Dark Redemption Read online

  "This whole thing was just some sort of a game."

  "What do you mean? What are you talking about?" Allison asks.

  "Maybe he was with that woman all along. Maybe she's part of it. Maybe they were just having some fun."

  "No, that can't be true. I mean, he paid for your mom's surgery."

  "I know, but then I called him on it and he never called me again."

  "What if he just found out that she was pregnant after that?" Allison asks. "What if he wanted to call you but he couldn’t?"

  I stare at her. She’s waiting for me to say something.

  But I just shake my head. He’s a liar and he's not someone I thought he was. He's been this mystery ever since I met him and it was romantic and kind of cool at first. Not anymore.

  "Maybe he's just some rich asshole who likes to have a little fun and play these little games,” I say.

  Pulling away from Allison, I wipe the rest of my tears. My words resonate around the room and by the expression on her face, I can tell that I've made an impact. That was the first time I've ever considered that out loud or even in my own head and now it seems to bring answers to all of my questions.

  "He's just an asshole,” Allison says.

  Maybe that girl's in on it or maybe not. Maybe he got her pregnant afterward or maybe he was lying to both of us.

  In any case, yes, he did pay for my mom's treatment. And for that, I will be forever grateful.

  But as far as everything else goes, he's dead to me. I never want to see him again. Never want to speak to him again. Hell, I never want to think about him again.

  This evening, Allison convinces me to go out and get some drinks. It’s all about taking my mind off things and I’m all for it. We head to a familiar haunt, a bar on 79th Street, where she has always managed to get lucky.

  "That's why I don't go there very often," Allison says, adjusting her look in the mirror.

  I'm dressed in a similar fashion, spaghetti sleeve top, a short skirt, and high heels.

  We get there at around 10:30, just when the place is getting filled with enough people for a good selection. Everyone is crowding around the bar and Allison gets us two lemon drops. A martini is a serious drink for the middle of the day, but a lemon drop means that you're ready to party.

  We grab a little table in the corner, one of the tall standup ones where people can approach you from any direction. She scans the room for prospects and checks her phone.

  "We're out," I say, "so why are you online dating at a bar? Shouldn't you be looking for people in person?"

  "Look, you can put in their GPS, so if someone's here, you can check out their whole profile and see if they're a suitable match."

  I roll my eyes.

  "You know that this is how it's done," she says, showing me her phone, clicking through a few options that are within a block away.

  It's not that I have anything against online dating per se, I don't. It's just that I'm here to not be online.

  I'm here to take a chance, to strike up a conversation with someone and to really connect.

  I want to feel the same way I felt at The Redemption with… Dante.

  Stop it, I say to myself. Forget about him. He’s a loser and a liar. You don’t need a replacement. You’re here to put him out of your mind completely.

  "Put your phone down," I say. "I don't want to look like we're occupied."

  The tone of my voice tells her that I'm serious. I pout my lips and I push my breasts together as I lean over the table, my eyes laser focused on the guy with the crew haircut on the other side of the bar.

  He’s nursing a beer and as soon as our eyes meet, he points me out to his friend. On the walk over, our eyes don't break contact the whole time.

  “Hi,” he says, extending his hand. "I'm Logan."

  Dressed in a linen suit, he looks like he has just walked in from arguing a case in a courtroom in Louisiana.

  "Hi, I'm Jacqueline," I say, extending my hand. "It's nice to meet you."

  7

  Jacqueline

  Allison doesn't stay for long. She spots a hot guy across the room and tells me that she'll be back.

  Logan takes her seat and focuses his eyes on mine. His are hazel green, a nice match to his tan skin.

  As we talk, I find out that he's visiting from North Carolina. He is indeed a lawyer, and he is here for a deposition.

  "Don't you need to have a license to practice law here?” I ask.

  "Yeah, I do. I used to live in Connecticut, but my parents moved down to North Carolina and my mom is sick, so I'm visiting her."

  "Oh.” I nod.

  Suddenly the reality of what he's going through hits me a little too hard. I want to ask about his mom, but this isn't what tonight is supposed to be about.

  "I'd rather not talk about my real life, if you don't mind," Logan says, giving me a wink. "I'm here to let loose, have a little fun, nothing serious. I know that makes me sound kind of like a dick, but that's all I can handle right now."

  I nod again, and then reach over and kiss him. Clearly taking him by surprise, it takes him a moment to kiss me back.

  His lips feel soft, nice on mine, and I like the way he tilts me back, supporting the small of my back.

  His fingers sweep up my neck, just along my jawline, and I feel just a little bit of the shivers going down.

  When we pull away, he asks, "Do you want to get out of here?" I nod.

  He grabs my hand and we walk out.

  "My hotel is right around the corner," he says, "if you're interested in something like that, but no pressure."

  I smile again.

  Yes, I am interested, I say quietly to myself.

  I text Allison as soon as I know the name of the hotel. When I see the number of his room, I text again.

  I've been single long enough to know that dangerous things happen and a girl has to protect herself if she wants to have a little fun. But Logan is a gentleman.

