Stained Glass Shards

35.

The first time I had ever considered a future with Tucker was when we'd walked along the path behind the chapel on campus. He had pointed out the broken stained glass of the window. I watched as he walked toward the bushes. Curiously, I approached, inspecting his movements as he scanned the ground and bent to pick up an item. Once he retrieved the object of his search, he walked over to me with a smile. The light in his blue eyes was brighter than the rays peering in through the mosaic. Between his middle finger and thumb, he held up a red shard of glass. He took my hand and placed the fragment on top of my left ring finger. "This would make a beautiful ring." He spoke with so much enthusiasm, I almost swooned. In one fell swoop, he removed the piece from my trembling finger, and flung it against the stone exterior. I heard the clink before it dropped back to the earth where it had previously lay.

--Iliana Gardner, Stained Glass Shards

ELYCE

The visit to my parents gave me a much-needed break from my ordeal in Boston. I enjoyed spending time with them, after always thinking I'd never known them. Dad spent weeks cooking and cleaning up after me. The role reversal was refreshing. I'd often smile at seeing my dad fold my mother's laundry as he watched golf on TV. He had encouraged me to pick up the sport, taking me to the local driving range to hit a bucket of golf balls. After very patient instruction and repetition, my swing was decent. I dare say I enjoyed it, relieving all the tension I'd felt. Mostly, I enjoyed being with him.

I went for evening walks with my mother and Laura.

Laura peppered me with questions about Griffin, asking if he was as bad as I had made him sound. The reality of her questions and opinions made me realize I might have unfairly characterized Griffin. He wasn't the monster that she and her book group perceived him to be.

Besides, I had been a willing participant who gave him consent to behave as he did.

I liked it.

All the sexual things Laura deemed perverse were things I had secretly enjoyed and fantasized about—often, so I didn't find them objectionable. In fact, I craved them. I had hoped to experience a lot of them with Ritter. Secretly curious about my open-mindedness, he had attempted to steer us in that direction. I could tell by the way he'd hold my wrists over my head as he made love to me. He'd flip me on my stomach to pleasure me from behind. When he pulled my hair the first time to direct my face to his and kissed me deeply—rough and sensual as I'd written about, I knew he was using my story as a guide to seducing me.

I shivered, remembering our chemistry.

When I returned to Boston, my apartment was as I had left it—a mess. Regardless of my exhaustion, I set out to clean and organize my little place. It was a practice of renewal. My trip to Palm Beach restored my mental and physical energy. The sun and surf healed me, albeit temporarily. And it was time to cleanse my space to start fresh before I began another novel.

When I returned from the building's laundromat, a knock on my door startled me. Lark and my parents were the only ones who knew I had returned. I looked through the peephole to see Ritter's dark mane encompass the view. He looked up and pressed the doorbell, knocking once more.

Do I pretend I'm not here?

"Elyce, I know you're home."

Fuck.

I turned the locks and pulled the door open a crack, feeling a sense of déjà vu.

"Hello," he said.

"How can I help you?"

"So formal."

"We don't have a personal connection and we certainly don't have a business one." I shrugged.