“Lindsay,” Donald said her name softly. “We need to talk. Please, let me explain.”

Blonde hair swayed against her shoulders as she shook her head no. “I don’t want to talk.”

“I was scared, I was petrified. I didn’t know what to think, what to do. The left side of my car was folded up like an accordion and I couldn’t put any weight on my leg. It was Thanksgiving Day and my dad had to drive four hundred miles one way to come take me back home. I spent six hours in the hospital getting prodded and poked at.” Donald didn’t have any recollections of the accident itself. One minute he was driving south on Route 93. The next, Sheriff Spaeth and members of the Sulaco County Fire Department were cutting him from his vehicle with the jaws of life and loading him onto a stretcher. “My parents still haven’t let me live that day down. I had them believing I was spending the night with my buddy, Kenneth Miller, at his house across town.” Not that I was driving all the way to Nevada to lose my V-card in a brothel.

Oh, the hell Donald’s father put him through once he found out.

“That still doesn’t explain why you never bothered to tell me you shredded your knee in an automobile accident the day after you came to see me!” A mix of hurt and anger hovered in Lindsay’s eyes.

“I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“I would’ve liked to know!” Lindsay snatched her smartphone from her purse and furiously typed out a text. A response to her good friend, Becky Watson, from Rhode Island. “God, Donnie. We spoke at Christmastime, and I called you on your birthday in May too. And both times, you went on and on about how hunky-dory your life was. We’ve been texting each other four, five times a week. You’ve had multiple opportunities to tell me.”

She put her phone away. “That … ours was the favorite party I’ve ever had, period, because I liked to think a big part of it was real. You and I have known each other since we were kids and you told me all about the crush you had on me growing up. I felt so honored, so flattered.” Lindsay gazed to one side as if playing back the memories in her mind. “I had so much fun with you, I felt so relaxed, and came to care about you that day, too, Donnie. I even loaned you money so you could stay at the Twin Tops and get a proper night’s rest! Do you think I did that for every guy who came to see me?” Her fingers coiled into fists. “Guess what, buster? You’re the only one … ever.” She stared at him for a long moment, sucking all the oxygen from his lungs. “And you couldn’t tell me that you wrecked on the way home?”

“Look, I’m sorry.”

“And here, I’ve always been under the impression I helped give you the greatest day of your life.” She flashed her hand up and, with a sneer, looked away.

“You did give me the greatest day of my life! It was the day after when everything went to hell.” This morning, how could Donald have envisioned that he’d wind up in Palm Springs tonight with Lindsay Anastacio, of all people, attempting to soothe her over after he hadn’t been completely honest? My guildmates have been blowing up my phone, wondering why I’m not in the raid. “Besides, you were busy in Nevada. I lived hundreds of miles away. You had your career and were taking college courses. And to tell you the truth, I didn’t even know if you’d care.” She speared him with another glare as he added, “You had your … I mean, you were a … a … a …”

“What?” she exploded. “Say it. Say it. Go ahead and fucking say it, Donnie.” Lindsay shoved back in the restaurant booth and slammed her fist on the table. “A prostitute? Is that what you were gonna say? A prostitute who is incapable of caring and whose only motive is draining your money?” Her nostrils huffed outward. “People want to hold that over my head these days and make unfair assumptions. That’s not who I fucking am.”

“No!” he fired back, breath choking in his lungs.

She eyed him with a tight-lipped expression. “After our date, I never even thought of you as a client. I thought of you as a friend. And I spent nights lying in bed – multiple nights – wishing I could go back in time and make it so you and me were friends in school too. I felt so Goddamn guilty for the way Zack and Clancy treated you, the way they bullied you, and it made me sick to my stomach that I allowed it to go on.”

“God, Lindsay, I love you! I’ve always loved you! And I never once thought of you as a … a …”

“Then what you were going to say?”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t know if I’d care because I was a …”

“In a relationship. I read online how about you were dating some multimillionaire CEO from Salt Lake City.”

“Who? Mike? Michael Steele?” Lindsay’s visage turned fierce once more, but her tone had dropped several octaves. “That sonofabitch is the reason I went back to the brothel. He beat the hell out of me and stole everything I owned.”

That response didn’t register with Donald, unfortunately, because once his first tear broke free, the rest followed in a deluge. “I d-d-didn’t mean to hurt or up-upset you.” He leaned across and thumped his forehead upon the table, his palms flat and splayed down on either side, and cried with the force of a person vomiting on all fours. “God, I’m such a fuck-up. I fucked up like I always do. I’m sorry, Lindsay. I should’ve told you. All I’ve ever wanted is to be good to you, take care of you. I … I’m so sorry.”

