Cruel Water (Portland, ME, novels Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  “Give me that,” I tell Aaron, who lost all color in his face and is holding the suction wand uselessly by his side. Moving away from the safety of my brother and my man, I take the wand from Aaron’s hand, nudge him aside and carefully clear my father’s sagging mouth from the fluids that are slowly drowning him. I don’t do it for him. I also don’t do it for my family, but I’m doing this for me. With every touch of his skin and every sweep of his mouth, I remind myself that this is my choice.

  Ike

  Everything in me wants to follow her as she moves away, but I hold back and watch in amazement as she carefully, and with a surprising amount of tenderness, ministers to her father. I know I’m watching a victim turn into a survivor before my eyes.

  -

  Three hours later, never having regained consciousness after repenting, Vivian’s father rattled his last breath. She never gave him her absolution, but gently eased him as he slipped out of this world.

  The room had stayed oddly quiet after her mother quieted down, but Viv’s eyes never left her father.

  When it is done, she turns into my arms and I fold her in. A nurse comes in and quietly starts disconnecting the various tubes and wires. I move Viv out of her way and sit down in a vacant chair against the wall, settling her on my lap.

  “He’s gone,” her soft whisper is barely audible.

  “Yes, beautiful. He’s gone.”

  She lifts her head from my shoulder and looks me in the eyes. “I want to cry for him, but I can’t.”

  “Maybe not for him, but you can cry for you and for your brothers.”

  Her head swings around and she finally takes in the scene around her. Lydia in Owen’s arms, their heads bent together. Nolan with his arms around their mother, softly stroking her back, his eyes closed. Aaron still standing close to his father’s bed, his hands in his pockets and his jaw clenched. Finally she turns to Dorian, who is leaning against the far wall, silent tears streaming down his face.

  “I have to go to him,” Viv says softly when she turns her eyes back to me. “And after that, take me home.”

  I lean in, kiss her lightly, and let her look after her brother, waiting until she’s ready for me to take her home.

  -

  “Make love to me.”

  This is not what I expect when I finally slip between the sheets and pull Viv back to me.

  We’d left the hospital, which had been strange. Other than Dorian, no one even seemed to notice us leaving. Still, Viv stopped in the doorway and turned to her family. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” was all she said and with understanding nods from every one of her brothers, we walked out. Once out on the street, she stopped me. “Take me to the diner?” she asked. So I did. We shared an order of pancakes, most of which I ended up eating. Then she asked me to take her to the wharf, where we silently watched the sun come up at the end of the pier.

  But I really didn’t expect this. Part of me understands she is taking bits and pieces back, somehow reclaiming herself with these seemingly random requests, but still I have to ask. “Babe, are you sure?”

  She rolls over to face me and puts a hand to my cheek. “Yes, I am. This is a choice I make for me. Just like breakfast and the pier. Just like making my father as comfortable as I could, and leaving when we did. These are my choices. Make love to me, Isaac.”

  I don’t hesitate this time, my eyes zoom in on her tongue licking along her bottom lip. No hesitation at all, when I slip her shirt off over her head, before showing her with my mouth, hands, and cock how fucking much I love her.

  -

  Four days later we’re standing at the gravesite, a little distance from the rest. The crowd is very small. The brothers had asked for a private ceremony and burial, given the circumstances. Viv had opted to stay away from any funeral arrangements, asking only to be told where and what time.

  She’d felt guilty when she found out her brothers had limited the funeral to immediate family only, but I reminded her of what Nolan had said; not to take on what didn’t belong to her.

