by Melissa Yi
I took a right and grabbed a rag out of the linen closet. Opening and closing the wooden folding doors, the way I had since I was a kid, soothed me a little. I mopped up the soup and said to the wooden squares on the floor, and my mother's white and chartreuse polka dot slippers, "I'm sorry. I'll see if I feel better later. But I told you, Mom, I'd rather not eat meat right now."
"It's not meat. It's bone soup!"
I made a face at her. Bones made me think of the body's ribs breaking under my compressions, a detail that nagged at me. The skin I'd glimpsed on the man's chest had been smooth and young. We usually think about little old ladies' bones breaking during CPR, not young and healthy males. There was no reason for his ribs to snap, unless he had osteogenesis imperfecta.
I popped into the bathroom, closing and locking the door with a satisfying ping of the tiny, fake brass door handle. My dad had renovated the bathroom himself, adding a grey pebble floor. I'd picked out the wallpaper in high school, white with tiny purple flowers, and I noticed it was starting to curl at the wall edges around the bathtub.
I didn't want to look at myself in the mirror over the sink, but I faced it. My eyes were bloodshot, although that's usually more a problem with my contact lenses than with my glasses. I'd gotten an avant-garde, spiky haircut post 14/11 that now hovered between laughable and insane. Your twenties are supposed to be this golden decade, but mostly, it's work, sleep, and crime for me. Except for my two guys. Them, I wouldn't trade for anything.
I tossed the rag in the wicker laundry basket and pulled my phone out of my pocket while my mother shouted, "I'll put your soup in the kitchen. When you come out, I'll warm it up for you. You tell me when you're almost ready!"
"Okay," I said, scrolling through my phone and smiling at the gajillion texts from Tucker, sometimes with snippets of Yiddish and other random languages. So, nu? The stem cells rocking your world already?
Let me know when you're free to Skype.
But the most recent one made me frown. Okay, I see you're finally home. What happened to you?
I texted him back. Hi. How did you know I was home?
Through the Finding Friends app. Remember?
Vaguely. I hadn't paid much attention when Tucker had mentioned there was this cool app he could help install on my phone. I typed back slowly, Are you spying on me?
No. I want to know where you are. Call me crazy, but after what happened to us, I like knowing you're not in a ditch somewhere. But why were you at the police station for an hour?
My throat caught. My heart fluttered in my chest, reminding me of a bird that got caught in a wood stove at my friend's cottage. The mother called, "Let it out! It's going to die in there!" The father said, "I don't want it to come out and crap everywhere! And maybe it's a bat, you ever think of that?" My friend was so embarrassed, not knowing how to make it look pretty for me, but she yanked a broom out of the closet to fight off the marauding bird or bat. In the end, they called the wood stove guy, so I never got to see it.
I felt like that bat/bird right now.
Tucker and Ryan were my two safeguards. I would trust them with my life.
And yet I didn't want them spying on me. Even if it kept me "safe."
Ryan had been right beside me, and what happened? We found a dead body.
Tucker was in Montreal, letting me go, letting me flee the crime-ridden city that I found so oppressive, but he was tracking me through my phone.
Said phone rang in my hand. Tucker's avatar glowed at me, the healthy, pre-hostage version, he of spiky blond hair, confident brown eyes, crooked grin. My eyes toggled between two buttons, green for accept or red for decline. Should I talk to him or not?
I hadn't known how to tell him that I'd found a dead body. Now, I didn't want to.
More than anyone else in the world, I loved Tucker, and he drove me berserk, too.
I clicked Decline and turned my ringer off, even though it made me feel sick. Tucker needed to know that I was safe, that I loved him despite decamping to Ottawa with my other sort-of boyfriend.
I texted him instead. I love you. I'll call you after my shower.
And then I turned on the hot water tap. The pipes clunked before water gushed through the faucet. I stared at it, wishing it would wash me clean.
Chapter 5
Half an hour later, I felt less soiled and more human, especially after fried rice and a slice of pineapple that had been on sale at T&T. While my mother reminisced about other, better pineapples she could have chosen, I ducked into the hallway shadows to call Tucker. Again.
