Divine Conspiracy (Divine #1) Read online

  “Well, look who finally decided to bless us with his presence! Trinity, Destiny, I’d like to introduce you to the boss man, Patrick.” Dawson says as he stands, bowing and waving his arm out as if presenting royalty. The twins stand from their seats giggling and hold out their hands in introduction.

  “Hi, I’m Trinity,” the twin in the red tank top introduces herself, twirling her long dark hair around her finger and giving me a look of pure sin.

  “And I’m Destiny,” says the other twin, who wears a barely there black crop top, showing off her long slender frame, giving me “fuck me” eyes that could only rival that of her identical sister.

  I return their smiles and gently grasp each of their hands, “Hello Trinity, Destiny. Nice to meet you. I hear you gorgeous ladies have come to see us all the way from Kentucky.” I pull up a stool at the table and take a seat. Following suit, Dawson and the twins find their places and sit down as well.

  “Yes, we decided to stop here on our way to Miami,” Trinity answers, taking a sip of her girlie pink drink that I guess is a Cosmo. What? I’m single. I live alone. I may have watched Sex and the City a few times.

  “Isn’t that a little out of the way,” Dawson asks, eyes bunching at the brow, letting me know that he hasn’t used his time alone with them wisely. There are always key questions to ask when scoping out hook-ups that are capable of one night of wild sex and no further expectations. He apparently hasn’t been taking notes.

  “Our Gran has a cousin that lives here and we wanted to have a little fun before our contract starts,” Destiny replies to Dawson’s question. She raises her drink above her head getting Trinity’s attention, causing her to mirror the action. Yep, they’re party girls. Promising.

  “Your contract? What type of work do you do,” I ask in tepid interest. It’s not that I really want to know their story, as I won’t be seeing them again, but it might help in planning the rest of tonight’s activities. I mean, if these girls are acrobats or gymnasts, dusting off the sex swing would be a worthy cause. Rule 1: Always know what you’re working with.

  “Well now, that’s top secret. If we tell you now, then that’ll ruin the surprise.” Trinity purrs, running her long red fingernails up and down Dawson’s arm, gaining his rapt attention.

  “Oh come on, I hate surprises,” Dawson begs, turning his lips down in a childish pout. The twins exchange smiles and laughs before turning their attention back to the two of us. I fucking hate it when I get in this desperate frame of mind. I know I was sitting there looking like an idiot right alongside Dawson, hanging on their every word.

  “Are you boys familiar with Triple XXX Studios,” Destiny asks, circling her finger around the rim of her glass that now sat empty on the table. Dawson and I exchange knowing grins, struggling not to high five the shit out of each other like teenage boys. We are both single, driven, work oriented guys with little time to find women. We are well acquainted with the type of work that Triple XXX Studios produces. The kind that includes a firm grip and a decent amount of baby oil. I Clear my throat and sit up straighter on the stool, giving them my undivided attention.

  “How would you girls like to call it a night and locate some designated play areas,” I ask in a low husky voice.

  “Ready when you are cowboy,” Destiny answers, standing and smoothing the small piece of denim that her skirt consists of.

  I down the last drink of my beer and quickly slam the glass back on the table. The girls giggle in unison, looking to each other before splitting off, making their choices between Dawson and I. I strut my way to the door with Destiny on my arm, as Dawson and Trinity follow behind, making a mental note to mark ‘fuck a porn star’ off my bucket list.

  “Damn,” I curse, searching for my phone, wanting to call Dawson and cuss his stupid ass for persuading me to come to the bar last night. I woke up this morning to an empty bed and an even emptier wallet. Apparently we’d been swindled by the little Kentucky, pre-pornstar sweethearts we left the bar with last night.

  “Mother Fucker,” I yell, taking inventory of my loft, making sure all the bitch got was the cash out of my wallet. I don’t have credit cards, which means I usually have a fair amount of cash on me and she took every last fucking dollar. I fucking hate a thief and women don’t rank very high on my list of favorites either. So a thieving woman? They were on a list all their own.