  Dorian’s husband had closed the gallery and flown in two days ago, and with his effervescent nature, managed to lighten up the heavy general atmosphere when we’d had the family over for another BBQ last night. Without Aaron and their mother, but with Owen and Lydia’s children and Nolan’s daughter. Since Gunnar and Syd would not be at the funeral the next day, Viv had asked them to come as well, insisting it was beyond time for Owen and Gunnar to patch up their differences, as well. Of course with them came Dexter, who eagerly fist-bumped me when he walked in, and then without reservation walked over to Owen and Lydia’s two boys. The youngest introduced himself as Jacob and the older one, about the same age as Dex, said his name was Benjamin, but to call him Ben. I hadn’t paid much attention to their names to be honest. They’d come tearing through the house to the backyard, and I’d barely seen them since. “Boys” seemed to be the preferred way for their parents to address them, which is why when I heard the name of the older boy, a warm shiver ran down my spine.

  Gunnar’s eldest, the very pretty and rather shy Emmy, took ten minutes to warm up. By then she was giggling with Nolan’s girl, Chloe, on the couch inside.

  I’ve had little exposure to kids. I was actually surprised how easy it was to have fun with them. It also made me think of having kids of my own someday, and wondered how Viv would feel about that.

  The kids are part of the reason why Viv wanted to stay back from the gravesite, she didn’t want any dramatic outbursts to mar what was already a traumatic event for those kids. Not even Dorian’s pleas swayed her from that decision.

  We wait until the priest finishes his final prayers over the casket, watch it being lowered slowly into the ground, and watch as everyone, starting with their mother, picks up a clump of dirt and drops it in the grave. The last one to turn their backs on the grave, are Aaron and his mother. It surprises me when after a few steps toward the car, she stops Aaron and turns back to the cemetery employees, who are about close the grave. I can’t hear what she says, but there’s no mistaking her intention when she turns and points at us. One last look in our direction before they continue their trek to the car.

  “For an apology, that was pretty weak,” Viv dryly remarks beside me. A chuckle bubbles up that I don’t bother hiding. She smiles at me before taking my hand. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the gesture,” she says, before walking determinedly over to her father’s grave, where she bends to pick up her own handful of dirt. “I hope your soul can find peace,” she says before dropping the dirt on his casket. The soft thud has the sound of finality.

  “Shall we brave the house?” she asks, when we get to the truck.

  “Absolutely,” I smile at her, proud of the way she is handling this.

  Of course Pam has been by every day this week, making sure Viv was as okay as she made it seem. After Viv assured her that she’d said goodbye to the only father she cared to remember a very long time ago, Pam seemed satisfied.

  A few close friends and neighbors had been invited to attend a small reception at Viv’s parents’ house. It was also meant to double as sort of a last hurrah for the house, since ironically it had sold the day before Fergus Lestar passed away. Viv’s mother was scheduled to move out by the end of next month, giving her time to sort through forty odd years of belongings and condense it to a living/dining room and one bedroom in her new apartment.

  Walking up the walkway to the house, the front door swings open and Aaron steps outside.

  Viv

  This past week I’d expected to be confronted with Aaron—was prepared for it—but nothing happened.

  And nothing will happen now. The minute I see him come out that door and wait for us on the front step, I know he has something to say, but today I don’t want to hear it. Any other day, I’d be willing to listen but not on the day we put our father in the ground.

  “Viv,” he starts, and I immediately cut him off.

  “Aaron, I appreciate you have t
hings you want to say, but here and now is not the time or place.” I see his shoulders slump and his jaw clench, as he slowly closes his eyes.

  “You’re right,” he says, before taking a deep breath, stepping around us, and walking away from the house.

  “Was I cold?” I ask Ike, not sure if I made the right call and a little worried when he walked away.

  “No. You were honest and also right. Let’s go in.”

  The next few hours aren’t as bad as I thought they might be. Mostly because Lydia totally intervenes each time my mother even looks at me. I don’t know yet if I will ever have a relationship again with my mother, all I know is if I do, it will never be the same.

  Kyle makes the afternoon go by a lot smoother too, with his outrageously effeminate charm. He breezes through the house, playing hostess, and making sure everyone’s drink stays topped up, serving hors d’oeuvres and flirting with women and men equally. Mostly to the women’s delight and for the men uncomfortably so. Still, by the end of the afternoon there isn’t a person here, including my mother, who doesn’t return the warm smiles he shares freely. I have to remember to thank him, for this and for being the first to reach out to me when the proverbial shit hit the fan.

