Dirty

by A. C. Bextor

  Her breathing is settling and her body is relaxing. All tension from earlier is gone as she lays her back against my chest and stays quiet.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next morning, after not getting much sleep, Em and I are lying in bed. The rest of the night was spent as it started. Although we talked about what was coming next in our relationship, we spent as much time solidifying it by getting to know each other’s bodies as we hadn’t before.

  I called Luke late last night and said my piece in regards to his meddling. Then I thanked him before hanging up for letting me have my say and also for interfering like he knew he shouldn’t have.

  He told me to enjoy my time off and he’d see me Monday. He also said he suspected I’d be in a good mood after getting laid all weekend. I didn’t appreciate his sarcasm, but I understood this as his way of telling me he was happy I had Emma.

  “She’s a good girl, so don’t fuck it up,” he said right before he disconnected the call.

  Luke needs a woman of his own to torment. Men fuck up. It’s what we do. Eventually, I will, and Em will have no choice but to forgive me. She’s never leaving.

  “So much for not making me an adulterous woman. I’m a slut,” Em says seriously, wrapping her legs around mine and laying her head on my chest as I run my fingers through her dark hair.

  “Some things can’t be helped,” I return in a jovial tone.

  “I’ve cheated on my husband,” she replies, threading my grandfather’s dog tags through her fingers, and apparently not appreciating the fact that I don’t give a flyin’ fuck about her near-ending marriage.

  “Em,” I try to be calm and convincing, “You’re already separated.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Whose bed are you in?”

  “Max,” she sighs.

  “Your marriage was over the moment he fucked around on you. Do not carry that weight.”

  “Okay,” she complies.

  “Okay,” I return, pulling her closer to my side.

  Her finger taps my chest twice before she sits up, looks down on me with her elbow resting near my shoulder, and rests her head on her hand. “Did you see Casey again?”

  “I did,” I tell her.

  “Did she talk?”

  She said my name.

  I keep that to myself. I’m still not over the power her small voice had on me.

  Instead, I explain the picture. “She draws.”

  “You mentioned that.”

  “No, Em. I mean she sketches. She has an incredible memory.”

  “Memory?” she questions.

  “She drew me. My face, I mean. The likeness was so close, I was shocked.”

  “She knows handsome.” She smiles.

  Although appreciating the compliment, I forge ahead with what I know of Casey. “I can’t explain it, but I don’t think she’s been hurt. She let me touch her. She’s afraid, but she’s not afraid of me in that sense.”

  I don’t mention the white anklet, or what I fear it stands for, even though I’m not entirely certain.

  Exhaling, Em’s face softens in relief. “You know, I worried about that. I hadn’t seen signs, not that I’d know what to look for, but she didn’t seem hurt. Neglected, yes; she was filthy. But she didn’t seem distant or lost in herself. But that was so long ago. I don’t know what she’s been through since.”

  “No one does but her.”

  “She’s such a sweet girl, Max. I know you don’t know her like I used to, but she is.”

  “I hope to know her better,” I reply with sincerity.

  Em sighs then explains, “She can be quite witty. Before, when she was able to roam around like any kid, she would explain things she saw. She has a good sense of humor. I hope she still does.”

  “I’ll get her out,” I promise. “Aimes and Lelow know people. They’ll help.”

  “I can’t wait to see her again.”

  “You will soon,” I answer, kissing her forehead softly. “Do you have everything you think you’re gonna need from your house?”

  “Yes. Aimes was insistent I grab what I needed to be gone for a while. Do you think he’ll hurt Greg?”

  My eyebrows rise. I don’t want to say it out loud, but she’s giving me no choice. “Greg will hurt for a while after Aimes gets to him.”

  “That’s not what I want,” she tells me on a breath.

  “It’s what Greg needs.”

  “I don’t want Aimes or Lelow to get in trouble because of me. You can understand that.”

  “I can, but it’s not your call.”

  Sighing and lying back down, she says, “In a way, it is. This happened to me.”

  “Right,” I answer, “But they care about you.”

