took the bait. I wasn’t interested in dabbling with the locals.

She had been particularly helpful recently when my brother demanded the removal of Elma Montgomery from the roster of nightly performances. Of course, money always talks, especially when it’s a large figure. She seemed to think this made us friends. I wasn’t interested in her either.

“I saw the fight. Quite a spectacle. I didn’t think you’d be back.” She smiled as she helped herself to the seat across from me. She couldn’t have been older than forty, but she looked well used: darkened skin from smoking, skinny body from drugs, and an aura of willingness if I was a taker, which I wasn’t. She reminded me of the woman who hit on me at The Vineyard Inn, Sofie’s grandparents’ place. Recently divorced, that woman wanted a younger man to wash away the pain of a fifteen-year marriage. I wasn’t interested in being her plaything, though. Some women just felt they had a right, when you are buff and famous, to throw themselves at you, and expect that you’ll take anyone. Instead, I took a good-sized rock off her finger and gave that abused diamond to someone else. It was an omen of poor decision-making.

My finger circled the top of the crystal glass, resting on the table, and then I raised it to my lips. Swallowing hard against the burn of whiskey that cascaded down my throat, I ignored Chrysanthemum. I didn’t need to explain why I was back. It didn’t even make sense to me why I had returned to California.

Taking my silence as a dismissal, Chrysanthemum stood. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, right?” Her voice lowered, the tone sultry and suggestive. She didn’t have what I wanted.

I needed to get my SUV back from Abel. Wasting no time, I headed to his place the following morning. He lived in a newer complex of townhomes built near the campus. I paid his rent. I paid his tuition. The labor of the fight over the years kept my family comfortable. Abel hadn’t asked for anything, however. He wasn’t like my father. He intended to pay his own way, once his fighting career took off. The fight world was hard, though. It was every man out for himself. Just ask my father. He’d been selfish all his life.

When Atom Callahan couldn’t win it big, like he hoped, he trained another fighter instead: me. I was going to be the breadwinner, he told me. I would reap and he would sow the benefits. It worked while I was underage in local competitions. It became harder when I turned eighteen and he officially declared himself my manager. It was increasingly more difficult as I’d surpassed twenty-one and wanted to take decisions into my own hands. At twenty-four, fighting was all I’d known, and the death of Montana a year ago put many things into perspective. Especially when that death forced me to run to a peaceful Eden and discover a fruit I’d never known I wanted to taste: Sofie Vincentia.

Abel’s help was a necessity in my search for Sofie, and it’s how I first found myself in the area of Preston. She attended the university, as did my brother, and she went abroad for a semester. Other than that, I knew nothing else about her. Once Abel confirmed he’d found her on campus, I had a private investigator search for her home, follow her social life, and discover her patterns. It made me a stalker of sorts, but I needed to know what happened to her. Abel, however, was my link to learn more about
her
. Was she dating? Did she mention me? Was she interested in others? It was the first time I ever felt I needed his assistance. It had been a complete role reversal for us as brothers.

Knocking on his door, I waited what seemed too long for Abel to appear. His hair stood out like fingers had worked their way through it in an intimate way. His sweat pants were low and he didn’t wear a shirt.

“Cain,” he laughed, glancing over his shoulder into his place. “What are you doing here?”

“Let me in,” I demanded, ready to remind him I owned his place, but the door swept open farther, and I brushed past him without an invitation.

Looking around his living room, I realized I’d never been here. We were brothers, and yet, I never visited him at school. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself outside of the fight circuit. Actually, I was a selfish bastard, and I just didn’t take the time to see my brother. It was the same with our sister, Evie. I’d been to the East Coast where she was imprisoned in a private school, and I didn’t visit her. I didn’t think she’d want to see me anymore than our father wanted to see her. 

“Is Elma here?” I asked, scoping out the place.

“Why?” Abel asked, both defensively and with perplexity. It had only been a couple of days since we cleared the air. I didn’t want his girl. I hadn’t fucked her. I had my own woman to be concerned with.

“Because I figured you took my SUV and brought her home with you,” I quipped. He ran a hand through his dark shaggy hair and sighed.

“Yeah, she’s upstairs,” he said, sitting down hard on his couch and stretching out his long legs. He looked tired. His mind was always working as a kid, and those blue eyes that matched our mother’s, were spinning.

“I won’t hold you up then. I just want my own truck,” I said, sliding my hand in the jacket I wore. I pulled out Kursch’s keys and tossed them to Abel. His instinctive reaction allowed him to catch them quickly.

“I have my own ride,” he said.

“I know, but Kursch will come here to get his.” Abel stared at me, wondering, questioning, but I didn’t want to explain myself. I wanted my own vehicle and I wanted to go home. I’d stayed too long at Carrie’s then hit an all-night diner in the early hours of the morning. I needed a shower.

“Are you going back?” Abel asked, implying Vegas. He didn’t know my full connection to the Valley, although he recently learned my ties to Sofie. Prior to telling Abel, the only one who knew the truth was Kursch, and the private attorney who drew up the divorce papers. My father refused to believe it was real when that minister lady told him about our marriage, and I didn’t clarify the specifics. I denied it in fact, like the traitor that I was.

