Fate's Dark Shadows: A stand-alone age gap small-town romance Read online

And whose frame fills the doorway just now? Doyle. Of course. Casting a silhouette of his large shoulders, he wears a cable knit sweater that hugs his frame so well it’s a crime against my preference to stay hydrated.

  I suck in my breath, shocked at how my insides dance a jig now that he’s here.

  The specter of him never leaves me. I examine my emotions, careful not to show what my body feels.

  I can’t see his eyes against the setting sun behind him, but I don’t need to. I can feel them on me.

  I notice how everyone in Fate has adapted to this strange behavior from this man. When someone unexpected whom you know shows up to your front door unannounced, the usual response would be, “Doyle! Hello! Come in!”

  But there’s none of that. Not from a single one of this lot.

  Everyone falls silent instead. But it’s not a strange, awkward silence like someone has walked in on a room of people talking behind his back. No, it’s stunned silence.

  Like they are shocked to see him out of context.

  From what I’ve gathered, he never leaves the house other than to eat at Ruby’s, take walks. He’s never once attended a town meeting or visited the Curiosity Spot, nor did he attend the grand opening of the World’s Largest Ball of Yarn.

  Flashing his whiteboard at Rex, I can see the words written in large letters: “I’m volunteering.”

  Everyone looks at each other. Danny, Rex, and Becky shrug. Billie and Juniper jump up to fetch a glass of wine and to pull out a chair.

  Danny passes a printed-out agenda across the table as Doyle takes a seat.

  No one quite knows how to proceed.

  Doyle scrawls some words on his erase board and holds it up. “Carry on. I’m feeling fine right now.”

  Everyone takes that as enough of a cue to begin talking and collaborating as they were before Doyle arrived, as if nothing is strange here.

  Can they not feel the dark energy that shrouds this room?

  I look across the table, trying to concentrate on what everyone is saying.

  But it’s hard because of Doyle. I don’t want to look at him, and distract my mind from the goal of this meeting. I try so hard.

  But our eyes are like a set of tight snaps, both of us unable to look away once the contact is made.

  Chapter Ten

  Maya

  Late that night, my head swimming with ideas and my heart happy with the thought that I might be making friends, I wake to the sense of someone in my room.

  After the volunteer meeting, Doyle and I traveled home separately. Him to the front of the house, me to the back, where I parked my bike in the shed he’d shown me yesterday.

  As I lie in bed, I feel his presence. It’s disconcerting that he made no sound, yet the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. There he is, in the chair adjacent to my bed. Watching me.

  After everything that happened, I should be watching him.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, shooting up in the bed.

  And then I remember. He’s not going to answer. Grunting in frustration, I roll over and close my eyes tightly. I suppose a part of me thought the tighter I close my eyes, the more he’d get the message to leave me alone. And, I don’t really want him to.

  He doesn’t budge.

  I lie there listening to his breathing and try to mimic it with my own.

  Any sane woman would run. To have a man watch you sleep unannounced is just crossing a line.

  But oh, do I enjoy this man’s way of crossing the line! I feel like one of those heroines in the vampire movies, innocently sleeping away while her predator lurks in the shadows. It would feel silly to say this out loud, and yet, he knows. He fits into my fantasy.

  Far from sleep, I picture Doyle lunging at the bed, pinning me down, filling my sex with everything I crave.

  But who’s to say he won’t discard me as quickly as he’s ruined me?

  Would he do that? My heart says no. But what does my heart know of men other than a predator?

  He has the kindest face I’ve ever seen. And at the same time, I saw the way it transformed into something wild and untamed and…free.

  That’s when it hits me. This man is free from the constraints of society and does what he wants. Not having to make small talk? What a damn dream!

  The thought of doing whatever I wish when I wish it feels like forbidden fruit. The cross that hangs at my neck reminds me to be careful not to take any fruit from a snake. Nor give any away. But then again, I’m not a good girl like my sister. The stupid lanyard that hangs around his neck sets him free. I should write that down.

