It was the fear.
The taking.
The owning.
Getting back what had nearly been stolen from me and had been ripped from those other boys during those endlessly long, dark nights in juvie.
I was a sick fuck, because the fearful, dirty fucking was a reminder of my past, and yet it somehow helped me escape. Tricked my brain into changing the course of things. I suddenly was the perpetrator. It might be consensual now, but my dick didn't know that.
“Didn’t like it the first time against the window for all of Portland to watch me fuck you?” I stood and pulled her up by the arm. “Maybe we should do it out here? Isn’t this what you wanted, Amy? Months ago? You wanted my dick to slide into you,” I muttered in her hair before grabbing at her earlobe with my teeth.
“Want me to pound into that pussy, or did you want me to make love? Be gentle? Show you how much I care?” I ran my hands up her body, pressing, pulling as she moaned and her neck arched back. She was turned on, but her body was still tense, the fear still palpable. My dick fucking loved it.
“I hope not, beautiful Amy, because that’s not how I fuck,” I growled before pulling the dress over her ass and finding a lacy thong. I pulled on the delicate fabric, wedged it up the cleft of her ass cheeks, and pulled. She moaned and arched away from me, seeking release from the assault.
“Agh, where ya going?” I pulled and then yanked the lace from her body. It fell in a tatter at her feet as I pushed her over the railing of the balcony and slid my fingers into her pussy. Hardly wet, not ready, I plunged in two fingers. She sucked in a sharp breath. I knew the pain that was probably biting at her. But I liked it this way. I liked my passion with a tinge of pain.
I grabbed at her neck, pulled her hair to one side, and bent over her body, baring my teeth and clamping into the soft flesh. She arched again as I plunged my fingers in and out of her. She shivered and squirmed as her pussy pulsed. I yanked her hair to the side, twisted the flesh or her tits with my free hand, and alternated biting and sucking. I was leaving red marks. I sucked so hard, the blood drew to the surface. I pulled my fingers out of her cunt and fisted at her ass cheek, my thumb wedged into the crevice of her behind as she squeaked with surprise. I released her neck and my other hand yanked my zipper down. I pulled the condom out of my wallet that had sat unused for months, and rolled it onto my throbbing dick. I needed to take advantage of his willingness, my dry streak ended now.
I lined her round ass up to my dick. “Ready, sweet Amy? Ready for me to fuck you now?” She didn’t answer as her body heaved with her breaths. “Ask me.” I tugged on her hair, her neck turned, eyes landed on mine, fear swirling, but arousal too.
She nodded.
“Say it.”
“Please, fuck me. Please. I want you so bad.”
Boner killer.
I grit my teeth together and tried to ignore her words. Begged my dick to forget her need for me. I needed the release.
I plunged into her body and gripped at her hips as I plowed in and out of her. I slammed so hard her body pressed against the balcony, the rough brick scraping against her as she stood dutifully and took all of me.
I gripped at her ass cheeks, pulled my fingers down, leaving long, red welts.
I leaned over and bit at her shoulders, clamped my hands around her body and onto her tits as I nailed her. I plunged and receded, sank in and pulled out, drove and ebbed, seeking the release I craved. I lifted her dress to bite down on the skin at her spine, nipping my way up the curve and leaving little red welts. She squeaked and her pussy clenched my dick each time. It fucking felt good. It drove me on. Had me closer and closer. So close to falling over. Falling into her. Losing myself.
“Mia, fuck, God, I’m going to come,” I murmured as my orgasm tore through me. Her pussy pulsed and her head dropped against the railing. I thrust through my orgasm before finally releasing my hands from her hips and pulling out of her.
I watched her lying there against the balcony, dusk settling in, no one the wiser that I’d just broken her. Just fucked her so hard and destroyed her by calling out Mia’s name when I came.
I’d done it on purpose. Amy needed a fucking push to see she wasn’t it for me. She couldn't stay. We couldn't keep on.