  “He’s a good man,” she tells me, in reference to Aimes.

  Hating her compliment to a man who sleeps with literally hundreds of women and who openly admitted to wanting Em for himself, I cringe.

  “I don’t find Aimes or Lelow attractive, Max. Long-haired men don’t do anything for me.”

  “Well, fuck, Em. That’s good to know.”

  “They both need haircuts.”

  “I’ll tell them you said so.”

  “And Aimes could use a good shave. I bet he has a pretty face under all that gruff.”

  “I don’t want to think about how pretty Aimes or Low are, if that’s good with you.”

  Laughing, she asks, “What’s their story? I don’t know much. Even growing up with them around, I guess I don’t really know who they are.”

  “Do you want the long or short version? There’s a lot to both.”

  “Short.”

  “They’re brothers, by adoption. You knew that already.”

  She nods; I feel her head move on my shoulder as I look to the ceiling.

  “When their mother passed, Aimes took it harder than Lelow. Lelow is smart, very quick. Aimes, not so much. Aimes got lost in fitness. He hit the gym for hours at a time.”

  “Explains his massive body,” she comments. I ignore her view of his appearance. Not to mention, I sure as fuck don’t appreciate it.

  “Eventually, they both settled down. Then, when their dad died a few years ago, Aimes took it harder than Lelow.”

  “Low’s grounded,” she says. “He’s calm.”

  “He’s the calm to Aimes’ storm,” I add. “Anyway, the last few years, the two of them have been hunting men.”

  “What? Hunting them?” she asks for clarification.

  “Yeah. They get paid to find bad guys, but not always for the good ones. Sometimes, bad people piss worse people off.”

  “That’s horrible,” she whispers.

  “Maybe, but it’s the cycle of criminals, I suppose.”

  “They do this a lot?”

  “Yeah. Low finds ’em and Aimes brings them in.”

  “Scary.”

  “They share women, too.”

  Sitting up and looking down on me, Emma is suddenly more interested than she had been moments ago. I don’t love that.

  “Share . . . as in?”

  Grabbing the hair falling around her shoulders, I explain, “As in what it sounds like . . . share.”

  “All the time?”

  “Fuck if I know.”

  Her eyes widen and dance with humor. “How does that work . . . exactly?”

  Narrowing my eyes, I explain as much as I’m going to. “Fuck if I know. Suppose they love the same woman, I guess.”

  “Again, how’s that work?”

  “Em,” I say, regretting ever bringing this up. “I don’t know. I’d never share a woman I care about.”

  “Did you ever share Dee Dee?”

  Tiring of discussing my friends and not wanting to ever discuss Dee Dee, I ask, “Can we talk about somethin’ else while you’re in my bed?”

  “Like?”

  “Sunday,” I mention. “We’re having dinner with my parents.”

  “Your parents?” she asks with surprise in her voice.
/>   “Dad invited me, and then he invited you.”

  She lets out a dramatic sigh. “Wow, I’m going to have dinner with Max Taylor’s parents.”

  Her sarcasm is noted.

  “And Sunday family dinner, no less,” she adds for good measure.

  “If you’re good then maybe after, I’ll fuck you goodnight.”

  “We haven’t even been on a date yet,” she explains. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”

  I hate the concept of dating, so I move in for damage control. “We’ll consider that our first, then.”

  Slapping my chest, she laughs. “Dee Dee would be soooo jealous.”

  “Emma, don’t fuckin’ say her name in my bed, either.”

  Seconds pass, then she asks, “Do you think we’re moving too fast?”

  Reassuringly, I offer, “I’ve waited to have you here for years, Em. We couldn’t have gotten here any fuckin’ slower.”

  “We could’ve,” she states.

  “We didn’t,” I argue.

  “Just sayin’ we could’ve waited.”

  “I’m not waiting any longer,” I tell her, rolling her over and getting comfortable between her thighs. “If I’d have been smarter all those years ago, I wouldn’t have had to wait for this as long as I did.”

  “I’m glad you see the error of your ways.”

