by Teagan Kade
I lift up the covers. “Come back to bed. Please,” I add.
She’s conflicted, perhaps heard of my reputation and my little curveball here has thrown her off. She’s probably as confused as I am by the invitation, but eventually I see her hang her head and look to me, a coy smile following. “If you insist.”
“Oh, I most certainly do,” I smile.
She takes off her clothes slowly, shedding each article one by one until she’s back in her birthday suit and looking all kinds of sexy. I can’t get over how I missed her, how I couldn’t see how impossibly perfect she is. Guess I’ll pin that one down to the hit in the head as well, throwing the ol’ King radar off.
She smiles and climbs in so I’m spooning her from behind. “You’re still hard,” she notes, wiggling her butt against me. God, the feel of her naked body in front of me is fucking bliss.
She sniffs and I’m suddenly unsure of myself, unable to read her. “You okay? I know I can illicit an emotional response sometimes, but…”
“I’m fine. That was amazing, really.” She reaches around for my neck, twisting back so we can kiss. We keep our lips pressed together, neither one of us wanting to be the first to break it.
She rolls over so she’s flat on her back. I remain with my elbow planted into the mattress, observing her, the coral pink of her nipples, so round and soft. Her eyes are puffy, almost sad, and I start to wonder if it was me. Usually the post-sex tears come when I tell the girls I sleep with I want them to go, not stay.
Or it could be more…
The thought hangs as I twist myself to lie beside her, one hand high on her thigh, my fingertips brushing against her sex. “I suppose you’ve heard the stories about me?”
“That you’re a super-jock who only cares about one thing, just like all the King brothers?”
“Hey now,” I warn. “Look at Peyton. He managed to shrug off that stereotype, didn’t he?”
“Are you looking to do the same?” she asks, light.
“Are you offering to be the one who breaks me? I’m not a wild mustang,” I retort, sliding my hand, fingers dancing against the soft lips of her sex. “Though I wouldn’t be opposed to it. I could do with a firm hand.”
She laughs. “Maybe you should hit up one of the many buff boys in the Steam Room then?”
“Guy-on-guy isn’t my thing.” I pause. “Is it yours?”
She laughs again. “No. God, no. I’m not that adventurous.”
“You’ve never had a threesome?” I say it offhand, but I definitely hear the way it comes across.
“You make it sound like something everyone does. Learn to ride a bike, check. Finish high school, check. Have a threesome, check.”
“Well,” I begin, “and I want you to know I’ve never told any girl about this, shouldn’t speak a word of it on threat of death…”
She rolls slightly, clamping her thighs together and capturing my fingers there. “Do go on.”
“We have a bucket list, my brothers and I. Made it up when we were thirteen or fourteen. The first to tick off all sixty-nine items was the winner.”
She rolls her legs together, twisting my hand in the process. “Let me guess, this bucket list didn’t include hiking through the Himalayas, does it?”
I smile thinking back to it. “Let’s just say it had more of a sexual inclination.”
“And how many of these items have you ticked off?”
“Sixty.”
“And your brothers?”
“We never reveal our numbers to one another—only when the winner is revealed.”
“Sounds like some weird kind of secret sex society.”
“Of sorts.”
“Where do I fit in to this so-called list, as much as I appreciate the privilege of hearing your hallowed number?”
“Hang around long enough and perhaps we can knock over those last nine.”
“Do I dare even ask?”
“Best not to,” I laugh, thinking about the missing items. “I wouldn’t want to scare you off.”
She releases her legs, allowing me to move my hand forward and find her wet again. “Hmm,” I muse, considering plying her further but drawing my hand away and pulling her into a tight embrace instead, hooking her leg over mine.
She nuzzles into my chest, breathing me in. “This is nice.”
“It is,” I agree, not entirely used to the sensation or act of simply, well, cuddling, but again it feels so familiar. It almost borders on disconcerting. “Did we know each other before?” I ask.
A beat passes. I feel her swallow. “Before the accident?”
“Yeah.”
There’s another pause. She clears her throat and I’m certain her heart’s beating faster against me. “Yeah,” she replies casually. “We met at Peyton and Erin’s engagement party.”
I try to recall it, but both Maya and the party come up blank. “We did?”
“Yes,” she sighs. “You were nice enough to show me to the keg, if I recall.”
“Sounds about right.”
“I didn’t get you drunk, did I? Have my wicked way with you?”
I’m joking, but the hesitation has me worried. “Maya?” My tone turns serious. “Have we slept together before?” I ask. That would certainly explain the déjà vu, that air of familiarity I can’t seem the shake.
Her heart’s pumping along a million miles per minute.
My cell buzzes on the bedside, breaking the silence and snapping me out of my train of thought.
I reach over. “Who the hell’s calling me now?”
I swipe up the phone and squint trying to adjust to the brightness of the screen. “It’s Alissa,” I say aloud, curious because she never calls. It’s always Dad.
Maya sits up on her elbows, watching me, her hair hanging down past her shoulders.
I swipe and answer, bringing the cell to my ear sitting fully upright. “Alissa?”
“Titus, it’s Alissa.”
