by Karina Halle
“What happened to you?” I ask, point blank.
The question falls over us like cold, hard rain.
He stares at me and I can see the fight inside him. I don’t want to make this hard on him, I don’t want to be pushy, but...
“I know you said you would tell me in time,” I say quickly. “And I understand that. I just want to know because I want you to feel that you can trust me. I want to be the one who knows everything about you, even the parts that shame or scare you.”
He swallows hard, eyes going to the loch. Their surfaces are cold.
“Were you in the army?”
His eyes swivel to me, blank. “What?”
I shrug helplessly, obviously grasping for straws. “I don’t know. It’s almost like you have PTSD, like you suffer flashbacks or something. Is that what it is? Flashbacks?”
He stares at me for a tense moment. I can’t read a thing in his eyes. “No,” he finally says.
“Then what is it? Did you…did you hurt someone?”
He sucks in a breath. I feel like I’ve got it. A piece of the puzzle but still a piece.
Only now I’m wondering what the hell he did. Was it in self-defence? Was it his father? Was it something when he was a kid?
“You can tell me,” I go on, watching him carefully, like I’m a human lie detector. “I won’t judge. I just want to know where you’re coming from. I want to help you like you’ve helped me.”
“How have I helped you?” he asks gruffly.
I flinch. “Really? You don’t know? Keir…without you…I’d be just a shadow. You make me feel whole. You push me and make me hurt and you make me get back up and all of that makes me stronger. You make me be more than I think I can be. You believe in me and when I don’t believe in myself, that counts for everything.”
I exhale loudly, feeling bad that I’m bringing it all up. I should just leave it to him, to his timing. It’s his past, his trauma, he knows what’s best.
But still I press on. “Whatever you’ve done, you have to forgive yourself. You have to let yourself move past it. If you don’t, these terrors, these episodes, they’ll hold you in the darkness. They’ll make you drown. Believe me, I know.”
“What about you?” he asks. “Why are you holding back from me?”
I want to be pissed off that he’s deflected like this, changed the subject. But he’s right.
“You want the truth?” I ask, twisting to face him head on. “Fine. The reason I haven’t told you is because it’s not my truth to tell. It’s Christina’s.” I take in a deep breath, trying to steady my hands that are starting to shake. I tuck them beside me, clenching the moss beneath me. “My father sexually abused her. Since she was young girl, up until he disappeared. He did this to her almost weekly, if not nightly.” I pause. “He didn’t touch me. He never even hugged me. I don’t know why. He never even looked in my direction, except to threaten me if I told. Back then…back when I didn’t know…”
I trail off. My memories are so shameful. It’s the kind of shame that shrouds you like a black cloak, one you have to carry for the rest of your life.
Keir is watching me, silent. I avoid his eyes. I go on, taking in as much pure air as I can. “When I was a kid, I was jealous. I was actually jealous that he did that to her. How sick must I have been? How fucking fucked up?”
“No,” Keir says, clearing his throat. “No, you weren’t sick. You were young. We do and think things then that we would never think now.”
“I was twelve,” I tell him. “I was old enough to know what was happening. And I wondered, why her? Why did he pay her this attention while he ignored me?” The ugliness chokes my throat. I can’t shake it.
“Hey,” Keir says in soft desperation, grabbing my hand. “Don’t go down that road. The one inside.” He leans over and taps my heart. “I can see it, right now. Don’t hate yourself. Don’t blame yourself.”
“How can I not?” I exclaim, a tear escaping my eye. “When I finally realized how crazy and fucked up I was, I still didn’t do anything about it. I wanted to help her. I wanted to rescue her from that sick fuck, the sick fuck we had to live with but I couldn’t. I didn’t. He told me that if I reported him, he’d kill me. He said the same to my mom. The two of us lived in fear and we did nothing. We did NOTHING!”
A sob rips out of my chest, like devils being unleashed, buried inside me for far too long.
“You can’t blame yourself,” he whispers, but his voice is weak.
“No? Why not? I could have gone to child services, the police. They could have protected all of us, arrested him. I was too scared. I was a coward. I was her older sister, the one she looked up to. She told me all the time how much she loved and admired me. I was supposed to protect her and I failed.”
“Your mother was supposed to protect her,” he points out.
“Well she failed too. The only good she did was when my dad finally left. We don’t know where he went. We still don’t but it didn’t matter. She had just enough strength, just enough guilt, to take Christina far away where he couldn’t get them. They came here. By then I already went my own way. I left…I could have stayed in town, I could have watched over her from a far. But I fucking left, a deserter.”
“The world is full of terrible people who do terrible things,” Keir says. “It’s always worse when it’s someone who shares your blood. But you can’t blame yourself for things out of your control and you can’t blame yourself for your actions as a child. You were angry, confused and paralyzed by fear and you had good reason to be.”
“It doesn’t matter, I got what I deserved in the end.”
He stares blankly at me for a moment. “Wait, you mean your leg? You think you deserved to get shot?” I don’t say anything. He shakes his head, looking elsewhere. “Now that is fucked up, Jessica. You didn’t do anything to deserve it. You hear me? Not a god damn thing. This isn’t your karma. This is bad timing. This is life being an asshole. But there’s nothing you did that brought this on. You understand?”
