Dirt

by Cassia Leo

  I shook my head. “You can’t sell this house without divorcing me or taking me to court.”

  Her jaw dropped at the mention of this hard fact. The truth was that I could take her to court to dispute her sale of the house. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, and it wasn’t a case I’d ever win, but I could do it if I wanted to tie her up in a legal battle. I would do it if it meant I could keep her from making a mistake she would surely regret later.

  “Are you seriously going to fight me on this?” she replied. “This is my house! I grew up here! My mother died to give me this house!”

  “A sacrifice I’ll always be grateful for, even if it was for nothing.”

  Even as I said the words, I regretted them. It was wrong, even cruel, but clearly neither of us was thinking straight. And maybe that was the point that needed to be made.

  Her eyes widened. “You unbelievable asshole. Get out of my way!”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She pummeled her bony fists against my chest, pushing me into the hallway. I easily overpowered her, grabbing hold of her wrists to stop the assault.

  I pressed her back against the bare wall. “You’re being impulsive, baby. You can’t sell this house. Your mom wanted you to have it.”

  If she sold this house, that would be it. There would be nothing tying her to Oregon anymore; no legal reason for her to come back other than to divorce me. I couldn’t let her set that chain of events in motion.

  Tears spilled over her cheeks, but she’d given up trying to twist her arms out of my grip. “They’re going to leave, Jack,” she whimpered, her limbs yielding to me as I crushed my body against hers. “Let me go. Please, just let me go,” her mouth begged, but her slack muscles pleaded with me to do exactly the opposite.

  I pulled her arms above her head, pinning her wrists to the wall. “Never. I’ll never let you go. You’re mine,” I murmured, my mouth brushing against hers. “Now and forever. And don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

  She drew in a large gasp of air as my lips landed on her mouth. Pushing my tongue inside, she responded by bucking her hips against my dick and kissing me greedily. She tasted salty and sweet, like fresh tears, vanilla lip balm, and too much white wine. She’d been day-drinking again.

  I broke away from her, clenching my teeth furiously, and still unable to stop tears from welling up as I gazed into her bloodshot eyes. “What have we done to each other?”

  She shook her head, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. There were no words for how messed up this was. For how royally we’d fucked everything up.

  My mouth fell over hers again and she moaned as my free hand grabbed her breast. She was so fucking warm and soft, but not as soft as she used to be.

  Laurel was a shapeshifter, and I loved her body in every form. When we met during our senior year in college, she was still carrying around her freshman fifteen, and it made for some slap-tastic fuck-fests. Then, she lost a few pounds for the wedding. The voluptuous curves she gained after her pregnancy, right up until… That was my favorite form.

  But I still loved her like this, wispy and fragile, her body bearing the evidence of how much she ached for our son.

  I looked her in the eye as I slid my hand down the front of her gray leggings and inside her panties. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp as I easily slid two fingers inside her soaking wet pussy. Pressing my thumb against her clit, my dick twitched as her eyes rolled back when I found her G-spot.

  I leaned in, my lips touching her ear as I growled, “This is mine.” I waited until her legs began to quiver before I slid my hand out of her pants and grabbed her tit again. “And this…” I bit her earlobe, dragging my teeth over the tender flesh. “And every part of you belongs to me.”

  I kissed her again, hard, then I pulled away. Taking a moment to savor the greedy plea in her eyes, I kissed my way down her body until I was down on one knee before her. She eagerly assisted me as I pulled off her leggings and panties, discarding them somewhere behind me. Planting a soft kiss on her mound, I smiled as goose bumps spread over her delicate skin.

  As I knelt before her, my right hand slid behind her, grabbing her ass, then skimmed along the back of her leg. Clutching the back of her knee, I lifted her leg, draping it over my shoulder as I used my left hand to spread her flesh. Her pink petals were glistening and ready for me.

  Keeping my right arm wrapped around her thigh to anchor her to me, I devoured every inch of her. Drinking in every last drop of her arousal as if she were a vintage bourbon. Until finally, her body curled over mine, her hard nipples straining against the fabric of her T-shirt, brushing my forehead as she begged me to stop.

  But I didn’t.

  Experience had taught me that Laurel liked me to take it just a bit further, until her body began to flail uncontrollably. It didn’t take long until the knee draped over my shoulder jerked inward, slamming into my ear. I chuckled as I continued to lick her clit, until I heard a loud thunk.

  Leaning my head back, I couldn’t believe it when I saw Laurel covering her mouth in horror and staring at a hole in the wall.

  As soon as I started to laugh, she began to laugh with me. I let her leg slide off my shoulder, and scooped her up in my arms to carry her to her old bedroom.

  She yelped as I dropped her onto the floral bedspread, then she smiled as she spread her legs for me and my dick got painfully hard. “Remind me never to fuck you in a museum.”

  6

  Laurel

  Jack pulled off his shirt and I couldn’t stop myself from licking my lips as I appreciated the definition of his muscles, the raw strength of his body. I vacillated between raging despair and carnal lust.