Donald hated himself for being a wimp. This was not who he wanted to be in front of the girl he’d sell his soul to the devil for. Or the girl he’d spent every waking moment fantasizing about. Donald couldn’t stop trembling. Or freaking crying. Dammit. Why did he have to be so emotional? Donald had been with Lindsay a mere ninety minutes, yet he’d already fallen apart at the seams.

“Oh, my.” Grasping his left hand with her right, Lindsay glanced all around, and noticed they’d caught the attention of a few employees throughout the diner. People sure liked to rubberneck when it was none of their business, didn’t they? Like any woman in her profession, Lindsay preferred to keep a low profile. She needed to keep a low profile. “Umm, let’s both settle down, Donnie, and get out of here.” She gathered her purse and travel tote. “Here, I’ll take care of the check.”

Donald rose to his feet as well, but with a vicious grunt that belied his youthfulness.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.

“My knee hurts.”

<> <> <> <> <>

“I doubt you know this, but I tore my meniscus when I was fifteen.”

“Huh? What?” Though his head had been in his hand, Donald looked up and focused on Lindsay as they shared a street bench in downtown Palm Springs. “You did?” In the west, deep pink and purple wisps were chased beneath the mountainous horizon by the coming of night, while above and in the north, ominous clouds massed.

“I did.” With Donald’s left leg draped across her lap, Lindsay conducted a massage with both hands that told his knee it was safe and loved in a way words could never describe. And for such tiny hands, they packed a mighty grip. “We had a big family reunion at our house. I was playing soccer with my sisters and cousins, and a few friends were there as well. I don’t know, I guess I landed wrong, but there was a pop in my knee, and it wound up being a torn meniscus. It wasn’t too serious, I guess, as the doctor said surgery wasn’t necessary, and it would heal on its own. But it could’ve been a lot worse.”

“I never knew that.” Donald thought he knew everything about Lindsay during their school-age years too. But even with all those days of constant yearning and innocent stalking, apparently not. “When did this happen, again?”

“When I was fifteen,” she repeated. “June 2015, right after school was let out for the summer. That’s why you never knew about it because once classes started back up in the fall, my brace was gone, and I’d been through all the required physical therapy.” Lindsay gnawed on her bottom lip. “Wasn’t a happy summer. I was in pain and the rehab was tough, but I pushed through, and I don’t have any issues with it nowadays.” She brought his right hand to her lips and kissed it. “You need to get through rehab, too, Donnie. I know it’s brutal, but if you’re not gonna do it for yourself, I want you to do it for me.” She devastated him with those baby blues. “Promise you’ll do it for me?”

If it wasn’t for the Coronavirus, this section of Palm Springs would be closed to vehicular traffic tonight and transformed into a festive pedestrian street fair. VillageFest took place every Thursday evening and provided visitors and locals alike a sensory overload. The air would be laced with tantalizing aromas from diverse food vendors; artist booths would feature handmade jewelry, ceramics, paintings, and clothing; while live musicians, jugglers, dancers, and magicians would provide the entertainment.

Even now during Phase One of California’s reopening, with many tourists opting to stay home out of fear, Lindsay and Donald could float along the downtown businesses of Palm Springs like they were scrambling around in the ruins of a lost civilization. Palm Springs was like any major city these days that relied heavily on tourism: people riding bikes, walking dogs, cautiously getting groceries.

Perhaps the most disturbing story to come out of the area happened on March 23: a Catholic Charities-run night shelter had to close after an employee and a guest tested positive for the virus (the shelter reopened on March 30). For a week, people who would have spent the night warm and safe in the shelter slept instead in the parking lot outside the Palm Springs Convention Center, directly on the concrete, in neatly taped-off rows. Behind them, in the distance, East Andreas Road shimmered, the walls of empty hotel rooms safely encased in glass.

“I’m putting ice on your knee when we get to the hotel.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on a second.” Donald jolted upright and his nose twitched. “Hotel? Who said anything about a hotel? I need to get back home.”

Lindsay made a face. “Why?”

“Because I … I have to.”

Fuck. What was wrong with him?

“So you can play more World of Warcraft and Red Dead Redemption 2, and be further belittled by your father? So you can stay up ‘til four in the morning and drink two, two-liters of soda and binge on unhealthy snacks? So you can make it to work on time tomorrow and be bossed around by that nasty old cunt who disrespected me?” Exasperation tightened like a vice in Lindsay’s stomach, and she couldn’t stop the emotion from bubbling out. “You’d rather do all that than spend the night with me?”

