by Stasia Black
“Well, okay, then,” Cam said from behind them. “Looks like that’s settled.”
Logan chuckled against her neck. “We gotta get cleaned up and head back to town.”
She shook her head, face still buried in his neck, because she couldn’t bear to look in his eyes and know if Cam was right. Were things really settled?
Logan finally pried her away, cupping her cheeks. “Baby, look at me.”
It was only after he said it that she realized she had her eyes squeezed shut. She opened them hesitantly.
He chuckled again. “Where’s my Amazonian warrior? Fearless, jumping into battle without a thought for her own safety?”
“She’s not real,” Vanessa whispered. “She’s pretend. I’m scared all the time, can’t you see that? I’m always scared shitless.”
He stopped smiling, sober as he met her gaze. “You don’t have to be scared any more. I’m here.”
“Are you?”
She saw him wince at the question, but she wasn’t sorry she’d asked it. She needed to know, once and for all. Was he in or was he out? Because if he was in, it was time to be all in.
He understood what she was asking because he took his time answering, and when he did, it was with appropriate gravity.
“Yes.” He expelled a heavy breath. “I can to let the past go. You and this clan are my future.”
Chapter Sixteen
MICHAEL
This was why Michael didn’t drink. After spending the entire day at Donovan’s, the bar outside town, he’d stumbled home, lost all control, tripped, and fallen onto the dry grass in the backyard.
He hadn’t felt much at the time. That had been the point, hadn’t it? But now he was fairly conscious, and the prickling sensation of so many dry blades at his skin was unbearable. If he tried to move, it made matters worse.
“You were wrong, Mama,” he whispered, staring up at the stars. Was she actually up there, in heaven, or was that just as much a lie as everything else?
Even as he thought it, he heard his mama’s voice in his head. You can do anything you set your mind to, Michael, you hear me?
But she was wrong.
He could never be a husband to Vanessa. Not like she deserved. Not like he longed to be.
Of course when he’d told Mam she was wrong back then, she just shook her head. He’d barely been able to see her, he’d been crying so hard.
She’d been sick from the Xterminate virus for months and it was close to the end. They both knew it, no matter how much Michael kept trying to pretend she was going to turn the corner and start getting better any day.
He was a twenty-two year old man, but in that moment he felt six, helpless and wanting his mama to just take him in her arms and tell him everything was going to be okay. That she could make it all better.
“You’re stronger than you think, baby. I’ve done you wrong, letting you shut yourself completely off from the world like you have.”
“No, Mama, no.” A tear dripped from his cheek onto her hand on the bed. It was the closest he could come to touching her. The thought only made him cry harder. More than anything he wanted to hold her in his arms. To comfort her like she deserved.
She just nodded. “It’s true, though. There was no reason for you to stop going outside. To stop seeing people. Having friends.”
“I have friends. I have a ton of friends online. They’ll fix the power grid any day now and I can go back to—”
“Stop!”
Michael was taken aback by her sharp tone. And he felt terrible for making her upset when it was followed by a hacking cough. Especially when he saw blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth.
“Mama,” he whispered, feeling more terrified than ever. He reached his hand toward her, stopping only inches from her face.
Godfuckingdammit! He couldn’t even comfort his own mother! What the fuck use was he?
“Promise me, honey.” As weak as she was, her bloodshot eyes were no less commanding as she stared him down. “Promise me.” She gasped for breath. “One bite at a time.” She broke into another coughing fit.
“Hush, Mama. Shhh, it’s okay. You don’t have to talk anymore. I’ll be fine.”
He held the glass with a straw to her mouth. Thank God he could stand touching glass—as long as it was perfectly smooth
She took a sip and then coughed more.
With every cough, Michael’s chest tightened like the crank of a vice was being cinched tighter around his ribs.
“Promise,” she wheezed as soon as she could talk again. “Never give up. No matter—” Gasp. “How scared. One bite—”
“I know, I know. The only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. I promise, Mama, I won’t give up,” he said, if only so she’d stop trying to talk. It exhausted her.
She relaxed at his words, sinking back against her pillow. “Gonna hold you to that,” she breathed out. “From beyond the grave. Gonna hold you to it.”
Michael lifted a hand to swipe at his eye.
God, why was he thinking about all this right now?
For a long time, he thought he’d done his mama proud. She’d passed away only a few days after that conversation.
He still remembered it like it was yesterday.
There was no more food. He had one gallon of water left, but none after that.
He’d faced a choice.
Either he could take the bottle of pain killers upstairs and join Mama in the afterlife.
Or he could open the front door and step outside for the first time in years.
Into the chaos he and Mama had been listening to for months. Gunshots. People screaming. It had died down a little in recent weeks, but Michael didn’t have any illusions.
The world out there was scarier than it had ever been. And Mama expected him not only to walk out there, but to survive?
He went upstairs and stared at the bottle of pills for an entire day. He took the pills to bed with him and woke up and stared at them some more.
Then he thought about his promise to his mama.
