Page 10 of Sparrow

“You know what, Grayson...It would be my pleasure.”

Part of me wants her to fight for us. Part of me wants her to realize what the hell she’s doing and apologize for hurting me, for hurting our daughter, but the other part of me wants her the fuck away from us. I don’t need her. Cadence doesn’t need her.

I watch silently as she turns to yank the keys from the table and throws her purse over her shoulder then leaves, slamming the door behind her.

The house falls eerily quiet. I stand in the entryway and just look around. It’s an old Victorian era home, in the historic district of downtown Savannah. We are a stone’s throw away from everything this small city has to offer.

Two years ago, when Laura and I decided we wanted to live together, she told me she knew just the place.

I wasn’t thrilled at first, given the price point and overall size. It’s way too big for only two people, but the smile on her face was enough for me to agree to anything.

She batted those pretty eyes, rubbed up against me like a cat, and we signed the deed.

I walk from the entryway, up the stairs and down the hall, peeking into Cadence’s room. She’s fast asleep, no worse for wear, and peaceful. She’s young enough she won’t remember any of this.

The neglect from her mother, the fighting, the tension...it will be something she’s never burdened with, because I know, standing here and now; we will never see Laura again. She is gone. Forever.

Pulling her door closed, I saunter down the hall and into our master bathroom. All of Laura’s things cover the counters: her cosmetics, her hair tools, her skin care. For now, I choose to overlook it. I’ll pack these things up tomorrow when I’ve had time to cool down, because currently, I want to toss them all into the fireplace and ignite it.

I reach into the shower, turn the knobs to let the water heat, then reach over my head and pull my Kane Security T-shirt off. I’m working my watch off when I catch a glimpse of myself in the full mirror.

I see the scars that mar the side of my right hip and spread around to the right side of my lower back. Sometimes I think I can feel what they call phantom pain. It burns and stings. It’s a reminder of what I’ve been through and what I barely overcame.

I see the tattoos I got, when I was officially sent home, after being medically discharged after the accident. Nine black sparrows in various states of flight start at my right hip and wrap around and up my right side, ending at my shoulder. Some are big, some are small, but they are packed with meaning.

They remind me I can be strong after hitting rock bottom. They remind me to pick myself up and move on. They remind me of Mills and the sparrow necklace I gave her before I left for basic training.

Who am I kidding? I got these sparrows to feel a connection to her, even though I haven’t seen or spoken to her in eleven years.

***

(Amelia)

I pull into the driveway of our second home in Beverly Hills, noting the unfamiliar car currently parked out front. I shut the engine off and gather my things from the passenger seat.

I just spent hours at a board meeting for a charity Jaxon is attempting to head up. Though it seems to be more Mrs. Jaxon Allen attending these things than him, which he knows I hate, but he can’t seem to care.

I was never a pencil skirt and meetings kind of gal. I miss cooking. I miss my flowy skirts and cutoff denim shorts, but it just isn’t worth the fight it would inevitably cause.

I’m married to an important person in his field, and he lets me know about it constantly.

Jaxon and I got married within six months of our first night together. We got swept away in the sex, the trips; the shiny object aspect of it all. I lost myself in a way, but that’s not to say I don’t care for him. I do, otherwise, I wouldn’t deal with the never-ending stampede of meetings, conference calls, nights alone, and unanswered questions.

I use the access code to let myself into the dark house. It’s large and empty, thanks to his fetish for minimalism and clean lines. It’s modern and more like a museum than a home. I hate it.

“Jaxon?” I call out, removing my stilettos and dropping them by the door, not giving a damn that he’ll give me shit for it later. He doesn’t answer, so I go searching for him.

I quietly pad up the stairs and turn toward his office. I see that the light is on and hear voices. Two men.

“Take this prescription to Walter at the pharmacy in East LA. You won’t have a problem getting it filled. As discussed, I get a ten-percent cut of the profit after you move these. If and when you need more, I’m more than happy to discuss it.” Jaxon’s voice is easy to pick out.

My eyes widen.

“You know I’ve got you, man.”

I don’t recognize the other voice.

“You better. If I even smell a hint of bullshit, I won’t go after you...but that pretty niece of yours will certainly know my name,” Jaxon threatens.

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