Inside Out

by Lia Riley

  And in for the bloody strong arm. “You calling in debts?”

  “If you’d never given up your trust fund—”

  “Dad, while of course we want Bran’s involvement, let’s not—”

  “Son, you’re a Lockhart.” Here we go, Bryce Blowhard is in the house. “You’ve been wiggling out of responsibility in this company, this family—”

  “You have the ability to hire experts in any field,” I snap. “I didn’t even finish my honors. Why are your knickers in such a knot?”

  “Family is family. You’re my son.”

  “Yeah? Well, you spent the first eighteen years of my life ignoring me and the last five ashamed of me, pardon if I don’t feel all warm and fucking fuzzy.”

  “Now see here—”

  “Enough,” Gaby cuts in. “Nothing good will come of this at the moment so let’s leave it there.”

  “The money—”

  “You want your ten grand? I’d tear it out of my guts if I could. Give you a pound of flesh.” I rake my hand through my hair and take a deep breath. “I have my own life. I’m tearing my hair out to make it work here with Talia. I’ve got a solid job offer, and hopefully, so does she. If money is so damn important to you, and not my happiness, then I’ll—”

  “I’m closing down this phone call before gunshots are fired.” Gaby is serious. She doesn’t mind giving me shit, but she’ll protect me if Dad comes down too hard. She always has.

  “See here, Brandon—”

  “Good-bye, Spunk. As much as this family bonding sesh has been everything heartwarming, it’s a wrap.”

  The line goes dead. I chuck the phone before I know what I’m about. The resulting explosion detonates broken glass and wires all over the lounge’s rug. Chester shrieks his alarm from the veranda. The dogs and cats draw in, half circle me like they want to play the role of helpful woodland animals. Christ. I destroyed the phone and put a hole in Jessie’s wall.

  I thought I was getting better. Dealing with my shit. Looks like the joke’s on me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Talia

  Bran’s phone is turned off as per usual. I swallow my exasperation and try to focus on driving in rush hour traffic. Better to fiddle my fingers on the wheel and attempt to keep my attention on the car in front of me. I mean, I only did one of the bravest things in my life of late and he isn’t answering so I can download. No problem. I didn’t really want to chat with him about the fact that I was so nervous my lip actually quivered when I answered my first question. The one where they asked, “So, Natalia, tell us a little bit about yourself.”

  Somehow I coped. At first, yeah I faked it, but honestly, I think I did okay. I answered every question well and by the end, the panel was leaning forward, all their body language saying that they were interested. In the end, one of the women winked at me. Not like a pervy Hey, pretty lady, but a You nailed it, Soul Sister.

  I turn off the exit near Jessie’s place and turn up the music. Holy crap, it’s Wilson Phillips, “Hold On.” Straight up old-school early ’90s cheese pop fills the 4Runner. I cut off the air conditioner, roll down the window, and let the early summer heat barrel into the car. At a stoplight, a woman in the sedan beside me stares. Oops. I’m belting out the lyrics at the top of my lungs.

  I give a sheepish wave, which she actually returns with a fist bump. I’m still laughing when I pull into the house. Bran’s never been a big one for phone conversation. With the odd call still coming in about the Eco Warriors, no big surprise he isn’t hovering over the phone.

  I go into the house and it smells weird, like fresh paint. Bran is in the kitchen washing his hands. “Hey.”

  “Hi.”

  “Why is there a patch on the wall in the living room?” I force a smile, but my insides are chilled. Is Bran punching walls while I’m gone? What the hell? Panic flares, makes it impossible to take a deep breath.

  “My phone broke.”

  “On the wall?”

  “Yeah.”

  I raise my brows. “Um, I’m going to assume it had assistance. It’s not a Superphone, faster than the speed of light, right?”

  He doesn’t even crack a smile. “I lost it today, only for a second, but I didn’t have control.”

  “What happened?”

  “Shit with my dad.” He waves his hand. “Not important. All I want to do is hear how you were a bloody sensation.”

