by Vivian Wood
She lets out her breath in a rush, blotting at her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be.” It seems natural to pause and draw her into a hug. And she lets herself melt against my body, all too willing, sniffling. She fits in my arms perfectly.
I rest my chin against the top of her head, for a second forgetting everything else but how amazing holding Olivia feels. For something that is supposed to be wrong, her small body pressing against mine feels fucking right. She makes a soft sound against my chest, somewhere between a sniffle and a sigh.
Though I don’t want to, after a minute I push her back a little. She wipes at her eyes again, shaking her head.
“Sorry,” she apologizes, her voice raspy.
I favor Olivia with a soft smile. “It’s okay. I think it’s been a long day for all of us.”
She bites her lower lip for a moment then sighs. “While you all were gone, I tried to work. And I came across something that I think you should see. Come on, it’s upstairs.”
She offers me her hand as someone would offer their hand to a small child, which makes me smile. I take her hand, wrapping my larger one around it. She tows me inside and upstairs to the ballroom in silence.
Once we step into the ballroom, she lets my hand drop. I feel the absence of her hand keenly for a few beats of my heart, but I keep it to myself. Olivia moves around the stacks of paper to her desk, then returns to where I stand in the doorway with it. I glance at her expression as she hands me the paper but her face is unreadable.
I glance down at the paper, studying it. It’s just a cheap piece of paper, with a string of numbers printed at the top which I think means it’s been faxed. The printing on the actual document is small, but I see that it’s titled “Certificate of Live Birth” at the top.
Everything else swims in my vision, looking like I’m holding a photocopy of something written in an ancient language. I try to scan down for a name, but it’s useless. I thrust the document back at Olivia.
“Read that off for me, will you?” I can’t even look at her, because I am so fucking ashamed.
She takes it back from me and clears her throat.
“Certificate of Live Birth for Aiden Maxwell Moreland. Born in Newark, New Jersey on November 1st, 1989,” she announces.
God damn. It’s my birth certificate, then.
“Oh my god,” I mutter, looking down the page. “What the fuck?”
Olivia is chewing on her bottom lip like she’s keeping a secret. Glancing at her, I wave the piece of paper in front of her face. “What the fuck is this? Someone knew that…”
I halt, groaning and putting a hand over my face. I have to tell her the whole truth now I guess, since she already found out this much. She hovers sort of anxiously, her eyes glued to my face.
“My mother told me before she died that Thomas Morgan was my father. No more, no less.” I blow out a breath. “I don’t even think she knew that he died.”
Olivia’s eyes go wide. I can see her trying to do some math in her head.
“Whoa. Is that how you ended up out here?” She pauses and then shakes her head. “No, you moved out here years ago. And your mom only passed away a few months back.”
My heart drops into my stomach at the mention of my mother’s death, but I give her a wan smile. “Upon reflection, she did give me the pamphlet for the National Park and told me that this specific location was hiring. She also impressed upon me the fact that she had some of her best moments here in Washington.”
Her lips lift at the corners. “That’s actually really sweet. She wanted you to at least have a chance to experience what she did by coming out here.”
“Yep.” That’s all I know to say.
She quirks a brow. “If Thomas is your father… that would make Carter your half-brother.”
The back of my neck heats as I think about Carter. “Yeah, in theory.”
“God, the first time I saw you two together, I thought that it was funny how much alike you looked. I guess I wasn’t crazy then.” A small smile plays on her lips. “I guess there is a little brotherly competitiveness between you two then, only he doesn’t know that you’re brothers?”
I look down at the ground. “You could say that.”
“Ah.” I can see the gears turning behind her eyes, she’s thinking and drawing conclusions. But for once, I can’t tell what they are. “Well… that makes more sense.”
“What does?” I ask.
She colors. “Well, earlier when I mentioned that I was going to see Carter… you pounced on me.”
I suck in a breath. “I think that had more to do with you and less to do with Carter, honestly.” I pause, then the words tumble out of my mouth, unheeded. “I guess I just don't like thinking of you losing your virginity to anyone else.”
An admission against my own best interest? Definitely. I glance at Olivia, who is about as red as she can be, I think. She’s staring at the ground and biting her lip.
“Maybe…” She starts, then stops and shakes her head. “I think you should be the one who… um… takes it.”
I’m a little startled. Did I mishear her?
“Take your…”
She looks up at me, her face flushed and her eyes all the more blue for it. “My virginity, Aiden. I want you to be my first. I know you’ll do it right.”
There it is, an offering laid right at my feet. Her virginity. For a second, I have trouble catching my breath. My heart pounds. My fists clench.
The image of Olivia buck ass naked and spread out for me across my bed swims up into my vision. My gaze dips down to her lips, so pink and plump. God, if those lips look so tempting, what would I even do with a naked Olivia? What would I do if she brazenly showed me her pussy?
Bury my face between her legs, make her moan my name. I’d fuck her so deep and so hard that both us would probably cease to fucking exist.
I realize for half a minute I’ve been staring at Olivia, agog.
