Dead Man's Bluff

by Adriana Law

  Lillian murmured, “He only knows how to make a woman feel good in bed, is that it?”

  Megan felt the heat crawl up her throat to her cheeks. “Please, it’s bad enough I have to hear the not-so-subtle sexual comments swapped between you and Paul…”

  “Well, it’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it? How it felt to be consumed by passion? Meg, don’t you want to have that passion in your marriage.”

  “I will. What I experienced with Drew was…”

  Lillian interrupted, “…mind-blowing sex.”

  Megan shook her head and focused on her feet. She didn’t want to talk to her mother about the details of her personal life, especially her sex life. There were just some things, memories, you kept for yourself. “Yes, what he and I shared was purely sexual. Lust. It wasn’t love and it was a long time ago. I’m no longer that girl. Conner and I share something deeper, something that will last a hell of a lot longer than just the desire to strip each other naked.”

  “Have you? Stripped each other naked?”

  It took her a few moments to answer. “No,” she finally answered rounding her shoulder and hugging herself with the baggy fabric of her sweater as if she’d caught a chill. Soon she would be married and the subject on sex was bound to come up. Her words were spoken low, “What if Conner doesn’t like what he sees?”

  Lillian was there in a matter of seconds, her arms slipping around her daughters shoulders. Meg buried her face in her mother’s embrace, horrified that she was finally voicing what she had feared for months. Lillian’s hands made comforting circles over her hunched back. “Shh, it’s okay, you’re right. You and Conner will figure it all out in time and he will think you’re sexy and beautiful, I promise. The sex will be just as mind-blowing. I shouldn’t have brought him up.”

  Megan buried her face deeper, her sobbing changing over to laughter. This out-burst of emotion was ridiculous, all because the mention of a name. Jesus, he still affected her two years later.

  Later that night the past came back to haunt Megan. It wasn’t unusual. Her psychiatrist said it was perfectly normal, her way of working out the last two years. She often woke covered in sweat and gasping, her heart racing as she sat up in the dark. This night the dream was more vivid than most, every detail replayed in her mind as the words ‘breast cancer’ paraded through her subconscious.

  “Meg?” A fist pounded on the bathroom door, soft at first quickly becoming more urgent when she didn’t answer. “Are you okay? You’ve been in there a while?” Conner’s masculine voice called from the other side of the door.

  “Yes. I’m fine.” Tears slipped down over her damp cheeks. Water splashed, rippling against her naked body as she lifted a hand to smear them away. She’d reach a new height of pathetic.

  The door knob rattled and the door shook on its hinges as he pushed against it. “You don’t sound fine… you’ve been crying, I can hear it in your voice! Unlock the door!”

  She inhaled a deep breath, covering her eyes with a hand as her words came out shaky. “I can’t… I threw up on myself and wanted to take a hot bath… deep breath… I can’t get out of the tub, Conner. I’m sorry… ”

  “What do you mean… you can’t get out of the tub?”

  “I tried… but I’m too weak…I’m sorry!”

  “Don’t apologize! Hold on… I’ll find something to unlock the door.”

  “NO! DON”T! Don’t come in here! Please!” Gripping the sides of the tub she attempted to push herself up again giving it everything she had, knowing she’d die from mortification if her boyfriend seen her like this. Her arms shook under the weight and gave out sending her floundering back down into the water.

  “You can’t stay in there all night… You’ll freeze to death!” There was movement in the bedroom, noise of things being turned upside down, and then the sound of him jabbing something into the lock. The door gave way and a male, 6’ 2” and muscular came tumbling inside, panting.

  “Don’t look!” she cried laying a wash cloth over her breast and bending her legs.

  Here it was… the ultimate embarrassment. Megan had met Conner at the hospital. Yes, it was unprofessional for a doctor to flirt with a patient, but she’d not been his patient. They’d bumped into each other by accident in the hallway, and after that he’d pursued her relentlessly during one of the most challenging, emotional times of her life. He was an extremely attractive guy and eventually he’d worn her down with exceptional kindness that to be honest, she needed at the time. They’d started dating.

  Their relationship was odd. He’d insisted on helping out, and had convinced her to stay in one of his guest bedrooms, so at night, when she became violently sick from the chemo he’d be nearby to bring her what she needed: most of the time what she needed came in the form of a pill and a glass of ginger ale to wash it down. They didn’t have sex. He’d never even pushed the issue of sleeping in the same bed as her. Sometimes she wondered if he was just one of those guys who searched for some weak female who desperately needed him, and maybe her sickness helped validate his self-worth in some way. She tried not to over analyze it, why he would want to be with a sick girl. She also tried to keep embarrassing moments such as these down to a minimum. Most of the time Megan stayed close to home and her mother was the one who cared for her, but everyone needed a break now and then. So, occasionally, Conner would get his way, especially when he was still wearing his scrubs from hospital, short sleeves tight around his muscled biceps, combined with his dimples, made him damn near impossible to turn down.

