With one hand he begins to pull down his zipper as he leans in and catches my lips again. My heart speeds up, slams in my chest, making me dizzy. I moan into his mouth and push at him until he lets me loose. He gasps, his lips full, newly kissed. I try to control my racing heart.
“I—I’m sorry,” I hiccup, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t—I…”
I try to get up, but he grabs my wrists and keeps me down. It sends yet another surge of panic through me.
Pain. So much pain. His eyes cold and without mercy.
“Ker? Hey… look at me.” Gripping my chin, he forces me to face him.
My eyes dart up to meet his and then I look away again. He radiates something I can’t grasp. He wants something I can’t give. Something he can take… I might even let him if it came to that… But I’m not sure I can give it.
Ever.
“Talk to me, hon.”
I inhale deeply and let out a shaky breath. “I—I can’t,” I whimper.
His intake of air comes so abruptly it makes me jerk. “Ker! Fuck! I’m not gonna hurt you! Ever again! Do you hear me?” He suddenly lets go of me and climbs off the couch, stands. I slam my naked thighs together and cower, staring down at my knees. I don’t know if he’s angry or not, and what he’s going to do now.
“Yes,” I say unhappily. “I’m—I’m just… I’m letting you because I’m afraid of what you’ll do if I refuse… I think.” I swallow so hard it hurts, biting my lower lip, flinching when I feel his taste on it, familiar, unfamiliar.
Oh my God.
He breathes heavy, irregular. “Okay,” he says then. “That’s not good… Okay.”
Backing up first one step, and then another, he rounds the table and starts pacing the room. I quickly pull up my pants and put my shirt back in place.
“We—” he begins.
It’s not a scream. It’s a whimper, and then a series of coughs, raspy, raw, sounding as if they hurt the little chest that has produced them.
I dart up, and he’s already by the bedroom door in no time at all. Christian remains standing as I fall to my knees by her bed. She’s sleeping, but there’s a faint gurgling from deep inside her chest with every breath and then, as we watch, a new set of coughs wrack her little body. Oh no, oh baby! All my previous problems suddenly feel so insignificant. I caress her forehead and find to my shock it’s sweaty and hot. Too hot.
“She’s burning up!” I glance up at Christian in despair and he comes closer, settling himself at the edge of my bed.
“Is she ill?”
“I think she’s sick, Christian! Oh my God, what do we do?”
He jolts. “Wait, I—” Digging in a side pocket in his pants, he pulls up a package of Advil.
“Thank you!” I grab it and go to fetch water, then a horrible thought strikes me. I hold it up between us. I don’t even need to ask.
“I’m sorry. I needed it.”
I shake my head slowly as I tighten my jaw. “So did I.”
He winces and glances at my ankle before his eyes dart back up to meet mine. A new set of coughs startle us both and I spring into action, crushing a quarter of a pill in some strawberry jam, and fetching a bottle of water.
“You’re unbelievable,” I say as I brush past him.
“You stabbed me.”
I pull a drowsy Cecilia to me and coax the jam into her mouth. She grimaces and then drinks greedily before she falls asleep again.
“You tried to murder me,” I whisper and glance up at him.
He winces. “Yeah, can’t argue that.”
I shake my head, caressing Cecilia’s soft dark hair. “That’s not what hurts the most, Chris.”
Chapter 6
Christian
We take turns sitting by her crib, watching over our daughter as she tosses and turns in her sleep, her forehead sweaty, her silky, dark hair damp and curled at the temples. None of us have slept. It’s Kerry’s turn to try. I watch over my girls.
The kiss lingers still. I find myself tasting my lips time and time again. I was painfully hard for an embarrassingly long time after, and shame rolled through me at how I could think of nothing but fucking her when Cecilia is sick. The rejection struck harder than I’d have thought. And then her words, the words with no explanation, but I know what they mean. I’ve seen the agony in her eyes.
‘That’s not what hurts the most.’
Fuck!
It’s too late. I realize I’m going to have to let it go. Let her go. I already feel the vastness of the empty life that lies ahead. It won’t be very pretty, and I doubt I can take another shot at doing something else, being someone else, ever again.
It’s just not worth all the pain.
Sitting on the edge of Kerry’s bed, my gaze wanders from the little one to the adult and then back again. No matter what happens from here on, I feel blessed. Right now, in this moment, I have been touched by angels. People like these two don’t happen to people like me.
But here we are.
Here I am.
At this moment in time we are like one, united in our concern. I wince, thinking about what I did to Kerry, but then there’s Cecilia. There’s beauty too, not only ugliness and cruelty.
I close my eyes for a moment, feeling a flutter in my chest. Examining it closer, I realize it’s worry. I’m worrying. I never worry.
“Christian,” she whispers and sits up, crossing her legs as she smoothes out the duvet over them.
I jolt. “Yeah.”
“I’d never have pictured you—” She licks her lips and gives me a smile. Brief, but warm. “I’d never have thought you’d be sitting like this, you know… that you’d care.”
I smile back. “Makes two of us.”
Kerry’s eyelids flutter and she yawns hugely.
“You should lie down. I’ll be here.”
