Redeemed

by Maggie Blackbird

  The drops of pleasure between her legs deepened. She rubbed against his stomach. Adam’s cock feathered her lower abdomen, as if searching out her pussy.

  “Oh, Adam.” She gasped.

  He released his mouth from her nipple, lids flickering. His eyes burned with need, raw hunger that shook her insides. He tossed off his t-shirt and shifted, keeping Bridget on his lap while he laid on his back.

  “Fuck me, kwe. Show me how much you want me.”

  Bridget scampered off the bed. She tore off her shorts and panties while Adam kicked off his jeans and underwear. His exposed erection was as strong and as massive as him. She eased on top, breath ragged, and leaned in for a kiss.

  He draped Bridget in his embrace. His cock brushed the opening to her asshole. He trailed his fingers along her back and rubbed her buttock. Silky sensations erupted between her pussy lips.

  Adam smothered her mouth with another kiss. His free hand palmed the back of her neck, urging Bridget to surrender to the kiss, his tongue conquering her mouth with deep licks and fierce strokes. Being dominated while she was on top, having Adam’s hot palm stroking her ass, and his cock skimming her hole was a bed of excitement, a hot fever coating her skin.

  He broke the kiss, panting. “Kwe, if you don’t get on me, I’m gonna come all over you.”

  “You’re not the only one.” She shifted to her knees, placing soft pecks on his lips and cheeks, unable to tear herself from him.

  “Sit up, kwe.” His voice was deep, husky. “I wanna play with your clit and watch your titties bounce.”

  Bridget groaned and shifted so he could have a full look at her. Adam bent his knees where she rested her back on his thighs. The look he cast, pure desire, left her clit throbbing. She settled herself over his cock and slid down his length. His massive girth forced her pussy to accommodate his erection.

  “You’re so wet...” Elation lurked at the back of Adam’s eyes. His gaze caressed her breasts, stroked her stomach, and feathered her spread legs.

  When his fingers parted Bridget’s pussy lips, ripe heat invaded her blood, and lush delight rolled along her spine. Adam toyed with the folds of skin around her clit. Bridget panted and moved in rhythm with his pumping cock. Each thrust coaxed her flesh to submit to his deep invasion. The need to fuck him growled in her chest.

  She braced her hands on the mattress and met Adam’s cock thrust for thrust.

  “Look at me, kwe.”

  Bridget’s lids flickered. He’d always asked this of her, and she’d try each time to stare in wonder at his fervent gaze, but a part of her yearned to savor his thick length, lose herself in what he could do to her.

  They rocked in the same rhythm, an even pace that quickened the more the ache in Bridget’s clit intensified. With Adam’s finger fondling her small, hard flesh and his erection thrusting into her, the furious anticipation was close to bursting.

  She was enveloped in sticky heat, an electrifying sensation produced by Adam fingering her clit. Gasping and moaning, she rode him hard, draped in the desire he lavished on her.

  “Adam. Adam.” So good. He always brought her to the most sensual heights.

  Adam wrapped his big arm around Bridget’s waist, and she met his chest. He pounded his cock deep into her, and she clung to him. His low moans filled the room.

  Again, they were one.

  * * * *

  Adam rested against the pillow, smoking a cigarette.

  Bridget sat swathed in his shirt at the table by the window, doing the web-cam thing with Kyle. Once in a while, she’d smile at Adam. They’d chosen this spot so his boy couldn’t see Adam in the background, much to his irritation. They were a family now and should speak as a family.

  Maybe not a family after Mrs. Matawapit had scared Bridget into reality with that drunken story about the deacon.

  Kyle’s voice came through the laptop speakers, chattering about what he’d done at school today.

  The more his son’s sweet voice caressed Adam’s eardrums, the more his heart sagged. He’d done this to himself—unable to speak to his own kid. But never mind his suffering. The person most affected was Kyle, who shouldn’t have to pay for Adam’s pain.

  “I miss Dad.” Kyle’s longing carried from the laptop.

  Adam covered his stomach, his son’s sorrow punching him in the gut.