He went to his closet and looked at the stacks of silk jerseys she’d stockpiled for him. She’d even found a silk backpack somewhere.
She knew this day would come and she’d been preparing for it all along.
And she’d believed he could do it.
It was that belief more than anything that had helped him take that first step. And the second, and the third.
One bite at a time, right?
It was probably a good thing that he hadn’t had any clue just how gigantic the elephant would turn out to be.
But he’d done it. He’d survived. He’d made his way south from Dripping Springs, wandering for a few weeks, sticking close to the river so he’d have clean water. He was starving when he’d heard about the settlement in Jacob’s Well from a family headed there.
Everything was terrifying.
Walking through the woods was torture—it was almost impossible to make it three steps without getting scratched at by some bush or bramble. So he stuck to roads. But those were dangerous because of highwaymen so he could only travel at night and he was constantly on edge listening for approaching footsteps or vehicles because his white clothes provided zero camouflage.
There wasn’t a single part of it that wasn’t horrible. Sleeping on the ground. The noises. Animals. People especially.
But even little things, like flies or other insects. He once had a full-blown freak out panic attack that had him in the fetal position on the side of the road for over an hour because a fly kept landing on his arms.
He’d survived it all, though.
He’d gotten to Jacob’s Well.
He’d gotten a job at the paper even though it meant constantly going out into the world. Interviewing people. Being around crowds at events.
But he’d done it.
And sometimes he even felt almost normal. Okay, that was a lie. He always felt the gaping distance between him and everyone else.
> Always on the outside looking in.
But when he won the marriage lottery and Vanessa talked to him afterward, he thought maybe, just maybe… Maybe he could be part of a family again.
“Fucking idiot,” he whispered hoarsely.
There were some elephants that were just too big to eat.
Michael was both relieved and humiliated when the back door opened, and he heard everyone coming toward him. They were interchangeably murmuring things like, “How do we move him?” and “What the hell happened?” He had answers for both, but it was too humiliating to respond.
Vanessa squatted beside his head and whispered, “Oh, Michael.”
He opened his eyes to half-mast, made contact with hers, then blinked once. She let out a sigh.
“Can you get up on your own?” she asked.
A useless question if he’d ever heard one. It wasn’t like any of them could help him up if he couldn’t.
He closed his eyes and powered through. Pushing onto his hands and knees and then to standing. He could feel how much Vanessa wanted to help him. The others, too.
“Stay back,” he said, his voice rough and scratchy. He put his hands out at his sides to keep them all at bay as he took a few staggering steps.
He didn’t want to feel anything more than what was absolutely necessary.
Of course, that’s what the liquor had been for.
And look how well that had worked out.
He certainly felt things now. He felt the pounding of his head behind his eyes. He remembered every inch of the humiliation and shame of this morning—Vanessa innocently running into him and his terrible overreaction. The things he’d yelled at her, his wife.
It was too much. On top of everything else.
At first, it had been enough to enjoy private talks with her, not to mention his bird’s eye view of her climaxing as the other men took her there, the way her eyes fluttered, and her mouth opened; how her neck arched, and how she responded to his encouraging words, and even more to his dirty talk.
He’d tried to pretend it was enough.
But he was a man, goddammit, the same as any other.
He was her husband and he wanted the things a husband wanted. He wanted to suck on her lips and pull groans from her throat. He wanted to feel her small hand wrapped around his shaft. He wanted to sink his cock into her tight cunt.
And he wanted them all to watch, just as they all made him watch, night after night after torturous night.
Because watching wasn’t enough.
Not anymore.
And Michael was done pretending.
He’d come to a decision somewhere between his fourth and fifth drink, and that had made him order even more.
He thought, maybe, if he dulled his senses well enough, he wouldn’t act like such a freak when Vanessa touched him. Maybe, if he was smashed, he could even stand letting her kiss him.
“Phew!” Riordan said, covering his nose.
“Jesus, Michael. You reek of a distillery.”
“Let’s get you inside,” Logan said. “Ross, I think this calls for a pot of coffee?”
“On it,” Ross said.
“Maybe fry up some pork, too,” Logan added.
Pork? Michael lifted his head and swung it toward Riordan.
“You picked a hell of a day to pull a disappearing act, man.” Riordan shook his head.
And then Michael found himself suddenly walking—on a fairly straight path—with Vanessa and Logan at his left and right. They each stayed several feet away, giving him his space, though. He gave a short, bitter laugh. Story of his life. He gave the phrase keeping people at arm’s length new meaning.
It took some effort, but eventually he was in the bedroom. Logan ordered him to undress and the twins brought in bucket after bucket so he could take an actual bath. He felt slightly normal after that, and the smell of fried pork fat coming up through the window from the backyard was life-reaffirming.
Logan didn’t take the time for Michael to find another set of clothes. Instead, he made Michael sit, with just his silk boxers on—on the chair in the corner of the room. He and Vanessa sat next to each other at the foot of the bed and faced him.
“Okay,” Logan said. “Let’s hear it.”
