by E J Frost
That plan’s shot to shit when Cappa curls up against me, wanting to talk. I hug him and listen as my eyelids get heavier and heavier. Instead of telling me the truth about last night, he tells me about how Logan has been taking care of him all day, including making him wear clothespins on his tongue for an hour after refusing to answer questions about his abuser.
Should I let him down gently? Of course, I should. But it’s after midnight, and that’s just not me, even when I’m not so tired I’m propping my eyelids open with toothpicks.
“Cap, you can yell at me in the morning for being an asshole, but you have to stop fixating on Master Logan. He’s never going to be your Dom, man. He and Emily are soul mates. He’d never fucking cheat on her and you wouldn’t want him if he did.”
“Master Logan’s topping Lucy outside the club,” Cappa says in a small voice.
He is? Fuck that noise. And why didn’t Emily tell me?
“All the more reason to move on, Cap. Logan’s topping Lucy but he’s not topping you. How much clearer could he make it?”
“Maybe he just doesn’t know? Maybe Lucy asked him to top her and all I have to do is ask?”
“He’s a Dom. He knows. He doesn’t feel the same way.”
“But, Bren—”
“No buts. I’m sorry if I’m being an asshole when you’re already hurting, Cap, but you have to let this go. Take it from me. Crushing on Ten and Rob got me nowhere but hurt and lonely. Loving someone who can’t love you back? It’s shit. Having Logan top you when he’s in love with someone else is going to fuck with you endlessly. Don’t go there.”
“But he’s already topping Lucy—”
“Maybe, but I guarantee he’s not fucking Lucy, and I know that’s what you really want. Be honest with me and tell me you don’t care that he won’t ever fuck you, that he’ll top you and then he’ll go to bed with Emily. Tell me that doesn’t fuck your head around sideways?”
He blows out a broken breath.
“I think I could deal with him just topping me,” Cappa says in a tiny voice.
“And I’m calling you a liar. You want him to be your Dom and he won’t ever be. He didn’t choose you when he was single and he’s not going to choose you now that he’s not. He chose Emily. He’s collared her. They’re getting married. There is no room for you in their relationship.”
“I know that. I wouldn’t ever try to come between them.”
I groan. “So, what are you getting out of it?”
“Master Logan makes me feel safe,” he whispers.
“And you’d never want more? You’d never want him to kiss you or fuck you or just fucking hold you? You wouldn’t resent every touch he gives Emily? Every look you wish was aimed your way—”
“Now you are being an asshole, Bren.”
“Yeah, you’re right, I am. But I’ve been there and I’m telling you, it doesn’t work. You think you can keep your heart out of it, but I see the way you look at him, the way you’ve always looked at him, and it will never just be topping for you.”
“What if I could?”
“What if the moon was made of cheese, man? Please, Cap, I’m too tired to be diplomatic about this. Do not ask Logan to top you. It will not go the way you want it to. And if you think about it when you’re not fucked in the head, you’ll know you deserve more than the scraps of attention he can give you.” I hug him tight, careful of his injuries. “We both do. Pinkie pact that neither of us will settle anymore, huh?”
He holds up his pinkie and I hook it with mine.
“You’re giving up on Ten?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I say firmly. “I should have done it a long time ago. I should have refused scenes with him. I won’t do any more. Pinkie pact.”
“And Rob?”
I haven’t done a scene with Rob in months. Since I asked him to Philharmonic in the Park—his thing, not mine—and he told me very gently that it would be a bad idea for us to do anything together outside the club. Of course, that didn’t stop him from asking me to volunteer at his shelter during their August fundraiser. But I guess that’s different in his mind. Anyway, I got his message loud and clear.
“And Rob. No more Doms who are ashamed to be seen with me outside of Blunts.”
“Bren, fuck, I don’t think that’s what it was about.”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? Pinkie pact. C’mon.”
