by B. B. Hamel
I follow him to the end of the garage. I hear him whistle and yell for Jones, but I don’t hear barking. I stand there, staring out into the inky blackness of the night, trying to see what’s going on. I don’t have any shoes on, and I’m definitely underdressed, but I can’t go inside before I know that Jones and Ethan are okay.
I look out across the driveway, out toward the tree line. It’s pitch black, with barely a moon to give any light, but I think I can see something. It moves quickly, melding back into the tree line, and I think I must be going crazy. For a second, I think it’s a person out there, but it can’t be. That must be a bear, or just shadows playing tricks on me.
“He’s okay.”
I start suddenly. Ethan comes trudging up toward me, gun resting on his shoulder, Jones dancing around him.
“You found him?”
“Just looking around the shed out back,” he says. “Nothing there, though. He looks totally fine.”
I chew my lip. “I swear, Ethan, we both heard something. And then he went running out after it, and I swear I heard it make this… sound.”
“What kind of sound?” he asks, stopping just in front of me. Jones rubs himself against my legs and I pet him.
“Like… a shout, I guess.”
Ethan frowns, but doesn’t press anymore. “Let’s get inside,” he says.
I follow him in. He stomps off the snow and stores his stuff. He leaves the gun in the laundry room before heading into the living room. He pours himself a whisky and offers me one, and I stupidly decline. He looks at me for a second before putting the bottle away.
“There are a lot of animals out there at night,” he says finally. “Jones likes to chase them.”
“Yeah,” I say. “There was banging.”
He shrugs. “Probably trying to climb the shed. Jones scared it away, whatever it was.”
I nod my head slowly, chewing my lip. “Yeah, sure. Must be it.”
He drinks his whisky, watching me silently. “You broke my rule,” he says finally.
I look up at him. “What?”
“No coming into my room. That was the rule.”
“Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry. I thought… it was an emergency.”
He nods, frowning. “Right.”
I look at him for a second, and suddenly anger wells up inside of me. “Why don’t you trust me?”
He looks a little surprised. “Trust you?”
“You clearly look at me as some… I don’t know, an enemy.”
A little smile comes across his face. “I wasn’t thinking of you that way, but you’re right. You’re the enemy.”
I clench my jaw. “I’m not the enemy. Why would I come all the way out here if I just wanted to… to destroy you?”
“I don’t know,” he says softly, coming toward me. “Why would you?”
“You’re so infuriating,” I say. “You treat me like the only part of me that’s important is the journalist part.”
“I like all of your parts,” he says.
“That’s not what I mean. You’ll fuck me, sure, but you don’t trust me, and I don’t know why.”
He stops, inches away from me, and my heart’s beating so fast. He reaches out and takes my hair, tipping my head back, looking down into my eyes. “You think you’ve earned my trust?” he asks softly.
“Yes,” I say. “I have.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for. You have no clue how dangerous it is that you’re here.”
“Tell me, then,” I whisper.
I can see something in his eyes, like he’s angry, but it’s not directed at me. It’s directed inward, at whatever internal demon he’s trying to get rid of. Quickly that look dissipates, and he leans forward to kiss me.
I kiss him back, a chill running down my spine. For the first time since I’ve met him, I actually believe what he’s saying. There was something in his eyes that makes me think he really is haunted by something, although I’m not sure what. He pulls me tight against him and kisses me slow and deep, and I want his taste, need his touch so badly it almost hurts.
He pulls back. “You’ll need to work harder if you want my trust,” he says.
He releases me and steps away. He leaves me standing there in the living room, excitement boiling inside of my body. I want him to come back and give me what I desire so badly, but I know he won’t.
I go to bed, lonely and confused, but this time Jones follows me and sleeps in my room.
14
Ethan
I’m angry, but I don’t know why.
It’s not directed at Mia, I know that much. She didn’t mean anything by coming into my room. Truth is, I’m embarrassed of the empty bottles, and I don’t want her to see all the newspaper clippings. I don’t need her to see how badly the accident is breaking me inside, and how obsessed I really was over it for a long time.
I’m actually better than I used to be, although it’s probably hard to believe. I find it hard to believe myself. I drank a lot more back then, and before I had this house built, I floated around between shitty motels. I did drugs, fucked random women, and lived a hard life. At least until I decided that I needed to go to prison.
Which is why I had this place built. I couldn’t go to the real cops, because the bastards that sent the bomb would catch me and kill me. Instead, I made a prison of my own design and moved into it, and I’ve been here ever since.
I thought it was over. I thought I could run from the world and be okay. For a little while, I was. The mountain and the solitude were good for me. I was happy with nothing but Jones and nature.
But eventually after a few months, I started drinking again, and drinking a lot. I think I agreed to do the magazine profile, not out of loyalty to Murray, but because I wanted to do something to save my own life.
Maybe it’s working. I don’t know. I haven’t been dinking as much as I was, not since I met with Mia that first night. Things haven’t been easy, but they haven’t been too hard. I’ve been managing. If I hadn’t done something, I know I would have drank myself to death alone out here, with nobody but my dog to mourn me.