Tucker hadn't answered my post-shower calls or texts. He was so hyper, that was completely out of character.
Did he fall asleep, zonked on his pain meds? But that meant the dose was too strong, or he was on a dangerous drug combo.
It meant he needed me. Either that, or he was too mad to talk. What if something had happened to Tucker?
I kept pressing redial and hanging up when I got his voice mail, like a psychotic ex-girlfriend with a restraining order.
I couldn't handle being away from him.
But I couldn't stand finishing my OB rotation at the hostage hospital, either. I would've cracked up. For real.
I don't want to be like this. I'd love to be perpetually perky and cute. Who cares if people keep killing each other around me? I'm going to figure out whodunit and save a dozen lives while doing the splits!
"Do you want an apple?" Mom called to me from the kitchen.
"No, Mom." My voice echoed in the hallway. I edged further away from her, past the main closet, toward the bathroom and my bedroom.
"I already cut it up for you. Red Delicious! Your favourite."
"Okay, Mom." I'd started eating other varieties while I was away at school, like Honeycrisp and Gala and Pink Lady, but whatever. I wasn't hungry. I needed Tucker. And Ryan. Ryan and Tucker. Tucker and Ryan.
"I put the bowl on the table."
"Thanks, Mom." It was easier not to fight her.
"Why are you standing in the dark? Turn on the light!" She flicked it on for me. The sudden brightness made me blink.
It was harder to worry about Tucker when my mother wouldn't leave me alone for one minute. I sighed and moved back toward her, glancing out the bay window of our living room en route to the kitchen. A pair of headlights beamed toward our driveway, followed swiftly by another.
Two cars with familiar outlines. Headed directly for my family's small bungalow.
My heart surged, and I stood at the window, my breath forming hazy circles on it, while my mother kept talking to me.
My phone buzzed in the pocket of my skinny jeans. I caught my breath.
We're back! U ok?
Even without the dozen emoticons that followed, I could have figured out that Kevin was texting me through our dad's phone. Not Tucker.
ok, I texted back. For once, I didn't write the whole word or bother with capitals. I closed my eyes in thanks. At least my family and one of my guys was safe.
"Oh, oh, Ryan's going to need some soup!" My mother clattered in the kitchen, and I was left in relative peace to watch our blue Honda Accord pull up our driveway, with Kevin dashing out to open the garage door manually because the electronic door opener got stuck halfway. Then Ryan's Nissan pulled up tight behind my car, which I'd left on the street. For some reason, that made me smile.
While Kevin described their car-seeking adventure in blow-by-blow detail, Ryan stood beside me and laid his hand on my waist, in the gap between my flannel shirt and my skinny jeans. I jumped slightly because it felt too good. Like, illegal.
I should feel somber after our brush with death. Dispassionate. Asexual. Especially surrounded by my family.
I shouldn't notice each imprint of Ryan's individual finger, or how the goose bumps rose on my forearms and my nipples jumped to attention.
Our eyes met. His nostrils flared slightly. His eyes narrowed. Maybe I glanced down at myself, because he did too. A long, slow glance.
My li
ps parted.
My heart thudded in my ears, and I chanted to myself, Tucker, Tucker, Tucker. Trying to remind myself that I was at least partially spoken for.
And was any place unsexier than my family's living room, with my little brother jumping up and down in front of us?
Even so, my body nudged closer to Ryan's. My left arm crept up to touch his arm, stroking the hairs on his skin.
His fingers stilled for a second. He said, in a hoarse voice, "I should go."
"I'll be back later!" I hollered on my way out, even as my mother wailed about, you guessed it, soup.
We hurried into the cold, me with my jacket unzipped, Ryan with his boots unlaced.
One blink later, we were in his car, his mouth crushing mine, car doors barely slammed behind us, and Roxy's furious, back seat barks ricocheting in our ears. She tried to climb between the front seats to get to us.
I pulled away, laughing, but Ryan leaned forward, blocking that opening and keeping Roxy at bay. His body weight pinned me into the passenger seat, and I wanted him there, his lips hard against mine. Alive.
