by L. B. Dunbar
We each remain quiet, taking turns to lift a glass and drink after mouths open and shut, words unable to find any of us.
“This is stupid,” Mason finally speaks. He’s downed a second lowball, filling it higher than his first. “You want a better quality of life at the end of your life, so be it.”
Startled by Mason’s interjection into the silence around us, Zack shifts on the couch, looking over his shoulder at our friend.
“Okay . . .” Zack turns back, facing the glass in his hand, and swishes the liquid inside. “Okay. You’re right. This is Ben’s life.” He speaks as if Ben isn’t present before addressing him. “We’ll do things your way, but I want a promise.”
“Jesus, Zacker,” I hiss, shaking my head.
“If things get really bad, you promise me you’ll get medical attention. You won’t just let yourself suffer in pain but do something to aid yourself. Do something to lessen it.”
“Maryjane for medicinal purposes. She’s my kind of woman,” Mason teases.
“Isn’t it legal here in Michigan now anyway?” I question, no longer up on which states have legalized marijuana use.
Ben chuckles. “I promise I’ll use something. I’m not that much of a martyr.”
We’re quiet for another second before Mason chimes in again. “Remember when we were young . . . er . . . younger, and we had a plan.”
Zack glances over at me.
“We were going to be our own business. No dads. No bosses. We’d be in charge. Logan would design houses. I’d build them. Benny would make them pretty outside, and Zack would make sure we stayed out of trouble. At least, legally.” Mason laughs. Vaguely, the details come back to me. It was probably a night just like this, somber and silent, when we were drinking too much, discussing fathers and futures. Ben already knew he didn’t want to take over his dad’s business because he wanted to follow Anna. He didn’t want her to give up her dream for his. Mason never got along with his father, which is how he found himself working for Ben’s in the summers during high school, and Zack had his own issues with his old man, a known criminal. My dad was dead and had been since I was five.
“What happened to that dream?” Mason asks.
Zack chuckles, bitter and ironic, while Ben admits, “I married Anna.”
“Yes, women. How fickle they can be.” Mason takes a hearty pull of his drink. Ben narrows his eyes at Mason but doesn’t speak to contradict our friend. “We were the four seasons.”
“The four points,” Ben corrects. “We were going to name the business The Four Points for the direction each of us came from.” Mason was north. I was south. Zack was east while Ben was west. We sounded like Power Rangers, and if anyone suggested we wear matching outfits in bright colors, it might have been me, making a joke about the glory of wearing a morph-suit. But as I recall that conversation and we sit here some twenty years later, I wonder . . .
“Why didn’t we do it?” It was more than Ben marrying Anna. Why didn’t we ever follow through on that dream to work together, to be a team?
Ben shrugs, but Mason stares down at his glass. Zack is just thinking. It’s written in his expression. He might have even zoned out of this conversation, but he’s still sitting here, listening. He’s uncanny like that.
“To The Four Points,” I say, lifting my glass like the Power Ranger-wannabes of the past. Mason slowly smiles.
“To The Four Points,” he adds, raising his glass as well.
“To the future,” Ben whispers.
“And the past,” Zack adds as if shaken out of his revelry. “And friendship.”
To that, we all drink, even Ben, who takes a small sip of the sharp alcohol, and then coughs, reminding us that dreams fade, life shifts, and it could all end sooner than we think.
19
[Autumn]
Accepting the early fate of my brother was difficult. Ben told me months ago when he’d learned the truth and began chemotherapy treatments. The prognosis was desperate. The outlook inevitable. I wanted to curse God, poor genetics, and the universe, but the diagnosis came down to cancer is not selective. It seeps into anyone, at any time, without explanation or reason. We were a healthy family. We were heart attack and stroke people, not cancer victims. Our father died of a heart attack. Our grandfather died of an allergic reaction to something. Even on my mother’s side, her family simply died of advanced age. The men in our family had not been subject to cancer, yet here it was in Ben.