I look quizzically to Maya. “Ah, yeah. I got that. What’s up?”
“Your Dad’s in the ER.”
“What?”
Maya reads the panic on my face, sitting up straighter to match me.
“Why?” I continue. “What happened?”
“We’re not sure. Heart attack, maybe. Can you come, tell your brothers? I couldn’t get hold of them.”
I run my hand through my hair. “Yeah, sure.”
“Thank you. I’ll text through the address.”
She hangs up and I let the cell drop from my hand to my bed. “It’s my dad. He’s in the ER.”
It’s such a strange concept. The old man is built like a rock. The idea of him in a hospital bed is almost too bizarre to consider.
The concern Maya shows is real. I’m not a game to her, a score. She cares and I see it now plain as day. “Let’s go, together.”
“You’ll come?”
I hear voices downstairs, the front door opening.
“Of course,” she replies. “You want me to see if that’s your brothers, tell them?”
I nod, trying to process it all. “Yeah.”
She swings out of bed and into action, dressed and out the door before I’ve even got my underwear on. I don’t want to waste any time.
Even in the car, trailing the others riding with Nolan, I’m happy to have Maya beside me, a reassuring hand on my leg.
And it feels natural.
It feels right.
It feels like she’s always been here.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MAYA
There’s a distinct feeling of déjà vu as I wait with Titus and the others at the hospital. Story of my life, really.
Everyone’s pacing around the small waiting room at the end of the corridor, Titus included. It’s been three hours and we haven’t heard anything. I can sense the brothers growing restless.
Nolan stands, clicking his fingers. “Phoenix, don’t you have some contacts here, bro?”
Phoenix is leaning against the vending ma
chine in the corner. “If by ‘contacts’ you mean ‘nurses I’ve slept with,’ sure, but I don’t think it’s going to help our case here. We’ve just got to wait.”
I’m surprised by how reasonable he seems. Titus, on the other hand, seems agitated and aloof, burning a line in the carpet with his constant back and forth—just like I was back at home earlier. And again, there’s the déjà vu.
That phone call came at precisely the right time, because the truth is I don’t know what to tell him. If I admit we slept together, what then? How far do I go, and what effect would that admission have? It’s a hornet’s nest of questions I know would only lead to more, on and on until I’m not sure I could explain any of it.
Put yourself to use.
It’s my usual go-to when I feel overwhelmed. There’s peace in purpose, as my mother used to say.
“I’m going down to the cafeteria. Anyone want anything?” I announce.
Titus is quiet, a muted murmur from Nolan.
“I’ll take a coffee,” says Phoenix, winking. “Extra sugar.”
“On it,” I smile, stopping beside Titus to squeeze his hand. “You okay?”
He seems to snap out of his daydream, managing a smile. “Yeah. It’s just… weird being back here.”
I squeeze again. “I know, but there’ll be word soon. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
He nods and lets me go.
The further I walk the stronger the smell of bleach and ammonia becomes. I can’t stand it, want to get out of here as soon as possible, but know I have to stay, for Titus.
I’m turning the corner when I spot Titus’s doctor. He’s looking down at a clipboard.
“Doctor?” I query, approaching him carefully.
He looks up and turns, noticing me. There’s a flicker of confusion before recognition settles in. “Oh, hello there. How’s your friend doing?”
He’s great, though the hot sex earlier didn’t seem to shake his memory free, my head answers.
I choke a bit with this thought before I actually speak like a sane person. “He’s, ah, doing okay. He hasn’t got his memory back, unfortunately, but we’re trying to remain positive.”
The doctor’s eyes narrow. “Is there something you want to ask me?”
“I guess, is there anything else I can do?” Apart from screwing his brains out.
I blush waiting for the doctor’s response.
The doctor’s clipboard falls to his side. “Generally, the most successful reclamation of memories happens naturally. It can’t be forced, I’m sorry.”
“But what if I was to tell him, maybe—”
The doctor cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “Being told about memories doesn’t help someone recall them. Does that make sense? It doesn’t really work like that. What we’re dealing with in Titus’s case is retrograde amnesia where he can’t recall events prior to his trauma. There’s no anterograde amnesia, which means he has no trouble making new memories, but you must understand the memory recovery you’re looking for is something that has to happen organically.”
I expected as much, but maybe I was hoping for a missing element, a way forward.
He places a hand on my shoulder, and I swear I’ve landed in Grey’s Anatomy. “Alright?” He smiles.
I nod. He turns and walks off down the corridor. Poor guy’s probably got a thousand patients to attend to instead of playing explain-like-I’m-five with me.
I pick up Phoenix’s coffee, big on the sugar, walk back into the waiting room and notice another doctor in there providing the much-anticipated news of Stone King.
I silently move next to Titus’s side, listening intently.
“In short,” the doctor continues, “what your father mistook for a heart attack was simple acid reflux, which is to say he’ll be perfectly fine. Common antacids should help.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” comes the chorus.
The doc vanishes, Titus breathing a sigh of relief next to me. “Acid reflux. Fucker. He really had us going there.”
“Maybe the old man just wanted us all in the same room,” says Nolan.