  “You’ll see him next Wednesday. He misses you, too. He misses you very much.” Bridget’s tone was soothing.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s Dad’s shirt. The one he wore for our last visit.”

  Bridget’s face reddened. Adam squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Of course it is. I spilled food on myself at the church today. Your dad gave me his shirt to wear.”

  Adam shouldn’t have panicked. Bridget handled everything with finesse. His chest brightened at his boy remembering what he’d last worn. And Kyle had dressed in a blue t-shirt and white shorts with white running shoes during their precious hour together.

  Bridget’s cell phone rang. “Mom has to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Please. Just a few more minutes? Please, Mom?”

  “I have to answer the phone. It could be important.” Bridget picked up the cell and frowned. “I love you, honey. I gotta go. It’s Uncle Emery, so it must be important.”

  Adam sat up.

  “Okay. Bye, Mom. I love you. Tell Dad I love him, too.”

  “I will. I love you, too.” Bridget rested the phone against her ear. “Hello.”

  She listened for a moment. Her dark eyes popped to the shape of eggs. She gaped at Adam and whipped her head to the motel door. “Are you sure?” She nodded. “Okay... yes... sure... I’ll let him know. Bye.”

  Bridget clasped the phone. “The halfway house called.”

  Adam had given the supervisor Darryl and Emery’s number before he’d left Thunder Bay. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. They said to call. It’s very important.” Bridget held out the phone.

  Adam took the cell and pressed the numbers on the screen to the halfway house. Three rings.

  “Good evening. Joseph Howarth Society.”

  His throat tightened, but he managed to say, “It’s Adam Guimond. I was told to call here.”

  “Adam. How’re you? How’s the workshop?” The voice belonged to Ken, the evening supervisor.

  “It’s cool. ‘Sup?”

  There was a moment of silence that squeezed Adam’s lungs. He butted the cigarette in the ashtray.

  “I don’t know how to tell you this. I hate to interrupt your workshop, but I know how close you two were.”

  Were? Why not are? “Where’s Logan?” Adam gripped the phone.

  “That’s what I need to talk to you about.” Ken sighed. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just say it. He’s gone.”

  Adam’s heart thundered at the base of his throat. “What’d you mean gone?”

  Bridget gasped and sank to her knees at Adam’s side.

  “He’s gone. Dead. I’m sorry. They found him early this morning.”

  “Found him where?” Adam’s skin burned hot and cold, and his head lightened. This couldn’t be happening. Not Logan.

  “Friendship Gardens.”

  What? That was where the teenagers drank. They gathered at the mall, pooled their money together, and then headed for the liquor store to find a runner to buy their booze. “What happened?”

  “He overdosed.” Ken gulped.

  This couldn’t be true, but it was. Logan was in the morgue. Dead.

  “I’m still trying to locate an uncle he listed as next of kin. He’s in Manitoba. Brandon.”

  “His whole family are junkies. His uncle won’t give a shit.” The fierce words barked from Adam’s closing throat. “I’ll catch the next flight out.” He switched off the phone.

  Bridget stared, open-mouthed. “Logan’s...”

  “Dead.” Adam tossed the phone on the bed. Dead. The damned kid h
ad gone back out there, after promising not to. They were supposed to unearth, together, what happened to Sheena and the baby.

  Dammit, their deaths had been too much for the kid. Logan had nobody. Everything taken from him. What chance had he stood? None. But society, oh, how society loved to blame the kids, the adults, and everyone else suffering, for not sucking it up and moving on with their lives. For not doing better. For not giving in to the pain and loneliness.

  Adam curled and uncurled his fingers. Logan would go down as another using junkie getting what he deserved. People didn’t care enough to look into the eyes of a suffering teenager. A suffering adult. A suffering Indian.

  “I’m so sorry.” Bridget moved off her knees. She reached for him.

  He recoiled, suffocation creeping up his spine. “Don’t, kwe. Don’t.”

  “Why not? You’re in pain. You need someone to—”

  “I don’t need any I’m sorry or cry it out. I don’t need nothing.” As for the fucking old-timers, they’d say life happened, whether Adam was sober or drunk. What was he going to do? His head pounded, and he rubbed his temples.