He shakes my pinkie. “Pinkie pact. It wasn’t someone from the club. I wasn’t lying about that. But he’s Master Drew’s friend. That’s how we met.”
“You add him to the damn blacklist, and we tell Master Logan and Master Javier about this, Cap. Fuck.”
“They’ll say it’s nothing to do with Blunts.”
“Neither of us know what they’ll say until they say it, but I guarantee you Logan will not let this go. If Drew is introducing house subs to abusers, that’s a club matter.”
Cappa releases my pinkie and cuddles his face into my shoulder. “Thanks, Bren. I know you’re right. It’s just . . . it still hurts that he left.”
“I know.” We all felt more than a little abandoned when Logan turned his role as Master of Training over to Ryan and pulled away from the club for the better part of six months. I understand now why he did it, and it was probably the right decision because he was not in a good place to be topping anyone, but it still hurt. “He’s back and he’s not going anywhere. He promised and you know he doesn’t break promises. So, we’ll deal with this and then we’ll find good Doms for both of us, huh?”
“Yeah, okay. What about Master Theo? Emily said you guys slept together over the weekend.”
That little girl and I are going to have to have a talk. She didn’t tell me about Lucy but she tells Cappa about Theo?
“We slept in the same place,” I say. “Not really together. And that’s never going anywhere, either.”
Because I can’t trust Theo. Not completely. He and I will always be on opposite sides of an invisible line.
And because Theo’s never once, in any of the scenes we’ve done, made me feel like Mac did in our very first scene.
“Go to sleep, man. You need to get better so we can start the Great Dom Hunt.”
Cappa snorts softly but he doesn’t answer and a few minutes later, he lets out a cute little snore.
Leaving me staring at the shadowed ceiling again, looking for answers it doesn’t have.
Chapter 6
I watch Naomi sleep.
I’ve watched her angelic face in her sleep for nearly twenty-two years. In her cradle. In her first “big girl” bed. In her dorm rooms, first at private school and then at college. In four different hospital beds.
The first hospital bed was when she was four and a doctor thought she had heart arrhythmia, which turned out to be nothing but a fear of her second MMR vaccine, but they kept her overnight until a pediatric specialist could see her in the morning. I remember lying on a cot the nurse made up next to Naomi’s bed and watching her little face in the dim ward lights. Thinking that my heart was lying outside my chest, curled between white-on-white sheets, and so very vulnerable.
Not much has changed. Her baby fat’s melted away and left her cheeks gaunt, her eyes sunken, her jaw and nose too sharp. But the sooty lashes lying on her cheeks are the same. The shape of her bow mouth. The sweep of pin-straight, jet-black hair she gets from her mother across her forehead. She still looks like my little girl. My heart’s still lying outside my chest, in a white-on-white bed, and so very vulnerable.
All of the other hospital beds she’s been in have been the result of overdoses. This time the doctors say its speed. Her heart’s arrhythmic again, only the machine pinging away in the pre-dawn silence keeping it beating regularly, from the damage the drugs have done.
I’ve never even tried pot, but my daughter’s heart, my heart beating outside my chest, is damaged because of the drugs she’s taken to stay awake, to keep up with her classes, to keep her body model skinny.
The room ligh
ts up and I glance down at the phone in my lap. Another text from Amy. She’s been calling or texting me every hour since I called to tell her Naomi was missing, a little over forty hours ago. I’ve had maybe ten hours of sleep during those two days, but as far as I can tell, Amy hasn’t had any. Which means she’s probably on the same drugs that have damaged her daughter’s heart.
I text her back.
No change. She’s resting. Please get some sleep.
She sends me another link. Another residential rehab clinic she wants me to look at, because the one I’ve already found and booked Naomi into isn’t good enough.
