by A. J. Wynter
It didn’t seem wise to be going anywhere in the weather, but with Mick, I felt safe – safe in a way that I’d never felt with another man.
I would follow him anywhere.
Chapter 14 - Mick
A curtain of dark brown hair hid Lucy’s face from mine, but I’m not an idiot. It was clear that she needed comforting, but I had no idea what to say. Thankfully, I was saved by the smell of burnt toast.
“Shit!” I spun around and jogged over to the toaster, tendrils of smoke curling from its slots.
I could feel Lucy getting close to losing it. I never thought that I would be saved by the smell of burnt toast, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I popped the bread out of the toaster, juggled it between my hands and tossed it onto a plate. Only the edges were blackened, we might be able to salvage it with some strategic scraping.
When I turned back to her, it looked like she was choking and then I realized that she was hyperventilating.
Fuck.
I ran her through a deep breathing technique that I had learned from my therapist. When she breathed into my hand, the feel of her body under my hand almost stopped my own breath and I had to remind myself to keep breathing. I was primarily focused on getting her relaxed so she wouldn’t pass out on my floor, but with each rise and fall of her belly underneath my hand, I felt a warmth, an energy emanating from her that grew from my fingertips and traveled down my arms like a stream’s tributaries, before it surged into my torso, coming together in the centre of my body like a mad river.
When she finally calmed down, she melted into me, exhausted from her panic attack. I shouldn’t have, but I let her relax in my arms. The weight of her body felt good and right; heavy, yet warm against me.
I reached my arm around her back and held her neck in my other hand. It was slender, yet strong. I couldn’t help it, something in her made me feel like a protector, not a predator. I pressed my head into her shoulder and neck and inhaled deeply.
The wind whistled through the windows and the door shuddered on its hinges, but it was all background noise as I took in her scent, how could she smell like oranges when there weren’t any in the cabin?
Oh, no. What the hell, I felt tears pricking my eyes. The last time I cried was when my mom died. I was fourteen and I held her in my arms when she took her last breath. She had refused chemotherapy and had avoided the hospital, choosing to put food on our table in place of the cost of prescriptions. I hated her for it. I didn’t understand why she didn’t want to try to fight, to stay alive, to be with me.
It was then that I realized why Lucy felt so familiar to me. That smell, that same citrus smell. I hadn’t smelled it for twenty years.
I pushed her away gently and tried to mask the fact that my emotions were getting the best of me. I looked to the ceiling of the cabin as if examining the floorboards of the upstairs loft, willing the tears to go back to where they came from - back to where they belonged – to twenty years ago.
I had to get out of the cabin. I wasn’t seeing things that weren’t there, but I sure was smelling them.
I tossed her some snow pants and a warm jacket and told her we were getting the hell out of Dodge. I clicked an avalanche beacon on her before she put on her coat and explained how to use it.
Her leather gloves weren’t going to cut it. I found a pair of my smallest gloves, they would have to do, “Give me your hands.”
“It’s ok. Mine should be dry,” she said and crossed her arms in front of her.
“Are you trying to get hypothermia again?” I held my hand out and she reluctantly placed hers in mine.
I outfitted her with not one, but two pairs of gloves, knowing that it wasn’t the best, but it would be better than what she had.
“If we hike up to the ridge, you should be able to get cell service, so bring your phone,” I said as I put on my own thick gloves.
She nodded but didn’t say anything.
“You ready?” I asked my hand on the doorknob.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she smiled.
I cracked the door and then it flung wide open, I gripped the handle tightly as the wind gusted and threatened to blow it off its hinges. It was a stupid idea, but I couldn’t trust myself to stay cooped up in the cabin with Lucy.
We trudged through the snow-crested paths to my storage shed where I outfitted her with a pair of snowshoes. I would typically access the ridge on my snowmobile via the open bowls, but today they were far too exposed, and the avalanche risk was at extreme. We would have to pick our terrain carefully and stay in the trees. The ridge was a short hike in the summer, but today it was going to take a few hours.
“How do I use these?” she asked, holding out the snowshoes, her arms rigid like a doll.
“Buckle them onto your boots and just walk normally. Try not to pick your feet up too high, that’s the mistake that most people make. You can do it that way, but it’s best to conserve your energy.”
She buckled up the snowshoes and tried a few steps in slow motion, then appeared to gain her confidence. I couldn’t help but laugh at her as she waddled away from me.
“What?” she turned around and asked.
“Oh,” I said through my laughter. “You’re walking like a kid who has taken a huge dump in his diaper.”
She blushed. I shouldn’t have embarrassed her like that.
“They’re just so awkward,” she said.
“Here.” I reached out my hand to hold hers. “Pick up your foot and take a step.”
She did it. It was a little awkward, but it would do.
“Now, pick up your left foot and take another step.”
She picked her foot up and drew the big snowshoe to knee height and then in a wide berth around the other one.
“Stop. You don’t have to go around, go over – like this.” I let go of her hand and took a couple of steps forward.
“Ohh,” she said and mimicked me. She did it perfectly.
“There you go, beautiful.”
