by Sosie Frost
She shivered. “Only you would calm a girl down by winding her up.”
“Let me take your mind off of all this crazy shit.”
She pulled the garbage can upright once more, collecting the wrappers and papers she’d tossed aside. “Maybe you’re right…”
The can tipped again. Gretchen slammed against the cabinets, clutching a thin, white stick. She didn’t look at it, just tossed it at me. It smacked off my chest.
“Gross.” I frowned. “What the hell do you want me to do with this?”
“I can’t look.” She panicked. “You tell me what it says.”
“I’m not touching it.”
“Please?”
She bent down to retrieve it, but I stopped her. I listened, hard. The telltale slam of the car door echoed from the street.
“Shit,” I said. “Chloe’s home.”
“Oh, no!”
Gretchen dove for the garbage, replacing the can. We didn’t have enough time to clean the mess. I pushed her down the hall as the front door creaked open.
“Hide!” I hissed the command, though God only knew if she’d follow it. “Bathroom! Go out the window!”
“What about you?”
Wouldn’t be the first time I was trapped behind enemy lines, but Gretchen refused to leave me. She pointed to the bedroom and herded me into the closet.
Great. The situation was getting better by the minute.
She huddled in the closet with me, pulling the accordion door shut tight. This wasn’t going to work. My good leg pinched on some old storage bins, and a wire hanger tried to scrape my brain out through my ear. Gretchen didn’t fare any better, clutching a couple pairs of ironed jeans, organized on hangers.
No wonder she worried about Chloe. Girl was a freak. Who the fuck ironed jeans?
With a frantic whisper, Gretchen buried her head in my shoulder. “I don’t think she’s alone…”
For a split-second, I thought her problems were solved. A man’s voice rumbled from the living room, and Chloe’s sultry, flirty giggle echoed it. Maybe she’d found another man? Someone younger. Less complicated. Maybe we’d snuck into her house, violated her trust, broke several laws, and would discover she’d been cheating on Gretchen’s dad with someone else.
We weren’t that lucky.
But Elijah Murphy sure as fuck was.
Chloe and Elijah tumbled into the bedroom, arms entwined, murmuring words of affection over each other’s lips.
And tongues.
Gretchen’s fingers dug into my arm, nearly drawing blood. “Dear…God….”
Oh, there was nothing holy about this.
Elijah Murphy, a quiet, well-mannered, older man, seemed like the respectable sort until his pants came off. His graying hair contrasted skin a shade darker than Gretchen’s. He’d kept himself in decent shape, at least well enough to attract the attention of a woman half his age. With a wag of his finger, he scolded Chloe.
“I know you’re keeping a secret from me,” he teased.
“Oh, I have a secret…” A shimmying mass of red hair danced between the slots of the accordion door. “But I’m not telling…”
Gretchen flinched as something struck the wall.
A bra.
Uh-oh.
“That’s not fair,” Elijah scolded.
“What’s not fair is waiting for you all day.” Chloe punctuated her pout by diving on the bed. She lifted herself onto all fours, kicking her toes. “Now all I want to do is play a game.”
Gretchen covered her eyes. “Please be Russian roulette.”
“What sort of game?” he asked.
Chloe lightened her voice, a sultry, singsong tone. “Paging Dr. Murphy.”
Gretchen tumbled over a rack of shoes. Fortunately, the two didn’t notice as Elijah gave a quiet growl.
Chloe crawled over the bed, curling a finger towards her husband-to-be. “Kitty needs her doctor.”
Surely, this was enough to revoke anybody’s medical license, human doctor or veterinarian. Elijah played along, pulling a hidden stethoscope from the top drawer of their nightstand. That drawer was loaded with more than just medical equipment.
This wasn’t going to be pretty.
I’d crossed the DMZ on covert missions the government would never verify. Spent half a year trudging around Nigeria searching for warlords and the girls they’d kidnapped. Landed ass first on an IED that stole my leg. War was hell on earth, and I’d kicked the devil in the balls more times than I could count.
But this?
The beaches of Normandy were preferable to Doctor Murphy’s kitten exam room.
What the hell had we gotten ourselves into?
There was no way Elijah could hear a heartbeat where he stuck that stethoscope. “What’s wrong with my pretty kitty?”
No matter what answer Chloe gave, the end result was going to be years of therapy for Gretchen.
“Little kitty needs a checkup…” Chloe purred. “Only this time, kitty’s having kittens.”
Shit.
Gretchen sunk against me and my fake leg. “She’s pregnant.”
If she wasn’t yet, she would be pretty goddamned soon. More clothes hit the closet, the bed squeaked, and Chloe’s meow turned howl.
“Quick.” Gretchen covered her ears. “Can you do a sleeper hold?”
“Yeah, but I’m doing it to myself.”
“What the hell do we do?” she hissed.
“You got any ideas?”
“I hoped you’d have an exit strategy.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I said. “This is your fault. Curiosity’s not just killing the cat—it’s fucking it.”
