by J. A. Huss
I know what she means. It’s not a threat. She’s not saying she’s gonna disappear again, though she might. She means Donovan will be here soon and then she will stop being mine and become ours. And eventually, Adam will be here too. Or we’ll be there. Back at Old Home and all together. And that’s it as far as McKay and Indie go.
Because like it or not, she is his.
Indie reaches down with her hand and finds my cock. “One more time?” She squeezes it until I feel the blood rushing towards the tip.
If I thought I could get away with it, I’d pick her up, take her down to my truck, drive away, and never look back.
But I know better.
“Sure,” I say, leaning in to kiss her.
It starts soft. Gentle, feathery kisses with no tongue. Because I just want to be soft with her. But I can’t control it. The urges inside me take over. I want to claim her and possess her. I want to take her away from here. Take her away from Donovan and Adam and hold her next to me forever.
We weren’t like this before. We weren’t a couple. We weren’t a foursome, either. Except for that one time, that’s not how it was. But if she stays… now that she’s older… I don’t understand how any of this will ever work.
“Maybe we shouldn’t?”
“Stop it, McKay. You want this more than I do.”
“Donovan—”
“He’s not here yet. Just relax.” She pushes herself on top of me, spreading her legs open and pushing both hands down on my chest as she moves her hips and rubs her pussy against my now fully-hard cock.
But I don’t want to relax. I grab her hips, flip her over, knee her legs back open, and then slide between them. My chest presses down on hers so hard as I hike her arms up above her head, grab both wrists in one hand, and then squeeze them, she gasps for breath.
“Ow. That hurts. I can’t breathe!”
“It’s supposed to hurt,” I growl back. “I’m fucking sick of this shit, Indie.”
“What shit?”
And she’s laughing. Like this is still just some fantastic joke. Like her disappearing for four years after what went down at Old Home was nothing. Meant nothing.
I want to slap her. Hard. Right in the fucking face and scream, Wake the fuck up!
But I’m too angry. And too sad. And I don’t like to yell. Not at her. Not anyone, really.
“Fuck me, McKay,” she whispers. “Do it hard. Make me scream. Make me cry.”
I want to make her cry. Because she didn’t cry that day. She did everything but cry that day.
I keep a hold of her wrists, but my other hand creeps up to her throat. Almost like it’s not a part of me. Like it’s on a mission of its own making. My palm lies flat against the soft cartilage of her neck and I can feel her pulse beating under my thumb. Thumping. Hard. Then harder. My thumb presses down and she gasps, blinking.
It’s so easy to suffocate someone. So easy to cut off the blood flow to the brain and make them pass out.
I ease up and she sucks in a deep breath. Her eyes are closed now and I know what this feels like. I know she is seeing twinkling stars against a black background. That her head is swirling with the threat of unconsciousness.
“Yeah. Like that,” she croaks.
But she doesn’t get to tell me how to do this. She doesn’t get to make any decisions at all. Not after what she did.
I don’t think I fully understood it until right now. I was there. I saw every bit of it. I watched it all in real time. And I never fully comprehended what actually happened.
And it wasn’t even about that day.
It was about all the days that came before it. All the days that led up to that one moment when the sweet, secret world we were living in came crashing down all around us and she… disappeared.
I kiss her again. Hard, this time. I punish her with my mouth as I hike one knee up to her chest and slip my cock inside her.
She gasps, not laughing now. She struggles underneath me, wriggling her wrists in my still-firm grip as I press them into the headboard of the bed like she wants me to let go.
But I won’t let go. I won’t.
I thrust my cock deep inside and she cries out.
Yes.
Yes. That’s what I want. I want her to cry. I want to make her sob.
One of her hands slips out of my grip and her fingernails dig into the thick, hard muscle of my shoulder. I lean into her ear and whisper, “I like it.”
She turns her head and bites me on the arm. And I wince at the pain. She pulls her mouth off my skin and then… gently… she kisses the mark she left.
I go still for a moment, breathing hard as she pants underneath me.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, goddammit! I need this! I need you to fuck me, McKay. Hard. Right now. Don’t go easy. You said you would never go easy on me and then you did. You always did. You always pulled that punch and second-guessed yourself. And that’s why I’m the way I am. You did that! You did that when you tried to make me soft! When will you ever learn that I’m not—”
I thrust inside her again. She squeals, her body inching up towards the headboard and her legs kicking underneath me.
But she asked for it. “Is this how you want it then? From now on, Indie? Hard and rough?”
“Yes. Yes. That’s how I want it. That’s how I need it.”
I fuck her. But the anger inside me does what it always does when Indie is around. It fades. And then there’s nothing left.
There’s just nothing left.
I roll off her and resume my position staring at the ceiling.
“What are you doing?”
“Just fuckin’ forget it. I can’t. I can’t do this. You just walk out for four fucking years and then come back and expect… what?” I look at her. “That we’ll be the same? We’re not the same, Indie. We’re never gonna be the same ever again.”