  “I did kind of nail it.” I throw my arms around him. “Although honestly, success in my world is refraining from panic vomiting. They said they’ll let me know within a week.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, fantastic. I have a good feeling. You’re going to get it.”

  “I may not have any nails left by then.” I hold up one hand, the tips are ragged. “They’ll be little chewed-off nubs.”

  He folds his hand over mine. “You’d still be hot.”

  “Wow.” I jerk from his grip and waggle my fingers like a monster in an old-time horror flick. “You must really love me.”

  He moves so suddenly that I don’t even know he’s coming until I’m crushed against him. “You have no idea.”

  A throat clears. I turn to see Dad standing in the doorway.

  “Hey,” I say, adjusting my shirt. Even though nothing crazy was going on, I still have this uncomfortable sense of being busted. God, I can’t wait for our own place.

  “How were the animals?” Dad asks Bran.

  “Walked, fed, watered, pet, scratched. I’m Old MacDonald.”

  Dad laughs. “Thanks for holding down the farm.”

  As they continue their easy chat, a sudden panic crawls up my chest, growing in confidence as it mounts. What’s happening? Oh, no. Shit. I haven’t had to deal with this in a while—a sneak panic attack. Anxiety, dread, uncertainty all of those terrible things that open the door for OCD to slink in, whisper it can make it better. I try to push back, knowing that it actually makes everything worse, but I’m like an addict. The rituals become the only thing that can help. OCD gives a false sense of security in an uncertain world.

  Please calm down. Please calm down.

  Even good stress in my world is dangerous. Anything that tips the balance has the potential to send me into a spiral.

  “Talia?” Bran looks at me with concern.

  “Yes.” Do I seem normal? Is this how a normal person would stand? Engage? “How’s Wyatt?” Yes. Good. Deflect. Deflect.

  Dad falls on the couch with a heavy sigh. “He’s doing great. He’s coming home tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Dad, that’s awesome.” And it is. I mean it. Even from this disassociated state.

  “Want us to clear out while you get yourselves sorted? I can clean up the nursery today and we can make ourselves scarce for a few days.”

  “Would that work? I don’t want it to seem like I’m kicking you guys out.”

  “This one is waiting to hear back about that interview in the city,” Bran says, jerking his head at me.

  “How’d the interview go, Peanut?”

  I force a smile that might look like a grimace. I need to get away. Have some space. I’m separating from my body, like I’m here in this reality, but also watching myself from this parallel one. A place that is two-dimensional. Makes it impossible to draw a breath. My pulse beats fast and heavy in my ears, like I’m chained to a ship’s galley while some guard beats the inexorable drum. I have no choice but to stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Keep afloat. “Great! Hey, I need the bathroom. Back in a second.”

  Once I’m in the bathroom, I turn the tap on. The water’s cold, and splashing it on my cheeks helps return a sense of normality. I can fight this storm. I have done it a thousand times. It’s harder when it’s quick, unexpected like what just happened, and after a long face-washing session and a few deep breaths, I’m still not 100 percent. But I’m better.

  I open the door, ready to head to the kitchen and make a cup of tea. Instead, I run smack into Bran. “Oh, hey, all yours.” I gesture to the bathroom.

  �
�Let me guess. You don’t want to talk about what happened?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “That’s exactly what a not-fine person would say.”

  “Look, I’m tired. I was up early. I’ve been amped today. With all the stuff going on, Wyatt, the interview, and everything. I’m bound to be a little wired.”

  “If we move to San Francisco, will you start therapy?”

  “Okay, fine.” I clip the words and move to step around him.

  “Fuck fine.” His eyes narrow as he grabs my waist. “I want a yes.”

  “You don’t understand what it’s like.”

  “You’re right, I don’t. But you don’t understand what it’s like for me. To stand by and watch you hurt. I’d rather double-fist pokers and shove them in my eyes.”

  “I’d cut off your hands before I let you hurt those pretty eyes.”

  He does a figure-eight twirl on my back. “Oh, Captain.”

  “You’re right though.”

  “You’re only just noticing this?”

