Red Card

by Liz Crowe

“Dad, seriously, you did not invite him.”

  Mel glared at her father, ready to pack and leave if Metin showed up. The boys were down on the beach, trying out the body boards in the light surf. She sat, slathered in sunscreen and under a hat and sunglasses, trying like hell to relax. Tapping her foot on the sand, she clinked the ice in her glass.

  “I did. But I don’t think he’s coming.” Trevor parked under an umbrella, with a newspaper and a giant tumbler of gin and tonic.

  It was December twenty-fourth, Christmas Eve, and for the second time in her life, she refused to acknowledge it in any way whatsoever. Her heart already ached as the day approached. She had no idea what Metin might be going through but was determined not to give a shit. She refused to ponder it for even a second, or she would lose what was left of her mind.

  “Well, at least he has some sense.” Disappointed and pissed for feeling that way, she watched the boys awhile. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how he and I… I mean… it’s a little….”

  Her father put a firm hand on her arm. “Melanie, I want you to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted for either of you. I still want that, and if it is this man, well… who am I to question it?” He patted her hand then returned to his newspaper.

  A small flutter of anger flared in her chest. Why was she the only one in this equation who thought the whole thing was wrong?

  “But seriously, Dad. Why? I mean, isn’t it… weird or gross or… I don’t know.” She finished the rest of her drink.

  “It is love, Melanie, and the last time I checked, that trumps weird, gross, and everything else.” He put his paper aside and pinned her with his eyes. “I don’t pretend to understand it either. But he is a good man. You refused to accept that about him when he was with Alicia. Wanting to be with you doesn’t suddenly make him a bad man. It makes him a man in love, pure and simple. Why can’t you just go with that? You have got to be the most stubborn woman on the planet.”

  And with that, her father disappeared behind his paper again, leaving her to gape at the newsprint where his face had once been, questioning her motives for loving the man she’d claimed to despise for so long, and wishing for nothing more than to see him, right then.

  They spent Christmas Day over brunch at the resort, then on a long beach walk. The boys procured a soccer ball and slide-tackled each other in the sand for a few hours. Mel must have fallen asleep because one minute she watched her sons play, and the next, one of them shook her awake, making noises about a locked door and Metin. She sat up too fast, the sun and booze sending a shaft of pain into her brain.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” She rubbed her temples.

  “Mom, Metin’s here. But um….” She squinted at her son.

  “He’s what, Zach?” She blinked, trying to get her bearings.

  “He’s banging around in his room and won’t answer the door.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” She patted his shoulder, trying to keep her voice light, detached, as if this were happening to some other family.

  Without comment, she started up toward the resort. They had a detached three-bedroom condo, and her father had reserved a room up in the main building for Metin, if he showed. Shoving aside her own sadness at the day that loomed large, that absolute horror of a moment when the police called her house the day after Christmas, she focused on the task in front of her. Her father met her halfway, gripped her arm, making her stop at his side. “Go easy, Mel. You can be a little dismissive of other people’s sorrow at times.”

  She scoffed and tugged out of his grip, squared her shoulders, and cleared her mind of anything. Anything but the fact of the matter: Metin had traveled there and needed her help.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It took her almost a half hour of knocking and cajoling and convincing, but Metin finally answered the door. About to give up, she’d been leaning with both hands on either side of it, her voice low, when he ripped the thing open so fast she nearly fell inside. But she stepped away, determined that it wouldn’t become a typical fuck first, talk later session.

  “Wow, you look like shit,” she said, meaning it. His hair was wild, his jaw rough. “And you reek. Did you sleep in those clothes for the last week, or what?” She brushed past him, not letting any part of them touch. Opening the curtains and the large glass door, she let in some fresh air. “How long have you been here?” She glanced around at the wreck of a room, the neat freak in her itching to tidy up the place.

  He didn’t speak, just stared at her. She repressed the urge to shiver under his dark gaze. “This was a bad idea,” he mumbled, dropping down to his heels, his back against the wall.

