by S. C. Daiko
I didn’t tell her about Daniel’s rudeness, didn’t let on I’d had anything to do with him. What would be the point? I’m not going to slip up on that front again. He’s a freaking monster. If he so much as shows his face around here I won’t relent; I’ll tell him to damn well sod off.
I take a sip from my glass. My eyes grow heavy, and I swallow more wine. I remember when Josh and I first got together after a school hiking expedition. I’d sprained my ankle and he literally carried me down the mountain. It made me change my perception of him; he became everything to me. We applied to go to the same university, so we could be together; we were married soon after graduation. Becca came along almost immediately, and we planned on having at least two more kids.
Except, fate shattered all our dreams. Terminal Leukaemia, they said, when they finally figured out what was wrong with him. A genetic mutation in the cancer cells made the disease so aggressive it was too late for a stem cell or bone marrow transplant. I lost him within weeks. I knuckle the tears from my eyes, remembering that night like it was yesterday. I watched him take his last breath lying on the bed we’d moved downstairs. It nearly killed me. I’d held his hand, committing his beautiful but gaunt face to memory. I sip more wine now, the salt from my tears mingling with the taste. I miss him so much. Will he come to me tonight in my dreams? It’s like he does that to help me get over his loss.
I knock back the last of the wine in my glass, put it in the dishwasher, and, with heavy steps, go upstairs to bed.
Josh holding me in my dream feels so real. He runs his warm tongue up my breasts, swathing it around my nipples before lapping at them hungrily. I thread my fingers through his hair and writhe my body. “Yes, oh yes, like that.”
I squirm down the bed and take him in my mouth, sucking hard and fast. He’s so deep in my throat that I gag. I swallow his cum and kiss the skin on his abs, loving the taste and smell of him. He’s hard for me again, and I straddle him. I ease myself onto him, slowly; I’m so wet that I take him into me easily. We rock together, our eyes locked, until we come in a mutual explosion of such pleasure it jolts me wide awake.
My pussy is still quivering, and I touch myself between my legs. I don’t always dream about Josh fucking me, though. Mostly we’re just hanging out. He comes to me from beyond this world, I think. Once, he told me he wanted me to find love again. That he wouldn’t mind if I did. But I’d told him I wasn’t ready.
I close my eyes, willing sleep to take me to him again. The night is hot, and my bedroom window is open. A sudden shrill scream echoes in the air, followed by the sound of a child crying.
Oh, my God, Becca.
I jump out of bed and race to her room, but she’s fast asleep, curled on her side with her Paddington teddy in her arms. Toby looks up at me and wags his tail.
I return to my room and listen. It’s Ben. Sobbing as if his heart will break. Jesus, what has that brute done to him? I grab my dressing gown and go downstairs. Not even giving myself a second to question my actions, I sprint out of the cottage and down the garden path. There’s a full moon and I can see clearly. The laurel leaves part as I push my way through the hedge. I suck in a quick breath, then run up to Daniel’s front door.
Chapter Six
Daniel
Ben sobs against my chest as I hold him close. Another of his godawful nightmares… I thought he was getting over them. “Hush, son. Daddy’s here.” I kiss his damp forehead. “Close your eyes, go back to sleep. You’re safe...”
Loud banging reverberates from the front door. Fuck, who can that be at this time of the night. Still holding Ben, I go downstairs and peer through the peephole. Jesus, what the hell is that Welsh woman doing out there?
I open, sliding my gaze over her small frame. Her dressing gown has fallen open to reveal a tee-shirt barely covering the tops of her shapely thighs. I drink in the sight of them, then look away. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard Ben screaming. I was worried.”
I want to grab her by the shoulders and march her back down the garden path. Instead, I glare at her, my emotions in danger of spinning out of control.
Desire.
Guilt.
Anger.
Confusion.
Ben lifts his head from where it’s nestled into my neck. Tears stream down his little face, but he smiles through them at Cat.
I stand back, and she steps into my front room. She shuts the door behind her. “What’s wrong, poppet?” She extends her hands to him.