I tip my head back and rest it against the back of the chair. Closing my eyes, I let my mind drift back forty-eight hours. Brenna was curled around my back. She probably thought I was asleep, but I lay awake a lot of that night, enjoying the sensations of her body against mine. It’s been a long, long time since I slept with a woman. Now that the divorce is behind me and I don’t feel like I’m cheating on Amy anymore, I’m eager to have a woman in my bed again.
Not any woman. A smart-mouthed woman with blue hair and shadows in her eyes.
I lift my head and thumb on my phone. It’s much too late to call her, but I can send her a text she’ll see in the morning. I was so preoccupied finding Naomi and getting her treatment that I barely acknowledged Brenna’s kind words. And although she encouraged me to go, I still feel like an ass for abandoning her the morning after our first scene.
I type and retype the message a couple of times before I send it. I want to check in with her and make sure she’s not sore about the way I left, but more, I really want to see her again now that I’ve got Naomi squared away. The boys in the platoon would rip me for being too eager, but I’ve never been one for playing games, and Brenna feels much too important for that.
My daughter’s taken care of. I should be back in the City tonight. Any chance of that rain check?
Horrifyingly, the three gray dots start bouncing. I check the time in case I fell asleep and it’s closer to morning than I thought. No, still two-thirty. What the hell is she doing awake?
Sorry, Master Mac, working tonight. Maybe another time.
I run my free hand through my hair. Maybe another time? I don’t like the sound of that.
Working at your shop or working at the club? And why are you awake?
The club. Long night. Long story. I’m really glad your daughter is okay. Good night.
Fuck, I haven’t felt so dismissed since my C.O. signed my discharge.
Good night, bold girl. Sleep well.
I leave it at that. I want to say more, but I fucking hate texting. Well, except with Amy. Texting is by far the best way to communicate with my ex. But with Bren, I need to be face-to-face, to look into those big, brown eyes and see where the shadows lie. Because I have a feeling they’re back.
But I don't need to push her. There’s a better way. She told me when we met that she does scenes with club guests. All I have to do is ask Logan to take me to their club tonight. He’ll probably jump at the chance. He didn’t like the way I had to leave any more than I did.
More settled now that I have a plan, I take one last look at my sleeping daughter before I tip my head back in the chair again and close my eyes.
*****
Naomi inherited more than Amy’s hair and addictions. She also inherited the manipulative brand of submission that her mother used to twist me around her finger for decades, and it is out in force this morning.
“Dad, of course I’ll go if that’s what you want. I know I fucked up.” She steals a glance under her lashes at the man in the white coat standing beside her bed who is taking her blood pressure and making notations on an intake chart. “But a residential facility? I mean, I’ll lose so much time at school.”
“We’re accustomed to liaising with your college,” the man murmurs, never taking his eyes off what he’s doing. “We’ll make sure you keep up with your class work. You’ll have plenty of time each day to study between sessions.”
Naomi’s pink, bow lips twist before she smooths them into a smile. “It’s all the way in Poughkeepsie, Dad. It’ll be so inconvenient for you to visit. Mom’s recommended several that are closer.”
“Patients aren’t allowed visitors for the first seven days anyway,” the doctor says smoothly.
I let him field Naomi’s passive-aggressive objections while I shave in the room’s tiny sink. Her college health services were able to provide her a private room, but the shared full bathroom is down the hall. I’m not complaining. They were able to start treating her within fifteen minutes of me finding her unconscious in one of the frat houses, rather than the long wait we might have faced at an emergency room. And her college medical insurance covers her month of rehab at this affiliated facility as well as her overnight stay here. I haven’t told Naomi, or Amy, about this motivation for my choice of program, because neither of them care about spending my money, but I’m also not going to let Naomi talk her way out of going there. Fortunately, the staff doctor who drove down this morning to admit her to the program and take her back to the facility is on the same page I am.
“Miss McNally, I’ve been doing this job for fourteen years. I’ve heard every excuse there is. I’m going to give this chart to the duty nurse and then we’re ready to go, so I suggest you take this time to say goodbye to your father,” he says, kindly but firmly as he gathers up his tools and papers. He’s already brought a wheelchair into the room for her and Naomi’s college roommate’s packed the bag that’s sitting on it.