  “Well, I suppose you could say so. But I’m not sure which thing you’d be talking about at this point.” She stayed across the room and kept her voice low, although the urge to run to him and hold him tight overwhelmed her.

  “Coming here,” he stated, his voice muffled. “Go away. Leave me alone.”

  “Nope.” She began collecting the empties. “Get in the shower. I’ll clean some of this up.”

  “I said, go.” He rose, his eyes snapping with fury or something like it.

  “And I said no.” Keeping it light, she continued to tidy up. Her heart pounded when he drew near. A now-familiar hand gripped her arm, turned her around. She glared at him. “Get your goddamned act together, Metin. We are here to honor Alicia and Ayden, not drown ourselves in self-pity. I won’t tolerate it. Get in the fucking shower.” She ground out the last, hating herself for being such a bitch to the man, for not “going easy” as she’d been asked to do, twice.

  Guiding him to the large bathroom, she helped him strip out of his clothes and shoved him under the shower spray. He stood for a minute, then met her eyes, propping his hands on either side of the large tiled space. “Join me?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Not a chance. Get cleaned up. I’ll order you some food.”

  Proud for not going with her gut and jumping in with him, she put the place more or less in order, called room service, and ordered him a steak, some carbs, and a giant bottle of water. He stayed so long in the shower she worried for a second, then as she was about to check on him, the water stopped. He emerged a few minutes later, a towel wrapped around his slim hips. Mel bit her lip and averted her eyes from the obvious tent under the cotton. He flopped into a chair opposite her, groaning.

  “My hair hurts.”

  “Yeah, no wonder. Hang on.”

  After answering the door, she set up the food and put a hand on his bare shoulder. His skin seemed to sizzle under her palm, sending a shock wave of lust straight to her lizard brain. She took a breath, focusing on the need to be an adult, not a horny kid, at this particular moment. When he gripped her hand, hard, tried to tug her around to his lap, she resisted.

  “Listen, Turk. You need to sober up, eat, sleep, and let’s talk tomorrow. Okay?” She pulled out of his grasp.

  “You still hate me,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what made me think you’d actually marry me. Jesus, what a fucking sap I am, huh?”

  “No, not a sap.” She crouched down next to him. “You’re a wonderful man, truly. But we can’t be together. You need to get that through your head.” But I want to be with you, her inner self screamed. Shoving it into a separate brain compartment, she locked the door with a firm click. She couldn’t do it. He was doing it for the wrong reasons, for a start. And she deserved more than to be the replacement sister.

  He scowled at her and she smiled, trying to defuse the moment. “Tomorrow is the second anniversary of the worst day of our collective lives. If you are not sober for it, I will never speak to you again, do you get me, Metin Sevim?”

  “Fuck off. I’ll do what I want.”

  She thumbed his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes, nearly biting off her own tongue to keep from kissing him, wrapping him up in her arms, and soothing him the only way she knew how.

  “No. Not if you’re here with me, with my father and my sons. You made the tri
p down. Now you get your goddamned ass sober, get some sleep, and we will see you at breakfast.” Unable to resist, she pressed her lips to his forehead, then his cheek.

  He clung to her and all the familiar responses rose. But she disentangled from him. “Not tonight, Metin. And perhaps not ever. But we will get through this day and the next one. And we will be friends. Because that is what we both need, more than we need to keep screwing around. Now, do what I’m telling you. Or I’ll get pissed and you surely do not want that.” She left before she lost control and ruined it yet again with her own neediness.

  Metin opened one eye then the other, relieved to find himself headache-free. He stretched, then climbed out of bed, never more grateful for Melanie’s bossiness.

  He saw Zach and Tanner down on the beach, going one-on-one with a soccer ball. And then it sidled up and sucker punched him. The day. Today. The twenty-sixth of December had arrived, right on time again. He sat, trying not to hyperventilate. After a while he got up, found some jeans and a T-shirt, and wandered out to find the promised breakfast. The one space that looked like a restaurant was empty so he made his way down to where he thought the boys had been when he’d seen them from the window.