“I came back. That’s the important part.”
“That’s not the important part. Because when you left…” I sigh and hide my eyes in the crook of my elbow.
She climbs on top of me, flat and still. Her cheek rests on my chest and when her hand grips my wrist and tries to pry my arm away from my face her touch is gentle. And I’m not used to that. I’m not used to her anymore.
I push her off me and turn my back to her. And that’s something I never thought I’d do.
“Why are you acting like this?”
I just shake my head, still hiding my eyes. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
“What do you mean? McKay. Look at me. What does that mean?”
It means… I don’t know what it means.
I hurt? I’m sad? I’m fucking lost? I want her? I hate her? I need her?
What the fuck does it mean?
There’s a banging downstairs in the shop and I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Donovan’s here.” I stand up, find my jeans on the floor and I’m already pulling them up my legs when I say, “Get dressed. Now.”
Then I exit the bedroom and close the door behind me just as the front door of my apartment opens and Donovan walks through wearing a motherfucking tuxedo.
I huff out a disgusted laugh. “Oh, I get it. You were busy tonight. What? You had a party to go to, Donovan? You had guests over? Some fucking Hollywood awards ceremony happening tonight that I don’t know about?”
He stops in the middle of the living room and just looks at me. His eyes track right to the bite mark on my arm and he shoots me his own version of a disgusted laugh right back. “I see you two didn’t waste any time catching up.”
“Fuck you.” I head to the kitchen, take a bottle of Jack down from the top of the fridge, and pour myself three healthy fingers in a water glass.
I down the whole thing and then Indie appears in the bedroom door.
Her eyes meet mine first. They are cold and hard. Just the way I like them. But when they track to Donovan they go soft an
d she smiles.
Donovan opens his arms wide, beckoning her towards him with a huge smile. “Come on. Bring it in.”
She walks forward like she’s on a string and he’s pulling her towards him.
But of course, she’s not.
She just loves him best.
Always has.
I pour that Jack down my throat, straight from the bottle, my eyes locked on their embrace.
Back when she was little I didn’t care so much. It wasn’t like this. It wasn’t anything like this. She was just a little girl and I was just there to prepare her for the world.
Donovan and Adam… they were the ones who protected her. Not me.
“That’s enough.” Donovan is walking towards me now, reaching for the bottle. He swipes it away and throws it into the sink. It clatters around the cheap metal and the dark amber liquid spills out and runs down the drain. “I was counting on you driving, you asshole. I’ve been up for thirty-six hours and it’s a two-hour goddamned drive home.”
I drag the back of my hand across the sticky, bitter alcohol on my lips and glare at him.
“What? Did I interrupt something?”
I don’t answer him. Just look at Indie. Glare at her.
Why am I so mad? I don’t know. I’m just fucking angry. At her. At Donovan. At Adam.
At myself.
I walk into the bedroom, pull a clean t-shirt from a hanger in my closet, and slip it over my head. Then grab some socks from a drawer and sit down on the mattress and pull them on. Head cocked towards the open door, listening as they whisper to each other in the living room.
I know what he’s saying. Did he do anything to you? Was he inappropriate?
Old questions. Familiar questions.
They started right after Indie turned sixteen and things were getting serious with Nate.
I knew that was inevitable. And I wasn’t jealous. Not the way Adam was. I wanted her to have a good life. I did. I wanted her to have all the things I never had. I took care of her for that reason. Not because Adam told me to. Not even because I had to or she wouldn’t live to see eighteen, let alone twenty-four.
But she did live. And I still feel like a fucking failure.
Donovan appears in the doorway. “You all right?”
“I’m fine.” I reach for a boot and pull it on my foot, then the other one. Stand and adjust my cock in my jeans.
Donovan looks down at my hand as I do this, then back up at me, furious. “Asshole.” He turns away and goes into the living room.
Whatever Indie was whispering to him out there, it wasn’t about my inappropriate behavior. But Donovan has never needed to be told things to know things. And what just happened with Indie and me was just… inevitable. Just like that first hug she gave him was.
I walk to the door, then stop and lean against the wall for a moment. Run my fingers through my hair as they leave the apartment and start going down the stairs.
Indie is only wearing the sweats and t-shirt I gave her earlier, but when I get down into the shop, she’s struggling with her still-wet brown boots, her leather jacket already on.
She stands up straight and looks at me. “I’m ready. Let’s go home.”
I close my eyes. Take a moment to think about yesterday. Before she came back. Before Donovan got here.
And wonder, much the way I did that very first day she came home with us fourteen years ago, if anything will ever be the same again.
Donovan drives.
Stupid prissy fucker.
My truck, too. Since he came in a ‘car’, which means he had a driver, whom he did not ask to stay and take him back to Old Home. So. My truck.
Indie sits in the back and I take shotgun. I probably managed to down six or seven shots in those thirty seconds I was holding that Jack bottle. And I did have sex. So I’m sleepy as I look out the window and watch the landscape go by.