  Part of me wanted to cry, because I knew how much of that muscle had been put on over the last two years, as he prepared himself for an eventual meeting with Junior’s killer. But a larger part of me just wanted to feel him on top of me, heavy and solid and real.

  I pulled off my threadbare P!nk T-shirt as he stepped out of his gym shorts and settled himself between my legs. Propping himself up on his elbows, his erection twitched against my clit as he leaned down to kiss me. His kiss was slow and deep, stealing the breath from my lungs as I wrapped my legs around him.

  He pulled his head back, looking down at me as he brushed away a tear from my temple with his thumb. “You took your pill today?”

  My heart sunk as I nodded. He slid into me slowly at first, then he grabbed my leg, resting my ankle on his shoulder as he picked up the pace, slamming into me viciously. As my head bumped against the headboard, I closed my eyes, unable to look at him.

  I’d practically begged Jack to try for another child, but it was never the right time for him. He finally admitted to me recently that, until he found the person who took Junior from us, he didn’t know if he could love another child.

  I knew it wasn’t the answer to fixing our broken marriage, but I was willing to try anything. With every passing day, I was more convinced that Jack was willing to try nothing. Well, nothing other than sex.

  We spent the rest of the waning sunlight fucking, showering, and picking at slices of delivery pizza in the living room, which was now devoid of all decor and photos.

  I didn’t ask Jack what he meant when, in the middle of chewing his slice of pizza, he said he was “this close” to finding Junior’s killer. I’d heard those exact words before. And Jack never asked me how I’d felt while packing away my mother’s things today.

  It was almost as if our feelings didn’t matter to each other anymore. Only, we were too lost in our own grief to recognize the moment we’d stopped caring.

  We went to bed earlier than usual in my old full-sized bed, which seemed almost claustrophobic compared to the king-sized bed we slept in at home — the one I’d been sleeping in alone for most of the last few months. We normally slept in the guest bedroom when visiting my mother, but somehow we had ended up in here. And now, with my mother gone and all our personal items p
acked away, I felt like a squatter, taking refuge in a history I’d long abandoned.

  “I promise I’ll fix that wall tomorrow,” Jack said as I settled myself in his arms while he spooned me. “I’ll run to the hardware store before you wake up and I’ll have it done before you take your first sip of coffee.”

  I made an mmm sound to indicate my approval, because I’d heard these kinds of promises before. Like the time he told me he would take the boxes of Junior’s stuff in the guest room to a storage facility. Or a few months ago, when he promised we would spend our anniversary together today, only for him to back out last night, claiming he was slammed at work. When I saw him leaving this morning in his gym clothes instead of a suit, I knew our marriage was over.

  Jack continued. “Remember when we went to that party at Kent’s in-laws and his mother-in-law flipped her shit when she saw you breastfeeding Junior on the sofa?”

  I sighed as I adjusted the position of my head on his bicep. “She was such a bitch.”

  “Do you remember what you said to her?”

  I shook my head, though I did remember. I just wanted to hear him say the words, to know that his memories of Junior were still as traumatically fresh as mine.

  “You said, ‘What’s wrong? Never seen tits bigger than your husband’s?’” He chuckled as he squeezed me tightly against him, burying his face in my neck. “I miss watching him fall asleep in your arms.”

  I closed my eyes and took deep breaths as the muscles in my chest tightened. I wished we could lie here forever, talking about Junior and the good times. But I knew the only reason Jack was talking about Junior this way, without getting angry or bringing up the case, was because he thought this is what I needed to hear in order to stay.

  “I love you, pixie,” he murmured in my ear, using the nickname I’d once told him was my favorite. “I know we’ll get through this. I just need some more time... more time to figure this out. I’m almost there. I can feel it.”

  My stomach tightened into painful knots as tears streamed out of my eyes, down my temple, disappearing into my hairline. Jack was never going to let this go. He would never stop searching for a murderer who, at this point, almost felt like a fictional monster.

  The murder case started out two years ago with a few promising leads. But with no witnesses, and my mother abandoning her phone to get to Junior before she could make a 9-1-1 call, there was nothing to go on except for our home surveillance footage.

  Unfortunately, with the murderer wearing a mask, the only thing that separated him from anyone else was his stature and gait. The killer had seemed to slightly favor his right leg, as if he had a very old injury on his left leg.

  Jack had been obsessed with the security video for a while. He would watch it every night and compare it to surveillance footage of other crimes committed in the area. He was convinced he would see something important that no one else could see, something more significant than a bum leg or whether the killer was right- or left-handed.

  None of the leads or persons of interest they interviewed fit this description. Today, we were no closer to knowing who killed Junior and my mother than we were the night it happened.

  I would lie here tonight and bask in the warmth of Jack’s skin against mine, and the comfort of his solid arms holding me together. I would inhale his woodsy scent and wrap myself in the familiarity of it, until it lulled me to sleep.

  But come morning, I would text John Miller and tell him I needed to postpone the sale of the house for a while, at least until I could bear the thought of engaging in a legal battle with Jack. Then, I would do what needed to be done to save my marriage.

  * * *

  I hardly slept, waking almost instantly every time I dozed off, I squinted at the alarm clock on the nightstand. As soon as the red numbers flashed seven a.m., my eyes clicked wide open and remained so as I waited for Jack to wake up.

