by Unknown
After feeding and playing with the duckling, I jump into the shower—hesitantly, I’ll admit. The same way I felt all those years ago when it was our last night together, for what I wondered then might be forever. I didn’t want to wash any of him off me. Not his scent or the feel of him. That night—agh! I nearly drowned in my tears.
It wasn’t my idea to cut things off the way I did. It was my parents’. I just went along with the plan, pretended I was okay with all of it. I figured that, somewhere along the line, I’d be able to reconnect with him. Then everything happened in all the wrong ways. It’s a long story that starts badly and only gets worse. That’s why it may take forever to tell him. He’ll find out eventually, and hopefully, when he does, he’ll understand more of who I am. Maybe he’ll be the one who’ll help me become more. I pray not less.
Fletcher texts me once I’m back in my cabin asking if Sloan and I would want to meet him and Coco for breakfast. I shoot Sloan a text and realize I’ve never sent her one before. Maybe we’ll graduate from my dirty typewriter notes to this. She sends me back an Emoji-filled “yes” ten minutes later.
Post-shower I think of how Sloan woke me up. Seems impossible that she’s home one day and I’m flipped upside down. One day and a decade where she lived in my mind, feeling as real as anything. I tried to make her leave when she left, as odd as that sounds. Tried to push her from my thoughts. My mind was having no part of that, and my heart had quite a bit to say as well.
I’ve pictured us like this, the way we are now. I’ve pictured all sorts of things about us and how they might happen.
When I walk into Sloan’s cabin, I find her with Fletch and Coco. “Shouldn’t you be off getting your hair done into some fancy thing that’ll be sport for Fletch to mess up later when he deflowers you?” I ask, giving Coco a peck on the cheek.
She swats me and laughs. “Fletch wishes he were popping my cherry tonight—don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Oh, honey, the cattle barn all those years ago,” Fletch says, sporting a boyish grin, cracking us up. “You in that plaid tube top, short shorts. That’s a memory I wouldn’t give away for anything. Not even a re-virginized woman.”
Sloan makes a vomit sign with a finger down her throat. “And if you share any more details, dear brother, it’ll be too much.”
I ease over to Sloan as Fletch and Coco play with the duckling. “Hey, you gorgeous thing.”
She smiles up at me and dumps her purse out onto the table. I give her a kiss and inhale her sweet, fresh scent.
“You smell good,” I whisper in her ear. “And I know you smell like that everywhere, don’t you?”
“You mean between my toes?”
“Yeah, something like that.” I waggle my eyebrows while I pull her dress away from her breasts, gifting myself a peek. Nothing—not one stitch of lacy anything. Just her unblemished pale skin dotted with pink, perky nipples, her soft, womanly belly, and strip of pubic hair leading to my instant hard-on.
“Get enough of a look?” She giggles, pushing me back a step.
“Never.”
Coco clears her throat, eyeing us with a knowing smile. “You want us to leave you two alone?”
“Don’t worry about us—we know how to slip through a crowd,” Sloan says, a sure smile growing on her face. Her gaze comes back to me as she rolls a cherry-colored lip gloss on, making her already full mouth more pronounced against her freckled skin.
All I see are those lips closing around my dick. She can obviously tell based on the smile she throws my way as she puts the cap back on the tube of gloss. Her thick sweep of lashes dips across her eyes in a tease as she zeros in on my groin. I’ve all but molested her in front of her brother and best friend. Excellent.
“You’re not that stealthy. You two were the talk of the party last night after you left. Or ‘snuck away.’” Coco air quotes. “It would have been less obvious if Fletch and I had left.” She snickers.
Sloan’s mouth drops open. “Us?” Color floods her cheeks.
“Sloan, for fuck’s sake.” Coco rolls her eyes then motions her hands at me. “Cover your ears for a sec.”
“What?” Sloan says, twisting her head in question.
“You do understand who he is, don’t you? Have you guys…you know? She knows, doesn’t she?” Coco has a moment of panic and she slams her hands over her mouth while her eyes shift between me and Sloan.