  Aaron never came back to the house.

  -

  “Babe. Need you to come,” Ike growls in my neck.

  I’m on all fours, holding on to the headboard, and Ike is powering his cock into me from behind. I’m so close, but I can’t seem to let myself fall over the edge. “I can’t.” I woke up with Ike’s head buried between my legs, already fully engaged in eating me out and making me come the first time. I can’t come so soon after.

  “Vivian, you can,” he pants, as his hand slides around and down, while his middle finger presses down hard on my clit. A magic button because the moment he starts rubbing in tight little circles, my inner walls start pulsing and I fall. Before I know it he’s on his knees, his hand cupping my breast, the other arm around my waist, and he has me flush against his chest. It only takes seconds of him thrusting up inside me until he comes on a deep groan. Falling forward, he rolls us so that he ends on his back with me on top of him. I worm around until I’m comfortable, with my legs tangled in his, my hand on his chest, and my cheek to his shoulder.

  “How many babies do you want?”

  It’s early morning, a few days after my father’s funeral and he wants to talk babies? I try to push up, but his arms keep me in place.

  “Don’t think so much, Viv. Just answer, first thing that comes to mind.”

  “Three,” I blurt out.

  “Three? Okay,” he chuckles. “But you know what that means, right?”

  No. I have not the faintest what he’s talking about. “Nope.”

  “We have to start right away.”

  “Ike!” I slap his chest because he’s still laughing.

  “I’m serious. I think we should have our kids before I turn fifty and if you count two years in between each kid, for gestation and a little break for you, I figure we’ll have to get going now.”

  “A little break?” I manage to lift my head and rest my chin on his chest, looking up into his beautiful eyes that are currently sparkling with amusement. “Kids, huh? Where did that come from?”

  He shrugs his shoulders and his eyes turn serious. “Never had much cause to be around them. It’s hard to miss what you don’t know. I didn’t know I wanted any, but I want children with you.”

  He’s dead serious, which is why I pull myself up and kiss him sweetly on the lips.

  “You know that I’m a little old to start, right? I mean it would likely already be considered a high risk pregnancy because of my age. Besides, isn’t it a bit soon to start talking about that?”

  He growls as he gently rolls me, so I’m on the bottom and he’s on top. “Woman, you’re contradicting yourself. First you say time is ticking and next you suggest we take our time. Which is it? Or is it that you don’t want kids?”

  My hands come up to cup his face. “I’ll have them with you.” I smile, seeing his face light up.

  “Excellent,” he says after kissing me breathless. “We’re getting the rest of your stuff this weekend. Decide whether you want to keep the apartment, so your brothers have a pad when they’re in town, or get rid of it. And I’m going to want to make this legal.”

  Too early to keep up with his warp speed, so I don’t even try, and kiss him instead. The moment Ike takes over the kiss, the shrill ring of the phone interrupts our morning play time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ~Three weeks later~

  Viv

  I walk up the stairs to the courthouse, Ike’s hand on the small of my back, and shaking in my sensible pumps. Wear something conservative, ADA Phillips had instructed me. So I did, a pencil skirt, a plain white blouse and these butt-ugly sensible pumps. Kyle had taken me shopping yesterday.

  We’d arrived two days ago and I’d been grilled by the ADA, who wanted to make sure my testimony would be solid, even under cross examination. It was brutal and I almost walked out when he’d gone so hard on me, I had to fight back tears.

  “Don’t fight those tears, they can make the difference between winning or losing. We need you to be as human as possible. Let the jury see you’re broken.”

  That’s when I picked up my now cold coffee off the table in the little office and flung it with all my might against the wall. Shocked that bastard good.