  I finally toss back to my opposite side to face him, eyes wide open.

  I’m not expecting him to hand me a phone.

  Curious, I take it. It’s already been set up for me, and I have my first text. From him.

  I arch an eyebrow at how ludicrous it is that he’s texting me from the same room. But I read it.

  Sorry to wake you.

  I reply, “Are you, though?”

  The constant irritation in my head seems to feel better when I’m in the room with you. I don’t know why.

  I remember what Ruby had told me about the uncle and how he treated Doyle and everyone else. No wonder he still hears the voices in his head.

  “I’m sorry you have such a hard time, Doyle.”

  He brushes this off. Since we’re both awake. Tell me about yourself.

  Well, if this is how he wants to get to know me, I guess I’m writing it out.

  “When I was 14 years old, my dad ran off with his masseuse. My mom started dating online and right away met and remarried a complete weirdo. I don’t blame her. She was scared of being alone to raise a young teenager. My stepfather is a special kind of perv. He never touched me forcibly or said anything that crossed a line, but he walks right up to the line and stares at me from the other side. Hugged me in the wrong way and claimed it was an accident. That kind of thing. It’s difficult to communicate that type of creepiness to my mother. On the surface, it appears that I’m taking things the wrong way. But when no one is watching, he looks at me like we have a secret. I hate it. And I’ve caught him lurking. While I’m asleep, I’ll see him in the hallway. When I started shutting my bedroom door, it stopped, but then I would wake up, and the door would be open. When I would say something, he’d say he was just checking on me. There’s no crazy obvious red flags but just a feeling. My intuition told me to run, and so I ran. Well, biked. Packed my backpack full of everything I needed to get by for a few days and left. The trip took me all night. I got lost trying to cross the river because the bridge was closed for repairs, and my phone fell out of my bag at some point. So I had no navigation, and I couldn’t find it anywhere after doubling back. By the time I found another bridge twenty miles away, my bike chain was broken. I walked all the way to Fate, and the first thing I saw was a help wanted sign at Ruby’s. She hired me on the spot. Thank goodness I was able to clean up at a gas station bathroom before she got a look at my sweaty, dirty ass. Rex fixed my bike without even me asking him to during my first shift.”

  Quickly, he taps out more words, and when they show up on my phone, I’m shaken.

  We need to talk about your stepdad. First, I’m sorry that happened to you. Second, you need to know that Doug is most definitely a sexual predator. If I in any way remind you of him, I’m sorry. If you want to me leave you alone, I will. I realize that having an older man make advances at you might be confusing for you, and you need to know I don’t intend to take advantage of that. At all.

  I reach out and grab his hand. “My god, Doyle. No! There’s no comparison. I’m not confused! If you were even remotely comparable, I would still be sleeping on a bench right now.”

  Doyle’s face tells me he’s hesitant to say what he wants to say next. You need to let your mother know you’re okay. The phone isn’t just for me to be able to talk to you.

  “I will. I’ll make an effort to get through to her. But I know she’s going to try to convince me to move back, even if she comes to her senses and leaves that guy. Everyone is so nice here; I was thinking about staying.”

  I study Doyle’s face. He taps a reply and hits send. “Was.” And I ruined that for you.

  What I reply back is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to admit. Not since I revealed to my thirteen-year-old friends that I hoped one day a vampire would bite me have I ever described my deep, dark needs to another human. So, here we go, I guess.

  “No. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m confused by you. I liked what you did. Or my body liked it. I don’t know. I’m confused. I want things that I don’t understand. I know about sex, but there are dark, deviant things I’ve never said to anyone. I’m a freak, and I need to figure these things out before I get hurt. Like, physically hurt. That’s why I don’t know how to act around you. I don’t know if you like me. You say you like being around me but then push me away. And… I’m a virgin, so there’s that.”