I zipped my pants, grabbed a cigarette, and lit it, before stalking into my house and straight for the bathroom.
I was sure Amy would be gone when I came out.
I was right.
She'd left.
And I was alone.
Again.
One would think I never would have been happier after kicking Amy out of my life. She hadn't even tried to call, and wasn’t that what I wanted?
I knew I’d really done her in when she didn’t call or text, because she was always so on my ass, and I’d pushed her away.
I didn’t feel bad. I knew I’d hurt her. I knew she thought she loved me, but she’d get over it. And when she did, when she had someone else who treated her better, loved her like she needed, she’d see that I was right all along. She’d thank her lucky fucking stars that she hadn’t gotten wrapped up in me. And truth be told, that the miscarriage had probably been some blessing in disguise. A sign that fate hadn’t meant us to work. If I hadn’t have broken her this way, it would have been in another way, at some other time.
The shame that did eat at my insides was that I might have broken her physically too. She might not be able to have the kid she deserved, the kids she would be such a great mother to, because I’d planted my poisonous seed in her and her body had rejected it. Bittersweet. A catch-22. Story of my life.
I needed to escape the city, so I called my brother and asked him to go fishing with me.
He paused for a half moment on the phone. He knew I didn’t fucking fish, but fishing was never about catching. It helped me think, a way to be alone and still have purpose.
When we were kids, Dad used to take us to a small lake inland. We’d rent a cabin and he’d keep us there all weekend. I think it was for Mom’s sake as much as ours, but we had great memories there. He taught us card games and it was where we had our first sips of beer. I’d loved it. The beer and the male bonding.
Lane hesitated a moment before he agreed. I think he could sense that I needed him. Needed something.
I went to the bait shop and stocked up on every fishing lure known to man. I bought new fishing poles and line, and a hunter green tackle box. I sat on the floor of my apartment the night before we were set to leave and opened every lure, and placed it in the tackle box as I got fucking wasted on bourbon. The ashtray set next to my naked leg on the wood floor and I smoked one after another, after another as I opened each package, took a long swig of the amber liquid, placed the lure in the box, and moved on.
I flicked through channels and found nothing worth watching on a Thursday night. The Sox had a rare night off, so I finally flicked on the stereo and cranked Nine Inch Nails. My old standby.
I lined the fishing poles slowly as my mind chased around the words Reznor sang. Every song felt exactly the same, haunting pain clinging to your soul, not so much trying to make sense of life, but stating that pain was a fact of life.
I lined and wound the second pole and lit another smoke when La Mer came on. I usually flicked right past this song—the haunting chords and soft French words had never really done much for me before now.
But today, I didn’t flick past it. I marinated in it. Listened and then flipped back and listened again, and then again. I became obsessive, trying to grasp what the words meant. I had a very rudimentary understanding of French and, after repeating the song countless times, I picked up phrases like going home, becoming the sea, nothing stopping me. Realization spread through me that the song was a beautiful tribute to death.
I tried to wrap my brain around the meaning. What it meant for me and Lane and Mia and Amy and my parents and the man I'd killed in juvie. It was ominous but hopeful. A contradiction in every way.
I took a long swig from
the bottle and the burning ember of my smoke fell and landed on my bare thigh.
“Fuck!” I jumped up and spilled the bottle all over the new lures.
I swallowed and ran a hand through my hair and thought about the drunken mess I’d made.
We were never going to catch fish with lures steeped in bourbon. I roared and kicked the tackle box across the floor until it landed with a thunk against the TV stand. I didn’t bother cleaning up the mess and stalked out to the balcony, dressed only in socks and boxer briefs, before leaning over the railing and lighting another cigarette.
I hadn’t showered for a few days. I never left the house other than to buy more smokes and whiskey. I was so pathetic, so fucking sad. My life had been relegated to this. How had I gotten here? I thought I’d gotten it all on track years ago when I got sober, got clean. I wasn’t foolish enough to think this wouldn’t always be my battle, but how had I been thrown back into it without even realizing?