  “I don’t want you blaming yourself.” Bridget’s voice was firm.

  “Who says I am, woman?” Adam hadn’t meant to snarl. Bridget was the last person who deserved his anger.

  “See? You’re doing it, what you always do. You’re denying yourself pain. I understand you’re upset. I know how much you cared about Logan. Will you please, for once, let someone in. Let someone hold you. Comfort you.”

  Adam squeezed his toes. Something kept trying to climb up his throat. A big lump. A fucking lump. He hadn’t cried since he was nine, when he’d sworn he wouldn’t give the undeserving ol’ man anything again. “I-I can’t...”

  For too long he’d held everything inside. Pain. Desperation. Loneliness. Disgust. All he had was hate.

  “Don’t you see? This is why you hurt others physically. This is why you were an enforcer for the Winnipeg Warriors. You either drink it away or you beat someone to make it go away. You can’t keep ignoring what’s happening inside of here.” Bridget thrust her long nail at his chest.

  The lump kept building inside Adam’s throat. His chest continued to tighten. His skin prickled. He flopped in the chair.

  The damned punk had let life beat him. Nope. Not beat him. Logan had gone to the one place where he was safe, where he could finally smile and laugh. He was in the spirit world with Sheena and the baby.

  “Adam...” Bridget slid onto his lap. She draped her arms around his shoulders, lips brushing his ear.

  The fire in Adam’s throat was close to burning his flesh. Close to consuming him. His chest kept expanding and swelling. He held Bridget tight, drew her womanly scent against him. The tears he’d denied himself seeped from his squeezed-shut eyes.

  He was alone, in the closet, Dad having beaten him. And he cried.

  Chapter Thirty: In the Name of Tragedy

  Someone was making horrible noises. Grunts. Groans. Like a pissed-off moose charging an intruder. Through the haze of tears, Adam shuddered. He was the one making noises. He was the one crying. God, he sounded horrible, even comical.

  Bridget remained on his lap, fingers tangled in his hair, lips lightly pecking his head that remained nested on her breast. He rubbed her bare thigh.

  She didn’t tell him to hush. She didn’t reassure him it was all better. She didn’t say anything, other than rubbing and soothing the pain cutting his chest.

  The overpowering desire to reach for a drink and wash away the ugly torture didn’t surface. Nor did an overwhelming urge to storm off.

  His chest lightened. The suffocating weight of anger, fear, and disgust assaulting his veins, his muscles, his bones, trickled away like the water fading from the rocks down at the special spot at the church.

  Healing. This was what the workshop trainers had meant. Many were scared to heal. Frightened of exorcising the negative feelings rooted inside them because they’d carried the horrendous emotions for so long.

  Was he ready to shed the skin of negativity that he’d worn since childhood? This was what the old-timers at the twelve-step meetings meant by handing over his defects to a higher power. He was supposed to let Creator take everything. Step seven. Technically, he was on step six, because he was supposed to pray for the desire to undertake step seven.

  “Kwe, I dunno if I can do it.” Adam’s voice was muffled since his lips remained against her nipple.

  “Do what?” Bridget’s voice was softer than silk.

  “Let go of everything.” Adam continued to speak, his lips brushing her breast. “I’ve lived like this for thirty-eight years.”

  “Doesn’t your program teach you one day at a time?” she asked in the same silken voice.

  “Yeah.” The old-timers would tell Adam the same thing.

  “What’s important is you acknowledged the past and what’s bothering you. That’s a big step.” Her warm lips pecked the top of his head.

  “I know.” The duffel bag still sat beside the bed. “I gotta go.”

  “Are you sure?” Bridget shifted, which forced Adam to look at her. She trailed a nail along his cheekbone. “This is a crucial time for you.”

  “Logan never spoke about this uncle in Brandon. If this uncle gave a shit, he would’ve taken the kid in, not foster care. Logan needs a funeral. Something.”

  Bridget’s lips flattened. “You know I can’t go. I promised to help out here.”

  “I’m not asking you to go. I’m leaving.”

  She rose off his lap, hands on hips. “Will they even let you see him? Take care of his funeral?”