Donald was floored. Speechless. Not only had his dream girl asked for even more of his company, but many of her subsequent words were spot-on, and cut like a knife. Sure, he loved gaming, but knew there were much better things he could be doing with his time. Like talking to Lindsay and getting to know her. And having already been diagnosed with diabetes at his age, well, he had to start eating better too. Mrs. Winston isn’t a nasty old cunt. She’s just a busybody who wants to get involved and can’t mind her own business and has an opinion on every subject.

“C’mon, Donnie.” The muscles in his jaw relaxed when Lindsay brought her palm up to tease it. Oh, her big, brooding companion turned soft when faced with feminine wiles. She hadn’t lost her touch. “I have a room tonight and tomorrow at the Sunseeker Resort. It’s bought and paid for; a three-hundred-dollar-a-night suite I got for ninety bucks, thanks to COVID.” Travel deals were abundant these days for anyone brave enough to snatch them.

“I don’t have … I don’t have … any … any …” His words trailed off as his conviction shriveled to nothing.

“Say it,” she insisted, an eyebrow raised. “Say it. You don’t have any … Say it.”

Donald closed his eyes for a moment to regain control of his emotions. “Money.” But then he realized what he’d said, and a shiver skittered down his spine. “Sorry. I didn’t mean …”

“You think that’s what this is about? You think that’s why I asked you to come to Palm Springs with me?” After being forsaken by her family and the town she grew up in, Lindsay felt alienated. Donald had dealt with similar emotions his entire life. Perhaps they could help each other out? Was this a certain kinship developing on Lindsay’s end? “You really do need to get out more, Donnie, and learn how to socialize with people. I’m trying to be good to you. You listened to all my problems with my family during the car ride here, and I’m hoping to repay the favor.” Her head wagged back and forth. “I don’t want your money. I don’t need your money.”

She wanted to call him out for being a presumptuous asshole, but wondered if it was his pain – all those years of ridicule and isolation – speaking. He has serious trust and self-esteem issues. Lindsay wanted to peel back all his scars, heal the misery, and reveal the real Donald Stanlick. Because I think he’s the sweetest, most loyal guy there is.

He was also the last remaining individual from Citronelle who would defend her from those who believed she should be burned at the stake.

“Listen, you’re staying with me here in Palm Springs tonight,” Lindsay spoke in a firm, non-negotiable tone. “The room has two Queen-sized beds, and I want us to talk about ways we can improve your quality of life and make you feel better about yourself.” She flashed a wide, bright smile that reached her eyes. “And tomorrow, you and I are going on that daylong date I promised you back in November.”

 <> <> <> <> <>

Lindsay knew coming back to Citronelle would be a bad idea, but she did it anyway. Story of my life. And here she was, in the hotel room, nearly paralyzed with guilt over the horrible things certain family members had said to her. What they called her. Slut. Heathen. Jezebel. You’re not our daughter anymore. Why did Lindsay have to be such a glutton for punishment? Why did she open and make herself vulnerable to those verbal attacks? Even her younger sister poured salt on the wounds and ground it in. Why did Lindsay opt to waste a year of her life living with Michael Steele when their relationship was born out of and thrived on toxic sin? Did anything good come from his perpetual mistreatment? And why did Lindsay agree to visit Mr. Phalen earlier this week? Sure, she received a sizable monetary donation in exchange, but at what cost?

Lindsay sat on the mattress with her knees pulled up, her hands steepled together in front of her mouth, and her chin resting on the pads of her thumbs. She wondered what things would be like if she never took a job at the brothel. Would she lead a normal life now? Normal. Lindsay wasn’t sure she even knew what normal meant anymore. Was it a mother who swore by a religious philosophy with a central pillar of forgiveness, yet who strived to be insanely unforgiving at the same time? Or was it a wayward waif on the run from life, her own insecurities and failures, looking to heal whatever ache she had at the moment? Maybe. Lindsay snagged salvation from the nightstand and downed her third can of Modelo beer. At the very least, Mr. Phalen agreed to purchase her a twenty-four-pack for the road.

Was normal always searching for answers, yet never find them? Maybe there was no normal. Will I ever find my normal again – whatever that is – and have the family I’ve always wanted?

Lindsay lay back on the bed and gazed at the ceiling, thinking of her sisters. Before she ran off to Flagstone, Jennifer, Gina, and Alison were staples in her daily life. Why wouldn’t they have been? They grew up together. We were a family. A happy family. Now Lindsay hadn’t seen Jennifer and Gina in two years and Alison had done everything she could to tear her down. Good girls don’t do that sort of thing. Their father joined the lynch mob too. You were raised to be a lady, not a stairwell whore. Lindsay closed her eyes and listened to the sound of running water.