Another early morning. I head outside and into the generator shed. The working generators are humming along nicely, and so I get to work, trying to fix the busted fuel line. It’d be great to get Wi-Fi and some of the other non-essentials back up again. Fortunately I was smart enough to consider the movie room essential, though that’s the only entertainment that’s getting any power right now.
Mia checks in on me once or twice, but mostly she stays inside. I don’t blame her. It’s bitterly cold out today, well below freezing. I could feel ice forming on my beard as I walked over here. I need to make sure Jones doesn’t stay out too long.
I think letting Mia stay here was a mistake. Actually, I know it was a mistake. She wants me to trust her, to tell her the truth about what I did, and I want to. That’s the scary part: I want to tell a journalist my darkest secret. But I’m not afraid for myself.
I’m afraid for her. I don’t know what they’ll do to her if they find out that she knows. They’ll do anything to keep their little secret, to make sure that I don’t talk, which is why that accident happened to begin with. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I got someone else that I cared about killed.
Most of the day passes like this. Although I didn’t really think it could be done, I manage to get the fuel line up and running again. I bring in some new gas, refill the generator, and power it up.
The thing works. I laugh to myself and shut down the backup generator, grinning as I head toward the house. I slow down before I go inside though, wondering what the hell I’m going to do now.
I can’t let myself get this comfortable. I feel so guilty, but I know it’s a mistake to get close to Mia. I keep thinking about her body, that kiss last night, the way she feels when I fuck her. It makes my goddamn blood boil with desire, and that’s what pushes me away. She wants to get in my head, learn all my secrets, but I don’t kn
ow if she even understands what that means.
She’ll think I’m a monster. If I tell her the truth, why those men died that day, she’ll think I’m evil. And I’ll deserve it, but I don’t know if I can handle that.
I take a deep breath and let it out. I head inside, stomping the snow off my boots, mind spinning, trying to decide what to do.
Something smells good. I head into the kitchen and Mia grins at me.
“Hungry?” she asks.
I stare at the food. She prepared sautéed vegetables, some chicken, and even made what looks like soup.
“It smells really good,” I say. “You did all this?”
She shrugs. “I can cook.”
“Wow.” I laugh a little bit. “This is really great.”
Suddenly all my anger melts away. All my resistance, my confusion, it just disappears.
“Take a seat,” she says. “I’m almost done.”
She pours me a whisky as I sit. I can’t stop smiling as she bustles around the kitchen. She looks fucking gorgeous, her long hair loose around her back. She brings over some dishes and serves everything out before sitting down at the island across from me.
“Go ahead,” she says.
I take a bite, and it’s delicious. “Wow,” I say.
She grins and digs in as well.
“Thanks for this,” I say.
“I figured you’d need a hot meal after working out there.”
“This is exactly what I needed,” I say. “And I got the generator working.”
She perks up. “Really?”
“Really. I mean, it’s a hack, but I think it’ll be okay until I can get it repaired for real.”
“That’s so great!”
Without thinking, she leans across the table, and kisses me. I kiss her back, and when we finish, she sits back in her chair, blushing.
“Sorry,” she says, after a minute. “I don’t know where that came from.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I liked it.”
She smiles, still blushing, and starts eating.
I watch her for a second and sip my whisky. I wonder why I was angry, or why I ever questioned this. Sitting here with her, having a meal, this feels good. And kissing her feels right. Frankly, it all feels fucking right, and maybe that should scare me. Or maybe I should just accept it, embrace it, and let myself feel decent for once.
I’ve been punishing myself for so long, it’s like I’ve forgotten how to be happy. But just seeing Mia like this, smiling and laughing, it’s slowly bringing that part of me back. I’m slowly awakening to what it’s like to be happy again, and it feels so good. Even a simple gesture like someone cooking a meal for me is a total revelation after being out here alone for so long.
Maybe it’s not so wrong of me, to be happy with her. Maybe I can be decent again, if I just let myself. But I have to tell her the truth, sooner or later, and let her decide if she wants to be with a man like me.
15
Mia
Ethan does the dishes as I drift over toward his record collection.
He’s a complicated man. Not just because of his dark past, but just based on the things he likes. He’s the kind of man that’s rough and rugged, and yet has a record collection with lots of jazz thrown in there.
I thumb though the records but I don’t really recognize anything, until something catches my eyes. It’s mainly a white jacket with a red photograph of what looks like cracking paint. Maybe they’re rose petals, but I’m not sure. It’s called Jazz Samba by Stan Getz and Charlie Byrd.
I hold it up, frowning at the back. I swear I recognize the name Charlie Byrd, but I’ve never heard of this album. I know what samba music is, though. It’s Brazilian music, stuff you can dance to.
I pull the record from the sleeve and I put it on the turntable. I put the needle down and it crackles a little bit before moving into a quiet bass intro. What I think is a saxophone comes in, along with the shifting, shaking percussion that’s so familiar to me.
Ethan looks over at me, a little smile on his face. I smile back and step out into the living room, doing a little cha-cha dance, moving my hips real smooth. He watches me as I dance, mostly joking, but actually enjoying the music. There’s a nice little guitar solo, but mostly I’m enjoying the smooth rhythm. I think this style is called Bossa Nova, but I’m not really sure, and I don’t bother to ask him. Ethan just watches, washing the dishes, as I move over toward the fire.
