Storm

by K. R. Alexander

  “Naw…” I said at last, shaking my head.

  He gave a flick of his eyes, down, up, slight tip of his head. It was like shrugging by expression.

  “Well…” I bit my lip. “Okay, maybe. People are most comfortable in their own space, which can include their own white lies and assumptions.”

  “Has anyone ever broken up with you?”

  “Wow, that’s a super personal thing to ask someone whose last name you don’t know.”

  He cocked his head, still a twist of a smile that I could have licked off his face—which was a bit much after last night with Trent and Jackson had just been a whirlwind.

  “Humor me?” he said. “Because I bet they have. One or two guys. And I bet he said something like, ‘I need some space,’ or, ‘I wasn’t really ready for a serious relationship.’”

  I glanced away again. “What about it?”

  “It never crossed your mind that you scared him off?”

  “Well, shit, it has now…”

  “Most people don’t like being told what you really think of them. Only the good parts.”

  “I know that. I curb what I want to say all the time. I’m totally not into rude just for the sake of venting my own observations. People need to look after one another’s feelings as much as the rest of our social and mental health whenever we can. I get it. And I didn’t mean to be rude now. I just had to say something this time.”

  “Honest as well as socially capable. So you choose when to strike. Even better.”

  “Better than what?”

  “What were you going to ask me?”

  “Are you kidding? Think I can remember that now? I walk down a hall and can’t remember which room I’m looking for.”

  “A bad sign at your age.”

  “Thanks.” I resisted rolling my eyes.

  “If you remember, feel free to ask. And, if I’m a jerk, feel free to call me on it.”

  “Wasn’t this one time enough? I mean, you’re not going to do it again, are you?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Really?” I put my hands on my hips, hot and tingly and wanting him to step closer—and was this flirting? Because I totally hadn’t thought so at first and now… “Can’t you do any curbing of yourself?”

  “I wasn’t aware that I was doing anything objectionable until you pointed it out. I’m sure I’ll slip up again. When I do, I’ll be glad to know you’re around.”

  “Why? I didn’t think most men like intimidating, honest women who willingly show off those skills. Is that—?” I bit my tongue.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  “You already forgot?”

  I laughed and turned away, sure now my cheeks were red. I’d been about to ask was that a turn-on for him. I’m so much better now than a few years back, seriously thinking before I speak, but yeah … not every moment.

  “Wait.” I whirled back to face him. “I remember.”

  He linked his hands and stood squarely, as if standing attentively in church. Or for the judge. All polite focus.

  I paused with my mouth open, then shook my head. “Please don’t do that.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Make a show of mending your ways and listening. If you’re going to be sarcastic, just say something and get it over with.”

  “I’m not being sarcastic.”

  “Could’ve fooled me. Okay, so … it’s just that it’s really late. This was the hardest part of the whole trip, getting through the Pass. Jackson says there’s not another place to stop with shelter for miles and miles. We can’t have more than a few hours of light left. We’re all worried about the volcano; we get it. But we’re not machines. Jackson is really hurting. He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell. And Trent and I are worn out. One last night with beds. We’ll be up at dawn. Then we’ll hoof it, down to Cle Elum, or wherever.”

  He waited a moment, making sure not to interrupt. “If we’re caught in an ash cloud, we might not be able to keep going at all. Not if we can’t breathe. Forget daylight, we should be walking all through the night with the flashlights. While we still have a chance.”

  “Of course we should,” I said with feeling. “We know that also. But we can’t, Ramak. We can’t do it. We couldn’t go without breaks even if we were superheroes, which we’re not. We got this far in a day. We have food and water and each other. Can’t we count our blessings and take one more good rest? Push extra far tomorrow, going downhill? Maybe better weather?” I took a step and offered my hand.

  He looked at it, then dropped his eyes and looked toward ski slopes, beyond which, many miles away through the pines and mountains, a slumbering beast might be waking.

