Page 35 of Love Set Free

I want to smile at his dismay. I want to, I do. But nerves have my stomach in knots and my insides feeling as though they’re climbing up into my throat to choke me. By the time I do manageto get one side of my uncooperative mouth to tip up in a feeble almost-smile, Phoenix is already turning back around.

My smile almost becomes the real deal when Phoenix lets out a loud groan and slumps in his chair after his father comments, “Yes, yes, dear. As soon as we get Phoenix home you can smother him with all the hugs and cuddles. As much as your loving heart could want.” However, all traces of any sort of amusement are nowhere to be found in me, as Mr. Wilding continues, “But first, before we can get to that, there’s still the matter of meeting with the local police.”

“Yes. When you spoke with my assistant on the phone, I believe we provided you with the names of a few qualified and trustworthy members of the police that you could contact,” the Consul says, shifting forward in her chair as though she is ready to leap up and get the Wildings those names if her assistant neglected to successfully pass those on to them.

For as much as everyone at the Consul is so clearly bending over backward for them, Mr. Wilding sounds gracious, rather than entitled, as he responds, “Yes, they did. And I was able to set up an appointment for our son, um, and Mr. Delacroix, to meet with a couple of detectives this afternoon.”

The Consul’s eyes quickly blink multiple times when Mr. Wilding adds, “Your assistant also offered the use of several of your conference rooms for us to use for that meeting.” It’s plain to me that she must not have been aware of that particular arrangement. For the first time today, her fawning expression becomes a bit strained as she replies, “Of course. Why waste your, er, your family’s time, making you travel over to the police headquarters only for you to have to make your way back over here afterward? Letting you use a few of our rooms? It’s the least we can do.”

“I do hope it doesn’t take too long,” Mr. Wilding says. “I know this isn’t the first time we’ve all been to Rio, but it would be niceto spend a little time doing something fun while we’re here. I’d hate to think that the only memories Phoenix will have of this visit to Brazil will all be horrific ones.”

Phoenix’s mother seems very sweet. Sweeter than I’d expect someone with oodles of money to be. I don’t… It’s not really envy I feel over Phoenix having a mother as nice as he does. And Lord knows I don’t begrudge him his mother. It just sort of would have been nice to have a mother like that. My own mother was always too tired and overworked to be anything but practical. Both of my parents, really.

Meanwhile, I can’t help but recall certain moments from this morning, ones that Phoenix will hopefully be able to look back on with something other than horror. Of course, I’m not about to relate any of those details to his mother, but I can’t help but feel a measure of satisfaction that I contributed some small part in fulfilling her wish for him.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Phoenix states, “once we’re done talking to the cops, and we get our temporary replacement passports, we can shovel all our shit into our luggage and board the fuck onto our plane. I have no interest in spending any more time in this city than I have to. Er, no offense.” This last comment he aims toward the Consul. For her part, she doesn’t seem to take what he said to heart, waving her hand in the air with a casual flick. “Sightseeing can go kiss my– Um. Unless...”

Phoenix looks my way again and, this time, several other sets of eyes join his. I squirm under the weight of all that attention turned my way, even as I try to hold still so nobody can see how uncomfortable I am, or how much I wish the floor would swallow me up so that no one would be able to look at me.

“Did you want to do any sightseeing? While we’re still in Brazil?” Phoenix asks me. His brow is creased and I can see in his eyes that he really wants me to say no. His voice, though, at least attempts to sound like he’d be willing to go along withwhatever I wanted, no matter what that winds up being. “I know...I know you didn’t get a chance to see any of the, er, fun parts of Rio since you got here and... This is the first time you’ve ever been here, right?”

I have no trouble giving Phoenix what he really wants. I have zero interest in aimlessly wandering around this foreign city and looking at random stuff. And who knows where our former captors might be now. Fuck knows if I were them, I’d have fled like the whole fucking city were on fire as soon as they discovered me and Phoenix gone. And with a dead body left behind like a consolation prize in our place. But there’s no guarantee that that’s what they did. Maybe they’re out and about and looking for the pair of us, even now. The last thing I want, now that we got away from them, is to run back into them while we’re ambling about and looking at fucking statues or some shit.