Gretchen grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor and tried to muffle the sound over her ears. It wouldn’t work. Either Chloe was skilled, or Elijah’s hearing was going. He didn’t groan, he battle-cried.
And this fight was just beginning.
We just had to wait until they exhausted themselves, which, given Chloe’s age and whatever was in that vitality concoction, would probably take a while. Just enough time to traumatize us both.
And worry the shit out of me.
Chloe had gotten pregnant. Presumably pretty easily.
But Gretchen had not.
It’d only been one month, only one attempt. But I figured that would be all it took.
The mission was fun, but I didn’t think it’d be difficult. One month wouldn’t set us back—not that the job in DC would demand birth records and sonograms. We’d deal with this.
But how long would it take to get her pregnant?
And what would happen if I didn’t?
11
Gretchen
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:
for I have witnessed my father having sex.
And it is a hell unlike any other.
12
Gretchen
If a girl wanted something done, she had to do it herself.
That perseverance usually solved most problems. Conception, however, remained a frustratingly two-person job.
The failure shouldn’t have bothered me. Sure, we’d technically lied to Rachel at the interview, but one little month delay wouldn’t reveal the truth. And we’d conceive this month.
Not like we had a choice.
Besides, if Chloe could get pregnant so quickly, it had to be just as easy for us. Chloe and I were the same age—a fact that still grossed me out. And Marius was younger than my father. Considerably. The ingredients were all in perfect order. All that mattered was the recipe, and, as far as I could tell, we’d spiced that dish perfectly.
And we’d done it so many times, I was still dizzy.
But another try couldn’t hurt.
Probably should hav
e informed Marius though. Apparently, knocking on a man’s door in the middle of the night impugned my reputation—even when the booty call was purely procreative.
Ambrose should have sufficed as an appropriate chaperone, but Micah arched a judgmental eyebrow as she answered the door. Marius limped from the living room, smirking as Micah bid him to behave. He shooed the woman and invited me inside.
“It’s late.” His voice lowered. “Couldn’t sleep?”
He knew damn well that I couldn’t sleep. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m whisked back to Miss Kitty’s gynecological exam.”
“I told you not to look.”
“I could still hear it though.” I shuddered. “A real man would have killed me before my father so eloquently described what he was doing with the medical equipment.”
He sighed. “I was not expecting him to take her temperature that way.”
“You promised me you’d never talk about that again.”
“Talk about it?” He laughed. “Hell! Your father was teaching me things!”
“Please, don’t ever, ever, use those moves on me.”
“Christ, I’ve only got one leg. If you think I can bend the way your father was—”
I smacked him. Twice. Then I ordered Ambrose to attack. He beelined for the fake leg, bit the plastic, and gave it a good shake. Marius wasn’t amused.
“Good luck, mutt,” he said. “The damn thing is stuck.”
“Stuck?”
Marius warily eyed the dinner I’d packed, giving the sludge in the container a good shake. “What the hell is this?”
I frowned. “What do you mean stuck?”
“It smells terrible.”
“Your leg?”
Marius scowled. “Your dinner.”
I wasn’t tasting that gloppy porridge. “Oh, no. That’s your late-night snack.”
“Is it a punishment?”
“It’s a home remedy.”
“For what?”
I pushed Marius to his room, but Ambrose stalked to the backyard. Probably to harass the alpaca. I let him go and shut the door behind us. Should have drawn the curtains as well. Something about these conversations still felt so…
Naughty.
I pulled a fork from my purse and handed it to him. “This is a product of my sleepless nights. Since the…incident at Chloe’s…” I shuddered. “I’ve been having a hard time sleeping. So, I decided to do a little research.”
Marius didn’t trust the container. Neither did I. “Research on what?”
“Since there is no doctor in Ironfield who will voluntarily take my eyesight, and the historical society is one vote shy of making the county go dry, my options for black-out drinking and memory loss are limited. So, I decided to take a lesson from Dad and Chloe.”
“Careful. A lot of what we saw was illegal in forty-nine states.”
My stomach dropped. “Oh, not that. I’m brave, but I’m not that brave. Besides, I’m pretty sure that’s not how you make a baby.”
“It’s fun though.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You let me do it to you, I’ll let you do it to me.”
Now he recoiled and changed the subject. “So, you made dinner, huh?”
Smart boy. “Chloe had Dad eating foods which were rich in…certain qualities.”
“…What kind of qualities?”
What was the word for it? “Semeny?”
He handed the Tupperware back. “No way.”
“I mean, foods that enhance your…swimmers.” I shrugged. “You know, some foods can help crowd the pool a little more. Some vitamins encourage them to swim better. Some make them stickier.”
“To be clear… I’m still eating this food, right?”
“What else would you do with it?”
“Just tell me I’m not humping it.”
I smacked him. “You think I spent all that time cooking so you could stir in some real nuts? Didn’t think you were that kinky.”
“That’s me. No fetish too weird, no oatmeal unfucked.” He peeked into the bowl. “What’s in it?”
“A mix of garlic, broccoli, and walnuts.”