  He has a suite overlooking a small park and he walks straight to the bar to pour me a drink.

  "All I have here are some M&M's, pretzels, and crackers if you're hungry," he says, pulling them out of the bar.

  I walk over and seductively bite my lower lip. Reaching up, I kiss him a little on the lips and just as he is about to kiss me back, I grab the M&M's out of his hand.

  Laughing, he tackles me onto the bed. "You're not getting away that easily."

  Once I'm under him, he cradles my head and kisses me, first on my cheeks, then on my lips, then down my neck.

  Still holding the pack of M&M's in my hand, he makes it all the way down to my breasts and pulls my top down just a little bit. I let go of the candy and grab onto the sheets instead.

  He kisses me again and again, running his hands up my dress.

  Reaching for my panties, he tugs a little, toying with me and I laugh.

  The phone rings, not his cell, but rather the digital one on the end table.

  "Are you going to answer that?" I ask.

  "No. It's just room service or whatever. I'll call them later."

  The call gets forwarded to the answering machine.

  “Mr. Robier, your wife is trying to reach you. Please give her a call as soon as you can."

  He freezes and so do I.

  “Your wife?” I gasp, pushing him off me.

  He shakes his head.

  "Your wife? You have a wife?” I repeat that word over and over again, hating the way it sounds in my mouth.

  "I don't know what she's talking about," Logan says, getting flustered.

  He reaches for me again, but I push him away.

  "I can't believe that you're married,” I say, standing up and adjusting my clothes.

  Again, he says nothing.

  "Was this just one big lie?” I ask, grabbing my purse and my phone.

  "Okay, so I'm married," Logan says, buttoning his shirt. "So what? You telling me you never fucked a married guy before?"

  I shake my head.


  "Please, don't act like I've done anything wrong."

  I start to walk away to get to the front door when I stop cold in my steps.

  "Of course you've done something wrong," I say, taking a few steps back and pointing my finger in his face. "You're fucking married and you're picking up someone at a bar."

  "I told you I didn’t want anything serious. It's not like I lied to you."

  "You're lying to your wife," I say, narrowing my eyes. "And yeah, you lied to me. You said you didn't want anything serious, but you didn't tell me a thing about being married."

  "Like it will matter. Come on. I know that you're just one of those sluts that wants to get laid. There's nothing wrong with that."

  "What did you call me?" The expression on his face changes, but then he glares at me and puts his chin up in the air proudly.

  "Yeah, I said what I said," he says.

  Before I know it, I raise my hand up in the air, make a fist, and punch him as hard as I can.

  "You bitch, you bitch!” he yells after me, cradling his bloody nose.

  I run out of his hotel room before this gets any worse.

  8

  Jacqueline

  I run out of the hotel room with my hand on fire. With all the blood gushing out of his nose, it's probably likely that I have broken it. I cross the street running without waiting for the green light and then go around the corner to make sure that he can't follow me.

  Suddenly, I start to laugh. I laugh wildly and it comes from somewhere in the pit of my stomach, a deep bellowing laugh.

  "Jacqueline?" Allison asks, running up to me. "I just got your message. Are you okay? What happened?"

  She looks at my throbbing hand as I elevate it to try to prevent the blood from pooling. There’s blood everywhere even on the hem of my skirt.

  I tell her everything.

  "Oh my God, what an asshole!”

  "Yeah, I was so pissed. I mean, he has a fucking wife and he thinks that it's okay. Fuck him. And then he called me a slut and I.. I just lost it."

  "So you just punched him? How did you do it?" Allison wants to know every single detail.

  She starts to laugh.

  "We have to get out of here," I say. "The hotel is right there. I don't want him coming after me."

  "Yeah, of course."

  She grabs me and we get the next available cab.

  Back in her apartment, she hands me a bag of frozen peas and makes me elevate my hand, placing them on top.

  "No, they're too cold and too heavy."

  "Oh, stop being such a whiner. I mean, you got in a fist fight, you're going to have to pay the price.”

  I start to laugh again.

  She grabs a quarter pint of ice cream, chocolate chip, out of the freezer.

  "I think you deserve this."

  I'm tempted to say no. I'm still trying to be good with my food intake, but she's right. I do deserve this.

  That evening, we drink two bottles of wine and eat all of her ice cream and order pizza. We talk late into the night and it reminds me so much of our time as roommates back at Dartmouth.

  Men would come and go, but it was this friendship that kept us going.

  "We haven't had fun like this in a long time," Allison says, clearing up the dishes and putting them in the sink.

  "I'd offer to wash them," I say, "but you know, I'm injured."

  "Yeah, right."

  She rolls her eyes.

  I stand next to the counter finishing my wine and she tells me how much she has missed us hanging out like this.

  "I've missed it a lot, too," I say. "It's been so long since ..."

  "Why do we get involved with guys in the first place?" she asks. "I mean, they do nothing but ruin things."

  "I know," I agree.

  "Hey, I was thinking about something," she says, taking the last plate, washing it and rubbing a sponge over it a few times. "What if you were to move in with me?"

  "What do you mean here?"