  “Come on.” I took another step. “Have some hot chocolate with us. You haven’t had nearly enough to drink today. You got us this far. You’re a good leader.” I paused and he looked around to meet my eyes. “But,” I went on softly. “You’re not alone.”

  Ramak watched me, let out a slow breath, impeccable uprightness in his shoulders sagging a bit, and finally took my hand.

  Chapter 3

  We had fun that night. Maybe that sounds improbable. I guess we knew how much we needed it, like distracting one another and hopeful talk all along. It felt forced initially.

  Jackson also wanted to keep going. With another argument, he gave in and we talked about stupid stuff like the antler chandelier in the lobby and did this count as smoking in the hotel because the flue didn’t seem to be working properly. But we sipped hot chocolate snow, which was so good we had more, and went back to the favorite topic of food: Thanksgiving side dishes, grandma’s cookies, soon all laughing at Jackson’s insanely detailed recollections of a banana-split funnel cake he’d had at the Puyallup Fair a decade ago. Even Ramak laughed a little and joined in, humoring my asking about traditional Persian dishes and what one might find for street food in Shiraz, Iran.

  Trent was the quiet one again, framing us up, watching me, sitting on the floor to repack what had dried from our bags. Which scene in his movie was this? Leading to a triumphant end, wasn’t it? We just had to get down from the Pass, find where all these people had gone after they couldn’t drive anymore. Help, safety, and us helping in return must be around the corner. Just one phone call. What wouldn’t I give for one phone call to tell my mom I was alive?

  Or was Trent’s story still warming up? Was this just the rough backstory for his rom-com? Time to get together, have some terrible misunderstanding, fall apart, then get together in the end so all good? What did he really think about the threesome last night? He’d seemed cool with it, but shocked also. Maybe part of his pretending to be the director of photography in this story without a camera was his coping mechanism. Like Jackson and I used denial, talking about other things, and Ramak used his own focus and drive forward, getting shit done. Pretending I was in a movie could totally work to keep me sane with the world imploding.

  With sunset, we let the fire die down, leaving our boots, coats, and packed bags there to finish drying as much as possible, though the place was getting viciously cold. We staked out the nearest rooms with broken or ajar doors, but found them tumbled so hunted up some with made beds.

  We had liberated a couple of sleeping bags in North Bend, plus a small popup tent that didn’t feel any stronger than what you’d put in the backyard for kids. The slick bags were luckily in waterproof sleeves. Ramak fluffed one out to add to the bed blankets and keep from freezing with all the windows broken and splits all through the plaster as well. The rest of us piled in together when we found a somewhat clean room.

  Forget Trent, what did Ramak think of us? All at once, I had a blistering desire to tell him we were in an open relationship. Tell him not to feel, well, intimidated by the crowd. Just FYI and all that. Totally out of the blue and unasked. This dawning on me as Trent and I were sweeping plaster dust off a bed. So what? Run down the hall to tell Ramak this news? Smooth. Even if Ramak was all over me, which he wasn�
�t, we didn’t have space.

  Without water the only toilet might be the snow, but comforts like soap and fire made up for it. We propped a flashlight on the bathroom counter and I again helped Jackson with his cuts and antibiotic cream. My own shoulder was improved, but I’d wrestled to keep the backpack strap just so all afternoon, now sore everywhere, back and feet aching from the day’s climb. It seemed to me like we’d gone a huge distance, but Jackson was upset about limited progress. While Ramak was fixated on getting us away to safety, I don’t think Jackson was so much troubled by Rainier as disgusted with himself that he couldn’t make better time.

  I was beginning to wonder if we were even right about the volcano. How many days had it been since the Megaquake and the last big aftershocks? If this stirred it up, shouldn’t the stack have blown by now? Maybe a false alarm? Or maybe we got our facts wrong and there was no danger from that source at all?

  So frustrating to be kept in the dark. We needed news as much as phone calls.

  I left Jackson to finish and pull a T-shirt on to protect the wounds, returning to Trent, who had the bed turned down, another bed’s worth of extra blankets brought in. We were all shivering.