  He kept his aqua-blue colored eyes focused up on the ceiling as he ran a large hand over his recently buzzed blonde hair. With his hair cut short like that he resembled a stealthy marine, instead of a respected surgeon. He had beautiful olive skin, only now his cheeks had a tint of scarlet in them. “Um, Meg, how am I supposed to help you if I’m not allowed to look at you?”

  “I don’t know,” she breathed out in a rush, “I told you not to come in here!”

  He stood there for a couple of minutes, before he disobeyed her by shifting his gaze down to where she lay in the tub. His assessment was quick and his eyes held nothing but pity and concern, and it made her heart ache.

  “Meg, I’m a doctor and also a man… I’ve seen naked women before.”

  “Not me you haven’t,” she murmured clenching her bent legs together and folding her arms over her chest. Her hair was similar to his… nothing but stubby new growth; on him it was attractive, on her, not so much. Sometimes she wondered if he’d buzzed his hair short for her sake, to make her feel better. Her ribcage and pelvis bone were sharp and protruding, clearly noticeable with all the weight she’d lost in such a short time. She never thought she could feel so unattractive and exposed.

  He kneeled beside the tub. “Well, we’re going to have to get you out of there eventually, sweetheart.” He reached for the stopper jammed in the drain, submerging his arm to the elbow. “Shit, this water is freezing, Meg! Why didn’t you call me sooner… Are you trying to come down with pneumonia?” Concern marred his expression. He always was a doctor first, then her boyfriend.

  Water swirled, a whirling cyclone, being sucked down the drain. Conner reached for the folded towel lying on the floor and as soon as the water was all out of the tub he draped it around Megan’s shivering body the whole time respecting her wishes by keeping his eyes on her face instead of her body. He smiled revealing to sexy dimples etched around his sensual lips. “Here, let me help you sit up and we’ll dry you off.”

  She obeyed without any further fussing, because honestly she was at his mercy. Hugging her knees to her, her spine rounded, she sat in the empty tub, while her boyfriend dried her off like a toddler.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “For what?”

  “For thinking I had the strength to take a hot bath. For ruining your evening. Your life. For being more than you bargained for.”

  He lifted her chin with a strong finger forcing her to raise he
r lashes to stare up into his handsome face. Sometimes his eyes were so blue, the intensity of them caused her to hold her breath.

  His voice cracked with emotion, “Listen, I want you here. I-I love you.”

  Her stomach dropped. He’d never said he loved her before. His cheeks spiked with color as if it’d slipped out and before she could say anything in return he was gently lifting her out of the tub, cradling her to his chest. “Come on, let’s go get you all tucked in the warm bed… you’ll feel better in the morning.”

  As he settled her on top of the mattress she felt like she needed to say something, anything to break the awkward vibe between them.

  “Conner…”

  “Shh, rest! We’ll talk about it in the morning.” He leaned in firmly pressing his lips to her forehead and her eyes fluttered closed, when her eyes opened again it was no longer Conner’s face she saw… it was Drew Mackenzie’s.

  For an instant she felt as if she was free-falling out of an air plane, tumbling and spiraling down, until her body jerked, jolting her out of a deep sleep. She sat up, her gaze skidding over the bedroom now bare of her things. After tonight, this was officially no longer her primary residence. She was an adult, starting a new life in a new home, her home, a home she’d most likely raise her children in with her husband. Her life was neatly mapped out, perfectly planned down to her bridal registry. She liked the certainty of it in a life that had become too chaotic.

  Conner was her safe bet.

  But things, or people, have a way of popping up when you least expect it. Her mother had reminded her of another embarrassing, heart wrenching, and exposed moment in her life… the day Drew Mackenzie rejected her. It had felt very much like lying in that damn tub… naked and exposed, the hurt eating away at her. ♠

  Six

  Drew shifted; he adjusted the hold he had on his father as he fumbled to slip the right key in the lock. He pushed against the apartment door and they both nearly fell inside.

  “I can fucking walk if you’d only let me.” Jonathan Mackenzie spit, an arm slung around his son’s neck, the other hand lifted a cigarette. It took several attempts for him to actually find his mouth. He took a long, slow drag exhaling the stench of nicotine and booze into Drew’s face.

  It was in that moment, as his nose scrunched and his stomach turned, Drew decided he never wanted to smoke another cigarette in his life. Drew returned, “Yeah, well, I’m not too fond of the ER on a Friday night and that’s where we ended up last time I let your drunk ass walk by yourself. Fifteen stitches above the brow, remember that?”

  “I remember you falling on your ass a few times myself, son. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re any different than me.”

  Drew directed the stumbling fool toward the bedroom where he could sleep it off.

  His father complained, “I just wish Bobby would have minded his own damn business for once and not called you to come pick me up. I had a pretty little red head more than willing to make my night an eventful one. ”

  Bobby was the bartender down at Walker’s, a hole-in-wall pub downtown where the scummiest people Drew had ever met drank their sorrows away. The older his father become, the less he cared who he kept company with or maybe he was running out of people willing to put up with his shit.

