Obsessive Compulsion

by C. E. Kilgore

  “Just don’t be surprised if her idea of tucking you in involves rope,” Ian quips with a snort.

  “Damn,” Austin grins as Emma giggles. The joke is a needed break in the tension. “I can see why you don’t want to share her,” Austin retorts, sliding his arm around my shoulders as we walk out the large wooden doors.

  We ease down the carpeted hallway on the first floor where Austin’s room is. He lives at The Stables full time, taking care of the place and Brandon’s horses. He’s barely leaning on me, but I didn’t offer the walk for physical reasons. Stopping outside his door, I wait to see if he needs anything more.

  He takes a step to the door then shoulders the wall next to it. “You and Ian work things out?” he asks shyly, eyeing his boots.

  I feel my cheeks heat as I recall just how well we worked things out. “We did. I’m sure we’ll hit a few more bumps, but I think we’re at least heading in the right direction now.”

  His gaze raises up, coy shyness replaced by serious concern. “He’s a good man who’s worth whatever bumps you may hit, I promise you that.”

  “I know,” and I really do. I’m prepared to climb a mountain for that man, even if I have to do it in thigh-high boots and a corset.

  “Ah,” Austin’s expression brightens with a toothy, boyish grin. “La mirada de amor,” he whispers. “You have the look of love, Charlie.”

  I cough involuntarily, my brain not ready to listen as my heart pounds its agreement. I hate that I’m so afraid of that word, because if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be standing here trying to think up a way to blow off Austin’s acute observation. Instead, my mouth is opening and closing like a dumb fish.

  “Sorry, Charlie girl,” Austin saves me from my floundering with a look of understanding. “I know exactly where you are.”

  Normally, I’d argue that statement with a ‘you don’t know shit’, or some other defensive mechanism I’ve adopted over the years, but I can’t find a reason to deny that he knows exactly where I’m coming from. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt him,” I whisper, shocked that the words made it out.

  His eyes close as his head taps back against the wall. “Most times, our fear is exactly what ends up hurting those we love.” His face tightens in a wince. “Damn,” his fist hits lightly against the wall. “I call Saul stupid because that boy won’t listen, but I’m stupid for being afraid to say what really needs to be said.”

  I’m not sure how to respond. The old ‘there’s always tomorrow’ cliché sits on my tongue, but something tells me that Austin knows what utter bullshit that idea is. There isn’t always tomorrow. All you got is now. Right now. You either live it or you let it live without you. His eyes snap open and I get the strange sensation he was just thinking the same thing.

  He turns the doorknob. “I best get some shuteye so I can pick that boy’s ass outta county lockup bright and early. I may not be back in time to help with breakfast.”

  “Emma and I can’t cook, but we’ll try not to burn the kitchen down.” I squeeze his shoulder then take a step back. “Night, sweetie.”

  “Night, Charlie girl.” He gives me a tired wink then disappears into his room.

  La mirada de amor. Austin’s words haunt me all the way back to the clubroom. Pausing in the doorway, I watch Emma and Ian conversing in hushed voices. She’s blushing with a hand over her mouth. Ian’s blushing too and I can guess what their topic of conversation is.

  It’s good that Emma’s found someone else she can talk so casually with. Finding her words has never been easy for Emma, but when she clicks with a person, her words seem to naturally find themselves. It’s always been interesting to see who she forms a connection with and who she doesn’t, because I know it’s not always something she can control. My parents never held it against her that Emma didn’t click with them after I talked them into fostering her, but I’m relieved to see she’s clicked with Ian.

  The fact that I’m relieved my best friend gets along with Ian only make’s Austin’s observations hit deeper. Sharper. The urge to run from these feelings sends a tremor through my gut, but I force my legs to move forward into the clubroom’s warm light, where Ian waits for me, instead of stepping back into the hallway’s safe, empty darkness.

  Ian turns his smile to me and it changes, just subtly, but it’s enough to send that trembling in my gut down into my legs. I’ve just figured out it’s a smile he only shows to me, and that has me shaking in my domination boots, wondering just which one of us is really taking the lead in this dance. I hope he knows the moves better than I do, because I’m honestly just making it up as I go along.

