Under Locke

by Zapata, Mariana

  The guys and Blue blasted through two beers each, with Slim and I carrying the majority of the conversation as he tried to convince me—again—to get a tattoo.

  "Just a little thing," he insisted.

  I lifted a shoulder. "I don't know."

  "Tiny." He pinched his fingers together so that there was only about an inch between them. "Smaller than that heart you did for me."

  I grimaced. "I don't know about a heart though."

  A huge grin swept his face. "I can make you a mini dragon."

  He was talking about the electric blue dragon with rainbow fire. "Where?"

  "Anywhere but your lower stomach," he said confidently. "If you have kids that thing'll end up looking like a life sized one."

  I burst out laughing, watching as a small smile crossed Blake's features. "With my luck, it'll look like it’s trying to eat my baby."

  Dex nudged me with his shoulder. His facial expression careful. Did he look jealous? Jealous that I hadn't told him I'd started considering it? Jesus. There was enough I needed to tell him, but I'd been too much of a coward to. "You wanna get some work done, babe?"

  "I think so, but Gingervitis over here wants it more than me." That earned me an elbow from Slim that I returned with a laugh. "Maybe though. Just maybe."

  "Don't know where?" Dex asked.

  I glanced over at my favorite redhead and smirked. "I know where I don't want it."

  Slim elbowed me again. "Sucks we can’t do it by your scar."

  My stomach felt the equivalent of a plate shattering on concrete. The blood drained from my face and I lost my breath. The urge to squeak was right there, slithering its way up my vocal chords.

  The arm over my shoulders tightened a fraction. "What scar?"

  Oh crap. Crap, crap, crap!

  I forced a smile onto my face, and there was no doubt in my mind it was shaky and weak.

  I could lie. It would be easy enough to change the conversation. The only problem was, the instant I thought about lying again and having to divert the topic to something else, guilt pinched me right in the kidneys. Maybe it was because I knew Sonny was still mad at me, but maybe it was because these were people that I cared for more than I had others in a long, long time.

  But the answer, the realization, was right there.

  I didn't want to. I shouldn't have to keep hiding something that was as essential a part of me as my name.

  It was bound to happen, I knew that. Otherwise, it'd only be a matter of time before they found out. Keeping my cancer a secret hadn't been a permanent plan.

  When I looked over at Blake, sensing the deep sadness and wariness in his features, it reinforced my vertebrae and reminded me that I had guts. That I'd used my guts throughout my life. And if Blake really was suffering because of something going on with his little boy, I could do this. It wasn't that big of a deal.

  There were worse things in life than having people I cared about babying me. Feeling sorry for me. And I needed to quit being a sneaky jackass that kept things to herself. Would I have ever kept things from yia-yia? No way.

  I looked over at Dex and pointed at my arm, my fingers shaking as I did it. There was nothing to be nervous about. Nothing to be scared of. "I have this gnarly scar on my arm." Easy, right?

  His eyes hooded over as a frown crossed his features. "From what?" he asked carefully.

  You can do this, Ris.

  It wasn't a big deal. It really wasn't.

  I reached for the hem of my sweater and started pulling it up and over my head, careful to keep my arms perpendicular to my body so that I wouldn't give an impromptu arm-flash. I heard Slim chuckle, "Strip show? I need change for a ten."

  A snicker escaped me as I peeled it off my arms before balling the material on my lap. I took a deep breath and planted another shaky smile on my lips as I raised my bad arm in a way that made it look like I was going to flex my muscles. Not that there was much left there anymore, more than half of my bicep had been removed.

  I watched Dex as I did it. Watched him as he shifted in place, dropping his arm from around the back of the seat and settled his gaze on the silvery white twisted tissue that laced the inside of my bicep. That familiar nerve under his eye started popping instantly.

  "I had cancer when I was little," I told them, looking at Blake as I said it. Maybe my story wasn't the best one to try and relate to him. If Junior was sick, hearing that I'd gone through four different surgeries wasn't a fairy tale. But I was alive and I was here. Alive and here were much better words than the simple word—not. Not here. Inexistent.

  Back when I’d been sick, I’d always dreaded hearing other words. Spread. Lymph nodes. Amputation. Those words, those possibilities, make you grow up quick. They made me remember to prioritize correctly, to value and appreciate. But mainly the branches of those words scared me so much, I wanted to live even if it wasn’t always going to be fun and games.

  I’d forgotten that along the way somewhere. There was a difference between living and surviving. And this place, these people, reminded me of that.

  After a second I dropped my thinner limb, and let out a breath. Dex watched me with a blank expression while Slim's eyes went wide.

  "No shit?" he asked, reaching out to grab me. He lifted my arm up and touched the desensitized skin there with gentle fingertips. "What kind?"

  "A form of soft tissue sarcoma," I explained. “Cancer in my muscle, pretty much.”

  Slim's wide expression drooped before a frown crossed his lips. "Why didn't you say something?"