  "Yeah."

  "No, I don't think I can do that," I say a little bit too quickly.

  "Look, I know that before you had a whole thing with your roommate about her boyfriend, but I'm not getting a boyfriend anytime soon. I'm not looking for a boyfriend and neither are you.”

  I tilt my head.

  “Two married men in a row. That’s not a good streak you're on."

  I narrow my eyes and then smile. I know that she's just joking.

  "Look, your mom is better, right? You're in the city all the time to go to school, do your thesis. Why not just move in here? Help me pay the rent. We can go out, we can hang out, we can have all these nights together just like we used to."

  The offer is definitely very inviting. I can't help but want to say yes, but still I hesitate.

  "I don't want to pressure you. I can tell that you're uncomfortable. Just think about it. No harm done either way."

  I nod. "Okay, I'll think about it, I promise."

  As soon as I get home the following morning, after traveling on the train, I realize that it's about time that I move back to the city. I'll be done with the semester and hopefully have my degree by August and I'll be starting to look for work.

  Most of the jobs are in Midtown, which are very close to where Allison lives. Who knows, maybe they'll even be an opening at her work.

  And at that point, commuting every morning and evening back and forth to New Jersey is going to be a pain.

  Besides, she is right. Mom is feeling better and when I tell her that I’m thinking about moving, she looks relieved that I’m finally getting out of the house.

  Two weeks later, I move in with Allison.

  9

  Dante

  I should have run after her. I called her name, but she didn't stop, but I should have chased her down and told her the truth.

  I saw the expression in her eyes when she thought that Marguerite was with me, when she thought that that was our child she was carrying, but I couldn't make myself go.

  The other part of the story is that I never called Jacqueline back.

  After Chicago, I decided that it would be better to have a clean break. I was never supposed to get close to her in the first place, and after that fight, it was my chance to make everything right.

  I got back from Chicago and I played with my phone. I checked it constantly. I listened to her messages.

  I read her texts, but I didn't call.

  After a while, Jacqueline stopped trying to reach out. After a while, I decided that I paid my dues. I paid for her mother's treatment, and that was enough. There was no reason for me to complicate matters even more.

  I tried to start and make a new break.

  I buried myself in work, taking on more clients, flying more. I figured that if I stayed busy enough, then I could push her out of my mind. And it worked somewhat temporarily, until it didn't, until Jacqueline was all I could think about and all I could dream about and she haunted me everywhere I went.

  And then I took Marguerite to a doctor's appointment in the city to see a specialist because she was having some complications.

  Lincoln was busy; he had a big client to dine and wine and to invest in his hedge fund. He was working insane hours now and every time that he didn't come home until it was too late, Marguerite got more and more upset.

  After the appointment, we went out to take a stroll in the park. She was feeling good for once, not nauseous and overwhelmed, and I wanted to buy her some ice cream and take a walk and help her forget about everything that she thought was wrong with her marriage.

  We walked all the way over to the meadow, following a path toward the boulder next to a tunnel. I stopped for a second, turned away, and that was when Jacqueline came out of nowhere. We were somewhat hidden behind the corner and Jacqueline was running fast when she collided into Marguerite. She tripped her and Marguerite fell down to the ground.

  A flash of anger rushed through me before I knew the identity of the runner. But then I saw that it was
Jacqueline and everything in my world stopped.

  I was in shock, but before I could ask her what she' was doing there, before I could say a word, she apologized and ran off.

  That was it.

  "Aren't you going to call her?" Marguerite asks when we're back in her apartment, serving me tea. I had offered for us to go out, grab some dinner, but she said that she needed to stay in and get off her feet.

  She changed into loose fitting pajama bottoms, an oversized T-shirt, and a pair of house slippers.

  “Sorry that I look like this, but I just can't handle wearing regular clothes anymore. Definitely not a bra or anything that’s confining,” she adds. “And sorry if that’s too much information, but I’m pregnant and I don’t give a shit.”

  "Yes, of course, no problem.” I shrug.

  Lincoln and Marguerite live in a spacious two bedroom apartment. Well, spacious by New York standards anyway. It's decorated nicely, mostly from West Elm. It was Lincoln who had taken the initiative to do that when they first moved in here because Marguerite was working such long hours at the hospital.

  "Why didn't you say anything about her to me?" Marguerite asks, sitting back against the couch, letting the cushions absorb her from all around.

  I take a seat in the chair next to her, taking a sip of my tea. It’s steaming hot. Given the fact that she is overheating twenty-three hours a day, Marguerite drinks only iced tea.

  "I don't know what happened. I just ... I wasn't expecting to see her there."

  "I know, but still once you did ..."

  "It wasn't the right time."

  "You know, you keep saying that this isn't the right girl for you, this isn't the right time, but why do you keep thinking about her? Why does she keep… consuming you?"

  I shrug. I don't know the answer to that, just like I don't know the answer to a lot of things.

  I try to change the topic, but Marguerite doesn't want to talk about herself. I know that Lincoln is being particularly difficult, working all of these hours, and I offer my support in however way I can.