There was very little traffic getting out of New Orleans and once we get on the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, there’s a long boring stretch until we get up north and finally head west towards the Old Pearl River.
Every now and then I glance over my shoulder to look at Indie, who is sitting behind Donovan for just this reason.
She wants me to look at her. And every time I do, I catch her staring at me.
I don’t know what the fuck came over me back at my apartment. I should’ve just… pushed her away. Kept her at a distance. Because now she fills up my head and I can’t make sense of things.
It’s nothing but a swirling mess. And I wish I could say it was regret. I would fucking love to feel some regret when it comes to Indie.
But I don’t.
And it’s not.
It’s just… conflict. And apprehension about what comes next with Adam.
“So how’s…” Indie stops mid-sentence.
“How’s what?” Donovan glances at her in the rearview.
“I was gonna say school.” She laughs. “But obviously you’re not in school anymore. I knew that. How’s work?”
“I just finished my second residency, actually. And it’s all… fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Great. It’s great. I can’t complain.”
“Did you ever get that Malibu house?”
I glance over at Donovan and find him smiling. “Nah. That dream faded a while back now, Indie. I’m… considering my options at this point.”
“What options?” I’m still staring out the window when I ask.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this, actually.”
I turn my head to look at him. He keeps his eyes on the road. Fucking hands at two and ten o’clock like he takes his goddamned driving seriously. “Talk to me about what?”
He side-eyes me. “Later, McKay. It’s not a good time.”
Indie is quiet in the back, but I know she’s listening intently. When neither Donovan or I say anything else, she pulls herself together and asks another question. “Are you married, Donovan?”
“Married? No, Indie. I’m not married.”
I glance back at Indie again. She’s looking out the window this time. Studying the Louisiana darkness all around us like there’s anything to see out there.
We’re all quiet after that, our pathetic attempt at small talk a complete failure. And then before we know it, we’re driving down the long, empty lane that leads to Old Home.
The gate is open when we pull up to it and each one of us sucks in a long breath and lets it out, afraid of what we’ll find at the end of this journey that started out long, but now seems way too short.
Donovan gives the truck some gas and we slowly ease our way down the long, winding driveway until we see the front porch of the white semi-Victorian mansion come into view.
Half of it is lit up with moonlight, the other side dark.
Perfect analogy, if you ask me. That’s been my experience in life since the beginning.
You can’t ever see everything at once.
It’s gotten to a point now that I don’t even expect it.
Old Home is in better shape than I thought it would be. There are hedges that line the driveway along the main portion of the house. And the gardens have been kept up. I can’t see much in the dark, and it’s winter, so there’s not much to see anyway. But the short hedges trimming the edges of the geometrically-shaped beds all appear sharp in the moonlight, like people are trimming them regularly.
There are two massive pecan trees that flank either side of the porch and their boughs grow together across the front walkway, making a canopy that only adds to the charm of this old home.
“Is Adam even here?” I ask, looking around for his truck. Not that I know what he drives these days. We’ve talked a few times, but I literally have not seen him since the day of Indie’s twentieth birthday.
Right over there. I track to the spot where I last saw him getting into his truck.
And then he was gone.
Donovan was inside taking care of Indie and I was�
� I glance over at the pavilion, which looks empty and unkept. I was… dealing with Nathan.
Donovan cuts the engine. “He said he would be.” Then he opens his door and that all-too-familiar open-door alarm ding silences the chorus of crickets for a moment. But they recover and then it hits me.
We’re here.
After four long years we’re actually here.
We all get out of my truck and walk up to the porch. Stand at the bottom and look up at the house.
I lived here. With Indie and Adam. For ten years, we lived here. And even though I’ve spent the better part of four years away from this place—trying to forget this place—the moment my eyes find the front door, the past slams into to me like a wall of sticky heat on an August afternoon.
I’m back there.
Back in that moment when Indie got out of another truck—Adam’s truck. Dressed up in jean shorts and t-shirt. Long, blonde hair tied up in a crooked ponytail.
I knew it.
From the moment I first saw her, I knew we’d end up here. Staring up at an empty house, thinking back on empty years, wondering where it all went wrong.
But we all know the answer to that question.
Here.
This is where it all went wrong.
PART TWO - TRIPPIN' ON SNAKES
Finding that truth is messy. That’s about the only way to define the in-between time when fantasy and reality are still fighting for control.
It’s a long, winding road of ‘this is’, and ‘that isn’t’, and ‘we are’, and ‘we aren’t’. And sometimes you get a little lost along the way. Or you stumble off the path, sidetracked.
You’re still inside the walls. Still safe for now. But the gate is unlocked or the there’s a crack in the stone where small, slithering things can get in and out.
But this is when you really need to take a good hard look at those snakes under your feet and ask yourself that question again.
Do you really need to know the truth?
CHAPTER TEN - INDIE
Donovan came home a lot after that first job. I could tell everyone was concerned about something, but they wouldn’t tell me what that something was.