Oh, no. I don’t know why I said beautiful, but I think… well, I hope, that she was too engrossed in practicing her snowshoeing to notice.
Chapter 15 – Lucy
He was right. I was waddling around like a tubby penguin. A cuter analogy than his diaper one, although the full diaper description probably fit my snowshoeing style the best.
Once I realized that I could walk fairly normally, a little less like pants full of shit, snowshoeing came easily to me.
“Why do you use these old things?” I asked as we trudged through the snow toward the wall of trees at the back of his cabin.
“They make it easy to walk through the snow, darling,” he said and turned back to face me with a smirk.
“I mean. Why do you use these old-fashioned ones?” Did he think that I was a total idiot? “I’m not that much of a city girl,” I said and returned my focus to matching my footsteps stride for stride with Mick’s.
“These just work better. Technology doesn’t always improve things – it just makes them more expensive,” he said, trudging onward without missing a beat.
“I’ve heard that there are snowshoe races. You definitely couldn’t enter one with these massive things on your feet.”
“Oh, you can run in these, just fine,” Mick said. As if to illustrate his point, he took off running, the dry powder flinging up in the air behind him like dust behind a pickup on a back road.
The track athlete in me wouldn’t let someone beat me in a race. I picked up my stride, pumped my arms, and was able to get the cumbersome snowshoes flying down Mick’s trail. As I gained on him, I reached out and slapped him on the back, “Gotcha.”
He jumped in surprise, and as he turned to face me, he lost his balance. He smiled and grabbed a fistful of my jacket and pulled me down into the snow with him.
I couldn’t stop the fall from happening. We were in a heap on the ground and my giggles came with a fury. They were matched by Mick’s low baritone laugh. We remained in a snowy heap of g
iggles and laughter until both of us were crying.
“Not bad for a city girl,” Mick said. He smiled and brushed some snow off my hat.
“I’ve got a school record in the 800m,” I said, “there’s no way you were getting away from me.
Mick was quiet. His eyes searched mine and then he brushed my hair over my shoulder, “There’s no way I would ever want to,” he said quietly. He leaned in and I could feel his breath lingering on my lips like a light warm breeze. I was trembling. I could feel the warmth of his face radiating into mine. He pressed his cheek to my cheek, his beard cold and comforting against my skin, then he slowly drew his face along mine until we would’ve been eye to eye, but his were closed. Then he closed the eighth of an inch gap that lingered between us, and the warmth of his lips met mine. Adrenaline surged through me, my stomach flipped, and I think that I melted a little. I realized that my body wanted all of Mick, not just his lips, pressed against it.
I moaned into his mouth and felt my body pressing against his. He pulled back and we simultaneously opened our eyes: blue meets bluer. Then, we both grabbed each other, my arms around Mick’s waist, and his hands behind my head, and we kissed again, this time hungrier. His soft lips kissed my face and then returned to my lips, this time his tongue meeting mine. It was by far the most passionate moment I had ever experienced in my life.
When Lawrence and I kissed, it wasn’t unpleasant, but it didn’t make me want to taste more of him. It didn’t make my hips involuntarily thrust towards his body. Kissing Mick had awoken something inside of me, something I didn’t want to ever go back to sleep.
When Mick drew back from my lips, he looked me in the eyes and said, ‘You’re so beautiful.’ I didn’t question it. I knew deep from the bottom of my soul that Mick meant it.
He stood up, held out his hand and helped me up out of the hole our bodies had created in the snow. I let him pull me up and moved to kiss him again, but he turned his face. Something had happened - the spell was broken.
“We need to keep moving if we’re going to make it to the ridge for you to make your call,” he said gruffly and trudged away.
“Mick…” I called after him, but he didn’t respond.
We snowshoed in silence for what felt like an eternity, but in all likelihood was about an hour. In the meantime, the snow had eased up and the sun was starting to break through the dark cloud cover. All I could hear was silence and the crunching of the snow underneath our feet as we traversed along switchbacks along the ridge.
I didn’t know what to say to him, and he didn’t seem interested in talking, so I just stayed quiet. What the hell was wrong with him?
We finally summited, and the view took my breath away. Snow-capped peaks jutted up all around us in every direction. The sun had won the battle with the clouds and was reflecting off the expanse of snow - the gray darkness replaced with a dazzling white wonderland.
“It’s so beautiful,” I gasped.
“Have you never seen the mountains like this before?” Mick asked.
“Never,” I said. “We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, and there was no such thing as a family vacation in our household.”
“That’s really sad,” Mick said.
“It does sound sad, but I had a great childhood. Our family was really close, and my parents did the best that they could. I remember my mom going without food so that my sister and I could eat.”
“You said your family ‘was’ close. Are they not anymore?”
I sighed. I tried to avoid telling my story, but something about that moment, standing on the peak, being as close to heaven as I’d ever been, I started, “My dad was picking up my mom from her job cleaning at a motel; my older sister was babysitting...” My voice cracked. It always did when I got to this part.
“Lucy, I shouldn’t have asked,” Mick said.