  “Arrogant much?” I lightly poke the ticklish place right above the sexy hard V muscle on his abdomen. My reward is a flash of dimple. “I want to work harder on getting better. It’s time for therapy. You deserve my best and hell, I deserve my best too.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re not worried to be stuck with a crazy girlfriend who has to go to a shrink to cope with life?”

  “Talia, I’m not going to say this again, so listen hard.”

  I pretend to clean out my ears. Easier to make a joke than pretend I’m not intensely nervous about whatever he says next.

  “I’m stuck on you, girl.”

  “Oh, you’ve given me a valentine.” Easier to make another joke to pretend like my relief doesn’t turn my bones to a quivering Jell-O mold.

  “Come away with me.”

  “Where?”

  “With Wyatt arriving home, Jessie and your dad will need space. We can’t rent a flat until we’re sure about our plans. Remember how you wanted to get to the mountains.”

  “Um, I’m pretty sure you were the one jonesing for the crazy hike.” Still, the idea of Bran in backpacking mode, his cut legs flexing on the trail ahead, sounds like exactly what I need in my life.

  “Let’s do it. Go to Yosemite. I’ll get the nursery cleaned up today. Help sort whatever is needed to get the baby comfortable. I’ll talk to your dad about borrowing camp equipment.”

  “You sure? I mean, you seemed like you were having more family drama and—”

  “Yes, I’m better after spending time outside. I’ll think clearly. Calm down.”

  “This is true.”

  “Will you trust me to take care of you out there?”

  “Yes. Will you trust me to take care of myself?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Bran

  The next day we drive toward the mountains. The Sierra Nevadas are allegedly right in front of us. The same landscape that inspired John Muir to write that in “wildness lies the hope of the world.” I guess we’re royally screwed, because instead of wildflowers and grizzly bears, we’re socked under a murky sky. The Central Valley is surrounded on three sides by mountain ranges. Air pollution settles in the bowl like a toxic soup.

  Talia zones out the window. Scott gave us the 4Runner on loaner, eager for us to vacate the house. Jessie wants to whip Wyatt’s nursery into proper order. I tighten my grip on the wheel. I’ve got plans for the next few days, big beautiful ones. Words that need saying. Questions that require answers. I want headspace, clarity, and sweeping, romantic vistas. Not smog.

  “Waaaaaaait a second.” Talia leans forward, squints. “Shit!” She flops back. “I saw it for a flash, a glimmer of mountain. Did you?”

  “No, trying to concentrate. Driving on the wrong side of the road, remember?”

  “Right.”

  “Huh?”

  “Technically you are on the right side of the road so…” She gives me a rueful smile. “It’s a bit tomatoes/tomahtoes isn’t it?” She pronounces her first word with a long a and the second with a short one. “It’s seriously gross out there. Worst air quality I’ve seen in ages. We need a good rain to clear everything out.”

  “Might help if our species didn’t ruin everything. I read about this landscape in Muir’s naturalist books as a kid. The way he described the golden light in the Central Valley was fucking poetry. Fast-forward through the last hundred years and behold how the fingerprints of so-called progress have tarnished the landscape.” Sunlight shunts through the haze, the same bleak yellow as the piss of a dying man.

  She’s quiet long enough to suggest that she fell asleep listening to my grandstanding. “You miss it? The Sea Alliance?”

  “Yeah.” No point sugarcoating. “I love being here, in California, Central Valley miasmas notwithstanding. But I do miss being Down South.”

  “What parts?”

  “The purity. The animals. The wind. The emptiness. I hate that my time there has been compromised by sensationalism. I hate that I nabbed the spotlight away from what’s important, the illegal whaling, the bloody reckless plundering of a fragile environment. It’s like I did my best and—”

  “It didn’t work out the way you hoped.” She touches my shoulder. “I so get that.”

  “I know you do, Captain.”

  “Hey! Will you look at that.” She points. “Mountains.” She’s right. The sickly half-light relents at last. Up ahead, the dramatic ridgeline of the High Sierras is finally unmistakable.