  By the looks of the apartment his father had been on one of his drinking binges for days: ashtrays full of snubbed out butts, liquor bottles and beer cans sitting everywhere, fly infested Chinese takeout stinking up the place and pallets thrown down in the center of the den where, most likely, his father had entertained a couple of sluts while watching porn. On the end table by the couch was a dusty mirror and a straw.

  After Drew moved out of the ranch he had chosen to rent a place of his own for this very reason. He had no intentions of ever living with his father again. The scene was all too familiar and even as he felt his chest tighten and the urge to outrun the claustrophobic feeling he had every time he stepped into the apartment, he knew he wasn’t going anywhere tonight. No. Tonight he’d be babysitting his father and pulling clean up duty. Something he was good at.

  They passed through to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Mackenzie trailed his hands along the wall to keep the shoulder that wasn’t pressed up against his son from bumping into the wall. “I bet that old man you thought more of than your own damn father got plastered a time or two. All that facial hair and that ridiculous drawn up hand made him look like a penniless wine-o.” Drew tensed knowing his father was referring to Tink. “Am I wrong?”

  “Shut the hell up.” Drew growled. He felt guilty about being so disrespectful to his father, but to gain respect you have to give it, and his father didn’t understand the meaning of the word respect.

  His father’s angry words blew hot breath in his direction, “See, you’re always jumping to defend those damn people. Why the hell did you ever leave the ranch if it was so fucking wonderful?”

  Good question.

  Deep laughter rumbled low in Mackenzie’s chest. “Oh, I forgot…it was the girl.”

  Drew walked his father over to the mattress and turned him, lowering him down easily. The mattress sank under Mackenzie’s weight as he plopped the rest of the way down none to gracefully. He sat on the edge of the bed, swaying, his eyelids heavy. Partying was taking its toll on the once handsome business man. His angled jawline showed signs of gray stubble and he had lost a considerable amount of weight. Bitterness was sucking the life out of his father, eating away at his soul.

  His father slurred, “You think I don’t get it, but I do. Good pussy makes a man do crazy irrational things. Your mother could never do any wrong in my eyes, I believed that woman could walk on water and then I caught her fucking another man.” Mackenzie’s head fell forward and within minutes bobbed back up as he nodded in and out of consciousness. “Well, FUCK HER! And fuck your little slut’s mother too! Stratford was my business partner and friend until he stole her right from under my nose.” He pumped both his fist high in the air, his movement lethargic. “History repeats its damn self. Don’t ever trust a female, son. They will grab you by the nuts and bring you to your knees.” His head fell forward again.

  Drew knew this was the closest he was ever going to get to the truth. His father had been drunk more times than he could count, but whatever guilt was pecking away at him right now was making him more prone to hand over details he’d held so tight no one could get at them.

  Drew grabbed a hand full of his father’s dark hair and lifted his head, forcing their gazes to meet and hold. For years he had wanted to ask this question. He choked out, “Why didn’t my mother take me with her?”

  Rich, deep laughter rumbled low in Mackenzie’s chest. “Abandonment. Possession of controlled substances. Mental illness. A history of sexual abuse. My lawyer had a fucking field day ripping that bitches’ creditability to shreds. When he was finished no one in their right mind would let her within more than a hundred yards of you. A restraining order is a powerful thing, son.”

  Drew released the hold he had on his father’s head allowing his head to sag. And then Jonathan Mackenzie vomited in his own lap. The puke was a combination of liquor and chili. Drew sighed, pushed his father on over on the mattress and went to get a bowl of warm water and a rag. He deposited the bowl by the bed and watched the man tossing angrily in the bed, a glimpse of his future. “I pray to God you’re wrong…I hope I’m nothing like you,” he acknowledged and was about to remove his father’s vomit soaked shirt when it all came to a head.

  Possession of controlled substances?

  Mental illness?

  Sexual abuse?

  My lawyer had a fucking field day ripping that bitches’ creditability to shreds.

  What the hell? All of it was lies, unless his father was citing his own sins.

  With his hands slayed on the mattress, Drew leaned down, his mouth next to his father’s ear. “FUCK YOU! Lay there in your vomit. I’m done cleaning up after you.”

  He backed his w
ay out of the bedroom. His hands fisted by his side as he quickly turned and stormed into the den. The apartment walls started closing in on him. He shoved his hand through his hair trying to process all the thoughts rattling around in his head. His pulsed raced as he lifted a glass with lipstick marks around the rim. He drew back his arm and slung the glass at the wall. Crash! It shattered into pieces! Crash! Another glass hit! Then another! The tip of his boot caught the edge of the end table sending it skittering across the floor. Within minutes he had destroy the den, and used his arm to sweep the empty beer cans off the counter top in the kitchen sending them pinging against the floor.

  Why hadn’t she fought for him? What kind of mother doesn’t fight for her son? She knew damn well what she was leaving him to endure on his own! She’d lived the life. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a firsthand look at what life with Jonathan Mackenzie was like. Somewhere in the back of his mind the words “self-preservation” were screamed, but he refused to listen. It was an excuse.