“For what?” adds Phoenix, drifting over to take the coffee from my hands. “Family meeting?”
“Not quite.”
We all spin to find Stone King entering the room slowly in a hospital gown, Alissa behind him with patched up panda eyes.
Nolan’s the first to embrace him, Titus swinging in behind him.
“Easy now,” he laughs, spotting me. “Ms. Riordan. Nice to see you again.”
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
He pats himself down. “Everything seems in order, but I could still die from embarrassment. I’m sorry to scare you guys like that.”
Titus taps his chest. “That’s a King beater you’ve got in there. Damn thing will be ticking forever.”
“I’m sorry for the fuss, guys.”
Phoenix saunters up to King Senior. “As much as I love a happy ending, I’m heading home. Coach wants us out training tomorrow morning before dawn. I’m going to need night vision googles at this rate.”
He gives his father a light rap on the chest. “Glad you’re A-Okay, Dad.”
“Son,” comes the monosyllabic reply.
Nolan’s the next to speak. “I’m gonna get some shut-eye too. Anything you need, Dad?”
“Just a big ol’ hole to swallow me up.”
I see Nolan’s eyes drift to Alissa, but he manages to keep himself in check. “Try the casino.”
Stone laughs at that. “I don’t want a heart attack for real.”
Nolan leaves and it’s just Titus and me.
Titus stands before his father. “You really had us going., you know.”
“Got to keep life interesting, huh? You okay, Ti?”
Titus nods, looking to me with a smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Real good.”
“Glad to hear it,” smiles Stone. “Think you’ll be swinging again soon?”
Titus’s smile grows. “The good lord himself couldn’t keep me off the field for long.”
“Glad to hear it.”
I, on the other hand, not so much. The thought of Titus returning to baseball games, another blow to the head… I try not to dwell on it, to be discouraged by the doctor’s words to me.
It has to happen organically.
You can’t force it.
I recall the sex, the fevered way Titus’s hands moved over me. He knew, I know it. There was recognition there in every vaulted thrust.
I suppose deep down I hoped the physicality of it all would bring him back to me, that with orgasm he’d suddenly spring to life and announce, ‘I remember!’, a post-orgasmic flurry of hugs and kisses, a retelling of the story of us by the fireplace downstairs, more sex, yadda-yadda.
The reality that it triggered nothing falls over me like a lead blanket.
“We’ll see you later, Dad.”
Another hug before Titus guides me down the hall.
Titus is shaking his head. “Acid reflux. Can you believe it? Bastard really had us going there.”
He’s speaking, but the smell of the hospital is starting to get to me.
I stop, suddenly dizzy, reaching to the wall for support.
A wave of thought consumes me—what the doctor said, what could be but isn’t, the loss and horror of it all overwhelming me.
My stomach churns. “I think I’m—”
“Maya?”
I reach up to my mouth before I lose it, running towards the bathroom at the far end of the corridor.
I can hear Titus shouting behind me. “Maya!”
I crash through the bathroom door and spill into the nearest stall on my knees, throwing up until there’s nothing left but the bitter taste of bile in my mouth.
Clearly giving zero concern for the fact this is a women’s bathroom, I feel Titus pulling my hair back into a ponytail beside me, a reassuring hand on my back as I heave again. It’s mortifying. I might have to join Stone in his hole after this.
But Ti
tus is unconcerned. “It’s okay,” he tells me. “Get it all out. I’m right here.”
I have no idea where any of this is coming from. I’ve barely eaten. The thought of food sends me off again, Titus holding me as I shiver.
Spent, I lift my head from the bowl and slump against the partition, Titus down on the floor with me stroking my face.
“I’ll be right back.”
Titus returns a minute later with a plastic cup of water and a paper towel. I take them, sipping slowly and wiping my mouth, my eyes puffy and red. I must look like a bed sheet.
Titus squats on the other side of the stall. “Good?”
“You do know this is the girl’s bathroom, right?”
He scratches his head. “I’ve… ah… been here before.”
I don’t even want to ask, smiling as I try to pull myself back together.
I go to stand, Titus quick to help me. He lifts me up under the arm, kicking the door open so we can get past.
“You sure we shouldn’t check you in?” he asks.
“I’ll be fine,” I reply. “Probably just something I ate.”
“Come on,” he says, continuing to rub my back. “Let’s get you home and set up, hey?”
This is the Titus I remember: caring and compassionate, a side he only seemed to show me and no one else. Because you can’t be a King and be soft, not that the word defines Titus at all, but still, his public persona was so different to the man I came to know.
We’re outside when I break down, standing there in the open of the parking lot and bawling my eyes out. This is the man I fell in love with… and he doesn’t know, doesn’t have the slightest idea what he means to me.
I’m crying because I can’t tell him about our past with any confidence he’ll remember it or believe me, and the thought is too much to bear.
Titus is clearly bewildered by my sudden outburst.
He comes around in front of me, an ambulance blasting past with full lights and sirens. “Maya, what is it? Do you want go back inside?”
He’s holding my arms, trying to warm me up even though it’s not particularly cold out.
But back inside the hospital is the last place I want to go. I shake my head.
“What is then? Why are you crying?”