  “Did Austin make it to bed okay?” Emma asks with concern despite the smile on her lips. Most people wouldn’t know what to make of her ability to smile while concerned. Most would just brush her off as being insensitive or fake, but I know just how deeply Emma can feel things. Behind that smile, she’s probably fighting a dozen different feelings at the same time due to tonight’s drama.

  I finger one of her curls like I used to do when we were little. “He did. He’s gonna head out early to pick Saul up, so that leaves us to handle breakfast.”

  Emma scrunches up her nose. “I feel sorry for the members.” We share a laugh then her expression shifts into a serious scowl. “Ian is spending Christmas alone.”

  The fact that Emma just blurts that out doesn’t surprise me in the least, but it makes Ian choke on his Sprite. He gives me an apologetic look. “I was telling her that our annual Christmas party is most likely not going to happen, unless we want to start a fight club. She told me you two and Brandon are heading up to Oklahoma to visit your folks?”

  “We are,” I nod, my weight shifting from heel to toe and back again as a thought hits me. It’s a crazy idea. It’s probably way too soon, but the weather patterns are shifting and there’s the scent of a brewing tornado in the air. “You wanna come?”

  Ian coughs against another ill-timed mouthful of Sprite. I bite back a laugh as he wipes the sputtered liquid from his chin, and my heart stops when his eyes lock with mine. He wants to say yes, but I can already hear his mind telling him why he should say no.

  “It’s only a three hour drive,” I add.

  “You should come!” Emma almost commands with an exuberant bounce against her barstool. “Please?”

  Emma’s pulling out all the stops and taking no prisoners as she tilts her head, pouts her bottom lip slightly and rounds her bright green eyes into doll-worthy saucers. It’s the look that makes Brandon fall to his knees, and with the way Ian sways left then right, I think it’s working.

  Ian inhales so deeply I can hear it, then he looks from Emma to me. His stunning eyes study me, rooting my feet to the ground, and I know his acceptance or decline will have absolutely nothing to do with Emma.

  “Alright,” he speaks with the same unwavering tone he just used on me in the bedroom, and damn if I’m not feeling my knees start to cave. I’m tempted to take him right back up there and see if he wants to play another round.

  “I may have to take valium and sleep the whole way,” he snorts, bringing my attention back to the trip while his cute little snort unravels me. “If you’re sure it’s alright with your parents.”

  Emma lets out a quiet giggle behind her hand. “Carol and John will be happy to see you again. They really liked you.”

  “They did?” he asks her first then glances back at me. “They did?”

  Emma chooses that moment to hop down off the barstool with a stretch. “Goodnight,” she says, stepping out of the conversation and exiting the clubroom.

  God, I love the girl, but sometimes…

  I stare at the empty doorway before feeling Ian’s continuing stare on me. It makes me fidget. I hate that he makes me fidget. I kina love it, too.

  “They did,” I confirm, leaning against the bar to give a casual tone to the ‘parents’ discussion typically reserved for official couples. Mercy, Ian and I haven’t even labeled this thing yet, and I’ve invited him to my pare
nt’s place for Christmas. I idly play with a ring of moisture on the bar top left by Ian’s glass, watching the bubbles in his drink fizz.

  “Momma thought you were sweet, with the way you always asked if she needed anything and hung around the hospital. Daddy, well, he said you were a little stiff but ‘a nice young man with a solid career and a good handshake’,” I say the last bit in my dad’s voice.

  “Sorry, but my dad has this weird thing about handshakes…” I shrug lightly and raise my eyes up to judge his reaction. “I guess you passed or something.”

  “Luckily it was cold that day and I had on gloves,” he gives me a lopsided smirk, but the corner of his mouth droops after a moment. “Maybe I shouldn’t…”

  “Shouldn’t what?” Oh heck no, Mr. Rider, you aren’t backing out now. Not when I just got my heart and brain to accept the fact that we’re having this conversation.

  He sighs then starts cleaning the bar top. “I don’t want to ruin your parents’ fond memories of me from the few hours or so I spoke to them while Emma was in the hospital. I mean… What if your dad comes into the kitchen at two in the morning to find me trying to unplug his stove?”