  That wasn't exactly what I was expecting. "I'm telling you now."

  "But you could've said something before," he shot back solidly. "Hey, Slim, I used to have friggin’ cancer. Just thought you should know."

  I opened my mouth to argue back with him when Blake made a noise I hoped to never hear from him again. Ever. "JR has acute lymphoblastic leukemia."

  Any argument in my mouth or Slim's died quickly.

  It was Blue that spoke first. "Sorry, B," she said, throwing her arms around the much bigger man.

  "Dude," was the one thing Slim muttered harshly.

  Oh shit. I slipped my knees onto the seat and leaned across the table, careful not to knock over any of the bottles, and put my hands on Blake's arm. "I'm sorry."

  He let out a weak, worried exhale. "The doctors called to say his red blood cell count was off. They ran a few tests to figure out what was wrong," he explained from Blue's shoulder. "I'm scared outta my mind."

  "They have all kinds of treatment for cancer now," Slim piped up.

  Blake nodded just a little bit. "Yeah, that's what the doctors said. They told us his kind is one of the most treatable, but it still scares the shit out of me."

  Of course it would. We sat around, trying to offer our best words of comfort and reassurance that Junior would get better. No one drank anything else while we talked to him but by the time we left over an hour later, it seemed like he was a little more calm.

  I didn't have the heart to say that he'd probably freak out a hundred more times over the course of the next few months, but I hoped he'd turn to one of us for moral support.

  What did get me was that Dex didn't say anything on the walk to his bike, his hand on my hip. When we got home, I'd barely sat on the couch when he came to stand in front of me. Four fingers flicked up. He growled, "Take it off, babe."

  I raised an eyebrow slowly. "Excuse me?"

  "Your shirt," he said like he was telling me to get on the back of his bike.

  "Why?"

  Dex ducked enough to grab the bottom of my sweater, slipping it up and over my head while I squirmed.

  "What the hell, Dex?" I swung my hand out toward him, catching him on the stomach.

  He wasn't fazed at all by my pathetic swing. Dex dropped to his knees in front of me, lifting my arm without another word. A crease lined his eyebrows, his mouth set into a grim line. He brushed a tapered, neatly groomed finger over the inside of my arm. One, two, three times.
I couldn't feel it well but the act itself seemed more intimate than what we'd done on his bed the day before.

  When was the last time I'd let anyone look at my scarring so closely, let alone touched it? Never.

  His breathing grew labored, the pressure of his pad increasing before he finally spoke in a low grumble. "You didn't think to tell me about this?" he asked, eyeing the knotted skin. "You didn't think to tell me you're sick?"

  "I was sick, Dex." I tried jerking my arm away but he held it too tight. "I haven't been sick in a long time."

  "How long?" His voice was low, hot and seeking.

  "I've been in remission for five years."

  Dex's body jerked. "A long time is ten years ago, twenty years ago. Not five, Ritz." He shuffled forward on his knees, ducking his head closer to mine. "Not five fuckin' years ago."

  "I'm fine, I promise." The assurance fell on deaf ears based on the look he gave me. "My chances of getting it again are pretty slim."

  "I don't care," he rasped. The words sounded ripped from his throat. “You had cancer, not the goddamn flu.”

  “Dex, it’s nothing.”

  “Baby, it’s not fuckin’ nothin’. You wouldn’t be missin’ half your bicep if it was nothin’. You wouldn’t have been hidin’ this if it wasn’t a big deal. This shit is not nothin’ to me.”

  Leaning forward, I grabbed his shoulder and pressed my forehead to his nose. "I'm sorry for not telling you before but it's not that big of a deal. I'm okay, and hopefully I'll be okay the rest of my life."

  He repeated the last sentence so low I missed half the words. His breath washed over my face, minty with just a hint of cigarette smoke. "Babe, is there somethin' else you haven't told me?"

  "No. Nothing important."

  Dex shook his head. "You're gonna give me a fuckin' heart attack. You sure?"

  I reached up to place my hands on his cheeks. "I'm positive. I promise. That's all."

  The tip of his nose drew a line from my forehead to my temple. "Don't do that shit to me again," he pleaded. "Swear to me, Ritz. Tell me you won't drop some shit like that on me again."

  His tone. Christ. The tremble in his voice pulled at the threads of tissues in my spine.

  My body started shaking. "I swear."

  Dex's hands went for my ribs, kneading the skin and bones. "You'll tell me if you start to feel bad? Anything, babe. Any time you start to feel sick, you swear you'll say somethin'?"

  I didn't know where this was all coming from. His need for me to tell him something so simple, but I could feel the tension under his skin. He wouldn't take anything but yes from me. Dex wouldn't accept anything less than a promise. "I swear."

  He nodded so slowly it seemed painful for him. The breath that left his mouth was a wisp and a flutter, shaky and emotional. “I’ll put you on the insurance plan first chance I get tomorrow. It ain’t that great but I’ll see if I can get you a better policy. You know, in case...” he trailed off, nostrils flaring, face tight.