As I sit in a rocking chair inside my designated bedroom in Anna’s family home, I peer out the window at the lake in the distance. The sun is going down earlier every day. The sky closes in on another day, and it’s hard to imagine that one day, Ben will not exist. I swipe at an errant tear. I cried often when he first told me. I’ll cry again when it actually happens. When I watch him suffer. When I watch Anna. When I see the lost look on their children’s faces. I’ll be here for them because life will never be the same without Ben.
He wanted these two weeks to hang with his friends. To remind himself that life is short, and we need to be thankful for what we have and who we have in our lives. He wanted one more time to tell them all he loved them, but not only with words. He wanted final memories for all of them. Without even suspecting it, he’d given me final memories as well. I’ll be forever grateful that my brother called Logan Anders to join him for these weeks, and through some miracle and the meddling of Anna, Logan ended up in my bed, hopefully impregnating me. He’ll give me a new life to focus on when my brother is no longer present.
I swipe again at another slow tear.
I’m not upset at Logan’s harsh, “Don’t.” He’ll come to understand it wasn’t my place to tell him about my brother’s condition. Ben wanted to do it himself, and he wanted to do it on his own time. He planned to tell them as he had, hoping to give them a night of thoughts and concerns, maybe ask questions tomorrow, but eventually remember two weeks of fun. He didn’t tell them at the beginning because he didn’t want anyone worrying about his condition, enforcing naps, or questioning every step they took. He wanted to keep living even while he was dying.
Knowing Ben, he’ll push himself until the final hours. That’s part of this decision to move to Lakeside, in a house he’s always loved, in a town he’s missed. He wants time with his young family. He wants to enjoy himself.
When I think of Calvin, Bryce, and Mila, I fear for all they’ll give up by leaving the only home they’ve known. School. Friends. Activities. But they seem to be taking it all in stride. Calvin and Bryce understand. They’re honoring their father’s wishes even if they harbor some resentment for the decision. Mila isn’t clueless, but she’s welcoming the adventure and is thrilled to live here full time. Anna’s more difficult to read, but she’s accepting what Ben wants, saying they’re only moving their future up by years. Years she’ll live, and Ben won’t.
My door eventually opens, and Logan walks in. His eyes are glassy, and I can’t decide if it’s sadness or alcohol. Either way, I’m here to offer him whatever he needs from me. I want to wrap him in my arms and assure him everything will be alright, but I can’t.
He sits on the edge of the bed, facing me. His eyes lower for his lap, where he clasps his hands together between his strong legs.
“Do you want to talk?” I ask, equally content to sit in silence.
He shakes his head, rolling his lips. He appears angry, and I understand the emotion. I was angry myself when I first learned of everything. I’m still angry in many ways, but anger will not keep Ben alive.
“You understand it wasn’t my place to tell you, right?” The last thing I want is Logan to be upset with me, and I need to know where he’s at.
He nods, but adds, “A little forewarning would have been nice, though.” Sarcasm drips from his lips, and it’s not a good sound from him. However, I understand the hurt, the surprise even. I’m still in shock, and it hit hard again when Ben explained it to his friends. Reaching out a hand, I wiggle my fingers at Logan. I want him
to come to me, and thankfully, he does. He collapses to his knees before me and wraps his arms around my waist, tucking them between my back and the rocking chair. His head falls to my lap, and I spend minutes combing my fingers through his hair, trying to soothe the ache in his heart. I should say something, but words escape me, and I figure silence is better for the moment.
I’m not certain how long we sit in this position before Logan nudges his face lower, working his nose to the edge of my dress which hits mid-thigh. My legs were pressed together and off to the side to accommodate him, but he shifts, wedging his broad shoulders between my knees and forcing me to spread.
“Logan,” I whisper, as his hands come to my lower back and his teeth clamp on my dress, moving it upward the final inches my spread legs do not offer. His face falls squarely between my thighs and his nose drags over the thin fabric of my underwear. His hands tighten on my back, squeezing once before lowering to my ass and tugging me forward enough that his face is firmly against my core. He slips a hand forward to push my underwear aside and then spears me with his tongue.