  I laugh at the visual then slap my hand over my mouth to try and muffle the outburst. “He’d probably ask you to sweep the floor while you were back there.”

  “Charlotte…”

  I put my hand over his, stopping him from cleaning the same spot for the fifth time. Even with layers of leather between our hands, just the touch seems to calm his anxiety. “Hey, we’ll figure it out, sweetie. I’m gonna guess that a hotel wouldn’t work for you, so you’re stayin’ with me and my folks just like Emma and Brandon. It’s a big enough place. I’ll call ahead, give them some warning.”

  He snorts again, but it’s bitter. “Warning that they’re letting a medicated, twitching, unstable,” he stops when I squeeze his hand.

  “Don’t forget, they helped raise Emma.” I squeeze his hand again and he finally gives a tight nod while reaching for his glass. “Although,” I ease back from the bar in an attempt to get Ian over this hurdle, “they are Catholic. They may not let us share a room because we aint hitched.”

  Ian spits Sprite across the bar, avoiding me by only a few inches. “Dammit,” he coughs then grabs the rag.

  “Don’t worry,” I wink. “They sleep like the dead, so I’ll just sneak into your room at night.”

  His hand stops moving the rag. “Or we could just get married.”

  My heart rams into my throat, because his face is completely serious as he says it, like he’s telling me it might rain tomorrow. Rain? Mercy! I think Hurricane Ian just landed ashore and my brain is yelling the only word it can muster in an attempt to save its sanity – run.

  I’m about to die of asphyxiation in the middle of a BDSM club because I can’t get a breath past the battle raging between my swooning heart and my panicking mind. It only lasts a second, but that second gives birth to the most frightening thought I’ve had in years – that marriage to Ian Rider sounds kina fun.

  Fun? That’s it, Charlotte. You’ve done lost your damn mind. I’m out. Call me when you want to start thinking rationally again.

  My brain clicks off, leaving me stranded with a heart that’s about to make me the biggest fool this side of the Red River. Stars tingle across my vision, my mouth opens and not even air comes out. Maybe Ian sees me in distress, or maybe he was playing with me all along, because suddenly he just winks at me with a snort.

  “Sneaking around it is,” he says then turns his back on me to put away some bottles behind the bar. “Or we could just behave for a few days.”

  I recover quickly, refusing to let him get the best of me if that was a joke. That joke cost me a momentary loss of sanity and a few nerves. “Where’s the fun in that?” I step around the bar and pinch his ass. He spins sharply around and I grin in victory. “C’mon, Twitch, live dangerously with me.”

  His lips purse as he contemplates. “Does your father own a shotgun?”

  “Of course,” I laugh, glad my heart is heading back down south. “Don’t mean he can hit somethin’ that’s movin’. You can run, can’t you, sweetie?”

  “When I have to,” he replies, turning back to his cleanup.

  An unsettling quiet sets in. It’s like the strange mood that hangs over everything before a storm hits, where you can sit on your back porch and watch the sky darken across the fields. A rumble of thunder in the distance. The smell of approaching rain. The crickets go still while you’re waiting, hoping the sky stays dark instead of shifting to green. A static charge vibrates through you, and you get up off your porch to seek shelter, because you know it’s gonna be a bad one.

  Ian’s voice cracks like lightning across the fields, bringing me back. “Can you do me a favor and take these into the kitchen, please?”

  A crate of dirty glasses makes a heavy, clinking thud against the bar as Ian puts it in front of me. His hazel eyes are already looking away as I refocus my thoughts. “Sure,” I reply on a voice shakier than I want, then I take the crate and head for the shelter of the kitchen, wondering what the hell just happened.

  Ian

  As soon as she’s gone, I’m on my ass behind the bar with my head between my knees. Every single part of my body shakes. Uncontrollable waves sharply twitch all my muscles with increasing force, turning me into a convulsing heap. The air is gone from my lungs. I can’t get it back. All I can do it wait until it passes.

  If it passes. Real good day to up your meds, Rider.

