L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

Gaby snorted to herself. She wished her only issue was a little lunacy. Her life as a crazy person would be much, much easier than that of a paladin.

Luther got back in his car and pulled out to the road.

At a discreet distance, Gaby followed.

No, she wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. But she made no promises about what she’d do.

Before long, impecunious surroundings gave way to bourgeois dwellings; tidy homes with immaculate lawns lined the streets, enhanced by compact cars in the driveways and landscaping of flowers and shrubs.

Gaby slowed to a crawl when Luther’s turn signal came on. He pulled into a driveway and his car lights went off. Seconds later, she heard the closing of his garage door. A streetlamp illuminated him as he hauled out his grocery bag and strode to the front door of a small Cape-style home.

Keys in hand, he unlocked a wooden door, went inside, and the porch light went on. The door closed.

Gaby sat back and studied his house. Showing his bachelor status, Luther had a well-kept lawn, but lacked flowers of any kind. A tall oak tree grew in the front. A stone walkway led to the porch. At the right side of the house, a tall brick chimney climbed to the top of the roof.

Colonial blue wood siding and cottage windows with black shutters added agrestic charm.

It was a beautiful home. A real home.

Longing and regret lacerated the last fragile thread of Gaby’s temper. As silent as the breeze, she opened her car door and slunk out.

She’d peer in the windows, that’s all. Nothing more. Not right now.

Avoiding the streetlamp’s glow, she dashed across the street and onto the cushiony lawn. Thanks to the settling of dew, she could smell the friggin’ grass.

Starved for any taste of normalcy, she paused to stroke the rough bark of the towering tree and let her lungs drink in the fresh air. Somewhere nearby, a cricket chirped.

Her eyes closed, her heart ached—

“Spying on me?”

Gaby struck without thought. The heel of her palm came up with killing force. Quick reflexes saved Luther from a broken nose, or worse. Instead, her palm clipped his chin, snapping his head back.

Appalled, she stifled the next automatic move. “Luther!” Well damn. She was pissed, yeah, but she didn’t want to damage him.

He didn’t fall. He worked his jaw—and the next thing Gaby knew, he had tripped her and that dew-wet grass kissed all along her back. Luther’s crushing weight compressed her lungs.

Incensed, he breathed fire against her face, while at the same time, one of his legs shoved with brute force between both of hers.

She wasn’t moving much, either by way of objection or defense, but still he caught her wrists in an iron grip and wrested both of her hands high above her head.

His mouth almost touching hers, he said, “Answer me, damn it.”

For most people, her current position would be alarming. For Gaby, it didn’t matter. Not even a little. “You startled me.”

His whole big body vibrated with rage, and then he kissed her, hard enough that it wasn’t fun.

When he lifted his head, Gaby fried him with a glare. “I wouldn’t suggest you try that again.”

“Or you’ll do what? Stalk me?”

She head-butted him, and the solid thwack even made her see stars.

For a single instant, Luther loosened his grip and slumped over her, giving her the opportunity to twist out from under him.

She shot to her feet.

He rolled to his back, a hand to his forehead.

Now standing over his supine form, Gaby said, “I could destroy you, you arrogant bastard, and that is not delusions of grandeur. If you don’t believe me, then come on, big boy. Let’s go. Right here, right now.”

He lay there, a forearm covering his eyes. Even his breathing seemed to still.

Oh hell. “Luther?” Had she knocked him out?

Gaby nudged him with her foot. “Say something, damn it.”

He dropped his arm. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? Fine.” His gaze bored into hers; his voice softened with rueful sincerity. “I’m sorry.”

No! She would not be drawn in so easily. “Get up, damn it.”

“To fight with you? No thanks.” At his leisure, he propped himself on an elbow. A swelling knot showed on his forehead.

“Why not? Chicken?”

His lips twitched. “You know, if you don’t lower your voice, my neighbors will call the police.” He looked struck with that possibility. “Or they might call me—since I am the police.”

Her heartache swelled to impossible proportion. “You think this is funny?”

“I think I’m bewitched. There’s a difference.” He patted the ground beside him. “Come here, Gaby.”

“No.”

“Why? You were enjoying the grass.” His expression remained impassive. “And the tree.”

Oh God. “How do you know that?”

“I could see it on your face.” His gaze ranged over her, head to toes and back again. “It’s not just danger, or evil, or . . . bad things that transform you. You’re like a chameleon, forever changing on me, always unpredictable.”

After many vicissitudes of disappointment, she’d had no choice but to change in order to survive. “That’s nonsense.”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Gaby. Not in the typical sense of shallow society standards. You’re more striking than that.”

“I must’ve hit your head too hard.”

“Even when you alter—”

“Morph?”

“Semantics. But even then, your looks are compelling. And sexy.” He patted the grass again. “Now don’t be cowardly. Accept the compliments as truth.”

“How can I when you’re delusional?”

“Possibly. But I’m trying hard to see things clearly. With you, that’s always a challenge.” He held up a hand. “Come down here so we can talk more comfortably.”

Instead, she took a step back. She didn’t trust him in this awkward, sensual mood. “What do we have to talk about anymore?” Far as she was concerned, it had all been said.

“Life,” he offered. “And possibilities—for the past and the present and the future—”

She almost kicked him. “There is no future.”

“For us, you mean? I think you’re wrong.”

That stymied her, so she addressed his most recent insult. “I am not a coward.”

“Not usually, no. But I scare you.”

He did. So much. Resistance fading, Gaby said, “The ground is wet.”

“And mosquitoes are likely feasting on me in hordes.” He sat up, brushed off his arms and the back of his head. “Okay. How about we just sit in the grass, then? You can lean against the tree. What do you think?”

Gaby couldn’t get herself to move. Filled with skepticism, she asked, “What are you sorry about?”

“A lot of things. Let’s start with I’m sorry for being a cop, and therefore being bound to certain types of conduct and practices.”

“Meaning the edicts that would have you arrest anyone suspicious.”

“Yes.”

“You think I’m suspicious.”

“Tell me what really happened, and then I’ll decide.”

Putting her chin in the air, she said, “Fine.” She dropped down to sit yoga-style and leaned her back against the tree. “I hear the insects.”

“They’re hungry little bastards.” One finger moved up her arm. “And you’re tasty.”

Gaby snatched her arm away. “Some deranged asshole hurt Marie.”

“But he wasn’t the guy we want?”

“No. Just a cretin with an abusive streak.”

Luther didn’t question her authority on that. “How badly did he hurt her?”

Feelings, visions, demitted her cloak of bravado. “It was awful, Luther,” she whispered. “He knocked out one of her teeth, beat on her, and . . .” Her throat hurt, and it seemed impossible to swallow. Gaby touched the choker Luther had given her, the choker she never removed, as if that could relieve the restriction. “He burned her with his cigarette. Twice.”