Mia.
Losing Mia. Leaving Mia.
Mia.
It all came back to the night with her in my bed, tears pooling in her eyes as I strode out of the room and told her to leave.
I took a long puff, closed my eyes, and thought about scoring a bag. I could do it. Just around the corner and down a few blocks. I fidgeted, my breathing picked up and my heart thudded in my chest as I considered the high, the escape I craved. The burn of the needle in my arm, the sweet relief when the chemical flooded my system.
I craved it. Craved it like I craved nothing else.
False. The only thing I ever craved more was Mia.
But I shouldn’t give in to that, because look what I had now.
I had my brother.
Tomorrow.
My brother.
I could do this. Stay clean. Because life was nothing more than highs and lows, yin and yang, give and take. My low was losing Mia; my high was getting my brother back.
I swallowed the aching lump in my throat and stalked back into the apartment, collapsed on the couch, the mess surrounding me on the gleaming wood floors, and passed out with thoughts of my brother swirling in the ether of my mind.
“He knows.”
“What?”
Mia stood in my doorway at midnight on a Wednesday. The first time I'd seen her since we'd slept together more than a month ago.
“He suspected, but then he found my phone. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have texted you . . . I just . . . I couldn’t stop thinking about that night, I couldn’t get you out of my head.” Tears burned in her eyes.
We'd only slept together the one time, but we'd texted back and forth. I hadn't been able to get her out of my head either.
“No, Christ, it’s all right. What did he say?” I ran a hand through my hair and pulled. Fuck, wasn’t this what I wanted? I wanted her. All the time. It just sucked that it came at the expense of my brother.
“We got in a fight. He kicked me out, said he couldn’t stand to look me. It was bad enough that I . . . cheated, but with his brother. It crushed him, Ridge. Fuck, I crushed him.” Her hollow eyes sought my own, dark circles from the late drive, her hair messy and tossed into a ponytail.
“Fuck, God I'm so sorry, My.” I folded her into my arms and didn't look back.
“What did we do?” she murmured before another sob broke through her throat.
I woke early the next morning and left for Rock Island. I prayed I wouldn't see any ghosts in the brief time I would be in town, but that place was full of them.
I hadn’t drunk yet this morning. I was making an attempt at staying sober this weekend so I could spend quality time with my bro.
And the small voice inside of me whispered I was also hoping to hide it.
He had so much going on with Kat's pregnancy, and his shit was so good right now, I couldn’t bring up my bad. My shit that always plagued me. That was why we were better now, wasn’t it? Because I wasn’t bringing my shit into his life?
I picked him up around noon on Friday. Kat placed a quick kiss on my cheek with Lane glowering in the background, before we piled our shit in the car.
“Hey, guys. Have a great trip.” Slade slapped my brother on the shoulder and nodded at me. He lived just down the street and had walked over to see us off.
“Not coming?”
“Nah, I got shit going on with Dillon.”
“That still on the table, huh?”
“Yup.” He leveled me with a glare that told me not to fuck with it.
“Hope you work shit out.” Lane nodded to him.
“Thanks, I know I haven't told you much, but we just need to figure stuff out.”
My brother only nodded while I watched the two of them together.
“You together now?”
Slade swung his eyes to me again, as if he'd forgotten I was there. Ridge, always the fucking invisible one.
“Nah. She's got some shit going on. I just can't leave right now. Not sure if she'd be here when I got back.”
“That bad?” Lane frowned. Slade just nodded in response.
Shit was serious with them. Whatever was going on, Slade was in deep. Way over his head with Dillon. Anyone could see that from a mile a-fucking-way. He was way too good for her. I briefly wondered if she had a gold-plated pussy if she could have them swarming like bees. Too bad I'd never gotten a chance at that to see what all the fuss was about.
Slade grunted and my eyes shot up to find him still focused on me. Like he could fucking read my mind. Had I said that shit out loud? Shit, I needed a drink to clear the fog from my head.