“He’s had a nightmare.” I plant my feet apart.
Ben wriggles in my arms, and I set him down on the floor. He looks up at the Welsh woman, his lower lip trembling.
“It was only a dream, Ben. Not real. Your daddy’s here, and he’ll take care of you. You mustn’t worry.”
Ben just nods.
She tightens the cord of her dressing gown. “Well, I suppose I should go home now.”
“Yes, you should.” My tone is gruff. Just the sight of her is making me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling.
Except, Ben tugs at her robe and stares up at her. “Please help Daddy tuck me into bed.”
How can I refuse that pleading look from my son?
“Would you mind?” I ask her. “Is Becca alright on her own?”
“Toby’s keeping watch. Becca sleeps soundly. She won’t wake up, and there’s no danger of intruders here. I mean, it’s not like we’re in a town…”
Exactly. We’re in the middle of nowhere, which is the reason why Ben and I are here in this place. I can’t tell the Welsh woman that, of course. I simply spin on my heel and lead my boy upstairs; I sense her following behind.
Ben clambers into his bed. I pull the duvet up, bend and kiss his soft cheek.
Catrin sits in the chair next to him. “I want you to think about something nice, so you’ll dream about that.”
Ben’s eyelids grow heavy and he yawns. “I’ll think about Becca,” he lisps through the gap in his front teeth. “She’s funny. And Toby. He’s funny too.”
The ghost of a smile brushes Cat’s lips, but she doesn’t say anything… she just strokes my son’s hand until his breathing slows and sleep takes him.
We tiptoe from the bedroom and go downstairs. I open the door to see her out. Fuck, she’s staring at my bare chest and tats. I’m only wearing my sleep shorts; I didn’t think to cover up. Her cheeks flame again as she catches me looking at her. She clears her throat. “It’s like there’s a forest growing up your arms.” Her eyes are wide.
Green eyes.
Beautiful.
I heave out a breath. I had myself inked shortly before moving here; it’s not something Alexei would have done. When I became Daniel, I threw off everything I could of my old persona, grew a beard, became the artist I’d always wanted to be. I needed to obliterate the past… only, the past has a way of creeping up on you, especially when there’s a child involved. It’s a no-win situation given that I don’t want to frighten Ben unduly, don’t want to spoil his memories of being Leo and having a mama. He just doesn’t realise how dangerous any indiscretion could be. Gleb’s associates have been searching for us, I know, and they haven’t fucking given up.
I touch Cat’s arm. “Thanks for helping with Ben.”
She shakes her head. “What happened to his mother?” she asks out of the blue.
“She died.”
Her hand flies to her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t ask any more questions, Welsh woman.”
A flash of anger lights her green eyes. “My name is Catrin, not Welsh woman. There’s no need to be so rude.”
I scrub my hand over my face. “I’m sorry. It’s my default setting these days.”
“You can say that again.” She huffs and brushes past to exit through the door, the softness of her body rubbing against mine.
Fuck! My damn cock has responded.
I stand in the doorway and watch her cross the moonlit garden, push through the hedge and stride with
determined steps up to her front door. She turns to stare at me momentarily before going inside, and I release a long, slow breath.
I lie in my bed after checking that Ben is alright. The time on my phone shows four AM, the still silent time of the night before the birds start their dawn chorus and the countryside wakes. I roll over onto the empty space where Victoria should be sleeping next to me. There’s a thickness in my throat, and I swallow it back down.
I’m lonely, and it’s the loneliness that gets to me more than anything else. The days and nights with only my demons for company. The hours spent rehashing what went wrong, what I could have done to change the course of events. And now that woman, Catrin, seems to be trying to push her way into my life like she pushed her way through the hedge. I need to keep my defences strong, not let her in just because I need company. My needs are not important; I wouldn’t like Catrin and Becca to be in any danger. Far better to keep to myself and focus on protecting Ben.
