Cale is probably downstairs sleeping on the couch and there’s no way I’m going down there naked and risking him waking up to see me. I really doubt he needed the bedroom like Slade said. I think Slade just wanted another thing that he could be in control of. Well, I’m sick of him being in control. I’m out of here.
I rush over to the closet, almost tripping over the sheet, but I catch myself just in time and untangle it from my legs. Reaching for the handles, I slide the doors apart and step into his very big and neat closet. I’m surprised to see how organized he actually is; shocked actually.
I walk all the way to the back in hopes I can find an old shirt that he will never miss. I don’t know how he would react to me wearing one of his good shirts. When I get to the back my eyes land on a huge row of business suits; very expensive looking business suits.
What. The. Hell.
I run my fingers across them while counting inside my head.
. . . 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14. Fourteen suits! Why so many?
I look up to see there are more suits stacked up on the top shelf of his closet. I don’t understand what kind of stripper slash damn bartender needs so many suits. Nice ones at that. These look and feel very expensive.
Pulling my eyes away, I take a step back and look around. There are stacks of shoe boxes with expensive brand names lined up under the hanging suits. Then, to my right there is a whole rack of ties. There is definitely more to Slade than I know; more than what he shows us. I’m definitely curious.
Gripping the sheet tighter, I walk back toward the front of the closet and look up at the shelf when I notice a pile of plain black shirts stacked on top of each other. I’m pretty positive he won’t miss one of these.
I reach up and try to pull the bottom one out from the stack, but am not having much luck. I’m all the way on my tip toes and I can still barely get it in my reach.
Come on . . .
My fingers pinch the thin fabric and I tug, pulling the whole pile down with it, along with a shoe box. The shoe box lands on its side with the lid knocked off, causing a bunch of pictures and letters to fall out. I quickly struggle to gather the belongings and stuff them back inside before Slade comes back. The last thing I want him to think is that I’m snooping through his things. He definitely would not be happy about that.
After getting everything stuffed back inside, I am just about to replace the lid when a photograph catches my eye; one that has me very curious. I set the lid down beside me and reach into the box. My eyes scan the ultrasound, checking out dates, names and any other thing that may give me a clue as to why Slade has it stacked away in his things.
Helena Valentine, December 2011.
The baby is huge. It has to be at least eight months gestation. It’s from over two years ago. It makes me wonder if this child is his. I really cannot imagine him with a child. It doesn’t seem like him.
Setting the photo aside, I dig a little deeper into the box to find photos of a very beautiful pregnant woman. She has long, blond hair, sun kissed skin and a flawless smile. She looks happy; like the happiest woman on earth. She’s holding her swollen belly, showing it off to the world as if she’s the proudest woman in the world.
In a few of the photos, Slade is in the pictures with her, but he looks different; much different.
He’s clean cut with short black hair, no tattoos and the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. I also notice that the scar on his cheek isn’t present in the pictures. He looks so happy; nothing like the Slade I see today. He’s laughing in almost every single one of them and even kissing her belly in one. He’s wearing a suit in a few of them. He looks very professional and handsome.
I hate to feel like I’m prying, but it makes me wonder where this Helena is at. Where is this baby? Did he leave her and now regrets it? Is she still around, but a dark secret that he doesn’t want anyone to know about? There are so many possibilities that my head is spinning. I feel lightheaded trying to piece it all together. Slade may be a lot of things, but I don’t take him for reckless abandonment.
I’m sitting here just staring, in a daze, when all of a sudden I feel someone standing above me. My heart sinks to my stomach when I look up and see the hurt look in Slade’s eyes. He’s looking back and forth between me and the box. I instantly drop the photos and hold my breath, not knowing what to expect.
He’s standing above me with his jaw steeled and his fists balled at his sides. His body is slick with sweat and his hair is dripping with water as if he’s just worked out. His eyes are quick to change from hurt to pure anger and rage. I’ve never seen someone so angry.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” He grips the door frame and squeezes as hard as he can. His muscles flex so hard that his arms are shaking and his veins are popping out. “Did I say you could go through my things?”