Saving Sullivan

by Sara Hubbard

What? I sit still as a church mouse while I consider his question. He’s teasing. Not a particularly funny joke, but he’s not at all politically correct. A smile creeps up along my lips and I find him smiling right back.

  “Okay. No more personal questions, Mr. Secretive,” I say, letting him off the hook—for now.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  “You’re welcome.”

  We continue driving, meandering around the cliff side roads until we reach a traffic jam. Cars stretch ahead for as far as the eye can see...and none of them are moving.

  “Accident?” I suggest.

  He turns on the radio and scans the channels for a moment until settling on a station. Within minutes, we have our answer. Five-car pile up. The road will be closed until at least tomorrow a.m.

  “What are we going to do?” I ask. “There’s got to be another route we can take, right?”

  He chuckles. “Clearly, you’ve never been here before.” He pulls over onto the gravel and begins to make a four point turn on the road, following the lead of several of the cars ahead of us.

  “There’s no other way—unless we go in by helicopter, and we’re not going to get one today. It’s almost four o’clock. Trust me—we’d only get up there with a charter, which can be difficult to get and very expensive. We’ll have to find a place to stay for the night and try again in the morning.”

  “But…” I have little spending money, and forking out a hundred bucks for a hotel room seriously cuts into that. This placement is unpaid and I wanted to focus on that this summer, not working a second job to cover any additional expenses.

  “Problem?”

  “I just…I…I…no. Whatever. I suppose we don’t have a choice.”

  At the next town we reach, he pulls into a hotel just off the highway. It’s not a bad looking place. Much better than the Horse’s Haul Motel at home. This place is about five storeys tall, made of red brick with white shutters and a sign out front that shows wear and tear. The H of the word hotel is all but faded off.

  Sullivan parks the car and gets out, grabbing his carry-on bag, but I stay where I’m seated as I chew on my nails. I’ll just sleep here, if he’ll let me. That will solve my problem.

  He walks over to my side of the car and knocks on the window, motioning for me to roll it down.

  “I’ll just stay here—if you don’t mind. I can sleep in the car. It’s really quite comfortable.”

  “You know, we don’t have to share a room. You can get your own.”

  “I don’t…I don’t want to waste my money on a hotel when I can stay here.”

  He looks up at the dark sky and groans. “Don’t be a pain the ass. I’m not leaving you in the car. I’m getting a room regardless, so you can take one of the beds in my room.”

  “Um, yeah. ‘Cause that’s happening.”

  “I won’t lay a hand on you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His lips curl into a devilish grin. “Unless you want me to.”

  “That’s not why I said that.”

  “I just…You don’t have to do me any favors. You don’t know me, so why help me?”

  He throws his hands up. “Because I can. Now get your skinny ass out of that car. You can pay me back later.”

  Pay him back. Problem is, I don’t have the money in the first place, let alone the money to pay him back at a later date. I won’t have any extra money until I start working as a nurse in the fall.

  I glare at him before opening the door and marching to the back of the car. I grab my bag and when he starts rolling down the tarp on the Jeep, I give him a hand. Quietly, he thanks me afterward.

  “Wait here,” he tells me at the entrance. I take a seat as he approaches the front desk. He spends several minutes there, turning to meet my eyes more than once as if questioning something, or perhaps even me.

  “They only have a king,” he says when he returns.

  I bite at my lip. I can’t expect him to sleep on the floor when he’s paying for the room. It’s only fair.

  In silence, we meander to the room. It’s on the second floor and we take the elevator, him on his side of it and me on mine. Somehow the prospect of us maybe sharing a bed together has changed the mood. Once jovial, it’s now serious, and I have to admit I’m not as nervous of him when he’s flirting with me. Something about his smile…it’s as if under his flirtatious exterior is a playful but caring man waiting to be discovered. At least that’s what I’ve convinced myself.

  The room is nothing special: off-white wallpaper and a thin floral comforter which looks as if it was washed more than its share. The bed is big and high off the ground and a TV over an electric fireplace is opposite the bed with a desk beside it. It’s clean and that’s all that matters. I stand in front of the bed and sigh before making a meal of my cheek. I can’t remember the last time I stayed in a hotel and it feels weird sleeping anywhere but in the room I grew up in.