Sometimes I wish Diana had agreed to move here with us. I gave her the chance, not wanting to break my promise that she could see her grandson whenever she wanted. She would have been good for him, but when it came down to it she said she didn’t want to give up her life in London. Not even when it meant never seeing him ever again, although we keep in touch via my protection officer. I suspect she was scared. She begged and pleaded with me to leave him with her, but I couldn’t take the risk. My heart hammers against my ribs as I toss and turn in my bed. Gleb’s associates wouldn’t think twice about using him against me. They wouldn’t think twice about despatching him like they did our parents.
You can never be sure of anything in this life, but this is the safest place for us. Gabe wouldn’t have agreed to us living here if he thought otherwise. I wonder how much my ‘handler’ has told him, however. I mean, would he want someone like me here if he knew the full story? I have my doubts…
There’s an ache in my balls that feels like a betrayal. After Victoria died, I swore to myself I’d never touch another woman again. It would be my penance for what I did to cause her death. But I can’t stop myself from thinking about Cat and her soft shapely thighs.
No. Don’t even go there. The woman is bereaved like you are. And she fucking hates the sight of you, doesn’t she? Hmm… maybe not. The way she was ogling my tats just now… Fuck, why am I even thinking about her like this? It’s wrong. Wrong for her. Wrong for me. And especially wrong for my son.
I’m unable to fall back to sleep, so I get out of bed and head for the bathroom. This old cottage was a mess when Gabe rented it to me, and he was more than happy for me to renovate it like I wanted. A power shower was the first thing I had installed along with up-to-date plumbing. I stand under the warm jets of water, my cock in my hand. Groaning, I squeeze my dick and work its length. Argh!
I press my forehead to the white tiled wall and think about Victoria. It’s over three years since I was with her, and I haven’t been with anyone since. I imagine fucking her, bending her over and taking her hot pussy from behind while spanking her ass cheeks hard. She used to love that, loved me squeezing her throat too… not that I’d ever put her in danger of blacking out. With a grunt and a jerk of the hips, my balls draw up tight into my body and spurts of hot cum spill out over my fingers. I close my eyes, expecting to see Victoria’s face in my mind. But it’s not her image that screens on the back of my eyeballs… it’s that damn Welsh woman’s. A raw bellow rips from my chest. Jesus, what the fuck is happening to me?
I step out of the shower, dry myself, put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt then go downstairs. After making a cup of coffee, I log onto my email account. I’d avoided looking at it yesterday; as expected, there’s a message from Eric, my protection officer who also acts as my agent. Apparently, there’s interest from an American buyer who loves my portfolio. I don’t give a flying fuck about selling my paintings; Ben and I have more than enough money. Except, I’m driven to paint and there isn’t enough space in this cottage for my output. My ‘cover’ as a reclusive artist is also a good front. By isolating myself and painting anonymously, no one can link Daniel Collins with the up and coming painter who, according to Eric, is wowing critics on both sides of the Atlantic.
I shoot off an email back to Eric, telling him to come up to Northamptonshire next week when I’ll be able to give him another finished canvas. Then I unlock the door to my studio, which I had converted from the original dining room at the front of the house. South facing, it catches the morning sun. Dawn light is streaking the sky with pink already, but I switch on the lights and stare at my latest work in progress.
To say I’m influenced by what happened three years ago would be an understatement. My work is abstract, and always involves riots of motion evoking violent death. I don’t allow Ben to come in here, for obvious reasons. As far as he’s concerned, this is Daddy’s room and off-limits. His nightmares would be ten times worse if he saw my canvases, and I make damn sure to keep the door locked when he is home and only to paint when he’s out.
I think about how Catrin soothed him from that nightmare, how good she was with him, and stare down at my empty hands. She seems a nice person, and I’ve been horrible to her. Surely, I can be neighbourly? No harm in that. A tight feeling in my chest, I pick up my paintbrush to dip it in the red pigment… red like the blood that spurted from my late wife.