“Not yet,” I sighed, looking left. On a mantel to a fake fireplace sat a framed picture of two young boys. Drawn to the shelf, I stared at the image. My left arm wrapped around a scrawny kid with longish, black bangs. His blue eyes looked scared, but a dimple dipped in his forced smile. I, however, smiled big, with large teeth and a fat lip. A red-wrapped hand hung under Abel’s chin and I remembered the exact moment: I’d won my first approved fight. I looked so young; it had been so long ago.

Abel, look at the goddamn camera. Be happy for your brother. Our father’s voice rumbled through my head.

“You have a fight this weekend?” Abel questioned, bringing me back to the present. I did, but he would have more soon, too. Our fight, and his win, had propelled him to a whole new level of attention. He was going to have to prove himself, over and over. Our fight didn’t prove anything.

“Yeah,” I replied, taking one last look at the image of us as young teenagers. I turned to face him, finished with our little family reunion.

“Got a place to train before you go home?” he asked, surprisingly concerned for my workouts.

“I’m covered,” I said. He would learn soon enough; I was all set in the Valley.

It was summer semester again, and I was planning on going home for the long weekend. My class schedule was Mondays through Thursdays. As a struggling college student, who was on my way to medical school, I used the extended weekends to work. The semester abroad put me a semester behind, but I didn’t worry about it. I’d be in school for years at this point, even longer if I didn’t earn money on a steady basis.

Work at The Vineyard Inn was flexible. I could make my own hours, and any help I offered my grandparents they appreciated. I owed them everything, and it was more than obligation that made me return to work for them. I loved them like parents as I had lost my own. Killed outside a low-end casino in Vegas, my parents were left to die in an alley. My mother apparently shielded my father as she was shot first. If only someone had found them sooner. I’m told they were holding hands when they were discovered. The romantic image of them inspired me to become a doctor. I wanted to save lives.

I was leaving the science building, heading for the parking lot when I saw him. His arms folded to shield him, his ankles crossed in a casual display, Cain’s head bent forward as he was obviously waiting for me. The giveaway, it was
my car
that he was propped against. As I drew closer, he looked up and bit his lip. A slight smile was attempting to grow on that seductive mouth, but he was holding it back.

“Hey,” I said weakly, sounding like a teenager.

“Hey.”

We remained silent, him staring at me, which made me uncomfortable. His eyes could hypnotize with one look, and I felt drawn to him when I didn’t want to be. I stepped closer without thinking, the attraction to him too strong, and he straightened to his full height. He filled my space and I was only breathing in Cain.

Must. Look. Away
, I encouraged myself internally. It was having no effect.

“See ya, Sofie,” someone called from a car or two away, and it broke the spell. I blinked and stepped back, realizing suddenly that my chest was rising and falling with each labored breath. I waved casually to my right, not even certain that’s where the voice came from.

“What can I do for you, Cain?” I asked formally, my voice coming out in a squeak. His eyes dilated, and when I thought they couldn’t get any darker, they did. A flirtatious gleam sparked, and the side of his mouth crooked up. He bit his lip again as if he had a retort, but didn’t wish to share. It was a secret, like I was.

“Have dinner with me?” he asked, and I rewound into the past. He’d asked me to dinner after we spent the day together. Visions of us dancing, on the small water’s edge by the river, flashed before my eyes. I blinked at the memory. His lips twisted higher.

“I…I can’t.” It had been my initial response then; it was still my response now. I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. “I have to work.”

“Call in sick.” He smiled slowly, reaching full wattage. We were sharing the same memory. Our words were practically verbatim from that original conversation. He suddenly looked like the man I remembered. His dark eyes were playful, teasing me, and I smiled slowly in awkward remembrance. He’d offered to come to the wine bar and eat with me there. The cook made us a romantic dinner for two and we shared it in the relatively empty bar. We were celebrating our wedding. The euphoria of a pleasant memory crashed at that thought.
Our wedding
. We were married, but we shouldn’t be. I needed to get my signature on those divorce papers.

As if reading my mind, his body shifted, and he leaned back on the trunk of my car. His hands clutched at the sides.

“I’ll bring the papers. You can sign them then.”

“Fine.” I sounded petulant and I nodded to agree. “Where should I meet you?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“There’s no need for that. I can find my way around town.”

“I’m certain you can but I’d still like to pick you up.” There was honesty in what he said, but I still didn’t trust him. Nonetheless, I relented.

“Fine,” I replied again, still sounding like an annoyed teenager.

I cursed myself for giving into his request. I couldn’t understand why I didn’t have the willpower to say no to him, but I didn’t. I wasn’t certain what to wear or where we were going. He told me anything would be fine and he’d pick me up at seven. Pacing my apartment, I actually jumped when the bell rang, despite anticipating its sound. Then I laughed with a nervous giggle. This wasn’t a date I scolded myself. This was a divorce. Clenching my fists, I pumped them at my sides. It was the best pep talk I could give myself.

One final inspection in the full-length mirror inside my bathroom door revealed I wore a plain red t-shirt and a floral skirt. The outfit was reminiscent of when we met. My red glasses color-coordinated with the outfit. My hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and I slipped on my flip-flops instead of heels. Heels seemed too dressy, screamed eager. I wanted to appear casual, comfortable.
How often did one go on a date to sign divorce papers?
I told myself. I reminded myself, again, that it wasn’t a date.