I needed the weight of his body. It brought me back into myself, forced me to feel something.
I couldn't get enough of the way he smelled. After being locked in hospitals for the past 4.25 years, he smelled like ocean breezes and clean laundry and a very healthy man, even without the evidence pressing under my navel.
His lips were hard, almost angry. He kissed me like he wanted to eat my mouth, and it excited me, even though my heart was breaking too. Because Ryan was my last good guy, the one who never had to rub his face against death and disease every day, the way Tucker and I did. Hell, Ryan was devastated when his grandmother died.
For the first time, Ryan had come face to face with a strange corpse.
Ryan wasn't a death virgin anymore.
He was hurting, and I could feel it in the tension of his shoulders, in the way he refused to take a breath when he plundered my mouth. He still slipped a hand behind my head to shield me from the car door, pinning his own hand, but he weighed me down with the rest of his body like he needed to do it.
He'd spent so much of his life playing by the rules, playing the perfect son and grandson and church-goer. He'd even tried to sell me on second virginity. Supposedly, even though we'd already had full carnal knowledge of each other, repeatedly and exquisitely, we could still save our souls by not having sex again until marriage. I could feel rebellion in his mouth. He wasn't going to play by the rules anymore
And I gloried in it.
"I love you," I managed to get out, but the words were so distorted by our kiss, I didn't think he understood me, or cared, until his lips softened slightly. I felt his mouth move against mine, although I couldn't catch any puff of words.
It didn't matter. I knew he loved me. We'd loved each other for years, even when we'd broken up and were living on opposite sides of the province.
His tongue swept against mine, his fingers slid under the hem of my shirt, and for a second I tensed and thought, No. We can't do this. My brother might be able to see us. We've got to—
My body hollered, DO THIS.
Ryan's hips pushed against mine, through our clothes. Despite Roxy's frantic barks, my mind careened between scenes of break up sex and make up sex and sex sex.
When Ryan finally lifted his lips and hips off mine, the street lamp's glow dazzled my eyes.
I blinked, unsure if it was over, but he was sitting up, sliding his key into the ignition and saying, "Let's go."
My head buzzed. Even without him kissing me, I could hardly talk, could hardly program my fingers to reach for my seat belt. "Where?"
He said exactly two words. "My place."
Chapter 6
"I've never found someone dead before," said Ryan, as he exited the highway on to Woodroffe Avenue.
"I know." I stroked his hair, his neck, his ear. I couldn't stop touching him. Part of me was afraid that if I stopped, he'd remember that sex was verboten because Jesus said so. And part of me simply marvelled at the softness of his earlobe and the way I could feel the mastoid bone lying under the skin behind his ear. He was made so beautifully, Ryan was.
"I've never been brought to the police station, either." He hit the gas. He was gunning for his apartment. The streetlights periodically lit up his profile, so his face blinked in and out of darkness.
He was going a good 20 clicks over the speed limit. Every time we hit a stop light, he had to jam on the brakes. On the last one, the car skidded slightly on the snow, but he handled it easily, coming to a full stop before he turned right on Constellation Way.
As soon as we pulled into the deserted garage of his brick apartment building, Ryan killed the ignition and turned to me.
Before I unlatched my seat belt, he was kissing me on the lips.
Zoom. I kissed him right back. Our teeth clicked. My bottom lip split. I tasted the iron tang of blood.
It made me kiss him harder.
Tucker's face launched into my mind, his eyes blazing with betrayal.
I jerked my head back. My breath steamed into the air. John Tucker.
You love Tucker. Tucker saved your life.
I turned my face toward the windshield, trying to think, while my breath condensed on the glass.
Ryan kissed my left ear.
I squiggled in his arms. He started kissing my neck, which was strictly unfair, because he knew how that short-circuited my brain.
I love Ryan, too.
I yanked Ryan's shirt out of his waistband and shoved my hands up his stomach and chest. I felt his abdominal muscles jerk in surprise, and I waited for him to say no, that he was Christian, that we had to save our souls from hellfire after all the sex we'd had two years ago.