She doesn’t object and sighs as she falls back down, tossing and turning, trying to find the least uncomfortable position. The same does our daughter before yet another set of coughs pierce the night. The sound is harsh, raspy, as if something is tearing her little chest to pieces. When the cough finally subsides, a heavy snoring replaces the earlier noise.
“I’m so worried,” she says, stroking a few stray strands of hair off Cecilia’s cheek, looking up at me as if I could help.
“She’s never been ill before?”
Kerry shakes her head. “No. Never like this.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Just a cold.” I don’t know if I believe it myself, but I have to say something.
“Oh, God!” Kerry clasps her hands over her mouth as a look of terror fills her eyes.
“What?”
“I let her play outside the other day, and she got wet and cold. We stayed out too long, she was so happy to play in the mud and with the fallen leaves and—”
“Ker. You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for everything. You’re the most devoted mother I’ve ever met.”
Her eyes narrow as she regards me, for a moment distracted from her concern. “And how many have you met?”
“Uhm...” What the fuck? I can’t think of any. I think of Mama, my hardcore mob boss mom who took over the business when dad died way too young, a bunch of kids hanging on her skirts. She’s not the snuggly type. She’s cold, cruel and calculating.
“I figured,” she says. Her tone has an edge to it. Not hostile, though… maybe slightly bitter.
I think again. No. No mothers. If they aren’t targets, or related to targets. I think of Erica Davenport. Her motherly instincts, or lack thereof, pissed me off badly. Was it because I thought of my own child, somewhere out in the world? Here, as it turned out to be.
“Like I said. You’re the most devoted mother I’ve ever met.” I flash her a grin, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t seem to work very well.
She sits up next to me, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, letting them dangle next to mine. “I can’t sleep. I’m too anxious.”
“
Aw, come on. She doesn’t benefit from having an exhausted mother tomorrow,” I say quietly.
“How much have you slept yourself?” she whispers.
Nothing. I don’t answer.
“She doesn’t benefit any more from having an exhausted father tomorrow either.”
The world comes to an end.
Stops.
Then the wheels slowly start turning again. Slowly. Then faster. Faster. And we’re back. She’s there. I’m here. Things are as they were, except for one little thing that has changed. One word. Just one word. I’m stunned. I think it takes her a moment longer to realize what she just said.
You just called me her dad, Ker.
She suddenly stands, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “I’m—I’m gonna go and make some tea. You want some?”
I take her hand and urge her to stay still. She’s always running. Always escaping from something, or someone. Always on the move. “Let me. You stay here and watch over her.”
She doesn’t pull back her hand. Hers is so small in mine. We both look down at where our skin touches, where it burns hot with memories, and then our eyes meet.
“I’ll…” she croaks out and tilts her head toward the bed.
I nod and let her go, feeling as if her hand is still in mine.
Weary-eyed, she makes herself more comfortable by the little bed, hanging her forearms over the edges of the crib, leaning close to our daughter.
Our.
Damn!
When the fuck did all of this happen to me?
How? How have I earned the presence of these two in my life?
My heart sinks heavily as I make my way to the kitchen.
I haven’t.
Kerry
I called him her father. It just came out of my mouth without a thought, feeling like the most natural thing in the world. The change in him at my words, how his face fell, then lit up like I’ve never seen before, threw me.
He has shoved the couch all the way along the wall again until it covers the door to our bedroom. No one is locked inside the room, though. This time the door is wide open and Christian and I sit next to each other, wrapped in blankets, each sipping a cup of strong tea, staring at our daughter’s restless form as she tosses and turns in her sleep. Sometimes she wakes with a hoarse cry that tears the heart right out of my body. We take turns calming her and I don’t feel any jealousy when he holds her, and she calms in his embrace. Not anymore.
The night is slowly turning into early morning as we listen to Cece’s snoring, to her sniveling and her uneven breaths and the cough that seems to thicken in a way I don’t like at all. I suddenly feel so fundamentally stupid. I made the biggest mistake in my life when we moved here. I’ve made us so vulnerable. Just look at us now. He found us anyway, so what was the point?
We have to go. We have to get to the hospital in Sprague.
As the pale green self-illuminated digits on the clock on my bedside table flip from 4:59 to 5:00 a.m., I realize it’s impossible to stay here not knowing how ill she’s going to get, and so far away from all help. I don’t care what it looks like out there after the storm, we’ll manage, we have to take ‘our asses back to civilization’ as he so eloquently put it. I hate to admit he might be right about something.
I glance at him, the man who almost killed me once, who stalked me across the country, even past its borders. He is silent and pale, his hair hangs in his face but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyelids are heavy, almost closed, but I know he is no more asleep than I am. I hope I can convince him to take us back to town. Where we’ll go from there I don’t know. Right now it all seems so petty. Petty problems. Cecilia is sick.
“Christian,” I whisper.
He stirs and turns toward me.
I look into his deep brown eyes, the light from the kitchen illuminates them from the side and makes them glow golden. He doesn’t scare me anymore. My heart makes a sudden leap at the unexpected recognition.
“Yeah?” he answers hoarsely.
“How did you get here?”
He frowns. “Why?”
“You must have a car? Where is it now?”
