“I love you, Ali,” I whisper, hoping that she at least feels me here. “I’m coming for you soon, Sweetheart. I promise.”
With one last look, I pull away from the window and creep along the back of the house as I check my watch. I should have another ten minutes with her before they do their rounds. Maybe I could just sneak in and spend a couple minutes with her. It would go a long way to calming me down right now. When I reach the French doors that lead to her kitchen, I peek in and mutter a curse. The object of my rage is asleep on one of the dining room chairs that he moved right next to her door. Keeping a close eye on her, no doubt. His stupid mutt is sleeping on the floor next to him, and I know that I’ll never make it to her.
Fuck!
I want her back in my arms. The need is clawing at me, stripping pieces of me away with each day that he holds her hostage. The only thing that will calm this beast that I’m turning into is my angel. I have to speed up the process, get her out sooner, because if I wait too long, we both may be lost. Sighing, I glance over at her closed bedroom door and decide that this weekend will have to do. As much as I’d love to torture Storm some more, it’s not worth giving up my Ali.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Alison
I sigh, tapping my finger on the table as I stare at the blank Word document on my screen, and my frustration builds.
“Just write something,” I whisper to myself, glancing down at the letter I decided to answer this time. With another heavy sigh, I grab it and read through it again.
Dear Ali,
My son has been acting out lately – getting into trouble with the police and giving his father and I attitude. It’s nothing too serious with the police but he keeps pulling these little stunts to gain our attention, and we’re at our wits’ end. His latest exploit is that he told us he’s gay. Now, I am a good Christian woman, and this is not who I raised my son to be. I’m worried with how far he’ll take this to hurt us and that his soul will be damned to hell. We’ve talked about kicking him out of the house until he gets his act together, and unless you can give us another idea, I’m afraid that it’s what we’ll have to do. Please help us.
Sincerely,
Devout and Disgusted
I read through it a second time, shaking my head as I set it down on the table. This has got to be a joke, right? I’ve got several responses to this lady but I’m not sure that any of them are appropriate for an advice column. Grabbing my phone, I fire off a text to Mercedes.
Me:
Do I have any restrictions on this column?
Mercedes:
Nope. Write whatever your heart desires.
Laughing, I reply to her, already formulating my response in my head.
Me:
You may regret this.
Mercedes:
Ooh, now I’m intrigued. Can’t wait to read it.
Setting my phone back down, I crack my knuckles and smile as I start typing.
Dear Devout and Disgusted,
I’m quite disgusted, too, but it’s not your son who is making my stomach roll right now. It’s you. You say your son has been acting out recently, and yet, you never stopped to consider that his acting out was covering very real emotions, like fear. Fear that you wouldn’t accept who he is, fear that you would do something so drastic like kick him out of the only home he’s ever known. You claim to be a good Christian woman but you’re filled with so much hate for your own son, your flesh and blood. You want some advice? Because I do have a suggestion to turn your life around. There’s a children’s hospital downtown, maybe you should take a little trip over there and walk the halls, looking at all the children there fighting for their lives. Look at the parents with tears in their eyes as they beg God to save their baby, because I promise you, they wouldn’t care if their son or daughter were gay as long as they were alive. Then, go home, look at your beautiful, brave son who took a chance and revealed who he really is to you and apologize for the way you’ve been acting. Life is short and if you’re not careful, you’re going to miss out on being a part of your son’s.
Sincerely,
Alison
I read it over, feeling satisfied but concerned that I may have gone too far. I snap a picture and send it to Mercedes, and she replies back almost immediately.
Mercedes:
Savage. I love it.
Grinning, I grab a few more letters and start reading through them, not feeling inspired to respond to any of them. Opening a new Word document, I try to come up with a single response to any of the letters I’ve read today but I’ve got nothing.
The front door opens as I set my phone down, and I peek over my shoulder, watching Chance as he walks down the hallway and opens my fridge like he owns the place. Chance is quite a bit shorter than Logan but he is just as built, and his genuine green eyes and friendly smile fascinate me. You wouldn’t know it by just looking at him but I get the distinct feeling that he’s got a pile of pain that he keeps buried.
“You done staring at me?” he asks, shutting the fridge door and popping the top off the beer. He turns and watches me as he takes a sip.
“Sorry. I was just having trouble writing today so you were a welcome distraction.”
He walks over to me and pulls out the chair next to me, the legs scraping against the tile floor, before he sits down and stretches his legs out in front of him. “Why can’t you write?”
“Stress, probably,” I say with a sardonic laugh. He nods, looking at me thoughtfully for a second before taking another sip of his beer.
“Maybe you should go make up with your man.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn back to my computer and stare at the Word document like somehow the words will magically jump from my head onto the screen. It’s been two days but I’m still so pissed at Logan. It’s not fair, and I know that, but this whole situation is hard, and it’s even harder when he just makes decisions and expects me to go along with them. It’s my life and so much of it has been taken away from me. I should get some say.
“Don’t be so hard on him, Ali,” Chance says, and I turn back to him.
“Why not?”
He sighs, looking down at his beer bottle before meeting my eyes again. “If you know about his past, then you know how hard this is for him. He’s going through hell, and he’s handling it as best as he can.”
I open my mouth to respond but the front door opens again, cutting me off. Peeking over my shoulder, I smile as Izzy and Carly walk down the hallway toward me.
“I’ll let you all talk but just think about what I said,” Chance says, standing from the chair and nodding at the girls as he pushes it in and passes them. Carly’s gaze lingers on him as he stomps off down the hallway, and when she finally looks back to me, my brow arches.
“Hey, Car, see somethin’ you like?” I ask, a smile stretching across my face, and she shakes her head.