I give her my best deadpan. “No, she doesn’t. But thanks for ruining it.” Shoving my fingers through my hair, I say, “Guess I’ll tell her now.”
“Cricket, it’s time you know the truth. I’m a politician, and I—”
“Oh, fuck you both,” Coco blurts out as Sloan doubles over laughing.
“Well, good. Since you know what Mr. Fancy Pants does for a living, you must also know every woman at the party last night and every woman today will be drooling all over him. Let’s face it. They’ve all been to your website. Most of them would give their left tit to star in one of those naughty films with you.”
I laugh hard. So does Fletch as he gives me a sideways glance, then one to Coco.
“Coco, have you seen Hawke in action?” Sloan asks, a billboard-sized grin on her face.
Coco’s face turns five shades of crimson.
“Tell them the truth, sweetheart.” Fletch swings an arm over Coco’s shoulders and rocks from his heels to his toes.
“Fine. Yes, I have.”
“Coco, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You know, that you’ve ogled my lover.” Maybe my career choice won’t ruin our chance of a normal relationship. Normal…
“Oh, for God’s sake, how did this conversation get turned on to me? Can we go have breakfast already?” Coco huffs, marching toward the screen door. “What I meant was, everyone knew what you two were up to when you left.” She holds the door open, shaking her finger at me then at Sloan.
“And?” Sloan says, smirking.
“And I don’t know. And, well, good for you that you are. Whatever. I just wanted you to know he’s a porn superstar. I’m pretty sure, if Channing Tatum showed up, he’d get less attention.”
“Maybe equal,” I add in and nod back to Coco. “And, for the record”—I stop to let Sloan and Fletch pass me by so I can zero in on Coco for sport—“I’m glad you like watching.” I whisper, “You’re welcome to join Cricket on set any time.”
“Oh, Jesus, Sloan. Are you seriously going to join him on set? You know I love you, Hawke. I just don’t know if I need to be that close to your…any of it!”
“Not to be in the films!” Sloan winks at me. “Maybe to see, I don’t know yet. I’m still dealing with how I feel about all of it.”
“Aren’t you seeing enough if you guys are banging? It has to be an eyeful up close.” Coco chuckles, shooting me big, big eyes.
“And a mouthful,” Sloan says, slapping her leg.
“And that would be more than I needed to hear—my sister sucking off my best friend. Thanks for the memories on my wedding day, guys. That’s just… It’s a lot to choke down,” Fletch says.
Sloan mutters under her breath, “You have no idea.”
“You want to split the huevos rancheros and the pancakes?” Sloan asks while eyeing the menu.
“Like the good ole days. Sure.”
“Has Sloan filled you in on the films she’s been shooting?” Fletch says. “Maybe you two could come up with something to work on together.”
“I haven’t seen any of them yet, and we’ve barely talked about them, but I like the way you’re thinking.”
“Barely talked about them because you can’t keep your dick in your pants since she landed on American soil?”
“Says Little Miss Coy. Welcome back, Coco. I was nervous for a second that you were losing your cool, getting all flustered before when you were talking about me.”
She flips me off as Sloan reaches across my body to receive her coffee from the waitress. “I like the idea of working with you on something,” she says as she
proceeds to dump five sugars into her cup.
“You do? Now you’re talking. We could do an amazing film together.” I nudge her with my shoulder.
“Something else amazing,” she says, running her tongue over her lips. Confirming this is going to be a day full of hard-ons.
Coco shakes her head, muttering under her breath something about us and Vegas. “Are you two for real? Elope already. We are not deaf over here.” She dumps the same amount of sugar into her coffee as Sloan did.
“Here’s a thought,” Fletch says then pauses a beat too long, maybe reconsidering what he was about to say. But a playful grin shows up, surprising me along with his idea, which is just as unexpected. “How about a film on the porn industry? Well, namely, a film about Hawke.” He clears his throat. “And, before you say no, just listen for a second. I’ve been thinking about this idea for a while.”
I glance at Sloan. She’s nodding as she tilts her head toward me then drags her gaze up and down my body. I can’t say I don’t like it—the eyeing up or the film idea.