  Bang, bang, bang! Came a loud and frantic knock on my door. Knowing who it was, I yell, ”IT’S OPEN!”

  In comes the stupid ass himself, looking just as pissed and confused as I’m sure I do right now.

  “I can’t believe this shit man! She took my wallet! And my phone,” he says, all but pulling out his hair as he runs his hands through it. “What about you? You get jacked too?”

  “Cash and phone,” I answer with little emotion, trying to pull myself together. Times like this give me insight as to why Dawson smokes weed, and let’s just say one of us has to hold it together and it isn’t him.

  “Did you have any credit cards taken or anything that needs to be reported stolen,” I ask in the parental tone that usually comes out involuntarily when talking to Dawson. Even though he is a year older than me, I find myself being the responsible one out of the two of us most of the time. He doesn’t have much contact with his family other than phone calls and emails since they live in North Carolina, so over the years we have more or less become the only family we have.

  “No credit cards, but I’ve got to go get a new phone,” he answers in disgust. “I guess I should have the damn phone company on speed dial as many phones as I’ve had to replace in the last 6 fucking months.”

  “It wouldn’t do you any good to have them on speed dial without a phone dumbass,” I tell him, shaking my head in laughter.

  “You know what I mean,” he replies, punching me on the shoulder on his way to the door. “Put some damn clothes on and hop in. Might as well go together.”

  After replacing our stolen phones and grabbing a bite to eat, we decide to focus on getting some work done. Even though it’s still technically the weekend, we feel our poor decisions from the night before warranted some overtime. As they always say, idle hands are the Devil’s play things. Maybe a hard day of work under the hot sun will help remind us to keep our dicks in our pants for a while. I knew it would for me anyway. The next woman that gets any attention from me is going to have to be pretty interesting.

  AFTER MAKING ONE LAST sweep through the house to make sure we didn’t miss anything and turning the keys into the landlord, I pulled into the school parking lot to pick Ruth up. As she says her goodbyes, I sit in front of the school with my SUV packed to the brim and a small U-Haul trailer secured to the hitch. Finally climbing in the front seat and giving me a somewhat sad but excited smile, we’re ready to drive the four hours to the coast of Mobile Bay, the place we would now call home.

  “You good?” I ask her this with concern at the forefront of my mind.

  “I’m good. Can we get something to eat though? They had something gross for lunch and I didn’t eat.” I chuckle

  This is it, I think to myself. This time I mean that. Really. I have said it before, but this is the last move. I just have a gut feeling that there is something good waiting for us there. What exactly, I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but whatever it is, makes me feel like I’m preparing for a life changing storm full of new beginnings.

  About 7 years ago Ruth and I moved from Fort Rucker to Tuscaloosa. We needed a fresh start and I needed structure and work to keep me busy. I also wanted to finish my degree, so I sent in applications to all of the esteemed schools that offered advance degrees in fashion design in Alabama, and waited….and waited. Finally, I was accepted into The University of Alabama. I was elated at the thoughts of attending such an extraordinary school, but sick at the thought of how I would afford it on the little I made waiting tables. After months of applying and waiting for responses, I received a full paid grant and the chance to turn my Associates of Art into s
omething I could use to insure we were taken care of long term. My mother being a make-up artist, and my grandmother being a seamstress, had awakened the artistic feminine side within me early on and I had known from that point forward that I wanted a career in clothing design.

  For the last three years Birmingham has been our home. I’m excited for this next chapter of our lives, but I can’t help thinking of all the empty lonely years it took to get to this place. The sad fact is, I have no significant friendships or close relationships with anyone other than the crew at work and Ruth. Granted our family of two is small, our love is big and our bond strong. I have her and she has me, and now, we have a future worth looking forward to.