  He takes a while to tap out what he has to say next. When I read it, my heart breaks into a hundred pieces.

  My uncle raised me after my parents died in a small engine aircraft crash. I grew up in this house, and he had raised me to take over the family business. The textile mills all over the Southeast were going out of business. Still, ours was in business for generations, and we had enough wealth to keep it going for a while until the economy recovered. I didn’t appreciate the company; I was only interested in money. I had no interest in staying here, so I left Fate, went to college, and went to work on Wall Street. My only goal was to use my money to make more money. Which I did. When my uncle got sick, I returned to Fate to care for him. He refused nursing home treatment, so I did what I could to help him. But he was a terrible patient. I soon found out that it wasn’t that he could no
t be served at nursing homes, but the nursing homes already knew about his contrary manner.

  He did nothing but berate me and belittle me for five years. Finally, I gave in, and I tried. I tried to run the mill, but I failed. There was a terrible accident. A worker was killed, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I had warned him about the long hours and the obsolete industrial machines. I dealt with the lawsuit and encouraged him to settle, which he finally agreed to. But by that time, I was reliving witnessing that accident over and over again. I would hear the screams in my sleep every night. And then, every time I tried to set foot in the mill. So, I quit. I couldn’t do it anymore. My uncle got to the breaking point and closed the factory in his will. All those people lost their jobs and left. What was left of Fate finally unraveled. Another five hundred workers left town, and so did the businesses that served those workers. It’s my fault the town is in the state it is. The screaming, the entire scene, rarely leaves my head. That’s why I took a vow of silence. It helps. It’s like a penance. It’s a sort of half-life that I deserve.

  “But it wasn’t your fault. None of that was your fault,” I say.

  Doyle lets go of my hand and presses his fingers into the bridge of his nose.

  He refuses to release the blame and the guilt yet. Time to change the subject. I ask, “Why didn’t you go back to New York?”

  Because I’m not well. I tried for about a day, and I had a meltdown from all the noise on the street. So I came back here. And even Fate overwhelms me sometimes. But I can’t be a hermit, so that’s why I ask people to tolerate my vow of silence.

  As I watch him type, I notice things about him in the glow of the phone screen. His soft gray pajama pants and no shirt give him the look of a friendly, regular guy. Someone’s dad. He’s got salt and pepper in the waves of his hair, and his laugh lines indicate at one time, he did know how to smile.

  “They do more than tolerate you. People here genuinely like you.”

  He shrugs at this. I try to keep to myself, so I’m not too much of a bother.

  “I don’t think you should. You should go out more. People seem to be weirdly proud of you. You’re part of the local flavor.”

  This time, he doesn’t type anything back. Instead, he leans over and turns on the lamp.

  I rise up to lean on my elbow, squinting at the light.

  We stare at each other. The silence is strangely comfortable. There’s no expectation to keep the conversation going or to fill the gaps with patter. I like this.

  The voices. The screams, the noise, it’s all quiet when I’m close to you.

  I drop the phone. I sit all the way up, take his hand in mine again. And kiss the center of his palm.

  He lets out a heavy sigh, like a breath he’s been holding in for ages. Then he cups my face with that same hand.

  My first romantic kiss is not anything that I thought it would be.

  It does not satisfy.

  Doyle’s tender kiss rips away any of the bars holding back the longings and propels me out of my cage. The sheer skill of his lips sets fire to my insides. I’m quivering.

  But because I don’t know what I’m doing, I kiss back in the exact same manner. Gently, chastely, while the bonfire inside roars.

  I ache to dig my fingernails into his chest. I want him to throw me about and ravage me.

  Please, I say telepathically, wishing that were real.

  His tongue laps at the seam in my lips, and I open to a whole new experience. It’s wet, warm, wonderful, and sweet. I can’t control the audible sigh that escapes me.

  Doyle inhales sharply at my noises and grips my face.