  “I can sleep on the floor if it bothers you that much,” he says, as if sensing my discomfort and indecision.

  “No. You paid for the room. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  He drags his hands down his face. “I’m not a complete asshole. You take the bed and I’ll take the floor.”

  I open my mouth to refuse but he silences me quickly. “Sleep in the bed. Seriously. I insist.” He says the last word slowly as if trying to impress upon me that he won’t agree to any other sleeping arrangements.

  “Well, if you insist.” I don’t even have to look at him to know he’s smiling at me for giving in. How often doesn’t he get his way? I roll my eyes as I continue to stare at the bed. “We’ll both sleep in the bed. It’s big enough that we won’t even have to touch.”

  “Fine, but let’s not make this weird,” he says. “I’ll stay on my side. You can put some of the pillows between us if it makes you feel better.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” I think about it for a moment but then my nerves take over. “I’ve never slept with a boy before—I mean, not in the same bed, so this is kind of a new thing and I barely even know you and I’m here alone with you in a hotel room. This is the stuff horror movies are made of and my father and brothers taught me better, but somehow I trust you, even though you’re a player and you’ve probably had more STDs in your life than I’ve had boyfriends.”

  He raises his eyebrows at me. “Wow. Are you always this kind to guys who try to help you out?”

  I slap my forehead. “Sorry. I’m rambling, and that was mean. I don’t even know you.”

  “I’ve never had an STD, for your information. I might sleep with my share of women, but I’m careful about it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever. It was a long flight and I need a drink and some sleep.” He opens the mini fridge and scans the contents: water bottles and nothing else.

  “Sure. I’m just going to call my family. Do you mind if I use the bathroom? Do you need it?”

  After he assures me he doesn’t, I go inside the bathroom and the shut the door behind me, careful to ensure the door is locked. I call my dad first, just to make sure he’s managing okay. Dylan and Michael still live at home so they’ll make sure he eats, but they’re busy a lot of the time. I worry Dad will get lonely. We spend about twenty minutes on the phone. Dad’s not a big talker so he lets me ramble, which is nice, considering I’m feeling rather tired from the constant banter with Sullivan. He keeps me on my toes—I’ll give him that.

  After Dad, I call Clay, who warns me to stay away from guys like Dylan. Of course, I tell him I will. I say nothing about being in a hotel room with one or asking one to be my friend. Omitting isn’t lying, right? At least in my mind, they’re not the same thing—or this is what I tell myself to relieve my guilt.

  When I return to Sullivan he holds a drink in his hand. As he raises it up to his lips the ice cubes inside clink against each other, making me tense. I try hard to hide my disdain at the bottle of dark rum sitting beside him, but I think I’m only mildly successful when he shoots me a cha
llenging look. Alcohol. It nearly killed my dad and I’ve never had a drop in my life. It’s hard for me to watch anyone drink without thinking about two years of my life I’d rather forget.

  He takes a long drawl, draining the liquid and lowers it down to his chest before sighing loudly through an apparent burn in his throat. Then, he pours himself another.

  Not my business.

  I unzip my bag and rifle through my clothes before settling on some shorts and a tank top. I fist a bra, but thinking about wearing one just makes me groan. At home I wouldn’t opt for one, but going braless while sleeping in the same bed with Sullivan is just not happening. With him, more clothes are preferable. Unfortunately, I didn’t bring a parka.

  I dress quickly in the bathroom, but as soon as my bra is on I’m reconsidering. My breasts are small anyway, however, my nipples are poking through the thin fabric and they make me feel self-conscious. Still, sleeping in a bra is seriously uncomfortable and I decide to chance it anyway. I hurry back to the bed, holding my folded arms over my chest before jumping in and pulling the covers up.

  He chuckles at me. “Afraid I’ll see something?”

  “I was cold.”

  “Really? I didn’t notice.” He waggles his eyebrows and I toss a pillow at him. He reaches his free hand out to catch it and tosses it back.