  Our house in Birmingham had been decent sized, but Ruth and I have lived in some small houses and even smaller apartments over the years. Which is why as I pull into the driveway, I stop, frozen at the entrance, taking in the glory that is our new home. I feel like if I drive any further I won’t be able to take in the entire view of the house before me, enormous in comparison to all the places I have lived before. This house had been listed on a realty website and because it was in foreclosure, the price was entirely too good to pass up. For years, I scraped and saved every dime I could, knowing that one day I would finally find a place to call home, and when I saw this house, I called the Realtor the next day and began the purchasing process.

  “God the pictures on the website don’t do it justice,” I murmur to myself as I step out onto the cobblestone driveway. Even the driveway itself is impressive to me. The large stones seem to nestle into the ground beneath them as though, they too, feel at home here. They lead all the way to the edge of the porch adorning the quaint ocean side house, and continue around the circle driveway. Navy painted wood siding covers the outside portion of the house that isn’t occupied by large windows. Beautiful floor to ceiling, and some intricately placed bay windows trimmed in thick white molding, breathe actual life into the dwelling, making it seem like some of nature seeps into the house through the large windows. Last but not least, the wrap around porch. In the front, it’s narrow and serves merely as a path leading you around to the expansive deck that extends off the back of the house, and my favorite part leading down to the water’s edge.

  I know people buy homes every day. I also know that most people have a place that they consider home, either from their childhood or now as adults. But I can honestly say this is the first place I’ve ever had to call home. To really call home. The overwhelming emotion of it takes me by surprise and I can’t help the tears that slide down my cheeks. Hearing subtle movement coming from the front seat breaks me out of my daydream and I quickly wipe them away. Waking at the realization the SUV has stopped, Ruth’s eyes open and she discovers we’ve arrived. She struggles with the door, frantic to get it open to have a proper view of our new home.

  “OH MY LORD MOM! Is this really our house?” She screams as she runs around the vehicle, almost tackling me to the ground when she reaches me.

  “This is it baby! What do you think,” I ask her, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.

  “What do I think? I think it’s the coolest, prettiest, most wonderful house I’ve ever seen!” She barely finishes before grabbing me by the hand and pulling me down the driveway. I laugh as I take in her enthusiasm, trying to keep pace with her so we don’t end up rolling down the driveway. As we approach the front door, I notice something sitting on the welcome mat. Walking closer, I chuckle when I realize it is two bottles with red bows. A bottle of my favorite Cabernet Sauvignon and a bottle of Ruth’s favorite soda. I pick up the card that sits between the bottles and read the words written in Chanin’s flawless handwriting,

  My boss rarely passes on the chance to celebrate, and this is no exception. Reaching in the pocket of my shorts, I locate the house key and turn the lock. Opening the door, Ruth and I both stand unmoving on the welcome mat, seemingly scared to cross the threshold. That is until we simultaneously realize what we’re doing here, then we both take off in a dead sprint. Running from room to room, turning on lights, opening doors, looking at every possible nook and cranny, almost running into each other as we arrive at the bottom of the stairs. We look at each other in challenge, both familiar with how we do things.

  “Oh no you don’t! I don’t care who gets their big butt up these stairs first, the master bedroom is all mine,” I declare, bumping her hip with mine.

  “Hmm… fine, but,” she holds her prissy little finger in the air, “If I win, you get to bring all the boxes upstairs by yourself!”

  Without as much as a second glance, we were off! Running full blast up the thankfully carpet covered stairs and both dropping to the floor as we reached the top, laughing between breaths. If we weren’t so interested in seeing the rest of the house, we probably could have slept right there as the weight of hard work over the last few weeks finally started catching up with us. I stand and reach for her hand, pulling her most of the way up after grasping it tightly.

  “We’ll just say you won. But only because I haven’t had the chance to get in a good workout over the last couple of weeks.” I wink and start walking towards the room that is hers. “Carrying all those boxes up the stairs should get me caught up, don’t you think?”