“Hawke’s just a normal guy, best friend to all of us. To the rest of the world—which doesn’t know him—he’s a big-deal porn star producer with a schlong he could wrap around his waist. The idea of him being the guy next door is a great story, don’t you think?”
“That’s quite a description there. Ah, Fletch,” Sloan says, beaming. “I like this idea. I’ve been toying around with some thoughts for my next project, but this has huge potential, no pun intended. Plus it might help me with some of my worries about you. Mr. Fuck All Day.” She pats me on the arm and cracks a smile. “The Porn Star Next Door sort of a thing. It’s the question I’m guessing you must get asked a gazillion times a year: How did a nice, normal guy like you end up doing something like that?”
“The only people who don’t question me are the Bible thumpers,” I say with a straight face as I sit tall. “They get me. I’m their people.”
Sloan blows a mouthful of coffee into her napkin. “You’re demented. I love you for it.” She snuggles next to me, wrapping her arm around my waist. “What do you think of this idea?”
“I think your brother is brilliant.” Fletch pats himself on the back. “I like it. Question is: Are you going to be cool with the eyeful you’ll get filming? Or do you see it being more of a PG-version like they did to that Fifty Shades? We all know what women were hoping for in that movie. Skin.”
Our waitress serves us as we’re talking, and she throws in a, “You got that right. Those Hollywood folks have no problem blowing heads off in action movies, but heck if they’ll show head getting blown in a chick flick!”
Coco and Sloan simultaneously snort out a bellowing laugh.
“No, I couldn’t do a dumbed-down version of anything,” Sloan says, stealing a bite off my plate. “It’s why I’m an indie filmmaker. What can I say? The world beyond Sundance is not ready for my vision. I’ll need to be crawling all over those sets. And you.”
“Mmm, sounds too good to be true. Fletch, what do I owe you? My first kid?”
Sloan coughs into the crook of her arm. I pat her back as she looks at Fletch then at Coco, avoiding my gaze a bit too obviously.
“Um, I’ll be… Be right back.” She blasts her chair out, knocking it over.
I reach out as it hits the floor.
“Gotta pee,” she mutters.
“You all right?” I say, grabbing her hand as she passes by me. “You look like you’re gonna throw up.”
She nods with no eye contact.
“I’ll go with her.” Coco scrambles out of her chair, her eyebrows creased.
“What the hell was that?”
Fletch focuses on buttering his pancakes.
“Fletch?”
“No idea,” he says before stuffing a giant bite of pancakes into his mouth.
“Did I say something?” I whip a grape at his face. “Level with me, man. What did I say?”
“I’m not throwing my sister under the bus.”
“So, apparently, I did say something.”
“Christ, Hawke, drop it. Believe me.”
“Okay, I’ll drop it. Not that I know what I’m dropping.”
As the girls saunter back from the bathroom, a crack of thunder has everyone in the restaurant ducking and the lights blanking out for ten seconds or so. Sloan stops in her tracks, looks at me with an expression I can’t pin a damn thing to, then turns on her heel and marches out the front door.
Coco plunks down next to Fletch.
“Nice, that was nice,” she says, shaking her head as her eyes fill with tears.
“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on here?” I look at her and then at Fletcher as my heart gallops.
“Apparently, all hell is breaking loose,” she says, wrapping her hands around her mug as tears slide down her face. “Today.”
Bittersweet. It’s the only word I find in my mess of a mind as I bolt out into the rain and trudge down the road. As my tennis shoes soak up puddles, a truck slows down next to me.
“You need me to rescue you from something, or are you just gonna drown in it all on your own?” Hawke drives alongside me, his voice swelling with doubt. “You’re right next to me and you feel an ocean away.”
I’m hollow inside. And I hope he can’t see my tears. Maybe they’ll blend in with rain, the way I wish my past would blend into my future.
“Get in the truck,” he says, slamming a hand onto the dash.
I keep walking.
