Wet Dreams

by Emily Bishop

  He was different than what I’d been expecting, but I didn’t quite know what to make of it. So, I hailed an almighty Uber and hightailed it home before things got awkward.

  I knew that he had questions about my life. I could see them churning in his mind, and I wasn’t ready for that. I pulled my comforter over my head and buried myself in my bed, trying to disappear and make sense of what had happened all at once.

  Sunlight was filtering through my thready curtains and baking me out of my bed before I could get comfortable again, though. For the first time in ages, I missed my air-conditioned room at my parents’ place and the coolness of Barrett’s house. I’d bet that he wasn’t waking up drenched in sweat and listening to rap music from the street below.

  But I’d made peace with my lot a long time ago. After Gabbi got diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder and my parents sat idly by, I bid goodbye to that life and waved with both hands as I left, never looking back. Until now.

  As if on cue, my phone rang, and my mother’s face taunted me from the screen. It was the same picture that always popped up, of course, but this time, I was compelled to answer the call.

  “What can I do for you, Mom?”

  Her stifled sobs were the first thing I heard. “Your father has been admitted to the hospital, Demi. The doctors aren’t confident that he has much time left.”

  Her words hit me like fist, knocking the air from my lungs and the thoughts from my head. I was too taken aback to speak.

  My mother took it as a chance to beg me. “Please, honey, come see him. I know you two haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, but this might be your last chance.”

  Her words cut through my heart like a hot knife through butter. I hadn’t spoken to my father in a long time, but I couldn’t say no to this request. Not now. Leaving my bed behind, regrettably, I showered and headed for the hospital where my dad might be breathing his last breaths.

  My mother had told me he was sick, but I wasn’t prepared for the sight that met my eyes when I reached the hospital. The intensive care unit smelled exactly as it should’ve, like clinical cleaning materials and nothing, with a whiff of hospital food in the air.

  My father lay on a bed in the corner, his deteriorated body dwarfed by the vast array of machines that were scattered above and beside him. Seeing his body being poked and prodded and wired gave me a painful, hollow feeling in my chest. My mother was hunched at his side, clutching his frail hand to her forehead with her eyes closed.

  She’d never been too religious, but I could have sworn that she was saying a silent prayer, begging God or the universe to help them in this time of crisis. She looked almost as bad as my father, thin and weak and trembling. Seeing her like this was almost as shocking as seeing my father’s condition. All of a sudden, the gravity of the situation came crashing down on me, and I didn’t know if I could handle it. I didn’t know if I was strong enough.

  As if sensing my presence, my mother’s eyes opened and she looked at me. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks, and she stood up, rising too slowly.

  Her tear-streaked face made my heart pang, even as she opened her arms to me for the first time in years. “Demi, baby, thank you for coming.”

  My father’s eyes fluttered open, but as tubed and drugged as he was, he couldn’t do more than manage a weak smile before he drifted off again. The incessant humming of the machines made things feel all too real.

  “What’s going on, Mom? What’s his prognosis?” My voice cracked despite my best intentions.

  “The cancer is aggressive,” she said. “We’ve been trying experimental treatment after experimental treatment, but so far, well, you can see the result.” She sank back into her chair and clasped my father’s bluish hand in hers.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  My mother heaved a quiet sob and shook her head. “Not really, unless you’ve suddenly gained access to a lot of money of your own. The treatments, combined with bad management decisions at the company, are sucking us dry.”

  I dragged in a deep breath. Athena’s had always seemed indestructible. My father had built it from the ground up, and it was hard to believe it could really be in trouble, regardless of what my mother had told me the other day.

  “Athena’s is really in that much trouble?”

  My mother nodded sadly. Dad had named the exclusive jewelry shop after her back in the day and professed that she was the real jewel in his life. It was the mantra that kept the company thriving for years, the fact that my father built the company around the idea that his own wife was his most valuable treasure.

  It was a lie, of course. He spent so many hours in that damn shop that I forgot what he looked like around the eighth grade. My mom was always busy with ancillary things, fundraisers and galas and press events. Before long, Gabbi, my nanny, was the only person in life who really cared about me or paid any attention to me.

  Until she no longer could.

  “If Athena’s doesn’t get a cash injection soon, we’ll probably lose the house,” my mom told me. “And everything else.”

  “How?” Surely, they should have a fortune saved up.

  “Things have been rough recently. Your father took every last penny, and instead of putting it back in our retirement fund, he got roped into a business venture that I think was a scheme,” she cried, her sobs muffled by the handkerchief she was holding to her nose.

  ““I’m sorry, Mom,” I said honestly. “Let me stay with Dad tonight. Go home, get some rest, and we’ll talk in the morning.”

  I needed time to process, time to think. An hour later, after I’d finally convinced my mom to leave, I got just that.

  Sleeping fitfully on the single-seater couch at my father’s bedside, the beeping and humming of machines singing in my ears, I gave up around four in the morning and headed to the cafeteria for a cup of vile coffee.