  “I’m not fucking broken!” I yelled at Phillips. That’s when Ike came flying in, followed by a security officer. He’d been waiting outside on a bench when he heard me yell. Told the ADA in no uncertain terms that he was done, while looming over the guy with noses almost touching. Ike irate was scary. Phillips apparently thought so too and confirmed that indeed he was done and would see me in court on Wednesday. The day I was scheduled to testify.

  He is an asshole, calling us on a Saturday morning, shooting off location, date, and time when I was expected in LA. Frank’s assault case, obviously, but little else was shared with me. I’d known it was likely I would have to testify at some point, but with everything going on, my father’s death and his funeral, I swear it had been relegated to the far recesses of my mind.

  Needless to say the past few weeks have been stressful, but as Kyle so typically pointed out yesterday, it was also almost over. Which is what gives me the strength to pull open the courthouse doors, walk in, and start looking for courtroom nine. Ike, as always, close on my heels.

  We’ve been waiting for almost an hour, when I hear, “There they are!” from the end of the hall. Kyle is dragging Dorian toward the bench where we were told to sit.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I want to know.

  “Nothing better to do,” Dorian grumbles, and Kyle elbows him in the ribs.

  “Don’t listen to him, sweetie, we’re here to support you. And after it’s all said and done, we’ll go celebrate.”

  At that moment, the double doors open and the court clerk walks out. “Ms. Vivian Lestar?” His warm brown eyes zoom in on me, since I’m the only female I suppose.

  Ike presses a quick kiss to my head and whispers, “You’ve got this, beautiful.”

  I manage to throw a nervous little smile in the general direction of my brother and his husband, before trotting on my ridiculous shoes after the big, black and very long-limbed court clerk. I focus on the back of the man in front of me and try not to look into the gallery on the side, or the curious glances from the folks in the jury box. Most of all, I avoid looking at the man sitting behind a desk on the left side of the aisle beside his lawyer. The clerk holds the little gate open, and I notice Phillips, the ADA, get up from his seat the moment we pass. I’m told to sit in a chair to the right of the judge, on the side of the jury. I feel all eyes on me but keep mine down.

  “Miss.” The deep bass of the clerk is gentle and hushed, and I raise my eyes to meet his warm sympathetic ones. “You gotta look up when I swear you in.”

  “
Okay,” I whisper back, which draws a little twitch at the corner of his otherwise straight mouth.

  So with his eyes calming me, I place my hand on the Bible and repeat after him, as instructed. I almost want to hide behind him when he turns away and exposes me to the whole courtroom. Instead I focus on the ADA, who is standing in front of me. I don’t like the guy, would go so far as to say I actively dislike him, but he’s the only person I know for sure will try to get Frank put away. Even if he has to make me bleed to do it.

  His questions are surprisingly gentle, much more so than in his office, and I realize pretty quickly he’s playing to the jury. He repeatedly asks me to “tell the jury” something. After the first time, when he had to gesture to the gallery of twelve people sitting to my left, I soon clued in that at some points during my testimony, he wants me to face them and talk directly to them.

  The first time I show emotion is when a few slides of my battered body are entered into evidence. I’m asked to pinpoint each one as to time and place, and a few times when a new slide came up I could hear soft gasps from the jury box. That got to me. Then I’m hit with what he says is his last question.

  “Miss Lestar, do you see present here the man responsible for the injuries as shown?”

  I’ve managed to avoid looking directly at Frank so far, but now I have to.

  “I do,” I say, as my eyes find his angry ones, and suddenly I’m not nervous anymore. I fucking bested the guy once before, I can do it again. I feel my back straighten. I’m in the driver’s seat this time.

  “Can you point him out to the court?”

  “Gladly,” I say, pointing my finger at his scowling face. I come this close to sticking out my tongue and singing, neener-neener-neener as I do it, but manage to control myself.

  After that, the defense does their best to shake my testimony. One question in particular, in which I was asked whether I was sure I wasn’t a willing participant in some rough play, rattled me. I longingly look at the doors I came through, hoping for a quick escape, when I happen to spot a number of familiar faces in the last row.