by Tara Sivec
I try to distract myself with thoughts of something other than how good Lucy feels so I don’t blow my load right in her hand, and the first thing that pops into my head is my asshole father and the words he spoke tonight. It fills me with anger and I distractedly push Lucy’s hand away from my cock, line myself up against her opening and push myself into her roughly. The sound of her surprised gasp brings me back to the present and I hold myself completely still inside of her.
“Jesus, I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” I whisper brokenly as I start to pull out of her.
Fuck, I need to calm down. What the hell is wrong with me?
Her hands clutch my ass and she tilts her hips, pulling me deeper inside of her.
“No, no, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” she whispers softly.
I rest my forehead against hers while my cock pulses inside of her. I need to move so badly it’s killing me. She’s so soft, so warm and feels so good, but I’m afraid to move. I’m afraid the anger simmering just below the surface is going to take over and I’m going to hurt her again. I know she’s only encouraging me because she doesn’t want me to think I shocked her and hurt her. I’m always slow and gentle with her. I’ve never just slammed inside of her without getting her plenty ready for me, taking my time, showing her how much I cherish her.
She keeps her hands on my ass, tugging me forward and I have no choice but to move before I explode. I make it up to her by taking it slow, pushing and pulling my cock out of her gently, the way she deserves. I bring my hand down between us and slide my thumb over her clit exactly the way she likes until she’s moaning and whispering my name. The sound of my name on her lips when she’s coming is the one thing that keeps me grounded and keeps me in the here and now with her. I feel her clench around me and her thighs squeeze tighter around my hips as I work in and out of her achingly slow. She holds me tightly to her and rocks against me through her orgasm and I follow right behind, whispering her name against her ear and telling her how much I love her.
We stay against the kitchen counter for as long as it takes to calm our racing hearts, our arms wrapped around each other as I continue to whisper words of love and remind her how lucky I am to have her.
My father will never approve of the choices I’ve made in my life and I can’t keep letting his opinions get to me and fuck with my mind. I’m just going to have to live with that and find my own happiness without him. Right here, in this kitchen, is the only happiness I need.
Chapter 18
Fisher
Present Day
“Explain yourself, old man.”
I’m standing in Trip’s kitchen with my arms crossed and my foot tapping against the floor.
“Watch your mouth, boy. I can still wash it out with soap,” he replies with a huff as he shuffles around the small room, fixing himself a sandwich.
“You’re forgetting that I used to like the taste of soap,” I tell him with a hint of a smile.
“You always were a cocky little shit. You’d swear, I’d put soap in your mouth and you’d tell me it was delicious. Remember that time—”
“Quit stalling,” I interrupt him. “I know you had something to do with those monthly deposits for Lucy. She thinks it was me and I had no idea what she was talking about and now she’s pissed at me.”
Trip laughs, opening up the fridge to put the mayo and bologna away. “The day you do something that DOESN’T piss that poor girl off will be the day hell freezes over.”
He slams the door closed, takes his plate to the small table in the corner of the room and sits down. He then proceeds to take a few bites of his sandwich, chewing as slowly as possible just to piss me off. Right when I’m about to snatch that damn sandwich from his hand and chuck it across the room, he finally starts talking again.
“That girl has had it pretty rough the last year. You up and left and it damn near tore her in two. Ellie and I had to practically drag her out of bed just to get her to take a shower and eat. Then, she’d crawl right back in that bed and not come out for days.”
His words tear me in two, but I know I need to hear them. I’d punished myself with visions of what Lucy went through after what I did to her, but hearing it all laid out for me and finding out it was much worse is torture.
“On top of that, your daddy kept showing up, telling her he knew it was only a matter of time before you came to your senses and kicked her to the curb and that you lasted a lot longer than he thought you would. Girl’s heart was already broken and he had to go and ruin her pride on top of it. Should have sent that little shit off to the military when he was a boy,” Trip mutters under his breath. “Right when she starts coming around, getting out of that damn bedroom, learning to be happy again, fucking pipe bursts at the inn and floods the place. Leaked clean through the floor to the ceiling downstairs until the whole thing almost caved in. It was a bigger job than I could handle, and we had to call in a lot of professionals from the mainland to redo everything. New plumbing, new ceiling and floors and all new pipes and bathroom fixtures. Thirteen bathrooms that all needed replaced. It was a big job, took a lot of money. More money than was in her bank account, including the lump sum you sent her during the divorce that she refused to touch. Seeing as I own the majority of Fisher’s Bank and Trust, I went behind her back and took that money out and used it. Boy, that girl sure came to life after that. I’ve never heard her scream so loud or swear so much.”
He pauses to chuckle, shaking his head while he sits there, probably remembering when it happened. I can imagine it perfectly in my head, especially after the talking to she gave me on the beach earlier, and I almost laugh myself until I remember that I wasn’t there when I should have been. It should have been me helping her when something went wrong at the inn. The fact that my money helped is no consolation; it just makes me feel worse. I never wanted her to feel like the money I’d made could fix everything or that she couldn’t do something on her own without my help. It pains me to know that she didn’t want to touch that money and the choice was taken out of her hands. I can only imagine how much that would have hurt her already bruised pride.