“Yeah, I had my car.”
“And where is it?”
“Some ways down the road. Why?”
“We need to get out of here. As soon as it gets bright enough outside, we need to get her to a doctor.”
He sits up straighter. “You figure? You think she’s that bad off?”
I suddenly feel so infinitely small. “I don’t know. How can I tell? Her temperature hasn’t lowered despite the Advil and… I don’t know. But I don’t want to wait and see and then find out it was the wrong decision.”
He regards me for a long time. “All right. I agree. I left my car, maybe half an hour’s walk, or a little more, down the road, not far off from the box.”
“Okay. That’s good. It’ll probably take us longer, carrying Cece, but that’s good. It’s not too far.”
He nods.
“Will you help us?” I ask, suddenly shy, blushing slightly. It’s dark. I doubt he sees it. I hope he doesn’t.
“Help? Hell! Of course, Ker. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her any more than you do. We’ll leave as soon as we can see where we’re going.”
I sag with relief. “Thank you,” I whisper.
When it’s been decided, all my nervous, worried energy leaves me in an instant and I can finally rest. Pulling my legs up under the blanket, I occupy one end of the couch and drift to sleep while Christian sits next to me and guards our baby. It should be so ironic, laughable even, that I can come to a rest in his presence, but there’s nothing to laugh at. He has really turned into her father tonight. I don’t know what to make of that, but my brain is too fried from all the concern and these last few days lack of sleep, so I don’t even try to think harder about it.
It is how it is.
Christian
I was so tired I thought I’d fall asleep at any moment, and now I can’t stop thinking about what she said. My brain finally works again after these oddly slow, and yet turbulent days, and all the little synapses sparkle to life in every nerve ending. As I watch her sag more and more until she lies like a little curled up cat at the far end of the couch and her slow, even breaths tell me sleep has finally claimed her, I start making plans.
We’ll have to wait until it gets bright. Then we’ll find some clothes, and eat. Hopefully we’ll get the little one to eat as well, but she should be the safest one on this journey, nonetheless.
The car isn’t too far away. I’ll go get it, drive up here and then we’ll be on our way. Sprague. I’m not sure how far that is. Kerry should know. How the fuck could she choose to settle in this Godforsaken place.
I know I can’t stay with them. Kerry has made it clear, time and time again, she won’t ever be with me. I’ll always make sure she and Cecilia are protected, and that they’ll never lack anything, whether she likes that or not, but I’ll drop them off outside a hospital and then I’ll leave. Before anyone sees me, before anyone starts asking questions.
It tears my heart to pieces, but at the same time the decision gives me some small amount of peace. It’s a relief to have made up my mind. I stand up and stretch my limbs, touching my tender shoulder. It feels less strained but I’m gonna have someone look at it.
And the knee. Fuck. The knee will be hell to walk on tomorrow.
Listening to Cecilia’s breathing, I finally pull the blanket tighter and curl up at the other end of the couch, opposite Kerry. I can’t remember when I was this tired. Ever.
I wake with a jerk. It’s still dark outside. There it is, the sound that woke me. More coughing, and a small pathetic whining, coming from the little body in the bed. I sway when I stand, then I carefully lift her frail feverish form and try to soothe her, rocking her slowly in my arms like I’ve seen Kerry do. Against my chest she feels no larger than a small bird in a hand.
How can such a little life, having lived little more than
a year, without anything significant to say, with no skills, and with the table manners of a dog, still mean so much?
I glance at Kerry. She looks completely out of it and I decide to leave her alone. If she doesn’t even wake up when her daughter cries three feet away, then she definitely needs her sleep. I feel such regret it almost chokes me. Tomorrow at this time I won’t be with this little kid anymore and I probably won’t be able to be this close to her ever again. Right now she trusts me, and I relish the moment.
I know all too well it won’t last.
Cecilia’s eyelids become heavier and heavier until she’s asleep again, her head leaning against my chest. I give her an extra little squeeze before I put her down, awed by her trust.
She doesn’t even stir.
Kerry lies with an arm slung over the side of the couch, her hand awkwardly bent as it rests against the chilly floorboards. There’s some space between her and the backrest, and I can’t resist the pull, my last chance at being near her. I’m a selfish bastard. I know.
Carefully nestling in behind her, I cover us with the duvet and tuck her arm in beneath it. Her skin is cold. I maneuver until her head rests on my shoulder, like she lay once, that one night when we slept together. Kerry stirs a little but doesn’t wake. My heart twinges. I’m stealing a little closeness she won’t give me. Like she said: I take, take, take. But what else is there for me to do?
Chapter 7
Kerry
In the first confused moments, I don’t know where I am. I don’t recognize the fabric I rest my cheek on, and my legs are tangled with someone else’s legs.
I shoot up off the couch when everything washes over me. Christian! I’m sleeping on his shoulder. How the hell did I end up here?
Then I twitch to action. Cecilia! I dart to her side and put a hand on her forehead. She’s hot. Her gaze is drowsy and her eyes glazed. “Wate,” she rasps and then the coughing starts again. She is ill for real. My throat clenches and a flutter of worry occupies my chest. We need to go.
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