Staying with Colt and Pamela in Maryland wasn’t working out. No two people had ever been better to her, but the throuple had run its course. They don’t need me. They need each other, and to have kids. I’m just getting in the way. Lindsay refused to be the third leg of the tripod. I like to think I deserve better than that. Besides, was there any going back? Pamela is pissed I agreed to visit Mr. Phalen and asked to see Tony again too. Was it wise to become a traveling escort in the middle of a worldwide pandemic where everyone was advised to stay home and shelter? No one ever accused me of being smart, did they? But I’m bored and want to put more money away for the future.

As it was, she had $25,000 invested in U.S. Series I bonds, and another $40,000 in the bank – literally all of it from prostitution, legal or otherwise. I don’t know what I’m gonna do with the cheddar I’ve made this week yet. Beyond tomorrow, she had no clue what the future held either. I have a plane ticket for Saturday morning, to fly back to Baltimore, but don’t know if I’ll use it. With airline travel stunted, Lindsay wasn’t looking forward to enduring four extended layovers for a mere 2,700-mile trip. I wouldn’t get home ‘til Sunday. If she skipped the initial flight, where would she stay? What would she do?

Maybe Lindsay could move back to Citronelle? Uggggh.

From the initial moment she’d met Mr. Phalen’s eyes at the BDSM club in Utah in 2019, Lindsay had seen two men: the gentle one and the hard one. Sometimes they seemed to take turns inside his body, and other times they seemed to agree on what he had done. Taking her panties that night, for example, as a trophy of Lindsay’s first-ever gangbang: she could infer that as an affectionate gesture or as a dominant, possessive one. The other four men that evening, those who used her in the grand dining hall, would’ve taken her panties as a souvenir and thought nothing else of it. But not Mr. Phalen.

From the outset, Lindsay trusted this man.

And Mr. Phalen had done nothing this week to dissuade that trust. But when a powerful and wealthy alpha offered you $30,000 in cash for three continuous days of unlimited use, and you performed those shameful duties a mere stone’s throw from where your ex-fiancé lived, all the while having flashbacks of his constant abuse (and the irrational, unfounded fear he may show up at any moment and unleash himself on you, given the nature of the transaction and his continued friendship with Mr. Phalen), the allure of a sizable payday faded rather considerably.

Meeting up with Tony turned out to be a mistake too. Since she was already seeing Mr. Phalen, Lindsay decided to contact a client, Tony Dinallo, and ask if he’d be interested in hooking up with her first. He lived in Utah, too, but a few hundred miles south of Salt Lake City. I told him the only place I’d see him is SLC. Lindsay and Tony originally met at Happy Ending Ranch in 2018 and then had a seventy-two-hour date a year later in Arizona. Tony jumped at this opportunity, too, agreeing to Lindsay’s insistence of $4,000 for twenty-four hours.

Though the sex was tame compared to what Mr. Phalen would later put her through, Lindsay found herself even more uncomfortable with Tony, as it was obvious he’d fallen for her. Hard. He wouldn’t stop talking about us running off and getting married that night and never looking back. Mind you, this was a fifty-one-year-old married man with two grown children. He tried everything he could to convince me to go away with him. It had been thirteen months since they saw each other. While Tony was a sweet man and Lindsay appreciated all the many gifts he’d bestowed on her, she would never be willing to meet those expectations. I won’t be seeing Tony again.

Lindsay didn’t hear Donald’s footsteps as he walked by, nor did she feel the brush of wind or hear the swish-swish of his jeans. It was the scent of hotel body wash that brought Lindsay’s forearm away from her eyes and propped her up onto her elbow. Donald had finally emerged from the shower, dressed the same as before. Tomorrow, Lindsay will purchase him some new clothes. He was a big, big boy, with wild, unruly red hair, and when he sat down on the bed opposite her, his expression was stormy, conflicted.

“You confuse the hell out of me.” They were ten feet apart in this neat and tidy, cookie-cutter hotel room.

A flinch issued from Lindsay’s shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, you confuse the hell out of me too.”

“Why me, of all people?” Donald crossed his arms and eased deeper into the mattress. Had he been crying again, this time in the shower? Moisture glistened in his eyes. “Why are you so insistent on helping me? I’m a … loser.”

Her lips twisted to the side. “Are you this confident with all the girls?”

Donald looked away and grimaced.

Lindsay arched a brow. “You know what I think?” She rose and took a step closer, another step, and yet another, and a stirring flared in Donald’s abdomen, flocking south and eliciting visions of the explosive night they shared nine months ago. She put her cheek a breath away from his and whispered, “I think you need to take your pants off.”

His sexual urges begged to be fed. He had resisted them all night, but as Donald was about to give in, every muscle flexed tight, Lindsay leaned close again and said, “We need to get ice on that knee.”