Michael hung his head. “Do I really need to explain?”
Logan made a low grumbling sound in his chest. “The twins told you what happened while they filled the bath, right?”
Michael nodded, swallowing hard. He couldn’t believe everything they’d told him. Everyone’s lives had been in danger. And he’d been throwing himself a pity party down at the bar. He felt like a giant asshole.
“Our entire clan was threatened. Any one of us could have lost their lives. Puts some shit in perspective. And you better fucking believe things are going to start looking different around here. Like this morning. You were upset? You should have brought it to the clan, not gone off on your own without telling anyone where you were.”
Michael lifted his head and swallowed hard.
Logan continued. “Then we come home to find you putting your own life at risk. So, yes, damnit. I would like an explanation.”
Michael nodded, eyes back on the floor. The words came slowly. Quietly. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“No,” Vanessa whispered. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Michael shook his head. He couldn’t look at her. “It’s not fair to you to have a husband who can’t…be a husband, and—”
“If this is about sex, I’ve had plenty—”
Michael’s head jerked up abruptly and his fists struck his knees. “I know!”
Vanessa clamped her mouth shut.
“You don’t think I know how well serviced you are? Fuck! I’ve had to watch all of it. All of it! Do you understand? It’s not enough anymore. If it ever was.”
He got up and started pacing, sobering quickly. “And then you accidentally run into me and touch my arm like anyone normal would have, and I scream at you? You deserve better than a freak like me. I deserve better. But only one of us can get what we want. If you want me to bow out… Maybe the Commander can put someone else in my spot.”
“No!” she said, standing up too, taking a step toward him before stopping short several feet away. “What are you even talking about? No!”
“Absolutely not,” Logan agreed.
“You aren’t hearing me.” Michael sat back down on the chair. How could this announcement be a surprise to either of them? “There are just some things I’ll never be able to do.”
“I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through,” Logan said, “but I get what it means to have doubts. This has been a hard time for all of us—learning to live together, to care about each other, to make a family together. And that’s what we are. A family.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” Michael said bitterly.
Logan’s jaw tensed. “I’m not saying I haven’t made mistakes. I’m trying to fix those now. I’ve let you down as much as I have Vanessa. But let’s work together.”
Logan leaned in, elbows on his knees. “What would make it easier? Sleeping in a separate room? I would have thought having you in the room would make you feel better connected, but if it’s making it worse…”
Michael shook his head. The only thing worse than being there and not participating would be standing outside the door and feeling his exclusion made all the more obvious.
Logan nodded as if he could read his thoughts. “Well, alcohol isn’t the answer. But maybe other things? Like, I don’t know… meditation?”
“Mumbo jumbo,” Michael said. In truth, he’d tried everything: herbs, yoga, homeopathy, the all-broccoli diet… He had spent his whole life searching for something to bring him relief. Why did people think they were going to suddenly come up with something he’d never thought of?
“Well what if I described what it all felt like as it was happening?” Vanessa asked. “So then you’d be hearing and seeing.”
“What
?” he asked.
“You know… Like blind people have things described to them so they get a fuller experience. Engaging more of the senses you do have access to, since you can’t touch.”
“You want your other husbands to audio describe what it’s like having sex with you?” Michael asked. Then he laughed humorlessly. God, the thought of Cam giving him a play-by-play sounded like pure torture. Okay, so he might be getting an erection just thinking about it. But that was just because he was imagining the little sighs Vanessa made whenever any of them finally sank inside her.
Vanessa must have read Michael’s smile wrong, though. She must have thought he was into the idea because she leaned back on her elbows and let her knees fall apart.
“What are you doing?” he asked warily. There was no way in hell she was going to give him a sample of her new fucking-terrible idea.
“He slides into me,” she said, smiling coyly, “All along his cock he’s feeling the hot…wet…silkiness…”
Michael froze, his mouth dropping open.
No. It couldn’t be that simple, could it?
He looked down at the spot on her jeans where she was teasingly running her fingers.
“Say that again,” Michael whispered.
“Um…” Vanessa said, her eyes darting sideways to Logan. She was obviously confused by his sudden change in manner but he just waved his hand at her.
“Say it again.”
“…feeling the hot, wet, silkiness?”
Michael turned to face Logan, his expression questioning. “Does it really feel like silk?”
“Holy shit,” Logan whispered, and Michael saw his own epiphany written in Logan’s wide eyes.
“What?” Vanessa asked, sitting up a little.
Logan’s eyebrows shot up even more. “Do you think it would work?”
“Would what work?” Vanessa asked.
“I want to try,” Michael said. “I have to try.”
“Would someone please tell me—”
Logan held up his hand to quiet her, and she frowned. “She’s grabby,” he said. “She claws and scratches when things get intense. Should we have the others help… Hold her arms?”
“Yeah,” Michael said, standing up and looking around. Now that the idea had been raised, he needed to test it out as soon as possible. He had to know. “But not in here. I’d need to stand. She’d have to be on something higher than the bed.”