“They died.” I didn’t have the energy to go into the details of the car accident. I remembered that I was still pissed at Mick for ignoring me. He didn’t deserve the whole story. Why would I open myself up to someone who would shut down every time I felt us grow closer?
But Mick surprised me. He didn’t say, ‘I’m sorry’ like everyone else did. He just said, “Mine too,” quietly.
As we stood there, staring off into the distance, I can only assume that Mick was thinking the same thing: only an orphan can understand another orphan.
Mick reached his arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close to him. This wasn’t like the kiss. This was the comfort of a friend, the comfort of someone who could understand true loss. Ten minutes ago, I wouldn’t have let him touch me again, but this touch was exactly what I needed. It didn’t light a fire inside me the way that his kiss had, but it melted me just the same.
Eventually, Mick loosened his hold on my shoulders.
“You should have service on your phone here,” he said.
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, and sure enough, 2 bars - enough to make a call.
I looked at Mick and he nodded his head, I pulled up Lawrence’s number and pressed call.
My heart was hammering in my chest as the phone started to ring.
Chapter 16 – Mick
The peaks of the Cascades spanned as far as we could see. It was rare that I met someone who hadn’t experienced the mountains. All the local people I knew, were avid backcountry skiers, and all the rich people that I knew were avid heli-skiers. Experiencing the mountains through her eyes made me see their beauty anew and appreciate all that they had given me these past few months.
That kiss though. She had a fiancé, what was I doing? Putting my arm around a fellow orphan seemed natural and good, nothing to be ashamed of. I found myself wanting to get to know more about Lucy. Is that what it feels like to really care about someone? To want to know what her parents’ names were? What she named her first puppy? If I’m being honest with myself, I’m wondering if that what it’s like to actually want to listen to a woman when she talks? Not just plot the fastest way to get her out of her clothes?
Don’t get me wrong, there was so much about Lucy that got my cock stirring. The way her eyes glinted when she laughed, the way her muscular track thighs rippled when she bent down to pet Chopper, the way she self-consciously tucked her dark hair behind her ear when she seemed nervous.
Of course, I wanted to bend her over the log arm of my couch, bunch the fabric of her shirt in my fists, spread those athletic thighs wide and push into her. I had even wondered whether she would gasp or moan when I entered her, but I cut the thoughts off every time they started to rise in me, cooling the lava bubbling deep inside.
There were two reasons why I wouldn’t sleep with Lucy McKennit. The first and obvious one, was that she was engaged, although that never would’ve stopped me in the past. The second was that I had made a vow to myself. To stay celibate, to get over my overwhelming urge to fuck everything that crossed my path.
And now I had a third: I was falling for her. It was an unfamiliar feeling and I was surprised by how conflicted I felt. On one hand, I wanted to fuck her so badly it physically hurt my body, but on the other hand, I didn’t want to hurt her. I was shocked to realize that it was the latter that was winning my internal struggle.
But that kiss. A Hollywood director couldn’t have put together something so magical. Hell, even the sun came out the moment our lips met.
I’m a strong man and I’m a smart man. And I guess you could say that I’m confident. But, fear had started to spread inside of me as my feelings towards my uninvited houseguest grew stronger and stronger and strayed into virgin territory - love.
I had berated myself the rest of the way up the mountain ridge. Here I was, not wanting to hurt her, and yet I was actively shutting her out. I knew that she was confused and that I was coming across like an asshole. But to protect her, and well, to protect me, that was what I had to do.
As I watched her pull out her cell phone to call her fiancé, I felt a mixture of sadness and relief. This perfect
woman was going to be out of my life as quickly as she came into it. To say I was torn was an understatement.
I thought back to Dr. Vanessa’s office, to the horrible thing that I had done – the straw that had broken the camel’s back and forced me to withdraw from society. Would I ever be able to tell Lucy the truth about me? About the monster that lurks beneath the surface of Mick Brady, the one controlled by the contents of his pants?
I had just completed four months of sex talk therapy with Dr. Vanessa. The doctor was hot, like smokin’ hot. It really wasn’t fair, and I called her out on it. I mean, how can a sex therapist show up to a session wearing a tight pencil skirt, button up shirt, glasses, and a bun?
It was the ultimate test. During our first few sessions, I wrestled with the thoughts that were racing through my mind a mile a minute. I planned how I would hitch up that skirt with one hand, push her lacy panties (in my mind they were always lacy black panties) to the side and find out what she tasted like. The first session I switched back and forth, trying to decide whether I would push her chest down onto her desk amongst her paperwork and fancy pens and bury my face between her legs from behind, or if I would just pull out my cock and press into her hard, the act scattering everything from her desk onto the floor.
“Mick,” she had asked, interrupting the pornographic loop that was going through my head. “Where were you just now?”
“You don’t want to know,” I had responded.
She had smiled at me. She was a smart woman and knew exactly what I had been thinking about.
“Were you thinking about sex?” she asked.
“Um, I guess I was,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck with my hand.
“And what do you think about that?” she asked with typical therapist-esque ease.
“I think that it’s really unfair that the best sex therapist in Seattle looks like she could be in Playboy magazine.”