I’m still wearing the same clothes I was in when I left Logan’s two days ago, but I feel fresher after a wash and a shave. I can have a real shower and change at my apartment on my way back into the City.
Naomi waits until the doctor’s out of the room before she turns her midnight blue eyes on me. Amy’s always said Naomi looks more like me than her. I don’t see it, personally. Admittedly, all Naomi gets from Amy is her hair and the shape of her face. Everything else definitely came from her father’s side. But I’m not her father, not biologically. The blue eyes that turn to me are not my family’s shade, but they do look an awful lot like the blue of my old base commander.
He got the same look, too, right before he laid the guilt on thick.
“Dad, is there something going on that you want to send me this far away?”
I sink back into the chair I spent the night in. “Yeah, Nomes. The thing that’s going on is that you’re out of control and if you don’t accept help this time, you’re going to kill yourself. Is that what you want? Do you want to die?”
“No, of course not.” But her eyes flicker, and if I was topping her instead of being her father, I’d say she’s lying.
“Then accept what this place has to offer you. I don’t really care where it is, or how prestigious a name it has. I care that they have seventy percent success rate after five years. That’s as good as anywhere I’ve looked at. Better than most. I want you to be alive and healthy and with me in five years. This place gives you a four in five chance. That’s what’s going on.”
She glances away, then back, looking up at me through her lashes. “Dad, this was a wake-up call. I promise, nothing like this will happen again.”
“Nomes, listen to yourself. You’ve told me that before and here you are. I love you, kid, I really do. But I don’t believe you anymore. You’re twenty-one. I can’t force you to go with Doctor Wagner. But I’m telling you, I can and will get you committed as a danger to yourself if you don’t get some treatment. So what’s it going to be?”
She blinks and a fat tear rolls down her cheek. “Daddy—”
“This is tough love, kiddo. Sorry, it’s all I’ve got left.”
She wipes her cheek and sniffs. “I’ll go.”
I lean over her and kiss her forehead. “Thanks. I don’t want to fight. I just want you to get better.”
“What if I can’t?” she whispers. “What if this is who I am?”
I tak
e her hand, feeling the bird bones between my fingers. There’s nothing to her. “I don’t believe this is who you are, Naomi. I look at you and I see the girl who won the Prescott High science fair as a freshman. Who got herself a full scholarship at a school so fancy I’m surprised they even let me walk onto the campus? That’s who you are.”
She draws into herself and I realize that was the wrong thing to say.
“I can’t keep up without the speed, Dad. Prescott High was nothing. The kids at Queens are all so much smarter than me. I have to study a thousand times harder than I did in high school and I’m still behind. I’m not going to graduate this year as it is.”
“Naomi, you’re not going to graduate at all if you keep doing the drugs. You’re going to die. I don’t know how much plainer to say it.”
“It’s only three more semesters. Mom says I just have to cut back—”
I squeeze my eyes closed. “Please stop talking, honey, before I punch something.”
“Sorry, Daddy,” she whispers.
When I can open my eyes without seeing red, I take her hand again. “You’re going to use the next twenty-eight days to figure out who you are. And if at the end, you want to go back to Queens and finish your degree, then I will do everything in my power to support you. If you decide you want to do something else with your life, I will do everything in my power to help you achieve it. The only choice you can’t make anymore is the drugs. That door’s closed to you. Do you understand me?”
She nods.
“I’m not fucking around with you. I’ll have you committed for the rest of your life rather than sit in another room like this all night, listening to the machine that’s keeping your heart beating. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Dad. I’m so sorry.”
“I am, too.” I squeeze her frail hand gently. “I’m here for you and I will always be here for you. I’ll call you every day and I’ll see you as soon as you’re allowed visitors.”