  Yeah, fuck you, too. Where were you to stop me from blurting out such a ludicrous idea? Probably cowering in the corner alongside logic and reason, watching the train wreck while my heart and ego finally grew a pair, joined hands and proceeded to fuck over my life.

  Footsteps approach then retreat. Soft voices enter my little, disjointed world then disappear again. I may have blacked out, but I can’t really be sure of anything right now.

  “Fuckin’ drink it, Ian,” Brandon’s gruff command along with the pungent odor of whisky snags my focus. The glass is set against my lips, and his eyes tell me he’s about to force my mouth open to pour it down my throat. I take it all in one go then sputter as air fills my lungs again. Another shadow joins his, causing my eyes to dart around in a fearful search for Charlotte.

  “Charlotte… where…” I cough more of the burning whisky from my lungs.

  “She’s in the kitchen, washing glasses,” Kyle kneels down with a low voice. Fuck, his face is seriously messed up. “She doesn’t know you just blacked out behind the bar, but she did seem a bit shook up about something.”

  “What happened?” Brandon’s disappointed frown weighs down my spirit. Like the man needs even more shit to deal with right now. “I thought you two… you know, worked it out?”

  “We did… We… really did,” my words stammer as the night comes back to me. All those steps forward and then one gigantic stumble back. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t screw it up already.”

  Brandon sighs, dragging a hand down his scarred face. “How?”

  A burst of air puffs past my lips, my bruised ego and battered heart deflating. “Oh, nothing. Just suggested we get married.”

  Brandon’s mouth hangs open, everything goes silent then Kyle smacks Brandon’s shoulder with a curse. “That’s your damn fault, Peters. You set a bad example.”

  Brandon scowls at his best friend. “I suppose Ian would be better taking after you? Or, need I remind you that Saul just rearranged your face while using your body to rearrange Sarah’s living room?”

  Kyle returns Brandon’s scowl for second then winces in pain. “Damn. Forgot how hard that boy can hit.”

  A snort musters its way past my sour gut as the whisky starts to hit bottom. My cheeks are already flushed and I’m fighting a serious case of the giggles. This is why I don’t drink. “You look like shit, Kyle.”

  “Wonderful,” Kyle huffs at Brandon. “Told you to use the twenty proof.”

  “I pani
cked,” Brandon shrugs while staring into my eyes. The whisky added to the lingering medication in my system is already making me see double, and I’m trying so hard not to laugh. He takes my shoulder into his big hand and gives me a small shake. “Why’d you go and suggest something like that so soon?”

  “Because I’m an idiot,” I mumble. Fuck. My bottom lip is going numb. I’ll be drooling in no time. “Going to her place for Christmas. Road trip. Catholic parents. Dad has a shotgun. No sharing the bed, lest you be faithfully wed!”

  I laugh maniacally at that last part. Funniest shit my brain has heard in forever. “So I say to Charlotte – I said… Well, why don’t we just get married? Clever, right?!”

  “So,” Kyle’s trying not to laugh, but I think the fact that he’s holding his ribs and wincing has more to do with his restraint than my slipping hold on reality. “You were just joking?”

  “Not in the least. I love her more with each second that passes, and I know that she’s the one for me.” I manage to string those words together rather well, but it’s a fleeting moment of coherence before my civility takes another rain check. “I wanna marry my Charlotte!”

  “Shh,” Brandon tries to hush me while his head raises over the bar top. “Clubroom’s empty, but she could come back at any moment. We best get you upstairs.”

  “Your fault, you carry him.” Kyle stands back up then lists to the side against the bar. “Not that I could help anyway.”

  I laugh at that, too, because knowing Saul kicked Kyle’s ass just improved my day significantly. Serves him right for eye’n my Charlotte while he had no plans of quitin’ Sarah.

  Shit. I bet Saul’s gonna ask me if I knew. I bet he’s gonna hit me when I tell him the truth. We all fuckin’ knew.

  “Shit’s fucked up, boss,” my numb lip aint doin’ shit to smooth over my west Texas accent. Fuckin’ peachy, that is. Right fuckin’ peachy. Rule number two why I don’t drink. Makes my voice sound like my piece a’ shit, coward ass, football lovin’ father. “Shit’s so fucked up.”