“That doesn’t explain the monthly deposits she mentioned. Where in the hell did those come from?”
Trip shrugs and goes back to his sandwich. “I might have said some things to your mother right after you left. You know, just throwing out how the girl was struggling and how she refused to accept anything from me. Might want to check with her.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but he ignores me, finishing off his meal and taking his plate to the sink to wash it. He absolutely knows more than he’s letting on, but he gave me enough information for now. Time to move on to the next responsible party.
“I can’t believe you’ve been back on the island for two weeks and this is the first I’m seeing you.”
I kiss my mother on the cheek and she slides her hand through the crook of my arm, leading me into the front sitting room of my parent’s home. We sit down together on the love seat and I turn to face her.
“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve just been really busy. I meant to stop by right when I got into town, but things got a little crazy with work,” I explain.
“I saw the new sign on the front of the Lobster Bucket this morning, it’s beautiful,” she beams, reaching over to pat my hand.
I took Lucy’s advice and tried to figure out a way to make amends with the people whose businesses I fucked up the night of my meltdown. The windows I smashed had long since been repaired, so it’s not like I could fix those, but I could at least do something else to show my appreciation for the support they’ve always given me and to apologize for what I did. I’ve spent the last two weeks making brand new wooden signs for each of the three businesses, as well as new benches for the front of their shops that have the names of the businesses carved into the backs of them. I’ve worked nonstop, only stopping to sleep and eat when my shoulder and arm gave out on me, but it was worth it. Delivering the gifts perso
nally and talking to the owners, people who have been in my life since birth, was as rewarding as making it thirteen months without a drop of alcohol. We talked, I apologized and explained to them what I was going through at the time and they each forgave me easily and welcomed me back into their establishments. It was a step in the right direction and it made me feel good about myself for the first time in a long time.
“Thanks,” I tell my mother. “I delivered Sal’s this morning. Old man actually shed a few tears when I gave him the sign. I just have one more to finish up and deliver and then I’ll be done.”
My mother smiles at me and squeezes my hand.
“You’re looking good, Fisher. Healthy…happy. I like the beard,” she tells me with a smile.
I run my hand over my cheek and shrug. “I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about shaving it.”
She quickly shakes her head. “Oh no, don’t do that. I hear scruff is all the rage with the ladies. At least, that’s what it says in my Cosmo.”
We both laugh easily.
“Yeah, well I’m only looking to make it the rage with one lady in particular, and she seems to be into the clean-shaven, suit-wearing look nowadays,” I tell her, trying not to sound so depressed.
Even though I’ve been sequestered in the basement of my grandfather’s house for the last two weeks, I’ve still had to run into town every once in a while to grab supplies and I’ve seen Lucy a few times from a distance—always with Stankford, always looking beautiful and always laughing. It should be me making her laugh, me whose hand she holds as she walks through town. I hate that every time I see her she’s wearing fancy clothes with her hair and make-up all perfect. She was never more beautiful than when she was fresh-faced in just a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
“Things aren’t always what they seem, Fisher, you should know that. Look how long I went without realizing how much you were suffering? It kills me that you were in so much pain all that time and I never even knew,” she tells me sadly.
“Mom, don’t. No one knew, not even Lucy. It wasn’t exactly something I wanted to share with people. It was a dark time and I fell apart. I hurt a lot of people and I’m glad you weren’t around to witness it,” I tell her.
Not only did I push Lucy away back then, I also pushed my mother away. I stopped coming out here to the house for dinner and I stopped accepting her invitations to meet in town. I was already dragging Lucy down with me, and I didn’t want my mother to be affected as well.
“Speaking of Lucy, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about monthly deposits into a special savings account in her name, would you?”
She looks away from me guiltily and starts fidgeting with the gold watchband on her wrist.
“M-o-o-o-m?” I drag out her name and tap my fingers against my leg, waiting for her to admit what she did.
She sighs, folding her hands together in her lap and finally looking back up at me. “Fine. Yes, it was me. I was just worried about her after you left. I overheard your father talking to someone on the phone about how she could barely pay the bills and then Trip mentioned something about a bunch of repairs that wiped out her savings account and I felt bad, so I set up an account one day when your father was out of town on business. I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have done it, but I didn’t know what else to do. I knew she’d never come to us for help, why would she? Your father has never accepted her and I’ve been just as bad by letting him treat her the way he does. I wanted to do something for all the hurt this family has caused her over the years.”
It’s hard for me to be mad at her, even though her actions royally screwed things up between Lucy and me. She was just trying to help the only way she knew how. She had no way of knowing how much it would hurt Lucy’s pride to have that money given to her, making her feel like she couldn’t make it on her own and that she needed help.
“It’s okay, Mom. It was a really nice thing for you to do, but could you do me a favor and put an end to the monthly deposits? I’m in a little hot water right now because of them and it’s not exactly helping my case with Lucy,” I explain, lightening the request with a smile so I don’t hurt her feelings.