  I’d have thought that hospital coffee would be great and strong under the circumstances of the customers they served, but I’d had three by the time my mother got back, and I was still tired as hell.

  “I’ve been giving it some thought,” I told my mom as we walked back to the ICU from the main entrance where we’d run into one another. “I don’t have much saved up, but I took a job recently that pays pretty well. If we borrowed against what I have and my future earnings, I think it should be enough to ensure some stability for you. For now.”

  “Thank you, Demi,” my mother mumbled, pulling me in for a tight hug.

  “I can’t guarantee anything,” I warned her.

  “But you’re willing to try, regardless,” she said, sobbing into my hair.

  And try we did. By the following afternoon, I was in it to my eyebrows with no way out, other than the promise of being the face of Barrett’s beloved agency.

  Chapter 11

  Barrett

  Our weekly photoshoot was about to get underway, except for one small problem. Our main model hadn’t arrived yet. Demi was missing in action.

  I’d been trying to reach her for an hour, but her phone kept going to voicemail. A quick survey of the assistants told me they were having the same luck I was.

  Which was absolutely none.

  “Are you trying to tell me that none of you have spoken to her at all today?” I asked, sweeping my eyes over the gathered assistant minions.

  Each and every one of them shook their heads. A chorus of blame shifting and denial rang out.

  “She isn’t returning our calls either, sir,” a wiry assistant in the back, with black-framed glasses and whose name I didn’t know, told me quietly.

  That was it, then. I wondered if it could be something as juvenile as the fact that we’d slept together that was keeping her away, but somehow, I doubted it.

  Regardless of my thoughts, I had to do something to ensure that the shoot wasn’t a total waste. “Somebody get Gloria. She’ll have to fill in for now.”

  I was seething at the fact that Demi hadn’t showed, and she didn’t so much as bother
letting anyone know why. But aside from a few curt orders, I didn’t take it out on anyone else.

  By the time I arrived home that night, Nancie had the table set for dinner, and she was hanging around in front of the television as she always did while she waited. She peeked over her shoulder when she heard me approaching, narrowing her eyes at my thunderous expression.

  “Who peed on your battery?”

  “Demi,” I told her. “She didn’t show for a shoot today.”

  Nancie followed me to the dining room table and gave me a long look before taking her seat. “Have you spoken to her?”

  “No, but not for a lack of trying,” I admitted. “She hasn’t answered any of our calls.”

  “Have you considered the possibility that something might be wrong?” she asked, dishing some of Katy’s regular Monday fish and veggies up for each of us.

  I hated that my seventeen-year-old niece was having to be my voice of reason.

  “I know you’re used to being in control of everything at work, Barrett, but life gets in the way sometimes, you know?”

  I knew that she was right, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it yet. “Not when it costs thousands of dollars for your life to get in the way.”

  Nancie’s eyes grew dark. “There are things that we can’t control, dearest Uncle. You know that just as well as I do. So, have some compassion. Talk to her before you tear up the contract and swear her off.”

  She knew me too well, though I’d never be able to tear up Demi’s contract just like that. Nancie might’ve had a point, though. I didn’t know what had happened with Demi, but considering our passionate fucking the other night, I was determined to find out.

  “Give it a rest, Nancy Drew,” I teased her, just like I had when she was six years old. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow. In the meantime, tell me how it went with your biology project.”

  ***

  Scowling at my calendar the next day at the office, my temper flared again when I realized just how fucked we were. I was going to have to rearrange shoots left, right, and center to make up for Demi’s little stunt.

  The girl herself showed up at my door unexpectedly a few hours later, knocking tentatively. “Can I come in?”

  “Well, sure, whenever you can make the time,” I said snarkily. Then, I released all of my pent-up anger in one stream. “What makes you think you can just blow off a shoot like that? Do you have any idea how much money that cost me? How much time you wasted?”

  Demi’s face hardened to stone as my questions tapered off.

  “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “Please give me another chance? I promise I’ll be better this time.”

  “What the fuck happened, Demi?” I asked, raking a hand through my hair and pacing the length of my office.

  “I had some personal issues to deal with, and I lost track of time,” she said, her fists clenched at her sides.

  “We all have personal issues on a daily basis,” I seethed, my anger returning in full force. “What makes yours so special that you get to give yourself a day off, without even calling anyone?”

  Her eyes shone with tears and indecision before she finally heaved a deep sigh and broke down. “My father has cancer, okay? He’s in the hospital, and he might be dying.”

  All the fight went whooshing from my body as I angled myself toward her. “Jesus, I’m sorry, Demi. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because I didn’t know until about three weeks or so ago,” she admitted, shoulders dropping. “I had no idea how bad things were until I went to see my dad in the hospital on Sunday.”

  “What’s his prognosis?” I asked, rounding my desk and walking toward her.

  Demi sniffed, and for the first time, I noticed that while she’d tried to hide it, her eyes were puffy from crying. I snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her in for a hug. She resisted for a second before wrapping her arms around me and burying her face in my chest.

  “I don’t know,” she answered, her voice muffled by my jacket. “They’re still running tests. I just feel so awful.”