  It made every blood cell in my body redirect itself to my heart, filling it with so much blood, so much life-giving sustenance, that I thought it was going to burst out in a bloody explosion. I wanted to tell him right then everything. About my surgeries, about the timeline of my loved ones' lives, about the sacrifices made that had shaped the outcome of my life.

  Tell him everything that had led me here. To him.

  But instead of remembering how to string along the twenty-six letters in an alphabet that suddenly didn't seem so important, I tipped my mouth up to brush my lips against his. He let out a long, shuddering exhale that wafted across my mouth, dragging me in deeper to the vortex that was Dex Locke.

  To have this man care about me, not just a little bit, but enough that it tipped the axis of his temperament, calmed me. It was an anchoring acknowledgment. Because I cared about him too and I wished in that moment that I would have had the opportunities to show him that I felt the same way. But all I'd done was keep things from him.

  Just like I kept things from Sonny. My beloved half-brother that was so mad he hung up on me—not that I could blame him but still.

  I didn't want to push people that I loved and valued away because I made decisions that were well-meaning but stupid.

  "I'm sorry," I whispered just a millimeter from those firm, full lips that graced his beautiful mouth. "I don't want to keep things from you, but it's a bad habit to break." I kissed his top lip for just a moment, closing my eyes as the reality of what my bullshit could lead me to set in. "Please don't give up on me, I won't do it again."

  Two large hands cupped my cheeks. "Iris," he purred in that silky voice that made me lose my breath all over again. "I already told you I don't give up what's mine." Dex kissed my bottom lip like I'd done his. "Ever."

  It was me who closed the distance between us, pressing my mouth to his. The kiss was sweet and slow. His mouth opened mine with a gradual slide of his tongue, hot and insistent.

  I palmed the flat, muscled plane of his pectorals. The heel of one of my hands rested just above one of his ringed nipples.

  We kissed and kissed like there was no rush in the world. There was no nipping like there had been in his bed, no teeth, or roughness. So when his hands swept their way down my throat, over my collarbones to land directly over the neckline of my tank top, I didn't hesitate when his fingers curled into the material. He pulled it down with a light ripping sound, bringing my bra cups along with it.

  I must have made a startled noise that told Dex I was on the verge of freaking out because he didn't let me. He pulled his mouth away from mine and immediately dipped down to draw a nipple into his mouth with a soft suck. Those highly capable fingers shoved the bottom hem of my shirt up to a tight bunch beneath my breasts.

  How the hell had I gone my entire life without this?

  I couldn't think, I couldn't move, I couldn't do a damn thing but moan and arch myself against his suckling. Holy moly. The draws and pulls were too good, way too friggin’ good. He moved his mouth over to lick at the other peak and I swear my nervous system shut down.

  In no time, he'd pushed me to lay against the back of the couch, his hands holding my ribs as he hovered his lips and tongue over the vulnerable place between my rib cage. "Goddamn, baby."

  Slow, slow, slow he went, ghosting those hot lips and hotter breath down the center of my stomach before stopping at my bellybutton. Dex licked the gold jewelry before sweeping his tongue in a circle around my navel, making me squirm and arch beneath him.

  I made some kind of noise that was mostly a moan but had a squeal mixed into it.

  "You know this is the first piercing I've done in three years?" He rimmed the piercing with the tip of his tongue again.

  I didn't even know the fifth letter in the alphabet in that moment.

  Dex replaced his mouth with his nose, making the contact even more intimate for some reason before humming low. "All this sweet skin just for me." He kissed right below my belly button. His fingers slipped into the band of my khaki pants. In a quick move, he undid their button and slid a hand inside over the cotton of my underwear.

  Ohmigod!

  "Dex!" I gasped and sat up, pulling Dex to me in a hard kiss that was all warm tongue and soft lips.

  He moaned and slipped his hand deeper into my pants, his fingertips resting over the start of my slit.

  We kissed and kissed and kissed. Dex laid me against the back of the couch, his mouth was possessive, nipping my lips while his fingers redrew soft lines over my underwear. His mouth went straight to my neck, biting the column just hard enough to make me cry out once.

  "Fuck, baby," he whispered against my throat. "So sorry." Then he bit me again just a little to the left of where he'd done it before, this time pressing the flat of his tongue against the skin as he did it.

  Holy crap, I was going to die.

  I tilted my chin back to give him more room and smiled like a drunk prostitute. "You're not sorry."

  Dex chuckled. "No, I'm really n
ot."

  I didn't realize my hips were wriggling beneath him, searching for his weight. My legs spread to let Dex's slim hips between them. And my hands...they'd managed to work their way beneath the black t-shirt that stretched over Dex's form. His skin was smooth and firm. The defined muscles contracted under my touch. His belly button tensed and his abs contracted as I spread my fingers wide, touching as much of him as I possibly could.