  He was usually a restless sleeper, yet somehow — probably because of the size of the bed — he’d managed to stay in the exact position in which we’d fallen asleep. Even in his deepest slumber, he wouldn’t let go.

  I wanted to take it as a sign that I should go home with him. This time it would work. This time, he was right. We would get through this.

  Then I thought of the vile words he spoke about my mother and the sacrifice she made by trying to protect Junior the night they died.

  A sacrifice I’ll always be grateful for, even if it was for nothing.

  If he could say something so repulsive to me, he was nowhere near finished hurting me.

  I thought of his confession that he might never be able to love another one of our children.

  I thought of the wall in his office, obsessively wallpapered in newspaper clippings and maps dotted with thumbtacks. Despite his compulsive need to solve this case, he’d made zero headway. His tenacity would be admirable if it weren’t tearing us apart.

  As I thought of our wedding day, a small fairy tale ceremony set against the backdrop of evergreens in the Hood River Valley, Jack turned over.

  My heart galloped in my chest. Was I really going to do this?

  I’d asked Jack to go to marital counseling or to see a therapist on his own. I’d read dozens of books on dealing with grief and saving your marriage. I’d tried herbal supplements and yoga and talking to my doctor. I tried looking for a group for grieving parents, but the nearest groups were an hour away in Portland.

  I’d been thinking about moving into my mom’s house for months. Ever since Jack’s interest in the case began keeping him from sleeping in our bed. It was demoralizing and heartbreaking having to lie in bed alone while your husband hobnobbed with his fellow armchair sleuths on the internet.

  My emotions betrayed me as my throat began to close and my sinuses stung with the effort of trying to hold back the tears. This was a decision I would either regret or be grateful for the rest of my life. But there was no way to know now how I would feel later.

  All I knew was that I wasn’t happy living this way. And Jack had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t willing to see a therapist, or let go of the investigation, or get rid of his weapons arsenal, or have another baby. I was running out of options.

  Finally, I held my breath as I turned over to face Jack. I reached up to touch the smooth skin on his back. I traced the tattoo of my name on his right shoulder blade. As I finished tracing the -el at the end, Jack let out a soft grunt and rolled onto his back.

  He squinted at me through the pale morning light. “How long have you been awake?”

  “Not long,” I lied. “We need to talk.”

  He blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust, before he sat up abruptly. “We can talk at home.”

  “No, I want to talk now.”

  He shot me a defiant look, as if he wanted to challenge me, but he decided against it, shaking his head as he turned to face me. “What do you want to talk about?”

  I took a deep breath and sat up, folding my legs in front of me like butterfly wings. “I’m going to stay here at my mom’s for a while.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, in case you hadn’t noticed, our marriage is in trouble. I’ve lost faith.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve lost faith in me or our marriage?”

  “Both.” I looked him straight in the eye, waiting for him to roll his eyes or put me down, but he said nothing. “We need help. We’ve tried doing this on our own and it’s not working. We need professional help.”

  There it was. The infamous Jack Stratton eye-roll.

  “This again?”

  “Yes, this again,” I replied, just barely able to temper my anger. “I’m going to look for a marital counselor. If you’re serious about saving this marriage, you’ll go with me.”

  He shook his head. “What does that have to do with you staying here? Why can’t you just come home and we’ll go to counseling over there?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him as I willed him to remember the one time he agreed to go to
counseling only to change his mind the very next day.

  “I’ll do it this time. I swear.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t believe you.”

  He let out a frustrated sigh. “So you’re going to blackmail me into going to counseling by moving into your mom’s house? What if I do go? Will you come back?”

  “I will, but not after the first or second session. I need to know you’re not going to back out.” I looked down at my hands, which I just realized I was wringing mercilessly. “It will also give me some time to fix up the garden.”

  One of the things that brought me tremendous guilt was that I had let my mother’s beloved garden die along with her. Staying at my mom’s house for a few weeks would allow me to hold Jack accountable for attending marital counseling, and it would give me the opportunity to correct one of my greatest mistakes.

  “How long?” he asked, and I knew he was asking how long it would take to fix the garden.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, three or four weeks, at least. It’s August, so I’ll need to get it done before the rain gets steady in October.”

  He was silent for a while, then he nodded. “All right. I don’t like it. Not one fucking bit. But I don’t want to lose you.”

  I scooted toward him and curled my arms around his neck as he pulled me into his lap. “I’ve been feeling like I lost you months ago,” I said, leaning my forehead against his.

  “You haven’t lost me. I’m right here.”

  I kissed his scruff then laid my head on his solid shoulder. “And I haven’t felt this happy in ages. I’ll do whatever it takes to hold onto this.”

  He nuzzled his head against mine. “I love you more than you can imagine,” he said, echoing the words he’d said to me on our wedding day.

  “I can’t imagine loving anyone more,” I replied.

  Cuddling turned into very slow, very emotional sex, which almost made me change my mind about staying at my mom’s house. It was the first time we’d had sex that wasn’t initiated by a fight in more than a year.