“That’s… quite an offer,” I manage, looking away over her shoulder. God, the fact that I’m even considering it is insane. But she’s standing just close enough, looking so fucking tempting. I can’t just say no, can I?
I picture Grayson’s face, scowling at me when he finds out that I even thought about touching his little sister.
I want Olivia. I really do. But being a grown man means I don't get everything I want, apparently.
“I’ll think about it,” I answer at last. That is technically true. I will fantasize about me taking her v-card later when I’m in bed, that’s for sure. Just her asking is like… a thousand years’ worth of spank bank material. I scrub a hand across my face. “Okay? I will think about it.”
Olivia shakes her head shyly and smiles. “I guess I should be flattered that you’re not just throwing me over your shoulder like a caveman.”
Despite her joke, she doesn’t seem flattered. I exhale slowly. We need a more neutral subject, stat.
“So… back to Thomas Morgan…” I say, squinting.
She looks a little relieved. “Yes. Thomas Morgan. I… I will have to dig up some pictures of him. I’m as curious as you are.”
I take a moment to absorb that, nodding. What if we don't look anything alike? Gesturing for her to give me the piece of paper again, I exhale slowly. “Who do you think got this fax originally? Do you think Margaret knows who I am?”
Olivia shakes her head, pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “No. She’d have no reason to know your name. The majority of this was compiled by another of Margaret’s siblings. Anne, I think her name was. She passed away a couple of years ago. The records stop shortly before she died.”
She checks the time on her phone and winces. “I should call Megan.”
I frown. “The lawyer?”
“Yeah. She invited me to a movie with her friends, but with everything going on today…” She shrugs. “I don't think I should go. She’ll probably be all worried about Margaret too, come to think of it.”
Her mouth curves into a gentle smile. “Maybe.”
She reaches out and touches my arm briefly, then turns and heads out of the ballroom. I stare after her, unable to think about anything but what she asked me earlier.
I want you to be my first. I know you’ll do it right.
Olivia was right about that. I would do it right, if I fucked her at all.
Sighing, I fold the copy of my birth certificate up and start down the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-One
Aiden
Later, I dream of the past. I dream of two years ago, when I first found out my mom was sick… and the first time I found myself aroused by Olivia.
Draining the dregs from my lukewarm can of PBR, I crush it and throw it in the recycling. I’m up in my room at the house I’ve rented for the week with some Navy buddies, drinking and rereading the letter over and over again. Although I’m out of the Navy I still have plenty of friends in active service. They called to say they would be in my hometown, so I came back here from Seattle to party. I could’ve stayed with my tyrant of a father and my saint of a mother while I was in town but I didn’t.
I didn’t even call them.
I don't want to get drawn into their dysfunction on the few days my friends have here in the US. That’s also part of the reason that I didn’t read the letter until just now. I got it two weeks ago, but I pocketed it, intending to read it later.
Later is now, I guess, since I just remembered that I had it.
Wub-dub. Wub-wub-dub.
The music from downstairs is loud as fuck, but I can’t hear it. All I can hear is the blood rushing inside my own head as I read the letter again.
Son,
Your mom was just diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The prognosis is good. Be a good little boy and fucking call her sometime so she stops whining to me about it.
That’s all. It’s typed up with no signature. I crinkle the letter into a ball, imagining the poor secretary at my dad’s law practice who probably had to type that up and send it to me in Japan.
What kind of father lets his son know that his mother is sick that way?
My father, that’s who. A hard-drinking, secretary-fucking, always-working tyrant who managed be the sort that beat his wife and still excelled at corporate law.
I sneer. It’s a good thing for my father’s pool of secretarial mistresses to get a glimpse at who they are fucking. On second thought, I don't feel bad at all for them.
Indeed, I just continue to feel bad for my browbeaten mother.
Chucking the letter onto my bed with a big burp, I consider what I should do next. My eyes shift to the window. It’s dark out, which means my mother is likely already in bed. She keeps the hours of a farmer, rising early like my father and going to bed long before he gets home.
I’ll call her tomorrow, I guess. Or drive out to see her, if I can borrow a car.
Tonight, I think I’ll drink a fuck ton more. After all, I am the resident bad boy. Hard to be the irresponsible party god if I don’t have a veritable river of booze flowing through my body.
There is a heap of empty beer cans beside my bed already, but I’m all but out. I’ll have to brave the party downstairs to get some more alcohol.
A knock comes on my door as I move to open it. Swinging it open, I find Grayson right outside. He looks good, suntanned and fit, his hair cropped close to fit the Navy guidelines.
“Gray!” I say, surprised. “I thought I left you on the west coast at the National Park Service base camp.”
I step forward and pull him into a one-armed hug. Grayson gives me a half-smile.
“I’m here to see Olivia. She apparently heard that you’re hanging out here this weekend. She wanted to come see you.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “We should have co-ordinated our flights. I had three fucking layovers to get to Newark. I started out like eighteen hours ago. It was fucking brutal.”
That makes me smile.
“Too true. Well…” I pause, looking back at the letter on my bed. Drawing a breath, I turn away from it. “Let’s go downstairs, man. We can get a beer and hang out.”