His expression lightened. “Not bad.”
“A little ginseng. Some dark chocolate. Mostly bananas. And oysters.”
Marius laughed. “So, the trick to knocking you up is projectile vomiting? That’ll get you in the mood.”
“If it gets the job done?”
Marius’s limp was pronounced tonight. He shuffled across the room, leaning against his old, antique dresser. First time I ever saw him wince.
I forgot the dinner. “You’re uncomfortable.”
Sometimes it was easier to skip the questions he’d never answer and state the obvious.
Marius hated that I called him on it. He scowled. “Yeah. The prosthetic.”
“Take it off.” I smirked. “Or is it actually stuck?”
He didn’t laugh. “…It happens.”
“No way.”
His eyebrow rose.
Well…that was a problem.
“What can you do?” I asked.
“Nothing you gotta worry about,” he said.
He’d intended it to be the end of the conversation. He wasn’t that lucky.
I plunked onto his bed. “You know what I don’t understand?”
“This oughta be good.”
“I’ve been naked with you.” And the thought still quickened my pulse. “We’ve been together. Sweating. Orgasming. Pretty much being as vulnerable as any two people could be.” I pointed to his leg. “But you’ve never taken that off. It can’t be comfortable.”
Marius studied my curves. “Anything is comfortable when I’m balls deep in you.”
I took that as a compliment. “Take it off.”
“No.”
“I want to see.”
“Absolutely not.”
Now he was getting self-conscious? “But I’ve seen every other part of you.”
“Then you can imagine the rest.”
That was absurd. “We need to trust each other.”
Marius clenched his jaw. “I agreed to get you pregnant, not to share my innermost thoughts.”
“I didn’t know that package was available. Was that an add-on?”
His eyes darkened. “Let it go.”
“You really should be comfortable with me by now.”
He swore. “Jesus, Gretchen. Even if I wanted to show you, I can’t do a goddamned thing about it. The leg is stuck.”
I snorted. “How does it get stuck? What did you do? Glue it on?”
“Not since the last time Quint pulled one of his shitty pranks.”
“Do you need help?”
His jaw tightened. “I certainly don’t need an audience.”
“Are you sure? Maybe I can give it a good yank.”
He prevented me from approaching with an outstretched hand. “No yanking.”
“Oh, right.” I winked. “You must prefer it nice and gentle. Light touches.”
“That a threat or an offer?”
I bit my lip, enjoying the secret giggle. “What would you like it to be?”
“Sloppy, crazed, and a little degrading.”
Pretty sure that’s how I’d like it too. But Marius was so desperate to change the subject, he actually picked up the container of sludge I’d whipped up. He braved a bite of the concoction.
And gagged.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
He coughed. “Doesn’t taste good.”
“I meant your leg.”
“It won’t hurt once it’s off.” He smirked. “Though a lot of things feel better once I get off.”
Enough of this. “Look, you’re hurting. The leg’s gotta come off sometime. Why don’t you let me help you with this…and then I’ll make it worth your while?”
Marius didn’t answer, and so I took it upon myself to dislodge his leg. I fell to my knees before him, gave him a wink, and reached for his pant leg.
“Just…no…” H
is grunt was pure frustration. “Don’t. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
I sighed. “One of these days, we’re gonna have to act like two normal, consensual, sexually-active adults. You know the type. They undress each other, sex each other up, remove each other’s limbs.”
He batted my hands away. “Says who?”
“Says me. If I can take your pants off, I can take your leg off too.” My frown matched his. “Then, if you don’t get over yourself, I’ll beat you with it.”
He swore. “I don’t want you to see…”
“I realize you don’t have a leg, sailor. It’s not gonna be a surprise. I can deal with it.” I sat back on my heels, voice softening. “Question is…can you?”
No.
That much was obvious.
His eyes darkened, the green fading into shadow. He was brave enough to face the injury, to survive and do the physical therapy and confront the rest of his life in the prosthetic, but he was too afraid to ask for any help.
Broke my heart.
He moved slowly, tugging his pants up to reveal the silicon compression sock wrapped around the end of his leg. The sock fit his thigh into the prosthetic’s plastic frame.
“It’s not complicated,” he said. “Works by making an airtight seal with my leg and the socket. When I want to take it off, I press this…” He repeatedly pressed a button. “And it releases the pressure. Or…it usually does.” He slapped the socket with a frustrated hand. “But the button must be caught on something. Probably the fucking sock. It’s not releasing.”
I clamped my mouth shut to hide the smile. “So…you’re vacuumed sealed into your leg?”
“Something like that.”
The giggle slipped out easier than his thigh. I reached for the prosthetic, something I hadn’t dared attempt in our previous nights together.
“This is not how I imagined tonight going,” he said.
The big baby. I pressed the button and wrapped my arm around the leg. “Give it a little wiggle.”
“Sweetness—”
“I’m not asking for a dance.” I shushed his complaints. “I’m holding it tight. You…step backwards. Don’t worry. I’m planted.”
“You’re delusional.”