Chapter Seven
Catrin
Mum phones me when I get home from taking Becca to school. Today is the day I’ve been dreading all week, and if it wasn’t for Becca I would have stayed in bed until tomorrow. Three years. Seems much longer, yet, at the same time, it could have been yesterday. “Hiya,” I say to my mother, lapsing back into the Welsh way of greeting.
“How are you, my lovely?” she asks.
God, I wish I didn’t have to lie to her. I wish I could tell her I feel like crap, that I’m tired after being woken up in the middle of the night and not being able to get back to sleep because all I could think about was my neighbour’s hot body. But she’d get the wrong idea; she’d think there’s a chance I could get together with him. There isn’t a chance in hell; he’s a total wanker. So, instead, I just say, “I’m fine,” and leave it at that.
“Your dad and I were hoping to visit the weekend after next. See our granddaughter and where you’re living.”
“Sure.” I try to put some enthusiasm into my voice. “I mean, great. Becca would love that.”
“And you too, I hope.”
“Of course.” Again, I go for the false enthusiastic tone.
“So, what are your plans for today?” she asks, like I might need to decide between a whole range of options.
“Just work.” I shrug, staring out the window at sheets of rain sliding down the glass. There’s no way I’ll be doing any gardening, which is probably for the best; I don’t want the distraction of Daniel Collins. I masturbated thinking about him last night and felt like a slut for doing so. How freaking sad is that…
I hear my mother inhale a breath. “I worry about you, love. You’re still young, only twenty-eight. You’ve got a whole lifetime ahead of you. Why you had to go and bury yourself in the middle of nowhere is beyond me…”
“Please don’t, Mum. Don’t go on about it. It’s my life. Let me live it my own way.”
Silence on the other end of the phone.
“Mum?”
“It’s because your father and I care about you.”
“I know.” Tears well up in my eyes. “I’m sorry.” I sniff.
“So, we’ll see you next week? And maybe you should consider paying us a visit at the end of October when Becca has her half-term holiday? You could meet up with some of your old friends…”
“Yeah, maybe.” I sigh into the phone. Most of them are married, or in relationships. I’d stick out like a sore thumb. “Gotta go get some work done now, Mum.”
“Love you, darling,” she says. And she does; I know she does.
“Love you too.” My eyes prickl
e. “Give Dad a hug from me. And little sis.”
I end the call and go straight to the fridge. It’s only nine AM but fuck it. I freaking need a drink. I pour myself a glass of Chardonnay and down it in one. The cool crisp liquid dissolves the lump of loneliness in my throat.
Toby whines by my feet, looking up at me with accusing eyes. “It’s okay, boy. I’m stopping now.” I put the bottle back and, with heavy steps, make my way upstairs to my office.
After I’ve fetched Becca from school and listened to her reading homework, we’re hanging out together in the living room. Suddenly, the doorbell chimes. I open and release a gasp of surprise. Daniel and Ben are standing on the front step.
Daniel holds up a bag. “Fish and chips?”
I shake my head, confused. “And?”
“Sorry.” He laughs a genuine laugh, not his usual mocking one. “I should have explained.” He rubs his beard. “A couple of evenings a week, a mobile food vending van comes to the village. As I was buying for us, Ben suggested you and Becca might like some.”
“We also got drinks.” Ben smiles through the gap in his front teeth. “Daddy likes beer.” He pulls a face. “We buyed orange juice for Becca and me.”
Seems like they’ve turned up with food to share.
Incredible.
I can’t leave them standing on the doorstep, so I move aside.
Becca rushes up to Ben and pulls him towards the kitchen, Toby trotting next to them.
“I thought you’d be tired after last night.” Daniel follows behind the kids, his broad shoulders taking up practically all the space in my narrow hallway. “Don’t know about you, but I didn’t get much sleep after you went home.”
“Yeah.” I feel my cheeks burn as an image comes into my mind of me fingering myself.
We step into the kitchen; Daniel puts the food bag on the counter next to my fridge. “Anyway, Ben wanted to show you his thanks for soothing him from his nightmare. And I wanted to show mine.”