  Pulling slightly back from her, I brought a hand up to stroke her cheek, then tilted her face so that she was looking me in the eyes. There was none of the usual brightness in her gaze. All I could see in her eyes was misery.

  “It’s not your fault, Demi.”

  “I know. It’s not that. It’s just...” She trailed off, her eyes fluttering closed as she sucked in a deep breath. “I haven’t spoken to them for so long. My mom didn’t even tell me when he was diagnosed.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You’re there for them now, right?”

  There were a thousand questions burning my tongue. I held them back, though, wanting her to tell me because she chose to, not because I forced her.

  “Yeah, I guess. I was just so angry with them for what they did to Gabbi.” She sighed, breaking eye contact with me to stare out of the window but staying in the circle of my arms.

  “Gabbi?” I prodded gently.

  “She was my nanny growing up,” Demi started, bringing her eyes back to mine, then letting her forehead drop to my chest before she continued. “She was more like a mom to me than my own mother, actually.”

  “Okay,” I said, tightening the arm around her waist. I could see talking about it was hard for her. I could feel the energy seeping from her body. I would hold her up myself if that was what it took.

  “My parents were always working,” she said. “They couldn’t care less about me when I was little. Gabbi was always there for me. She was the one who praised me when I did well and scolded me when I did something bad.”

  “You were lucky to have her there for you,” I told her.

  “I was,” she agreed. “She did everything for us, but when push came to shove, my parents did nothing for her.”

  A lock of her hair fell over her eyes. I reached up to tuck it behind her ear, staring intently into her eyes. It was almost like I could see her heart breaking there.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Her diaphragm expanded on another deep breath, and her chest rose and fell against mine. “She was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder. Sarcoidosis. It’s rarely fatal but she had a severe case. There are treatments but they’re expensive.”

  I was starting to see where she was leading with her story. I wiped away a tear rolling down her cheek. “And they didn’t want to pay for it?”

  Demi nodded. “You guessed it. She got all the treatment she could afford herself but it wasn’t enough.”

  “She passed away?”

  “Yes, and I never really forgave them for not helping her. I was so angry with them that I stopped talking to them for the longest time. Now this.” She released a shaky breath, looking up at me with a vulnerability I hadn’t before seen from her.

  Something in me stirred, like an animal instinct to protect her. I had no idea how to make it better, though. All I could think of was to return her honesty and tell her the story I never told anyone.

  “You know, I was so pissed when my sister died,” I said.

  Demi tilted her head up, taking her turn to tighten her arms around my waist in a silent show of support.

  “I was furious with everyone. With her, with Nancie, with myself. I knew that it wasn’t rational, but I couldn’t help it. I was living my dream, and suddenly, this ten-year-old girl became my responsibility. I loved her. Don’t get me wrong. I just never wanted to raise her.”

  “I can understand that,” she told me. “But you did a great job.”

  I managed a small smile before I carried on. “Thanks. It hasn’t been a picnic but we’ve gotten by.”

  “I guess you have.”

  “The point that I’m trying to make with this is that I understand that uncontrollable anger, the kind that festers in your stomach and makes you want to burn the world to the ground. There’s nothing you can do but wait for it to burn out, batten down the hatches, and hope like hell you survive the blaze.”

/>   “So, you’re saying my reaction was natural?” she asked, the tiniest thread of hope in her voice.

  “Exactly. Everyone processes grief in their own way. You and I seem to share the tendency for skipping right to the anger stage of the process and staying there. There’s no changing that. What’s done is done. What matters is what you do now.”

  The light was slowly creeping back into her eyes. “No use crying over spilled milk and all?”

  “That’s it. Guilt over your anger or not talking to them doesn’t help anyone. You’re coming through for them now.”

  “Like you came through for Nancie?” she finished for me.

  “It’s like you read my mind.” I smiled down at her, relieved to see that there were no longer tears in her eyes.

  She paused, letting my words sink in, then pressed a kiss to my chest, right above my heart. It lurched in response, something it had never done before. “Thank you, Barrett. That actually makes a lot of sense.”

  “I always make sense.” I smirked.

  That earned me a soft laugh. Her fingers danced up my back and settled at the nape of my neck, stroking the shaved hair they found as she stared up at me. “I’m starting to realize that.”

  A shiver of desire ran down my spine from the point of contact, going straight my cock. “You know what else makes sense?”

  “Mm?”

  “Make up sex,” I told her, drinking in the feel of her body pressed to mine, and the way she was looking up at me like I’d hung the moon.

  The corners of her mouth tilted up. “What exactly are we making up for?”

  “Lady’s choice,” I said. “You missing the shoot. My being an asshole about it. Whatever you want.”

  “Is that your way of saying you don’t care about the make up part of make up sex?” She smiled.

  “Only in as much as it leads to sex.”

  Demi laughed, but her eyes flicked from mine to my mouth, her lips slightly parted. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” I said, dropping my hands to her ass.

  “I have a feeling the pleasure is going to be all mine.”