  “Since I really did win, I’ll agree with you,” she taunts as she reaches in the doorway, turning the light switch to the on position. When her eyes register what she’s seeing, she claps her hands over her mouth, and for once in her life, is utterly speechless. I’ve been working on this surprise for the last month since signing the closing papers on the house, and it has been so hard not to tell her.

  When she was little she would cut and tear pages out of magazines that illustrated what she wanted her dream bedroom to look like. Over time, her tastes and ideas have changed, but the desire for her own little sanctuary remained alive and well. We’ve always rented, so doing much of anything other than a light coat of paint was out of the question. I have tried my best to make each space she’s occupied something she could be proud of, but looking at her makes me see that I’ve never succeeded until now. She has tears rolling down her sweet little cheeks as she moves from one place to another, caressing each perfectly placed item with the very tip of her index finger, hardly able to contain herself. Chanin, having had this business move planned for over a year now, has developed several close contacts in Daphne, including that of an interior designer. Eating lunch with her one day after purchasing the house, I told Chanin about wanting to do something special with Ruth’s room and she immediately offered to schedule a video chat with Vanessa, the interior designer. After one planning session with her, she had a visual design sent to me that displayed what the finished project would look like. Lilac walls adorned with white twinkle lights bordering around the top of the expansive ceiling that held a miniature chandelier fixture at its center. An upper level platform built into the corner with three steps leading up to two deep purple reading chairs separated by a white corner table and upturned lamp, a built in desk and storage squares nestled underneath on the floor level. A full size bed covered in a bright purple ruffled bedspread and pillow shams, dotted with shimmery silver throw pillows and placed in front of the large bay window. And last but not least, two large book cases on either side of her closet doors to house her many books. I had gazed at it for what seemed like hours, impressed to say the least, and gave her the okay to perform the transformation. Whatever the cost-and yes it was expensive. I wanted nothing more than to give her this gift. She had always been so understanding when most kids her age wouldn’t be, adjusting without complaint like she looked at us as a team and was merely doing her part. Accepting whatever turn our lives took.

  Watching Ruth dance around her bedroom in pride and appreciation was so reminiscent of her as a toddler, and it makes me understand just how fast time really is moving. No matter the mistakes I’ve made or any regrets I’ve had in this life or the next, I know I did one thing right. Ruth is my heart and soul. She is growing up so
fast and turning into such an amazing young lady right before my eyes. It makes my heart break to wonder who I will be without her.

  Who am I?

  I am Erin Presley-Abrams, mother of Ruth Abigale Abrams…

  I am assistant to Chanin Grace and VP designer for Chanin Grace Fashions…

  I have been a mother and career focused, but that’s it. Sad really, but I almost don’t even remember what it’s like to be anything but those things. I can’t help but think about what it would be like to want. To be… wanted.

  After plenty of hugs, kisses, and thank yous, I put Ruth to bed and walk through the mostly empty house dotted with furniture, thankful that I had made arrangements before our move to get it here. I had sold or donated all the furniture we had in Birmingham and had new furnishings delivered to this house so we didn’t have to make the drive with all of our old pieces. Plus, without a man in the house I try to hire out what I can afford or eliminate situations I can’t handle by myself all together. Walking into the kitchen, I see the bottle of wine that Chanin gifted me and decide to pour a glass and sit out on the deck to ‘enjoy the view’ per her suggestion. Might as well. The weather is perfect for it and even though I’m physically exhausted, my mind is reeling from the questions that had stirred within me earlier. I open the French doors that lead onto the deck, letting the gulf air breathe life into the silent house, and settle on a cushioned deck chair. I have spent so many nights like this, sitting alone after Ruth goes to sleep, left to my thoughts and usually sorting through the catalog of things stored away in my mind. After many years of doing everything in my power not to think, I guess my thoughts were put on hold for so long that now they’re playing catch-up.