Instead, he grinned and helped work his way out of his jacket and shirt. Then he sat in his car in his full, bare-chested glory, with more defined pecs than I remembered, under that smooth brown skin, and I was melting, melting, my tongue adhering to the roof of my mouth with longing.
Ryan moved back to kissing my mouth. This time, he was the one sliding his hands under my shirt, trying to unbuckle my bra in the back, only to realize that I was wearing a sports bra with an elastic band.
He growled and unzipped my jacket. Then he unbuttoned my flannel shirt before sliding both layers off my shoulders at once.
I flinched a little in the cool air of the car. Ryan and I hadn't been naked together in over two years. But I knew I looked pretty good in a plain black sports bra, not crazy-muscled, but slim and reasonably-toned, so I sat up straight while he devoured me with his eyes.
He reached for my bra strap, ready for the great reveal.
I crossed my arms over my chest. "Before we go too far, we should talk."
Ryan made an impatient noise. His fingers stilled, but didn't release the elastic band.
"I still love you and Tucker. Both of you. I'm not choosing only you. That would destroy him."
"I don't care." He looked at me, and I realized that he really didn't. He didn't give a fuck about Tucker, didn't care that the guy had thrown down for me during the hostage-taking. In fact, he hated him for it. Ryan wanted to be the one who'd protected me.
Ryan started running his hands over my back, which is only marginally less sensitive than my neck. I clenched my teeth, breathing through them, trying not to liquefy at his feet.
"Hope. Don't talk." His dark eyes burned.
I felt a twitch between my legs before I said, "Ryan—"
He kissed me. Ryan's always been a good kisser, but this was Ryan with a touch of Satan, my split lip, his tongue reaching in my mouth while his hand wound in my hair to make sure I couldn't get away.
That reminded me of the hostage-taking, and I tried to jerk my head to the side, even as part of my brain whispered Yes, that's right, and I kissed him back, rubbing myself against him, breathing his breath. I could have died last month. I'm sure, in most parallel universes, we did get blown away.
Some
how, that made it harder to say no. To think of the future.
Ryan's free hand ran down my back, feeling my curves under my clothes. I could tell it wasn't a cursory skimming. He really wanted to memorize my body up to and including my ass. He let go of my hair so he could cup and then squeeze both cheeks hard enough for me to feel each fingertip.
When I gasped, he sucked that into his mouth too.
Then he shifted to yank my bra off. It got caught on my ear— sports bras aren't meant for sexy unveiling, more to keep your boobs from bouncing too hard when you run—and we both laughed before he said, "Sorry" and kissed my right ear, sticking his tongue in it for good measure.
My body tilted toward Ryan.
He cupped my bare breasts, one in each hand.
I backed off right away, but when his hands followed me, one thumb on each nipple, my mouth dried up.
My breath came in quick, ragged puffs of air. Ryan was supposed to be my safety net. I hated his whole "no sex again until we're saved by the sanctimony of marriage" thing, but I realized that I'd sort of counted on it, too. He was safe.
Well, Ryan wasn't safe anymore.
He bent his head and licked each nipple. The second one, he bared his teeth and grazed me with his incisors. It was so erotic that my whole lower body clenched. He wouldn't hurt me, would he?
Ryan's dark eyes flashed. No, he didn't hurt me. But he was yanking my jeans off, my skinny leg jeans that tend to get caught on the calves. Nothing I'd wear for our great reunion sex. Some girls wear granny panties or don't wax if they want to remind themselves not to have sex that night. But I know at least one girl who broke that Odysseus contract with herself and told the guy to wait while she headed for the bathroom and shaved herself as best she could before climbing on top of him.
Rules were made to be broken.
I tried to focus on Tucker. My knight in rumpled greens. My hero of the ICU. That made me hotter, to be honest. I reached for my phone, reached out for Tucker, but since my jeans were around my ankles, it meant that I bent over the seat, ankle-cuffed by my jeans and trying not to hit my head on the dashboard, while Ryan shucked off my underwear.
I caught my panties as they slid halfway down my thighs and yanked them up hard enough that they folded up in all the wrong places.