Grayson is already ahead of me, turning and making his way down the stairs. I follow him, trying to squash the words floating around in my head.
Pancreatic cancer.
The sound of it makes me squeamish. I can’t stop picturing my mom in a hospital bed, wearing one of those thin gowns and shivering. Every step I take is like I’m moving through quicksand.
Summoning all the training that the Navy gave me, I’m just barely able to keep it under wraps. Emotion is lurking under the surface of my veneer though, hot and angry and sad all at once.
When we reach the bottom of the stairs, there is plenty to distract me. Loud rap pours from the living room speakers. The lights are down low, making the press of people filling the living room seem even larger. People are dancing on the couches and leaning up against the walls, talking over the persistent beat.
“Jesus,” is Grayson’s only comment as he pushes into the crush of bodies.
I shout over his shoulder, pointing to where he should go. “Head for the kitchen! That’s where the beer is.”
After a few minutes of nudging our way through the crowd and negotiating for beer, we slip outside onto the back porch. We each bring a couple of cans of beer to avoid having to go back inside just yet. The music fades into the background as I hop up on the porch railing and crack my beer open.
Grayson seems content to lean against the railing, watching the few people who have come out onto the patio carefully. He slurps at his beer.
“Heard anything about Rachel?”
At the sound of his ex-girlfriend’s name, he pulls a face. “No. I mean, I think Olivia says that she’s doing okay. Other than that, though… no.”
“Right on. Maybe that means you’re moving on, then. Maybe you’ll meet some nice hiker on one of the tours you lead and you two will fall in love or some shit.”
Grayson rolls his eyes again. His lips curl up faintly as he takes a sip from the can. “Mhm. How’s your family?”
I blow out a breath. Skirting around talking about my mom, I settle on my little sister. “Well, Eve is living up to her usual Golden Child status by getting herself admitted to Yale two years early.” I roll my eyes. “It makes me wonder if one of us is adopted, because there is no way that Eve and I came out of the same set of parents. She is a total nerd and I’m the idiot that flunked the third grade twice.” I pause. “Maybe we’re both adopted. That would mean neither of us is related to my asshole of a father.”
He chuckles. “You look just like your mom, if your mom was a dude. It seems unlikely that you are adopted.” He swills a little of his beer. “Is your dad still a maniac?”
“Yep.” My smile turns tight. “He’s still a total bastard. Still making money hand over fist. Still cheating on my mom every single chance he gets. And my mom—” I stop for a second, then force the rest of the words out. “My mom is still under the impression that if she just prays enough, she will make him… I don’t even know. Not the piece of shit he is, I guess.”
Grayson’s brows rise at my anguished tone. “I’m sorry, man.”
I scrub a hand over my head, feeling the sharp bristles of my short hair underneath my fingertips. “Let’s change the subject.”
As I say it, a group of drunk girls come out onto the porch. My eyes are drawn to two of them, their grins seeming almost day glow in the fading light of dusk. They are both wearing miniskirts too, showcasing miles and miles of bare tanned skin.
An alarm goes off distantly somewhere in the back of my mind. It alerts me to the way the girls looks at Grayson and me, giggling and whispering.
“Speaking of significant others…” Grayson says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I should go check on my sister, who’s the closest I’ve gotten to a significant oth
er in years. I’ll be back.”
One of the girls looks me right in the eye, blushes, then looks away.
“Sounds good, man,” I say, distracted.
As he walks away, I don’t miss his eye roll. But I don’t mind it either.
I will admit to being a womanizer, to the point of excluding anything that even looks like it might be too much like a relationship. It’s fun and sexy, being the hot former sailor that girls can have… temporarily.
And if a girl I take to bed gets ideas about locking me down, I can just shrug and say I live all the way across the country. All in all, I think it’s a winning strategy.
A few more girls come out onto the deck, making me all the more of a hunter chasing his prey. I pause to open another beer and then launch myself off the railing. The girls I have my eyes locked on look up at me, their smiles widening.
Striding over to them, I take a sip of my beer and smile. My smile works, because at least half of the drunk girls blush and titter.
“What are you ladies doing out here?” I ask. “You should all be in the living room, dancing with me.” I give them an appraising smile. “How many of you do you think I can handle at once?”
Heading toward the living room without another word, I know that most of them will follow. And I’m right, of course. Soon enough I am touching three of them as we grind, with three more eagerly awaiting their turn.
I’m no fool. I know I’m 6’3, ripped, and a handsome bastard on top of all that. I smile as I watch the girls try to decide what they are willing to do to be in my bed tonight.
I never push for it. I don’t have to. Things will always just fall into place for me.
A few minutes later I have two of the drunk girls kissing each other for me. What can I say? I love it.
I also can’t help that my eyes are drawn to yet another girl. This one is dark haired and she’s just standing with a friend. She’s turned away from me, but that’s alright. I don’t need to see her face to see how her hip is cocked and one hand is on her waist.
She seems sassy, which really gets me going. I love a good roll in the mud, especially when the girl who’s throwing it looks like that.