“Logan,” I hiss. Now doesn’t seem to be the time for this.
“Don’t.” He growls against sensitive folds before clamping his lips around them and sucking hard. His tongue splits me open again and dips among the juices he’s creating. I accept the invasion, strangely understanding his need for connection. Despite the rocking chair, I’m held firmly in place as he laps and licks like a starving man, desperate for his last meal. I ignore the uncomfortable knowledge he’s using me and quickly breach the edge of release but don’t break over it. Abruptly, he stops as if he knows I’m right there. I whimper but don’t complain.
Reaching for my hands, he tugs me forward, and I fold to the floor, uncertain what he wants from me or where he wants me. I’m like a rag doll at his disposal as he guides me to my back. He makes quick work of opening his shorts and shoving them down to his knees. Brushing aside my thong, he positions himself at my entrance and rams forward. I bite my lip as he moves in sharp, rushed thrusts, lifting my legs so my ankles are near his shoulders. I’m nearly bent in half as he surges inward, grunting with the effort to keep my legs upward and his knees pressed into the thin rug under them. He doesn’t speak. There are no words of endearment. No tender caresses. He isn’t even looking me in the eye. I take the rush of him filling me and allow him to lose himself inside me, disappearing for the minutes it’s going to take before he implodes. He’s going to come before I do, and I accept I might not get there.
Holding myself back, I clutch at the rug under my fingers with my knees near my shoulders. Logan strains forward, groaning once his release hits him. In this position, I’m the perfect angle for every drop of his seed to move forward, to fill me, and reach where it needs to go. As I’m hopeful I’m already with child, this night shouldn’t matter, but every time we’re together, I take it for what it’s forth—an opportunity to be close to him. A chance to pretend that we are a couple, and we can be a family.
Logan holds his position once he finishes, but he doesn’t touch me other than his hands on my shins. He lingers while he catches his breath, and then he pulls out. He doesn’t bother to straighten the awkwardly pushed aside thong. Offering me a moment of reprieve, he tucks himself into his shorts before he holds out a hand to help me sit upright. He still doesn’t look at me.
Swiping a hand over his face, he curls upward, standing to his full height. His eyes remain dazed, and I’d like to think he’s upset over what just happened. The rush, the rapid release, the disconnect between us which we haven’t felt since we started having sex. However, this wasn’t sex. This was fucking, and Logan doesn’t have a hint of regret on his cheeks. Without a word, he turns and exits the room.
And it hurts more than losing Kevin, Kenneth, and Rick combined.
20
[Logan]
I wake early, alone, and fighting off the disconnect with Autumn last night. While I went to her room, wanting comfort from her, I hadn’t expected the anger I felt. I can’t say she lied to me as she hadn’t, but she withheld the truth, which bothered me almost as much. Chloe did those kinds of things. Not wanting to admit how she felt or how she was changing in both body and mind, she withheld information until nothing was left to salvage between us.
I don’t like feeling as if Autumn had done the same thing and spent most of the night tossing and turning over it. As I reason with myself, I conclude there is no ulterior motive to Autumn’s lack of information. This didn’t pertain to her goal. This was about her brother, my best friend, who announced he is dying. And it wasn’t some drunken, we’re-all-going-to-die-one-day speech. This was immediate. We all knew the older we got, the faster time sped up, and a year wasn’t a long time in the grand scheme of things, especially when considering someone’s life ending. Twelve months was not enough time remaining.
Admittedly, I shouldn’t have used Autumn as I did. I should apologize. I should beg forgiveness, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t understand my own actions. I went into her room seeking solace and left feeling like shit. I should have stayed to comfort her. She was losing her brother, but I hadn’t found it inside myself to stick around. I was used up and wanted to escape her rather than hold her after I fucked her on the floor.
Jesus. I fucked her like I didn’t care about her. Like I only thought of myself and my aching heart for my friend. That had been the crux. I had been thinking only of me and not her.