  He spotted Melanie, lounging under a large umbrella with a huge picnic spread out in front of her. Her father sat in a low chair, his face buried in a newspaper. Metin took a breath and walked into her line of sight. She smiled, and his heart lifted, ever so slightly, from where it had been mired for two years in the muck of utter despair.

  “Hey.” She patted the blanket.

  “Good morning, Metin,” Trevor Matthews intoned.

  “Sir,” He sat and accepted the huge mug of coffee Melanie handed him. The boys trotted over and joined them. Tanner gave him a hug. Zach slapped his shoulder. They ate the fruit, cheese, and bread in near total silence. But it felt nice, comfortable even. At one point he stared at Melanie as she gazed out over the ocean, holding her water bottle. She glanced at him, and her face broke into a half-smile he loved—that set his heart pounding with agony and hope at the same time. He held out a hand, she took it, and they sat a moment, connected in a way that transcended any of the sexual encounters they’d shared.

  Zach cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “Hey, uh, Metin…?”

  “Yeah.” He looked at the boy before letting go of Melanie’s hand.

  “Wanna go…?” He held up the ball.

  Metin grinned and jumped up. “Is that a challenge?”

  “Yep,” he said, dropping the ball and dribbling away.

  When he glanced at her, he saw that Melanie’s eyes were filled with tears.

  “Thanks for brunch,” he said, and she nodded. He tilted her chin up, wiped the tears with his thumb. “We’ll talk more, after I go teach your sons a lesson.”

  While the day started out well, it devolved once Zach and Tanner started tussling over the ball after Metin agreed to ref them. He broke the boys up, sent Zach to jump in the pool to cool off and sat with Tanner who huffed and puffed, near tears.

  “It’s okay.” He put a hand on Tanner’s shoulder, surprised when the boy leaned into him and started sobbing into his sweaty T-shirt. He rubbed Tanner’s arm and let him finish. Then pretended it never happened so the kid wouldn’t be embarrassed before he ran off to torture his older brother more.

  Metin flopped onto his back in the sand, squinting up at the bright blue sky. His chest pounded, his arms itched from being so empty. He needed to drink, or fuck, or something. He sat up fast and almost banged his forehead right into Melanie’s. She held out a clean shirt, a ball cap, and a pair of sunglasses.

  “I’m guessing you don’t really burn but….” She raised an eyebrow.

  He tugged his shirt off and stood, enjoying the cool breeze on his damp skin. And the way Melanie eyeballed his bare torso. He took a step closer, relishing the sunscreen, coffee, and vanilla smells of her.

  She pushed him away, frowning. “Back off, lover boy. I’m here to talk, or walk, or both. Your call.”

  “Walking sounds great.” He put the clean shirt, hat, and sunglasses on and grabbed her hand before she could protest.

  She frowned at first. Then wound her fingers in his with a rueful smile. “You gotta be touching all the time, don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. Is that so bad? I’m pretty good at the touching thing.”

  “This is a flirt-free zone, mister,” she said, making an imaginary box around herself with her free hand. “We have some shit to work out and it needs to be sans any touching beyond this.” She raised their joined hands.

  He smiled, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “Humor me and my need to touch.”

  Rolling her eyes, she asked, “Did Alicia do that?”

  He flinched, tried to drop her hand, but she gripped it, staring at him so intently he squirmed. “We will talk about her, Metin. It’s the only way to figure out if we can get past it or not. Right now, I’m not sure we can. But if you refuse to talk about her, then forget being around me at all.”

  His shoulders slumped. “I miss her so much, every inch, every molecule of me hurts, literally, it physically aches every single day. I fake it, pretend that it doesn’t, but it does. I drink and it fades. I fuck, and it fades some more. But it is always there. Always.” He glared at her. “That enough talking for you? Or do you want to know more?”

  She smiled, easing his stress somewhat. “That’s a good place to start. C’mon, let’s hoof it.”

  By the time they’d covered nearly six miles down the beach and back, Mel’s skin burned in spots she’d missed with the sunscreen and tears streamed down her face. It hurt, this forced remembering. But she knew they had to do it.