  “It takes me a little while to learn shit, Em. Once I get it, though, I get it.”

  “I guess so,” she returns on a breath as I push myself into her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My mother hasn’t stopped crying since we arrived at my parents’ house twenty minutes ago for Sunday dinner. This led to Emma getting emotional and my father and me deciding to step outside to his garage, where we’re standing now.

  “Damn, she’s a beautiful girl,” my father adds to his list of reasons why I should be with Em.

  “I know, Pop. She is.” He’s said this three times already.

  “She’s a lot like your mother.”

  “How so?”

  Dad wipes his hands on the towel after he’s finished cleaning a few of his tools before saying, “She loves you.”

  “Dad,” I start, garnering his attention. “Emma is married.”

  “To a fuck-stick.” My dad laughs as he says it. “Heard she’s leavin’ him, anyway. I know by God above she’s still considered married and all, but from what I hear, he hadn’t given her much of a reason to stay married.”

  “She’s stayin’ with me now.”

  “Humph.” Dad’s head jerks back. “Well, that’s somethin’ to celebrate.”

  “Suppose we outta head back into the house,” I tell him, looking at the open door, which leads into the kitchen.

  “Suppose you’re right. We gotta find out what your mother’s burned, too.”

  “Be nice, Dad,” I tell him, trying to keep a straight face. “Don’t piss her off.”

  “Ah, she knows I’m kiddin’.”

  “Does she?”

  Dad’s face gets hard momentarily. “Well, after forty-five years of marriage, she should have a clue by now.” He starts inching closer to the door, but stops. “C’mon, I gotta wash up. Mom hates the smell of my tool cleaner as much as I hate the smell of her Sunday perfume.”

  “Jesus, Dad.”

  “What?” he asks.

  “How do you keep her around?”

  “My handsome looks, subtle charm, and my hefty pension,” he jokes.

  “That’s about right.”

  As we enter my parents’ small kitchen, I watch as Emma sets the dining room table as mom finishes pulling her lasagna out of the oven.

  It’s burnt.

  “Help me, Max. Take the glasses, put them on the table and pour some tea. Use a lot of ice,” Mom calls out, looking at me through the open door. Dad follows me in shortly after, but heads to the bathroom down the hall to wash up.

  Walking toward her, I take the lasagna from her hand and place it on the oven mitts next to us on the counter. She freezes mid-step and looks up at me. Her eyes are still shining with happy tears.

  “I’m so glad to see you. It’s so much better to talk to you in person than visiting when you call.”

  Leaning in, I grab her around the shoulders and hold my mom, still so full of grief for a lost daughter, and gently rock her back and forth. Looking over Mom’s head, I spot Em and see she has her hand over her mouth and is trying not to break out in a sob of her own. She knows my parents’ story and witnessed more than I did as they fell apart after.

  Mom pulls away from my chest and waves her hand in front of her face. “No more of that, Max. Let’s eat while it’s hot.”

  “You make me bread, woman?” my dad pipes up, coming out of the small hallway.

  “Yes, Gerald. You know I did.”

  “You burn the shit out of it, or is it still edible?” All eyes go to the bread, smoking in its place next to the sink. “Well, at least I’ll recognize it as yours,” Dad finishes and makes his way to the table, pulling out a chair for Em to sit in.

  Throughout dinner, mom questions me on every mile I’ve traveled and every person I’d met along the way. The only person she doesn’t ask about is Dee Dee. Thankfully, sensing Em’s stress, she leaves that alone.

  “Are you plannin’ on working at the garage for a while then?” Dad asks, pouring more tea in Em’s now-empty glass.

  Wiping my mouth with my napkin and placing it back on my lap, I answer, “For now.”

  “You thinkin’ you’re gonna stay around these parts for a good while?”

  I send a quick look to Em and notice she’s staring at me in such a way that I know she’s waiting for the same answer.

  “I think so.”

  “Em,” Dad says, bringing his attention to her and handing her the crisp bread that no one’s touched. “Bring your parents next time you can make it for Sunday dinner. I’d like to see Chris and Gale again.”