  Yes. This is happening.

  He deepens the kiss, our tongues and lips dancing and tasting.

  My hands go to his chest, and I enjoy about five delicious seconds of reveling in the smooth, hard surface beneath my palms. I feel his heart racing. He’s going to take me now. I feel that familiar wetness between my thighs, and I know this is happening tonight. This is what men need, right? They need us wet, especially for the first time.

  But suddenly, he grips my hands and pulls me away from the kiss.

  His stern look can’t hide the need in his eyes. He’s also issuing a warning.

  My heart shatters as he stands and abruptly leaves the room, leaving me burning.

  Chapter Eleven

  Doyle

  The next day would be torture if it weren’t for the First Annual Fate Fall Fiber Festival planning committee.

  Rex, Danny, and I spend the whole next day building a performance stage on the square and erecting tents for the craft bazaar and the live knitting events.

  I feel as if my involvement will make everyone awkward, but it doesn’t. It’s almost shocking how much people can accomplish when they aren’t forced to talk to each other.

  At the end of the day, Danny gestures at the stage and asks, “You gonna play the cello for us on Saturday?”

  How did they know I played the cello?

  This question shows on my face because Rex replies, “We hear you every night. You leave your windows open. Everyone loves your playing.”

  I’m flabbergasted.

  I look from Rex to Danny and to the others who are packing it in for the day. Izzy, Juniper, Ruby, Billie Jane, and Maya—they banded together to ambush me with this idea.

  Juniper makes a chef’s kiss gesture while Izzy and Billie Jane nod their heads enthusiastically. Ruby picks up on Maya’s look and can’t keep her eyes off the two of us. It’s like she already knows when there’s nothing to tell.

  I do enjoy playing. And they don’t seem to be making a joke out of me. Maybe it will be good for me.

  I look back at Danny, who is still waiting for an answer.

  I give a quick nod, and I’m gone.

  All the way home, my head roars with deafening, terrorizing screams. My anxiety is spiking at the thought of appearing in front of a crowd of people again.

  I used to give presentations, lead workshops, teach hundreds of people how to build wealth. As a teenager, I used to play the cello in front of thousands.

  But now? I’m a mess. How could I say yes to this?

  Chapter Twelve

  Maya

  My heart hammers against my chest as I make the call.

  “Hi, Mom. It’s me.”

  “Maya! Where are you!?”

  I breathe and try not to match her level of excitement. “I just want to let you know I’m fine. I’m staying with a…friend.”

  “Where?!”

  It stings to say this, but I have to say it. “Mom, I love you, but if you’re still with Doug, I can’t tell you where I am.”

  There’s a pause. And then, she sighs. “I’m staying with my sister.”

  I was not expecting that. “What happened?”

  “He…changed when you left. Became very angry. And I thought about the things you said. The red flags started to add up, and … oh my god, I’m just so happy you’re safe.”

  I clutch my nightgown. “Are you leaving him? Are you safe?”

  “I’m safe, honey. He said he would go to counseling. But I’m not convinced. I told him we can’t fix this unless he gets professional help. He didn’t like that, so I’m here. I’m not sure what the next step is.”

  Her mind seems stuck somewhere on the journey before making a final decision. What she needs to do is leave him. But she needs to make that decision on her own.

  And she has some work to do on herself before we can have a meaningful mother-daughter relationship.

  We end the call with promises to keep each other in the loop. I promise to let her know where I am as soon as I’m comfortable doing so. But neither of us makes the kind of promise the other really needs to hear.

  I hang up the phone feeling sad but hopeful that there is a thread of something to salvage.

  After staring at the ceiling for several minutes, I receive a text.

  May I sit by you again while you sleep?

  This conversation back and forth from down the hall is ridiculous. As I step out of the shower, I shake my head at the phone screen.

  Yes, but why don’t I come to your room instead?

  He replies Because you’re not ready. I won’t be able to control myself.