“Done. I’ll take care of it tomorrow,” she agrees with a nod.
We sit in silence for a few moments, enjoying the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks outside that we can hear through the open window.
“I’m so happy you’re doing better, Fisher. You really do look well. I’m sure it will only be a matter of time before Lucy notices that, as well,” she tells me softly with a smile.
I shake my head and lean back against the couch, glancing out the window over her shoulder to stare at the ocean. “I don’t know, Mom. I just don’t know what to do. I made so many mistakes with her and I hurt her so much. I just want her to see that I’m different now, that I’ll never go down that path again, but every time I try to talk to her, all I seem to do is piss her off. I want a future with her. I want to love her forever and I want to take care of her. I just don’t even know where to begin making things right…”
I trail off, pulling my gaze away from the ocean to look at my mother. Even though we’ve never been all that close because of my father, she’s still always been an easy person to talk to or go to for advice. Add to that the fact that she always adored Lucy, I knew she would be the only person I could count on to help me figure this thing out.
She reaches over and grabs my hand, tugging me up from the couch.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” she tells me as she leads me through the house, up the main staircase and down the hall to my old bedroom.
When she pushes open the door and pulls me inside, I pause and try to force my heart to stop racing as I look around the room. Years ago, she’d converted this room into an office for herself so she could work on the many volunteer projects she organizes. Her computer desk still sits in the corner next to the window, but the paintings and other artwork that used to hang on the wall have been replaced with shadowboxes and other framed items. A part of me wants to run out of this room so I don’t have to see all of the memorabilia she’s hung on the walls, but I know I can’t do that. The whole point of sticking with therapy for a year was to finally exorcise all of these fucking demons. What kind of a coward would I be if I couldn’t stare them down right now?
Walking slowly around the room, I look at my Purple Heart, displayed inside a shadow box along with the official letter that came with it. My shoulder injury was the catalyst to my coming home from that last tour and what I did to Lucy in our kitchen. I didn’t want to leave my men behind and I certainly didn’t want to leave them for something I didn’t consider a “real” injury. Men were losing life and limb and I was forced to go home for a few pieces of metal in my shoulder that damaged a nerve. I was pissed that I received a medal for doing my fucking job, so pissed that I refused to attend the ceremony and shoved it into a box without looking at it as soon as it came in the mail.
Next to the Purple Heart is a framed article from our local newspaper’s write-up after my first deployment on their “local boy” who went overseas. My uniform hangs from the back of the closet door and my camouflaged backpack, stained with blood from my shoulder injury, rests on the floor against the wall.
I clench and unclench my fists to keep them from shaking as I squat down and run my hand over the pack, remembering the weight of it on my back through so many years and so many deployments. All of the items in this room were shoved into a tote in the back of my closet at the house Lucy and I shared because I couldn’t stand to look at them, knowing they would bring me nothing but bad memories and horrible flashbacks. Bobby told me he’d given the tote to my mother when he cleaned up the mess I’d made of my house, but I never expected her to pull them out and turn this room into a shrine, showcasing everything I’d been through. Tears fill my eyes when I think about all the men who lost their lives, men that I lived with, men that I fought with and men that became my brothers. So many lives lost an
d I’ve never understood why I got to come home, year after year. I could never comprehend why I was one of the lucky ones that wasn’t shipped home in a flag-draped coffin.
Glancing above me, I see a framed picture of Lucy and I on our wedding day and I’m immediately reminded why I’m so fucking lucky.
“I’m so proud of everything you’ve done, Fisher and I’m so sorry for what you went through,” my mother tells me as I stand back up and turn to face her. “I hope you don’t mind that I pulled all of this stuff out, but I just don’t think it should be hidden away. YOU should be proud of what you did, as well.”
For the first time, looking at all of these things doesn’t fill me with dread. I don’t hear screams and explosions in my head and I don’t feel the need to suck down a bottle of whiskey to make the memories go away. I served my country and did the best that I could do. I sacrificed years away from the woman I loved and it’s time that I stand tall for the things I’ve done and be proud of what I accomplished.
My mother walks over to the closet where my uniform hangs, opens the door and pulls out a box, handing it over to me.
“Maybe what you need to do is stop worrying about what the future will bring and concentrate on the past. The only way you’ll get to the end is by starting at the beginning. Maybe Lucy just needs a reminder of how it all started.”
I take the box from her, sliding the lid off of the top. I can’t believe I forgot about this box. I’d stuffed it at the bottom of my tote when I returned from my last deployment, determined to ignore the proof that my wife loved me enough to fight my demons so that I could find the strength to leave her. Flipping through letters, photos and sketches of most of my wood working projects, I find a journal I’d kept in high school and for a few years after. Much like the ones in the therapy journal I was forced to keep at the VA, these journal entries read more like short stories, a testament to my lifetime love of creative writing. Glancing through some of the pages, I look up and smile at my mom.