Maybe the rain’ll wash me clean. Maybe it’ll take all of my guilt and anger with it. I don’t think it’ll touch my hurt though. That’s too deep for the rain to cleanse. I’m pretty sure there isn’t a thing in the world that’ll do that, not even a wire scrub brush. Well, that’s not true. One thing would. But I don’t believe in miracles. I’ve asked, but haven’t received many.
“You’re more stubborn than ever, girl. What are you so tortured about?”
I glance over at him, then away. He’s not smiling as he gazes at me. If looks could kill. Or at least say fuck you.
I want to say something, but I don’t know what. I’m not prepared for this so soon. My brain is whispering all sorts of things to me. But each whisper falls inside a bubble, which is surrounded by another bubble. There’s silence between each of them, and there’s no way he could hear any of it. I am officially the Russian nesting dolls that sat on my dresser when I was a kid. I chuckle out of nowhere, remembering that Hawke put a dirty, typed note inside them once.
“I adore the pants off you, dammit,” he says in a ticked-off response.
I look over at him again. His half-lidded eyes are a mix of anger and hurt wrapped in a blanket of good looks.
“Talk to me, or get in the damn truck. Hell, cry or yell at me or I don’t fucking know. I don’t know how the hell to help you if you won’t let me in.” He punches the seat, making me jump a little. “You’re killing me here. You and your whole goddamned family have something between you all that seems it should be ours. I’m the one in the dark. I’m in love with everything about you—always have been. I don’t care what it is you’re not telling me. I will love you regardless. Did you commit a crime, or were you married? Or what the hell? Do you have a kid with some guy overseas? What is it you aren’t telling me? I deserve something here! A fucking… I deserve…”
He slams on the brakes, throws the truck into park, and leans over the steering wheel. I stop walking as my stomach somersaults.
I’m such a jerk. This beautiful man, who I ripped apart once is hurt again. His back heaves, and I realize I’m more than a jerk. I’m torturing him. So, what’s worse? Torturing him with silence or torturing him with the truth? Both are going to hurt like hell; both could force him to leave me. Two evils don’t add up to much more than misery.
“You… I fucking deserve to…” He groans onto the steering wheel.
I lean into the window and stare at him until he looks up. I’m frozen with worry. His eyes are crazed with r
ed lines, the emerald of them fluorescent and flooded. I’ve only seen him cry like this one other time: The night I told him I was leaving for Europe. I wonder if he feels like that’s what I’m doing all over again. Leaving him.
Spit flies from his mouth as he yells, “I get all of you! You left me! And, now, I deserve to get, goddammit, all of you! Don’t you dare not give me all of you! All fucking…of you!”
Sharp needles of rain pelt my skin as I tip my face to the sky. Maybe it’s trying to crack me open. The rain and Hawke, working in unison. Mother Nature and a force of nature. Sometimes, it’s the words we don’t say that tell the real story.
“How about we play a game of go fuck yourself? I’m a gentleman, you go first.”
His truck taillights disappear in a swirl of steam that smells of earthworms and gasoline. It makes me pause for a second and wonder where this day will go from here. Then I keep on walking. It’s only a few miles from town to the ranch. A few miles—then the never-ending driveway.
I feel like I’m picking fly shit out of pepper, trying to determine what, if anything, I should tell him. Toxic guilt fills my gut, and it’s not something I want leaking out of me and poisoning him with. I’m already too bought in to leave him again, and truthfully, that might kill both of us if I did.
One thing I know for certain: I can’t deal with another death.
The sweet scent of clementines swirls with the rain like a cleansing—something I need desperately as I rack my brain, trying to figure Sloan out. I roam the orchard floor at the ranch, wandering up and down rows until I find our spot, the exact tree. I rest my palm over the row of six X’s Sloan and I had carved into the tree more than a decade ago, wondering if any more X’s will be carved into the aging bark again. Every time we had sex out here—including the first time, when she was a virgin—we carved an X.
I have her back, and unfortunately, it seems all I’m going to get is part of her. Why she won’t give me all of her is beyond me. Whatever it is, it’s hurting her. If she wants me, she’ll find me here. She always did; she can’t have changed that much.