“It is,” I reply, then I add, “First time I’ve ever been out of the country. But no. I don’t think I’m up to any sightseeing. I’d rather just get done what needs to be done. No need to trouble anybody all on my account. Not when it’s all over somethin’ I don’t wanna do anyways.”

“Well, there you go, Mom. No sightseeing for us,” Phoenix states. “Thanks all the same.”

“Just as well,” his dad says. “As much as we’d like them to, I doubt the interviews with the police will wrap up very quickly. If they’re at all competent, and the Consul’s assistant had indicated that they will be...” The emphasis in his voice is less a reassurance and more like a not so very subtle warning. “...then they’ll want to go over and work through as many details of this appalling kidnapping as possible.”

I gulp against a suddenly dry throat. Because that warning floating in the air that Phoenix’s dad uttered? It felt like a threat aimed at me. A threat that no secrets would be left unearthed. Found out and thoroughly examined with a fine-toothed comb.

And, fuck knows, I have secrets.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Phoenix

I’m rather blasé about how this is going to go. We all make our way in the elevator up a few flights and troop down a hallway to get to the rooms where we’re supposedly supposed to meet up with a few representatives of the local police force. At least, I am…until the detective in charge indicates that they want to interview Jackson and I separately.

I get why they want to. Policy, and not wanting to muddle our statements, and whatnot.

But that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. Something tripped inside of me when I found Jackson reduced to a fearful, trembling wreck without me. Some switch linked to a mirroring need to always keep him close. I have the sense that it would feel as though all the oxygen in the world had vanished if that switch were to get flipped back off.

But if I think I’m reluctant and dragging my feet over the thought of us being separated again… That’s nothing on the reaction that Jackson has.

He’d been trailing behind me like a silent shadow, maintaining a decent, but constant, distance between us. But when thedetective points toward one room and states, “Mr. Wilding, you’ll be in there with me. And Mr. Delacroix…you’ll be in that room further down the hall with my partner,” he’s suddenly plastered against my back.

Jackson’s fingers scrabble against my sides, then clamp onto my hips with a vise-like grip. He’s squeezing me so tightly that it would surprise me if I don’t end up with bruises. His heartbeat is jackrabbiting so fiercely, the quick vibrations traveling from where his chest is pressed tightly against my back, that it almost feels as though it’s living inside of me, right next to my own thumping heart.

The freshly-shaven smooth texture of his cheek rubs against my ear and the side of my face, and the rest of the world, all of the people in this hallway with us—my parents, the various and sundry police members, and the Consul—cease to exist to me. My entire awareness is reduced to Jackson. The trembling feel of him against me. His harsh, almost panting breaths. The mumbled, pleading words I don’t even think he realizes he’s saying.

“No, no, no. Don’t wanna… Don’t make me. Want Phoenix. Need my Phoenix. Can’t be without… Please, Phee, don’t let them. Don’t let them. Don’t wanna be without…Phoenix.”

I’ve never known what it’s like to not have stupid amounts of money. And while we never had an Uncle-Ben-to-Peter-Parker heart-to-heart talk, per se, my parents did raise me to be mindful of the kind of power that often comes with being wealthy. And to respect others. To treat them with kindness and an open heart. And for the most part, I like to think that I succeed in modeling those values they’ve instilled in me. To not wield the power that is always waiting in the wings merely because of my bank balance.

But for Jackson… All fucking bets are off. I’d already done it once, with my eager willingness to throw money at our captorsto ensure his safety and freedom. And I felt absolutely no qualms over doing it again. Or again, and again, and again, if the situation warrants it.

“No.” I don’t bother to raise my voice. Crossing my right arm across my body, I place my hand over Jackson’s on my left hip, holding him in place. Linking us together as one entity, a unit, a unified island, no matter what buffeting tides try to pull us apart. Leveling my best I-have-enough-money-to-buy-you look on the lead detective, I calmly inform him, “Jackson and I will not be separated. You’ll interview us together…or not at all.”

---