“So, anyway, have a good time.”
“Thanks. I'll stop over when I get back.”
“Later, Wild. Ridge.” Slade nodded at each of us before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking across the yard to his own house.
I swung the back door of my Jeep open and Lane's eyes scrunched when the thick smell of whiskey hit our nostrils.
“I bought some new lures, but there was an accident . . . and . . .” I trailed off because I had no excuse.
I was drunk and fucked them all up on my living room floor last night.
No thanks.
“Got it.” He lifted his tackle box with a smile and placed it in back. I knew he knew the accident had been in the midst of a drunken haze.
We climbed in and headed northwest, through winding, pothole-filled roads until we reached the small town of Gun Lake. Less than an hour from Rock Island, but it felt like miles away. We picked up the key to the cabin, got instructions for the boat rental, and made our way to the small A-frame.
“They look the same,” Lane murmured as we stepped out of the car.
“Yeah. Amazing that they’ve kept it just like it was twenty-five years ago.”
“Been a long fucking time.”
“Yep.” I glanced over at him, my big brother, his eyes glued to the cabin, taking in the surroundings. He was the older of us. I think losing our parents had affected him more. He’d kept it together for our mom, and then me, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t make it work; he was always so much stronger.
“You wanna bring shit in, I’m gonna run up to the store.”
“Forget something?” He squinted at me.
“Smokes.” I pulled my lighter out and flicked the wheel with my thumb. I had a full pack in my bag, but I needed a bottle. I needed something to get me through this weekend, because seeing the memories pass on my brother’s face haunted me as he stood there outside that cabin. I thought I could do it, thought it best to hide just how much I'd been drinking, but I couldn’t. No fucking way.
“Sure, man. I’m gonna give Kat a call and let her know we made it.”
I pulled some things out of the Jeep and set them on the front steps, then crawled in and backed out. I gave my brother a quick wave and headed for the camp store we’d passed on the way, about a mile back on the main road.
When I returned, Lane was sitting on the porch re-lining his fishing pole.
“Line's fresh on these;
you can use one.”
“I got it, thanks.”
“You wanna go out tonight?” I gestured toward the lake.
“Take advantage of the weather.” He nodded.
“You good on a boat, man?” My brother'd had a fear or being on the water since we'd lost my dad all those years ago.
“Good as I'll ever be. Kat worked on me, begged me to take her out. Can't say no to her, man.” He looked at me with a half smile and shrugged. Powerless to pussy. Both of us.
“So, Kat's good?”
“Yep.” He continued to work on the pole draped across his knees.
“You guys good?”
“Better than ever.” My brother and his brief answers; he’d been like this from day one. Would drive anyone else nuts, but somehow, it brought me comfort. If he ever busted out with a grammatically correct sentence, I would know something was wrong.
“Pregnancy good?”
“We’re really going to talk about this, bro?”
I frowned and then sat in the chair next to him and lit a smoke.
“Can’t smoke on the boat.” He pinned me with his light blue eyes.
“Why the fuck not?” I scrunched up my face and took another puff.
“Smell drives the fish away. Wash your hands before we head out.”
“Jesus Christ, didn’t know I was going fishing with a pussy.”
A grunt was his only reply.
“Bullshit,” I murmured and took another puff.
“What?” He turned and hit me with a glare.
“Driving the fish away? Bullshit.”
“They’re more sensitive than you think. Dad never let anyone smoke on his boat . . .”
And he’d said it. Brought up Dad. The part that cracked my heart open in my chest. After all these years, it still wasn’t easier.
“Didn’t know that.”
“Yeah.” Head down, my brother continued to work on the fishing line.
Finally, he stood and nodded toward the water. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” I shot up, grabbed my pole, and we took long strides down to the old dock that bobbed in the water. We hopped in, started the engine of the small boat, and aimed for the center of the lake. And just like that, it was me and Lane and a lake full of fish for the rest of the day.
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