  Lying down, I turn on my side to face him as he sits at the desk. He’s not wearing a shirt now and wears only plaid pyjama pants. He scratches at his bare, firm chest: not a single hair except for the thin spattering at his navel, which extends below his waistband. When I train my eyes back up to his face, he winks at me. Caught! I try not to blush but my cheeks are burning, making his lips curl into a satisfied smirk.

  “I can’t say I thought I would be here tonight with you,” I say quietly.

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Did you have plans for tonight? For when you got to the resort?”

  He shrugs and takes a sip of his drink. “Not really.”

  “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I was rude.”

  He shifts in his seat and his chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath. But he says nothing in response.

  “You’ve been so nice to me. You didn’t deserve that.”

  He finishes his second drink before he stalks toward me on bare feet, climbing into bed by crawling up the middle while looking up at me from under his brows. Holy cow. No wonder he gets women into bed so quickly with a look like that. I have to admit, I feel tingles radiating down deep between my legs. I breathe in deeply through my nose and sigh through parted lips. He climbs under the covers and I turn to face him. We’re only inches apart.

  Then I smell the alcohol on his breath and it breaks me from his spell. Now I only feel sadness as I’m reminded of the past…

  “Thanks for the room,” I say quietly.

  “No problem. I couldn’t let you sleep in my car.”

  “I would have.”

  “I’m sure you would have, but I think I like you better in my bed.” His voice is husky, no trace of a tease or a joke.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Take serious conversations and make them sexual or funny.”

  He scoffs at me. “Don’t pretend to know me, Abby. If you want, I'll show you how serious I can be.” His eyes smoulder and I roll over quickly, feeling safer with my back to him. There’s no halfway with him—it’s light and funny or serious and sexual. I turn my light off; his lamp is still on and he hasn’t moved. It makes me breathe a little heavier to know he’s possibly staring at my back. Thinking about what? I have no idea, though I can guess.

  “So you never slept with anyone before?” he says, his voice low.

  “Well, not like this…and really not the other way either.”

  “You’re a virgin?” He doesn’t bother to try and hide the surprise in his voice.

  “Um…I don’t think so.”

  He chuckles and adjusts himself, the sheets ruffling beneath him. When I glance over my shoulder his head is propped on his folded arm. “You either are or you aren’t.”

  “He put it in, but not all the way. Does that count?” Oh my God. Did I really just say that? I resist the urge to slap my forehead.

  “It counts,” he says, making me frown. “Who was he? Boyfriend? I’m guessing long-term.”

  I shake my head, my face rubbing up against the cotton fabric of my pillowcase. With my back to his front, I feel inclined to continue. Like, not having to face him lessons my embarrassment. “It was our first date. Prom night—of all nights.” Even though he can’t see me, I find myself rolling my eyes at myself. “Incredibly cliché, if I do say so myself. I think I was the only one in my graduating class that had never had sex and I wanted to see what the fuss was about. I didn’t enjoy it so I asked him to stop.”

  “That’s it?” he asks.

  “That’s it.”

  “And he stopped?”

  “Of course he did.” I glance over my shoulder to give him a questioning look. Did he expect him to continue? Against my will?

  “All I meant was, it would be hard to stop mid-way like that. I’m surprised he didn’t just finish putting it in before taking it out.”

  “Well, he stopped. I think he was cool with it because after, I told him I wasn't ready after all and he admitted he wasn’t either. Then…he…”

  “He what?”

  “Well…this is so embarrassing.” My voice quiets. “He told me that having sex with me made him realize he wasn’t into girls.”

  “Wow. Did you really just tell me that? I think you’re the most honest person in the world. Fuck, who admits to that?”

  Jerk. “And to think I was embarrassed enough.” Still, he’s right. I’m too honest for my own good, sometimes. And the blush is back. Will it ever go away?

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “Go on.”

  I sigh and debate continuing, but like earlier I can’t seem to stop talking when I’m with him. “Well, I suppose I see your point. I didn’t take it personal, though. He was just having sex with me to see if he was into girls. Turns out he wasn’t. Isn’t. He’s engaged to marry a guy now.”