  “Tell me a story,” she says, fidgeting with her chest strap. “Pass the time.”

  “You know all my stories.”

  “Do I?”

  “Pretty much.”

  She grabs her lemonade out of the cup holder and takes a thoughtful sip. “I don’t know how you lost your virginity.”

  I’m not even drinking and I choke.

  “Ooooh.” She perks. “This is going to be good. Should I pop popcorn?”

  “Not much to say.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Was over in less than a minute. I barely knew what happened.”

  “Well, hell.” She takes another sip, a bead of condensation drips off the bottle, lands on her knee. “I’m in the mood for scintillating convo.”

  The drop shimmers on her skin like a diamond. I want to spread the wetness across her with my thumb. “This could get dangerous.”

  “The first time I ever masturbated, I thought of you.”

  My dick jolts. “Wait, what?”

  “Oh, did that get your attention?” She’s coy innocence personified. Not going to lie, her wide-eyed act is a turn-on. My body thrums.

  “Hell yes it did.”

  She grins like the cat who got the cream. Impossible not to keep darting glances to the place where her tiny jean cutoffs rub her inner thighs. Today is over thirty degrees Celsius, or ninety-five Fahrenheit according to the car thermostat, but the fire boiling my blood has nothing to do with the outside temperature.

  “You like the idea of me touching myself?”

  “Do it.” My words rasp as if I haven’t had water in a week.

  “Here?”

  “Yes.” My dick hurts with how badly I need this to happen. “Now.”

  “Holy Batman, this conversation veered in an unexpected direction.” She laughs until she realizes I’m not. “You know I fail at being the center of attention. What about a little car head?”

  “Put your mouth on me and I won’t stay on the road. Fact.”

  “So requesting me to passenger seat masturbate is you being a responsible driver?”

  “Yep.” A responsible driver desperate to watch his girl get down and dirty. “But no pressure.” I mean it. I’ll drive with a hard-on for the next hour, but I’m not going to bully her into a one-girl wank show if she’s not ready.

  “You’d like to watch me?” She bites her lip as if she’s actually considering this. “You’re being s
erious?”

  My heart accelerates. “As a heart attack.”

  “Can’t decide if this is sexy or crazy.”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  She crosses and uncrosses her knees. “Okay.”

  “Really?”

  She looks around self-consciously. “I mean, we’ll see how it goes.”

  Speech is impossible. Want, lust, desire, whatever I’m feeling, grows in intensity, howls through my bones. There’s a subtle metallic noise as she grinds down her zipper. Next comes the snap of elastic as she slides her fingers into her panties.

  I’m about to explode like a bloody grenade.

  “Want to hear what if feels like?”

  I muster a single nod.

  “Soft,” she murmurs. “Slick.”

  I swallow hard. “Are you wet, then?” Screw grenades, this shit’s nuclear.

  “Yeah. Pretty wet.”

  Fuck me. “You have any idea how hot you look? All that sun in your hair?”

  “My hand down my pants.”

  “Forget mountains, I could watch you do this all goddamn day.”

  She inches her fingers deeper into her panties. “Is this the part where I should make a joke about hard granite?”

  “Touch your clit.”

  She lets loose a soft, feathery sigh, one that comes with a sharp hiss on the end. Her calves flex as her toes curl. She mashes her lips, and her next sound curls around my ears, a cross between an oh and an ah.

  “Nice?”

  “Un-huh.” She quickens her pace, gradually more uninhibited as her tension grows. Her noises deepen, almost as if she hurts. I get it. I ache all over. Her knees twitch. I want to lick the hollows behind them. She braces her shoulders against the seat. Her lower back arches out. Her hips doing this subtle back-and-forth rock. My sac pulls tight at her next moan.

  She glances over, her eyes heavy-lidded. “This isn’t going to cause a crash?”

  “Bloody hell.” I refocus on the road. Not watching isn’t any less sexy. My senses are heightened. There is a quick slippery sound. My dick pulses in time to her rhythm. Her breath quickens.