  “I can do that,” Em returns, smiling shyly.

  “How’s Doc Nick doin’?” my dad asks her.

  “Good, I think. I only volunteer a couple days a week and he’s been busy.”

  “He’s such a handsome man. Hard to believe he’s still available,” Mom pipes up, pissing me off.

  “Really, Kathy?” Dad counters. “You thinkin’ about runnin’ off with him?”

  Emma laughs. “I think he’s seeing the girl who owns Cutters,” she advises.

  “Thank fuck for that,” I mumble and get a soft kick under the table.

  Mom looks up, scoring me with a swift glare, then brings her attention back to Em. “You and Max seem to be getting along nicely.”

  Looking toward the ceiling, Em’s hand rests on my thigh as I sit beside her. “I’ve always thought a lot of Max,” she says with a serious tone. “I’m happy to be here.”

  “I’m not sure if you’re the reason he’s home or not, Em. But if you’re the reason he stays, I’ll owe you,” Dad expresses in the same serious tone.

  Bringing my head down, looking at my dad and Em holding tight in a stare-down, I watch as Dad nods and goes back to eating his dinner.

  “Dessert!” Mom interrupts. “I made chocolate cheesecake.”

  Dad and I look at one another, each waiting for the other to speak. Dad doesn’t. He looks down at his plate. If I’m not mistaken, he’s closed his eyes and is in the midst of praying.

  “The no-bake kind?” I ask.

  “Yes, the oven was full, Max. I couldn’t fit in anymore.”

  “Amen and thank you, Christ,” Dad utters, and Em lets out a small laugh while looking away.

  “You know, Gerald Taylor, you used to be a nice man.”

  “I used to be?” he replies. “Still am, as long as we’re enjoying a nice dinner at Hardee’s.”

  Christ, Dad.

  Before Mom can retort in self-defense, Dad looks to Em and talks as though Mom’s not still in the room. “If she wasn’t still so pretty, I’d ask you to run away with me.”

&nb
sp; Em smiles, her face reddening. “I can’t cook, either.”

  “Max.” Dad aims his glare at me. “Never complain about it. A face like that doesn’t belong in the kitchen.”

  I wait. My dad’s humor is about to make its way through.

  “Keep her in the bedroom,” he finishes, and Mom gasps.

  “Gerald!” Mom exclaims with her hand over her heart.

  Dad walks over to her and leaning down, he kisses her head. “I’m kidding, Kat. You’ll always be my girl.”

  Mom lets out a small sigh and pats the hand he places on her shoulder. “I’ll get the dishes. You guys head out back.”

  “I’ll help,” Em says, standing and taking my plate before hers.

  A few hours later, after having a couple of beers on my parents’ back deck, Em and I are standing in my old room.

  “I can’t believe I’m in Max Taylor’s bedroom,” she says with feigned enthusiasm and awe. “I don’t want to know how many girls swooned over you in here, do I?”

  “They weren’t swooning, Em. Stop being a nerd.”

  Her eyebrows rise in surprise. “You used to be like a celebrity in this town.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “You should.”

  “Besides, there’s only one girl I’ve ever wanted in my bed.”

  “Oh, yeah?” The smile comes back, bigger and brighter.

  “Her name was Heather McGallo. Do you remember her?”

  Raising her head from my chest, I don’t miss the fury in her eyes. “Heather McGallo was a hooker!” she exclaims. “And I know you slept with her!”

  “Em,” I try to calm the storm. “I’m kidding.”

  “I don’t know how you and your dad found women to love either of you, Max. Your mom’s right. You’re not nice.”

  My heart beats heavily in my chest, her words churning inside. “I found a woman to love me?”

  “Max,” Emma says, bracing her hands on my chest.

  “I found a woman to love me,” I repeat as her face changes from jovial to serious.

  Leaning down, my hands clutching her face, I lick her bottom lip before she opens and gives me access to do with it as I please. With my entire body, I push her toward my bed and fall on top of her when the back of her knees hit the footboard frame.