Page 75 of Choke

•Prepare a lunch

•Brew a coffee

As I rub my chest to the point where a new pain emerges, I’m 99% sure I’ve rubbed the spot raw. By 5:15 a.m., I walk into the station, and everyone is still asleep. I turn on the TV and ease myself onto the couch, my hand throbbing, waiting for the world to wake up. The quiet draws me back to Lex—her defiance, her stubbornness, her fire. The way she refused to break. Would my dad have liked her? Would he have told me to make sure she knows her place and to teach her how to be my woman?

He would have hated her tattoos, that’s for sure, but I think he would have appreciated her fire. He always got a kick out of people who put me in my place, and she certainly tries to do that. I grab my phone and check the feed, and she is sleeping peacefully, wrapped in a duvet with her cat tucked under her arm.

I lock the screen and make a commitment to give myself time to focus on my busy period at work—I am still too new to this particular hall to fuck around.

My hand returns to my chest, again rubbing the sore, raw spot. I tell myself to create space. To let her prove she can listen. To give myself time to breathe, to remember who the hell I was before she sank her claws into me. But I already know the truth—she’s under my skin. And by next weekend, I’ll be right back where I started.

Obey Him

Lex

A light touch on my shoulder startles me. The flight attendant stands beside me, waiting patiently as I blink out of my daze. “Tray table, please, miss.”

Shit. When did they announce the landing?

My ears pop from the pressure change, and I realize I’ve been so deep in thoughts of Adrian that I’ve lost twenty minutes.

Heat crawls up my neck—embarrassment, frustration, or maybe both. Sitting up, I smooth out my pants and hurriedly put my Kindle and headphones in my backpack. Only now do I recognize the feeling of dropping altitude as the pressure in my ears builds and pops. The plane touches down, the surrounding people clap, and I stifle the eye roll and groan—landing is the goal. It’s not like the pilot did a double-barrel roll on the way in. When the doors open, I rise and leave the plane, immediately hit by the thick Floridian air. I’ve missed the heat and sunshine. I turn off airplane mode, watching the signal bars blink to life. One message. Juliana, checking that I’ve landed.

Nothing from Adrian, of course. Not that he could text me—he doesn’t even have my number. Still, the disappointment is undeniable and absurd. Ten minutes later, I’m outside the terminal in the pickup line. I tilt my head back and relish the feeling of the warm sun on my face and the sway of palm trees that scattered the airport property. I can’t blame her for moving here; it’s so beautiful. Juliana and Aleks moved here three years ago after giving up on perpetual lockdowns and restrictions that our area maintained through the pandemic; Florida had taken a very ‘do whatever the fuck you want approach,’and they packed their family and moved, leaving everything and everyone behind.

The sound of a horn startles me again, and I whip my head around to see a pristine white minivan speeding up, narrowly missing the curb. I’m barely off the bench when Juliana rushes out of the van and wraps me in a hug, enveloping me in the scent of coconuts and sunscreen.

“Hi!” She squeals. The tone she uses when she’s excited and hasn’t yet grown tired of having guests in her life.

I’m silent as I hug her back tightly, the exhaustion of the trip and the last couple of months crashing down on me. She must realize something is off with me because she squeezes tighter, lightly rubbing my back. We must stand like this too long because a loud whistle blows nearby, and the college-looking kid screams that we can’t park there and to keep moving. Juliana throws a dismissive wave, her massive wedding ring glinting in the sun with the movement.

“Yeah, yeah. They’re awful—so impatient.” Her words are spoken loud enough that the kid would hear her.

We load my bags into the van and drive through the winding streets of Wintermere, an opulent area surrounded by large trees covered in Spanish moss. Wintermere is a silly name for a warm, sunny place that never snows. When we arrive, her house is silent, and the clock on the wall reminds me that her four boys are still at school. This silence will be a temporary treat.

Her house is stunning in that authentic Florida way, with orange clay roof tiles, white stucco, and a turquoise pool framed by palm trees. She’s redecorated since I last visited, and it looks so different.

“Jules, the place looks incredible. You really found your niche.”

“Oh, thank you! I’m so fucking bored here that all I do is renovate and spend all of our money. If I wasn’t so good in bed, he might divorce me.” She’s laughing.

The statement makes me laugh; the man is obsessed with her and for more than just being great in bed.

“Speaking of, where is your man-meat?”

She moves around the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the pantry and fridge; before long, the island countertop is covered, and I’m surprised when she finishes and hands me just a cocktail. The kitchen looks like a bomb exploded, and all I received was a drink.

“He’s on a call in his office. He’ll say hi when he’s finished…maybe…he told me he plans to make himself scarce so we can catch up.”

Taking my hand, she pulls me out onto the patio near the pool. We then drop into sun chairs in the last remaining sliver of sunshine hitting this part of the property. The afternoon sun makes her skin look gold and her hair like ice; she’s stunning. We’re two cocktails in and lost in girl talk when the front door opens, and the house fills with noise as her boys run in, fighting with each other, and Aleks emerges from his office, his loud and low voice demanding they all relax.

“I hope you enjoyed your relaxing trip because it’s officially over.” She sighs, rising from the lounger and heading toward the sliding glass door.

I follow her inside, and once again, like with Lane’s kids, the twist of guilt hits me; her boys have grown so much. Klaus is nearly as tall as Jules and looks like a young man instead of a kid. Nikau’s bleach-blond hair is long and pulled into a high ponytail. Theo looks the most like Juliana; the others are clones of Aleks, and he’s also the least changed since I last saw them. During my last visit, Milo was a shy toddler. He runs into the kitchen, grabbing a step stool to rummage through the pantry for a snack.

I would never know if any of them were happy to see me. Klaus drops his bag and heads straight to his room; Nikau heads straight for the TV, and the youngest two dash for the pool.

“I’ll just go fuck myself.” I laugh at Juliana.

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