I swipe a hand down my face, and her scent still lingers although I hadn’t touched her. Not really. My mouth reacted to the scent of her, eager and willing to taste her despite my mindset. My body took control, but only one part of me needed to connect with hers. I fucked her, and I hate myself.
Rolling from the bed, I slip into day-old shorts and find a semi-fresh tee draped over the chair in my room. Slipping it over my head, I comb my fingers through my hair and head to the bathroom in my room. A quick brush of my teeth, and I decide it’s as good as I’ll get to go grovel at Autumn’s feet. We only have one night left, and I promise myself I’ll make it up to her. I’ll just hold her in my arms and give her the comfort she deserves with this devastating news about her brother.
Unfortunately, when I step into the hallway, my plans are shot to hell by Mason.
“Hey. I’m glad to see you’re up. Want you guys to take a drive with me.” Mason claps me on the shoulder, and I point over it in the direction of Autumn’s room.
“I was just—”
“Listen, loverboy, you can give it a rest for a few hours. Just a drive. I have something I want to show you guys.” Mason’s voice rises softly, but it’s full of excitement. A touch of anxiety also underlies his tone. He’s nervous but eager to show me whatever is so damn important it can’t wait.
“Zack’s already up, and I told him he could bring the boys. Ben is meeting us downstairs.”
It appears plans have been made without me. I’m not certain I’m intended to be included in Mason’s little sightseeing venture, but I grumble my consent and follow him.
As we enter the kitchen, coffee is brewed, and pastries are set on a plate on the island. My diet has been dismantled on this trip with the additional sweets and too much alcohol. These are some of the reasons I need to wear an insulin pump. Then I consider the incredible sex I’ve had the past few days and assume I’ve burned some calories with the rigorous activity.
Fuck, I really need to apologize to Autumn.
Instead, I gladly take the coffee offered as I need to caffeinate and follow Mason outside with a to-go cup in hand.
“We aren’t all going to fit in your tiny Barbie mobile,” I mock, noting Mason’s sporty little BMW in the driveway. For a tall man, he drives a squat car, and I sometimes wonder if it’s a direct reflection of his anatomy. Then again, the man gets a lot of tail, which doesn’t happen without a big dick.
“We can take Anna’s SUV,” Ben states, stepping onto the drive.
“I wanna ride with the top
down,” little Oliver admits, and Mason high-fives him.
“Well, there isn’t room for six either way,” I snap, feeling petulant and pissy this morning. I really should have stayed the night with Autumn. “Where are we going again?”
“It’s a surprise,” Mason states, wiggling his brows at a bouncing Oliver. “I’ll put the top down. You grandpas follow in the SUV.”
Ben and I look at one another. “Grandpas?” I snort.
“He’s implying we’re old.” Ben laughs.
“Is that even funny?” I bark, worried about Ben’s emotional state and the fact forty isn’t old. In fact, Ben isn’t going to reach old age. He isn’t going to be a grandfather either. Mason is a fucking prick for being so insensitive.
“It’s hilarious,” Ben states, giving me a reassuring smile that says he isn’t offended by Mason. “Don’t be awkward.” The warning is clear. He wants me to treat him as I usually would, but I can’t. I don’t know how to react to my friend dying. I should be used to death. I lost my father when I was too young to remember him. Then I lost my mother before I went off to college, leaving me an orphan throughout my university years. I couch hopped during holidays and summers until finally landing an internship with an Indianapolis architectural firm. I’ve worked for them ever since.
Ben and I climb into Anna’s SUV, and we follow Mason.
“Do you know where we’re going?” I ask, trying to calm myself.
“Not a clue, but Mason was rather adamant we all join him.”
“I missed the memo,” I mock, sipping my coffee while Ben drives.
“He brought it up after you left the room last night.”
“Are you certain I’m included then?” My voice falters with the possibility, and disappointment strikes. Maybe I’m an afterthought in Mason’s scheme.
“Absolutely.” Ben shifts his head a second to look at me. “What’s going on with you this morning? Don’t be weird.”