  “Do you think his uncle’s gonna?”

  She shook her head. “No. Hardly.”

  “I’ll talk to Ken. See what I can do from my end. The kid’s gotta have something, even if it’s only me there.”

  Bridget pivoted. Her features softened. “I understand. I wish I could be there. Is it possible to have it on Saturday? I’ll bring Kyle. I want him to understand we must be there for those in need when family and friends refuse to.”

  The awful gray color in Adam’s heart faded. “Yeah. Saturday. I’ll get stuff arranged.”

  “I’ll ask Dad if he can come. Was Logan Catholic?”

  “He wasn’t anything as far as I know. I’ll hold something at the funeral home. Nothing more.”

  “I’ll ask the family to attend. Dad can read some Scriptures. I doubt he can officiate a funeral for a non-Catholic.”

  “You mean Mass?”

  “No. As a deacon, Dad can’t recite Mass, hear confession, confirm Catechumens, or anoint the sick. But he can officiate at a funeral that doesn’t have Mass if the person is Catholic. I think. I’d have to ask him.”

  “A few readings sound cool.” It’d be the last thing Adam would do for his sponsee. No, not the last thing. He still had to check into Sheena’s death.

  “I’ll talk to Mom and Dad. I know Emery’ll come. And Darryl. Jude and Charlene always offer their support to those in need.”

  All Adam had to do was pack. Hopefully there was a flight out tomorrow. With the reserves owning their own air service, there was a good chance he’d leave.

  * * * *

  “We should go. It’s what’s expected of us as Christians. It’s what’s expected of us as human beings. I’m just sorry Adam had to leave.” Emery sat at the dining room table at their parents’ house.

  Dad stood out on the deck, smoking a cigarette. Darryl refilled everyone’s teacups.

  Mom clasped her fingers together. “If Adam was Logan’s only friend, we must go. The boy suffered terribly. I’d hate to see him buried without... a goodbye of some sort. I wish we could hold a funeral for him, but we can have a nice service at the funeral home. I’ll talk to your father about what we can financially contribute.”

  “We’ll be able to make a donation.” Darryl set aside the teapot and sat.

  “I’m sure Jude and Charlene will wish to contribute.” Mom a
dded a sugar cube to her tea. “Adam’s considering Saturday?”

  “He’s going to the morgue tomorrow with a supervisor from the halfway house. When Adam talked to the supervisor before he flew out—the man’s name is Ken—Ken mentioned they’ve done this before, I’m sorry to say. Ken said under Ontario law, a claimant can be anyone. Family. Friends. Colleagues. Neighbors. Churches. Community Groups. The halfway house has claimed bodies in the past.” Bridget shuddered at the word. “I guess Logan isn’t the first to go unclaimed.”

  How awful for those who had died—leaving this world without anyone caring about their deaths. Bridget lowered her head.

  She’d thought she’d seen everything sitting on the Indigenous Women’s Alliance, but until a person stood knee-deep on the streets, they had no idea of the pain people endured, or couldn’t endure. Having Adam in her life was a blessing because he came from the streets and had plopped Bridget into the reality of those not as fortunate as her.

  “How’s Adam doing?” Emery asked.

  Bridget glanced up. “He was pretty shaken, but he’ll be okay.” He’d better be okay. “Are the women fine with cleaning up without us?”

  The workshop ended on Friday. Bridget was originally supposed to have stayed and helped clean the basement on Saturday.

  “They told me since we’ve been handling the afternoons on our own, they want to do the cleanup,” Mom said.

  “Okay. I just want to make sure.” Bridget settled in the chair. The most she could do was wait until she heard from Adam.

  Was he strong enough to handle seeing Logan in the morgue? Maybe Adam wouldn’t have to. Ken had gone down and identified the body already.

  * * * *

  Now that Adam was back in Thunder Bay, he’d called the boss and had gone to work. With his shift done, he sat shotgun in Ken’s pickup, on their way to the morgue. At least Adam worked from seven to three and wouldn’t need to take time off for Logan’s service, if they could get the funeral booked for Saturday, maybe around five that evening.