I nod, even though his words don’t sink in. I’ve heard the speeches about guilt. When it comes down to it though, it’s not that the world is punishing me. It’s that I think I deserve to be punished.
What I do know is that I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t want to push him further into giving me his truth. This is already too much for me to handle and I’ll just make him feel as shitty as I feel right now.
“We should go,” I say to him. “If we still want to make Skye before it gets dark.”
His brows momentarily come together, then he nods.
We make our way back to the car. I use my cane the entire time.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jessica
With all the detours we take, we don’t end up on the Isle of Skye until after dark. After we left the ruins, and my truth, behind, we should have kept going on the main highway but Keir wanted to explore another coastal route across the Applecross peninsula, a mass of mountains on the other side of the Isle of Skye and thought we could still do it before nightfall.
It took up most of the day, the slow, sometimes dangerous drive around twisting curves and along the edge of cliffs, all single-lane traffic, which made for a few frightful moments when a campervan came careening off the corner.
Thankfully, the jag handled well (at that part anyway) and we learned a secret rather quickly: stay close to the car in front of you. Not too close that you’re tailgaiting because the last thing you want is for them to pull over (it negates the purpose) and not too far back that when they overtake vehicles coming the other way, you aren’t left behind. Just stay right behind the car in front of you and do what they do. They act as a plow. Takes all the pressure out of driving these roads. It wasn’t long before both Keir and I were laughing about our newfound game of follow the leader, “tag, you’re it, fucker!” and fuck it felt good to laugh after what happened earlier.
The drive took us past dramatic coves and as we headed d
own the south side, we could see the Isle of Skye spread out in the distance, the water in the bay a milky blue, like the shell of a robin’s egg. The weather on Skye didn’t look promising, dark clouds hovering above the craggy peaks. At the very least the contrast was dramatic and hey, you don’t come to Scotland for the weather.
After that we turned inland, going over the Bealach na Ba (Britain’s highest mountain pass and the name also sounds pretty sexy when Keir says it), which was shrouded in clouds. Of course it was then that the Jaguar started to overheat, the engine having a tough time with the incessant switchbacks and the climb to 2,000 feet.
We managed to pull over in a passing place of all things while the occasional car whizzed past us. I got to see Keir get to work, throwing up the hood and bringing his toolbox out of the trunk. Thankfully all it really needed was more water in the radiator and some coolant. There was apparently a leak but he said it would be enough to get us back to Edinburgh without any trouble.
It was a strange place to have a breakdown and not very good at burying the unease in my heart. Up here it was all rock and moss with patches of snow. A cold sharp wind whistled down through the peaks, pushing clouds and mist along with it.
I felt like it was warning me of something.
Finally, we got back in the car and after a crazy hairpin descent between two mountains, we were headed to Skye. Unfortunately, it was dark when we pulled up to our hotel, so whatever stunning imagery we were supposed to see would have to wait until the morning.
The Flodigarry Hotel is pretty stunning in its own right. While the castle was opulent and the hotel in Scourie had a family-run feel, this place is gorgeous and exquisitely romantic. The boutique hotel overlooks the sea and though we can’t see it, you can hear the waves crashing on the shore below, smell the brine and salt.
We are given a choice of sherry or whisky when we check in and then are shown to our room in the Flora MacDonald cottage, where the infamous Flora lived in the 1700s. I don’t know much about her other than she was a sassy young lady back in the day, smuggling and hiding Bonnie Prince Charlie, the Jacobite leader during the rebellion.
“She’s a lot like you,” Keir says to me after we finish dinner in the sleek dining room, heading back along the gravel path back to the cottage.
“I’m not smuggling anyone,” I tell him as he puts his arm around me.
Unless you did something I should know about, I add in my head.
I push those thoughts away.
We go in the cottage, the glasses of wine we had with dinner making my clothes come off with ease. I practically attack him, best I can anyway when he’s a massive man and I’m tiny in comparison, and we fall backward into the bed, me on top of him.
“Hardly seems fair that I’m naked and you’re not,” I tell him.
“I think it’s perfectly fair,” he says in all seriousness. He reaches up and runs his thumbs along my cheekbones, holding me above him. His mouth opens as if to say something, then closes. His expression grows pained.
I watch him, studying him, waiting.
“Jessica,” he whispers, almost in awe. “I don’t know even where to begin…”
Is this it? Is he telling me?
He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I…” He takes in a deep breath. “You mean more to me than you can possibly realize. You mean more to me than I can even explain. I never thought I was worthy of having someone like you in my life…I didn’t dare dream. That wasn’t a part of my life, it wasn’t part of my future.”
My heart beats wildly, like it’s going to take flight, a calm thrill settling into my core.
He closes his eyes, breathing out slowly. When he opens them, he gives me a sheepish half-grin. “Sorry. I’m not very good at this. I’m just trying to say…that no matter what happens, know that what I feel is real, and true.”
Cold washes over me. “What happens?” I repeat.