  “Thanks.” I caught his wrists from behind as he finished with the bed and started to turn, stood on my toes, kissed the back of his neck.

  Trent laughed and flinched. “That tickles.” Twisting to face me.

  “Does it?”

  “And don’t use that against me.”

  “Never.”

  He kissed my lips, but our teeth were chattering and it only made us laugh more. We scrambled into bed, sliding across, saying the stupid things people say when they’re cold and giddy and going to bed with a new love and grateful for the moment.

  “I’m so tired.”

  “I’m more tired.”

  “No, I’m more tired.”

  “You cleaned us out of truffles.”

  “You’re the one who put extra in the pot.”

  “No, you are.”

  And other nonsense that, no matter how amusing it is to the participants, will never charm on the big screen.

  We pulled covers all the way over our heads, shaking the whole bed, teeth rattling, arms around each other and legs twined together, but still might as well be out in that snow. I had on only a long-sleeve shirt, socks, and underwear, Trent also in a T-shirt and boxers. We just didn’t have long underwear or pajamas to help with a cold bed.

  We assured one another things wouldn’t be so bad tomorrow night, even if we had nothing but our silly little tent and sleeping bags and coats, because we would be well below the snow line and it must be around May 1st by now.

  Then Jackson hopped into bed at my back. I shrieked when his feet touched me, jumped like a cat sprayed with water, nearly crawling on Trent to get away.

  “What are you doing to her?” Jackson asked. Sternly.

  “Him?” I nearly shouted. “It’s your ice block feet! Why don’t you have socks on?”

  “Sleep in socks?” Jackson scoffed at that. “Maybe a hat and gloves?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Maybe.”

  “I could go for a scarf,” Trent said. “And a hot pan of lasagna straight out of the oven. Bet I could get both hands and both feet in there with the pans my mom uses.”

  “Does your mom make homemade lasagna?” I asked. “You kept that quiet.”

  “I thought your dad’s the Italian one?” Jackson crawled down below with us after switching off the bedside flashlight.

  “He is. Italians and their descendants haven’t cornered the market on making lasagna.”

  “Thank God,” I said. “What if we could only make or eat food that was like … a genetic match? No more tacos. No more drunken noodles.”

  “Just shoot me,” Jackson said.

  I jumped again. “Your hands are equally cold! Stop it! What about pizza?”

  “No way,” Jackson said. “Pizza the way it’s made and eaten in this country isn’t even really Italian anymore. It’s like Italian pizza’s cousin.”

  “True,” Trent said against my neck, warming his nose. “True in many cases anyway.”

  “What the fuck? You really do have socks on in bed?”

  “Jackson, we’re basically outside. In the snow. Of course I have socks on. If I had sweatpants instead of dirty, damp jeans, I’d have those on right now. And a big sweater. You might want frostbitten toes but the rest of us enjoy our digits.”

  “Frostbite—” Jackson burst out laughing. “It wasn’t even below forty until the sun set.”

  “It was totally below forty. And now it’s freezing.”

  “You need to hit the slopes more. It’s beyond not cold right now.”

  “Beyond not cold? That was a weird sentence… Doesn’t that just mean it’s warm? Hey! Jackson, stop it. No—Jackson—ow! Sorry, Trent. He’s trying to get my socks off.” With Jackson showing shocking dexterity by hooking his toes into the top of my sock to tug down my ankle, I scrambled across Trent, putting him in the middle of the bed while Jackson snickered.

  “Whoa, dude, this was not my idea.” Trent twisted around to avoid spooning with Jackson. “No offense. Just not my type.”

  “Not so much that you didn’t like watching last night.” Jackson was surely leering at him in our black tangle of covers—as if scrambling about underwater.

  “Yeah, well, you had a costar. Think I’d have stuck around to watch you in a solo performance?”