  Metin seemed more and more animated, less surly, as they shared memories of Alicia. Finally, they arrived at their original picnic spot. The umbrella and the blanket remained, but her dad and the boys were nowhere in sight. She shaded her eyes at the sun and figured it for two p.m. or so.

  “I gotta sit.” She flopped down under the umbrella. “I feel age spots forming as we speak.”

  Metin eased down next to her. Their physical proximity comfortable, easy, without sexual tension or anything other than the need to be close, to share memories. “Sometimes I wish I could at least have him, Ayden. I dream about him almost every time I sleep. I want to hold him, just once more.” He sipped from a water bottle she pulled from the cooler. “Then I hate myself for thinking something so selfish.”

  “No, I get that.” She said, leaning on her elbows, keeping her gaze trained out over the water. She felt reamed out, cored, like an apple. Glancing over at him, she suddenly fully grasped his comment about filling his empty space with booze and women. “Damn, I would so take you to bed… right now… do you know it? Just to make all this stop.” Sucking in a huge breath, relieved to be able to admit that, she wiped her face, sick of crying over this. “What have we done, Metin? Why did we? Who do we think we are to just… be….”

  He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “Happy?” he said, his flat voice the opposite of that. “I don’t know, Melanie. You’ve got me there. What nerve we have thinking we can be that way.”

  She held up a hand. “Here is what I propose.” He settled on one elbow, pinning her with his dark eyes. “Cut that out.”

  “Cut what out,” he asked, running a finger down her bare shoulder.

  “Turn off the bedroom eyes, damn it, and hands off, I mean it.” She moved away slightly. “I officially declare you free of my inner jealous bitch.”

  He frowned, took a sip of water. “Excuse me?”

  “Go forth and date women your own age, without all the massive baggage you and I are lugging around together. It’s not healthy for either of us.” Her heart broke even as she spoke. But she steeled herself for it—the cold water splash of reality they both needed.

  “Uh, okay.” A spark of something resembling anger flashed in his eyes. “You have a hot man waiting in the wings, or what?”

  He
r laughter sounded completely free of amusement. “Oh god, no. I’m too busy and too old to date,” she insisted. “We weren’t dating, in case you didn’t notice. We were fucking. A lot, mind you, and it was lovely. But, again, not healthy, and we are stopping. Okay?”

  “Sorry, but no.”

  He got up to stretch and walked towards the water. She sucked in a breath as he stripped down to his boxer shorts, the absolute beauty of his lean muscles burning into her retinas. She ached to get her flesh next to his again. He dove in, swam for a while, then emerged like a god from the sea, the water beading up on his dark skin. Dropping onto the blanket, he shook his hair and sprinkled her with cold droplets. She cursed and swatted his arm.

  He grabbed her hand. “Melanie, I love you.”

  She yanked out of his grip. “No, Metin. You love the fact of me. That I’m here, filling your emptiness. But I am the wrong person for that. You were married to—you adored—my sister. I can’t, I mean I won’t, be the second string on this thing for you. You needed something, someone, and I was nearby, convenient and we certainly, ah, hit it off. But now we have to face it for what it is—wrong. On too many levels.”

  “Well, Jesus, I’m so glad you have me all figured out,” he said, sitting and drinking more water. “Good thing somebody does.”

  She laid a shaking hand on his shoulder, seeking words to soothe them both and coming up short. He moved fast, pinning her under him, kissing her so hard, she barely realized that she kissed him back. Her bikini bottom got pulled aside and he was over her, inside her, in a heartbeat.

  In its usual blend of urgency and erotic perfection, their coming together felt like a contest of wills. But the non-empty sensation was such a relief, every inch of her responded fast, her hair-trigger orgasm tendencies amplified by the final nature of this connection.

  “God… yes….” she whispered into his skin as he rocked into her, drawing out a languorous orgasm, completing her.

  “Melanie.” He came with a groan, shivering and gripping her tight. Propping up on his arms, he spoke, his head bowed. “Please don’t do this.”