“For some people, it takes time to become brave,” he says, holding onto my face, the expression in his eyes so desperate, I can hardly stand to look at him. “I’m just saying,” he goes on quickly. A long pause.
“I love you, little red.”
Bam.
His words hit me square in the chest.
“I’m in love with you,” he says, his voice brimming with sincerity, his eyes a mix of terror and peace. “And I can’t tell you what’s going to happen next because I’ve never gotten this far before. I’ve never given anyone my heart, not in the way I have to you. Whether you realize it or not, you’ve held my heart this entire time, from the moment we first met.”
Holy. Shit.
Did he honestly just tell me that he loves me?
The happiness I feel makes me insane. It’s like floodgates inside me have opened and this warm, tingly rush of joy is pouring through me, filling every hollow corner, giving me back something I never knew was missing.
“You love me?” I repeat, the words sounding so surreal, my mouth spreading into a smile that makes my cheeks hurt.
“I would have told you sooner…I didn’t want to scare you. But now I realize I can’t keep it inside any longer. I can’t keep it to myself. You had to know.”
“Keir,” I say slowly but I can’t find the words like he can. I feel it. I do. So much. This enormous love I can’t keep in my chest any longer than he can. I’m giddy from my head to my toes, high on the euphoria that he loves me, that I love him, that we are in love with each other. Big, dark love that consumes and feeds at the same time.
He pushes his finger against my lips. “Don’t tell me anything. Give it a few days. Let it be. Try it on. Wear it. Let me just love you for now. Will you let me love you?”
Oh god, he’s breaking me inside. I’d already opened my soul and he’s finding more cracks and climbing on in.
“Yes, yes,” I whisper to him, kissing him so soft and sweet. “Love me, love me.”
He pulls back slightly, his hair mussed across his forehead, eyes glittering deviously. He slips his rough hands down my sides and then cups them around my waist. They’re so large they almost totally encompass me. “Come up here,” he murmurs and tugs me upward.
I take quick stock of the situation. I can grab the headboard, keep the bad leg propped up on the pillow, let my good leg take my weight.
“Are you asking me to sit on your face?” I ask him.
“We all show love in different ways,” he says with a wicked grin.
I climb up the well-muscled length of him, taking my time to brush my pussy over his abs, his chest, while my hands feel the the solidity of his shoulders. So much damn strength and power right beneath me, so much man.
All mine.
I grab the headboard and move up to his face, straddling it, while one of his hands grips my hip to keep the pressure off of one side.
“Fast or slow?” he murmurs between my legs, his hot breath tickling me in the most delicious way.
“Surprise me.”
“How about slow,” he says. His tongue glides along me, long, lavish licks from my ass to my clit.
I’m already melting. If this is one of the ways he loves me, keep it coming.
He loves me.
I still can hardly believe it.
He pauses, blowing on my clit. “More that, more of this?”
I grip the headboard. “Less talking, more eating.”
He lets out a rich laugh before his tongue snakes up inside me. I grip him, squeeze him, wanting more, completely greedy. I press down on him so his tongue goes in deeper but even then it’s not enough.
He licks me up, concentrating on where I’m slick and swollen as his free hand goes between my legs, his fingers teasing me.
“You like this?” he says through a half-groan. He swirls his tongue around my clit, round and round and round, while pushing in two thick fingers.
My head flops back, my back arches, my grip on the headboard tightening. As his fingers work me in and out, his tongue flicking my most sensitive parts, I
can’t help but feel like a goddess. A goddess on verge of an orgasm, but a goddess nonetheless. This giant hulking man, this warrior of heart and soul, he’s underneath me, giving me nothing but pleasure. His face is my throne, his cock my sceptre. The rush of power goes straight to my head.
“Maybe faster?” he asks against me and the vibrations of his mouth send me wild.
Yes. Faster, faster, now.
His fingers drive in, now up to three, their thickness spreading me and curling against me in a way that makes my body feel boneless. I can hear how wet I am and it only makes me hotter.
Keir blows gently against my clit before sucking it back into his mouth, and I’m crying out. Soft at first, a moan, then it builds and builds.
Oh.
Oh,
OH.
“Fuck,” I swear, as I come hard, grinding myself into his face. The headboard slams back once or twice as I buck against him. A million electric horses are let loose in my core, stampeding throughout me until I’m deliciously trampled.
I nearly collapse on him. My arms are shaking from strain as I hold onto the bedframe.
He wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me off his face until I’m able to lie down on the bed, half of me on him, half of me off. I bury my head into his chest, my blood thumping loudly. He’s breathing hard too.
He puts his thick arm around me, holds me to him, kisses the top of my head.
I stare at nothing but the antique armoire in the corner, the plaid comforter that is half-off the bed, my eyes drifting over everything as my world comes back into place, like another piece of the puzzle.
I tilt my head back to look up at him. “Your turn,” I say.
But he just holds me tighter. “Worry about me tomorrow. Eating you out takes a lot of fucking energy. You’re greedy and I’m exhausted.”
“Said like a true romantic,” I tease him.
“Who needs romance when you can have me tongue-fuck you,” he says with a laugh. “Besides…I love you.”
I smile into his chest, listen to the beat of his heart underneath.
***