  I laughed so much I didn’t protest as Trent climbed back over me. He didn’t make it all the way, lips finding mine, teeth no longer chattering, supporting some of his weight on one arm and leg, the rest on me. Wonderful … crushed down in a gradually warming spot by more warmth, wrapped tight and snug as a bearhug. I returned each kiss, muscles finally starting to relax.

  Chapter 4

  I wrapped both hands around Trent’s neck, rubbed his shoulders, holding a long kiss. “You okay? I’m so sore after today.”

  “Sure. I’ve been meaning to get in shape after a hundred too many screen binges.”

  “No time like the mountain.”

  Trent’s tongue stroked my lips, hot and tasting of chocolate and wintergreen. We had a toothpaste tube and floss, just no brush. Slipping between my lips, gentle but insistent, warm skin tingle, wanting even more pressure—not unlike how I’d felt a couple hours ago, talking to Ramak out front. Again, thinking of him when I shouldn’t. I pulled Trent in tight, despite the weight already on me.

  Jackson was talking at us, rubbing his hands together to warm up. Something about tomorrow. No idea what.

  Trent rocked his hips against me, his dick stiffening between us. He kissed across my face, down my jaw, licked my neck. I shut my eyes in the dark, wanting to better meet him, do something in return, yet also loving being pinned there, loving this new warmth and the way Trent made me feel connected, wanted, held, safe…

  “Are you two even paying attention?” Jackson noticed he’d lost his audience.

  Trent’s mouth on mine again, motions suddenly in fast-forward. He scrambled to grab at his own boxer shorts. I held his face, raising my hips to meet him. Was this already our theme? The suddenness of these encounters?

  Trent tucked the waistband of his shorts behind his balls, freeing his erection to rub across my skin, making me shiver and part my legs, wanting to reach down to him, but we were too crushed together. He yanked my waistband, gave up for the same reason of pressure, and felt between my legs instead. He pulled aside the bit of cotton in the bikini briefs, feeling almost into me with a finger while I arched my back and Jackson badgered us.

  “Come on, man, I thought we were just warming up. You’re keeping her all for yourself now?” Edging over, trying to kiss me.

  Trent remained silent, focused. Without me raising my knees, unable to move, he guided the rigid head of his dick past the strip of fabric that dared block his way. I let out a soft cry, mostly gasp, startled and ecstatic over this sudden shift in temperature
when Trent pierced me.

  “What gives?” Jackson pulled down covers, revealing three heads to snowy air. “Shutting a guy out now?”

  “No, you too,” I whispered, turning my head for a kiss as he nuzzled my cheek.

  Trent groaned and shoved, biting at my neck, panting words to Jackson. “I’m fucking her, dude. I’m already inside her.”

  “What the fuck? Weren’t we just on cold feet?”

  “She’s so good, oh, fuck, so hot and so good.” Trent thrust and pushed up, giving himself a few inches of leverage, still flattening me.

  “Take turns.” Jackson edged against him, like he could knit himself between us. “Go on… I need her too.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Don’t you know how to go back and forth? Let me have her, just for a minute … come on, Trent.”

  “Should’ve been here first if you wanted her. Oh … fuck … so good… Oh…”

  “Just give me a minute. Thirty seconds? You can time me. Thirty seconds, man, back and forth. It’s cool.”

  “It’s already cool.”

  “Fuck you, man. Don’t be so greedy. Brook, hey…” Kissing my lips. “Brook, I need you.”

  “Oh?” I grinned. “You’re going to take this up with me now? Didn’t know I was still considered a living person around here.”

  “No, sorry—”

  “No way, Brook.” Trent shoved Jackson away to kiss me. “I didn’t mean that at all.”

  I laughed at them. They weren’t bothering me. Maybe they should have been. But I was way too in love with this hot, strong, sexy cocoon and the way they scrambled for me to be put out by any objectification in context.

  “Let us show you how good it is going back and forth.” Jackson changed to trying to convince me instead of Trent.

  “Not my problem, Jackson.” I rolled back my head, eyes shut, gasping a sharp breath as my own pleasure built against Trent. “It’s up to him to share his sex toys.”