  “Wow. You turned a guy gay. That’s impressive.”

  I slide my leg forward and then force it back, kicking him in the shin. “You’re an asshole.”

  “Ow!”

  I close my eyes and try and go to sleep. It doesn’t take long before I hear his voice again. “You know, I’ve often wondered if I’m gay. Maybe we should fuck, just to make sure I’m straight.”

  “Goodnight, Sullivan.”

  I yawn and settle into my spot, nudging my face along the pillow. Sullivan has other ideas. He’s set on harassing me and does so for a good twenty minutes. After a few eye rolls, I turn over to face him and slap his shoulder until finally he gives up and the two of us are laughing. We talk more, about nothing, everything. But I notice he leads the conversation, always away from the topic of himself and his family, so I just talk his ear off instead. After an hour or so I’m yawning every few minutes. We’re facing and it’s surprisingly comfortable, even with our eyes intent on one another. Normally, I have trouble sleeping. Normally, it takes me a good hour of tossing and turning, but somehow, with this less-than-perfect stranger, I fall asleep easily. I don’t know if I’m just plain tired from the travel or if I sleep better with someone lying next to me. I suppose it’s comforting knowing I’m not alone while I dream, that I’ll wake up to someone in the morning.

  Three

  MY EYES FLUTTER open. Where am I? Why is there a rock hard erection pressed firmly against my tailbone? The curtains are drawn and there’s barely enough light in the room for me to look over my shoulder at the beautiful man behind me. His bare arm is draped over my middle. It takes me a minute to orient myself and to control my panic. Sullivan snores quietly and when I try to move out from under his heavy muscled arm, he pulls me in closer and wraps his leg around mine.

  I turn my
head to watch his peaceful face: long lashes and a small bump on his otherwise perfect nose, and full pink lips and wide-set eyes. His hair is messy, sticking up in parts, yet it’s so deliciously sexy. I feel a sharp tug between my legs and the muscles in my lower abdomen clench at the cords of muscle in his bent arm. Ah hell—I need to calm down. My panties are moist and it makes me blush. I made a promise to Clay, yet somehow I find myself in bed with the very same example of a man he warned me about.

  I slide out from under his arm and drop my feet to the floor before standing and turning to stare.

  “What am I doing?” I whisper. I slap my head between my hands and then grab my clothes, hurrying to the bathroom. While I shower, my phone begins to ring. I pop my head out and reach for my phone—Clay. Shit. I don’t answer and finish my shower, but when I’m towelling off my hair, he calls again.

  “Christ, Abby. When you don’t answer your phone, I think something’s up.”

  “No. Everything’s perfect. I just finished showering.”

  “Good. You’re settled in, then?”

  Omit, omit, omit! I hate lying, but telling Clay about staying in a hotel room with an almost-stranger would have him on the next flight to Alberta. Then he and my other brothers would drag me back to Nova Scotia, kicking and screaming. They’re the prime reason—or one of the prime reasons—that I’ve never had a steady boyfriend. Two military brothers and a cop brother? Forget about dating. It just doesn’t compute.

  I cringe before opening my mouth. “Yeah. Everything’s great.”

  “Good. I just needed to check.”

  “Clay, stop worrying. I’m fine.”

  “Easy enough to say when you’re halfway across the country and I don’t have eyes on you.”

  I sigh and smile against the phone. I appreciate the way he and my brothers look out for me, even if it gets in the way of my love life. Or lack of it.

  “Don’t stress. Go to work. I’ll call you tonight.”

  I let my brother go and while I finish dressing, my stomach is twisting and turning with guilt. It weighs me down and my chest feels tight. I can honestly say I’ve never lied to my brother before. I’ve omitted, sure, but lie? Never. It really doesn’t feel good and I swear I’ll never do it again. There won’t be a need. But just this once, I have to lie to him. Not just because of sharing a bed with a stranger, but also because I’d have to admit that I'm worried about having enough money for the summer. He’d send a money transfer the second we hung up—I don’t want his money. I don’t want to rely on my brothers for anything. They’ve got enough going on in their lives without worrying about me.