That sax comes back and I smile and laugh as I put another log onto the fire. Ethan finishes cleaning and starts to dry his hands.
“Why’d you stop?” he asks me.
I shrug a little. “I’m just goofing around.”
“You looked good.”
“Oh, yeah?” I raise my eyebrow, a little smile on my lips. “Come here and show me what you got.”
“I don’t think you can handle my skills,” he says.
“For some reason, I don’t believe you.”
“What, just because I live in the mountains, you think I don’t have any soul?”
“Prove it to me, big man.”
He laughs and tosses down the dish rag. He walks over to me as the track changes over. This song’s a little more upbeat, sax zipping around over that Latin beat. He takes my hips and we start dancing, and I’m actually surprised by how smooth he moves.
“You made a good choice,” he says softly in my ear. “This is the record that introduced America to this sound.”
“Oh, I know, I have great taste.”
He grins, spinning me close and pulling me tight. “Of course you do.”
“I didn’t picture you as the kind of guy to have a big jazz collection.”
“Why? Because I’m some big dumb lumberjack?”
“Pretty much.”
He smirks at me, dancing close, our bodies moving in tandem. “That’s not what jazz is about.”
“I thought it was for nerdy guys.”
“Maybe, but it’s also about passion and excitement. There’s a reason people didn’t like jazz when it first came around. They thought it was corrupting the youth.”
“Was it?” I ask softly.
His hands move down to cup my ass and pull me closer against him, a smirk on his face. “Yes,” he says softly.
I groan a little as we keep dancing, his knee between my legs, and I’m practically grinding along him. I feel a buzzing in my core, that same intense passionate buzzing that I’ve been having for days now, ever since he first touched me. I can’t stop thinking about how he feels between my legs, and I need him so badly it almost hurts.
And so I do something stupid. I know it’s stupid, and a total waste, but I’m dripping wet and I can’t take it anymore.
I pull him down closer as the song ends, his hair in my hands, my lips near his ear. “I dare you to fuck me,” I whisper.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, a fire in his eyes. He remembers the first night we met, I can see it in his expression. I shouldn’t have done this so awkwardly and so abruptly, but his lips slowly curl into a smile.
And then that feeling goes away as he kisses me hard.
The fire’s raging, and that Latin music keeps coming as he kisses me full and deep. We’re not dancing anymore, and we both know it, as he unzips the hoodie I’m wearing. I have nothing on underneath it, and my nipples are already hard with excitement. He cups my breasts and kisses me tight, and I can feel his cock against me getting hard.
I push him over toward the couch. I unbutton his flannel shirt and pull it off his muscular arms. I pull off his undershirt and kiss his chest as he runs his hands through my hair, down my chest, toward my hips. He cups my ass and slaps it, smirking and turning, pushing me down onto the couch.
I look up at him as he drops to his knees in front of me. “Whatever you want,” he says softly, and unbuttons my jeans. He tugs them down over my ass, and I’m wearing nothing underneath them, either. In a second, I’m completely naked.
He spreads my legs wid
e and kisses my chest, teasing my clit with his fingers, sucking my nipples between his sculpted lips. I moan, hands in his hair, and he slowly kisses down my body. He stops, kissing my belly button, before descending down to my dripping pussy. He tongues my clit, sucking and licking me, lapping me up, tasting me and making me moan loudly.
He spreads my legs wider and presses his fingers deep inside of me. I gasp as he sucks my clit and fucks my pussy with his fingers. It feels so fucking good, almost indescribable. He pushing me toward the edge, sucking and lapping and fucking me, and I know I’m totally lost in this moment.
He pulls back and finds my lips, kissing me deep. He brings his fingers up, the ones that were in my pussy, and he slowly presses them into my mouth. I suck them eagerly, cleaning my juices off his skin as he groans softly.
He steps back from me and takes off his jeans. I sit forward eagerly as he pulls down his boxer briefs, and I take his cock in my hand as soon as I can. I push him between my lips and he groans as I suck him fast, tasting his skin, sucking hard down on his tip.
He presses himself deeper down into my throat. I let him fuck my mouth, let him use me like his dirty girl, and it drives me wild. I reach up to take his base with both hands, jerking him as I suck him deep, and his groans of pleasure keep me going, faster and faster, gagging but not caring, not stopping for a second.
He groans and pulls me back, kissing me deep, pulling my hair. I gasp as he pulls me down onto the rug, laying me onto my back but crossing one of my legs over the other, rolling me halfway onto my back.
He presses his cock against my pussy, teasing me, making me moan, before he plunges himself inside.
I gasp as his huge size fills me, pulling me apart. He thrusts slow, his hard muscles straining as he fills me. He leans forward, grabbing my hair, lips against mine, grinding himself deep.
I gasp into his kiss. He pulls away, his eyes on fire, passion brimming through him. “I knew this is what you’d use your dare on,” he says softly. “You’ve been begging me to fuck you for days now.”