But it does give Zak and I some cover, a little more time to make it look like we’ve been trying out a few different things apart from how loud Misty can squeal when Zak licks her just right.
“You okay, honey?” Dad asks as I hand him some Tylenol and a little water. He won’t take anything stronger, I know from experience.
“I’m fine,” I announce, almost purring as I fight the urge to hug my elbows and grin like the cat who got the cream.
Almost.
I would normally explain to Dad what happened, about the SUV falling into a ditch on the wet road, but I don’t want to worry him any more than he probably already is.
His best friend is back after years and well… I just discovered a new part of myself and how well I think Zak’s gonna be able to fill it.
The problem is going to be enjoying both my Dad and Zak’s company, as well as prepare a Thanksgiving feast without my Dad being suspect of what’s really developed between Zak and me.
Challenge accepted. I think.
“Misty? Could you come help me for a minute? I don’t know quite where everything is,” Zak says from the back door, letting in a gust of chilly air and in drawing threats from my Dad going to help him if only to get the ‘damned power on’ and ‘why didn’t we start a fire yet? It’s freezing!’
I shoot Zak a knowing glance before he disappears again, and promise Dad we’ll have a fire, power, and a whole lot more in just a few minutes. I feel my heart trill against my ribs again as I skip carefully through the storm out to the outhouse down by the lake, where the generator is.
Zak has a flashlight and some tools out, but it’s him I’m interested in.
I wrap myself around him, biting at his lips almost as I draw the kisses I need, the kisses I crave from him now.
“We can’t Misty, not here. Not now!” Zak whispers.
I feel a little hurt, but I know he’s right. Once he puts a hand or his mouth on me, I know there’ll be no stopping him and he does too.
“What are we gonna do?” I ask pleadingly, trying and failing not to clutch at his huge chest which twitches under my tiny fingers.
“We can start by getting this generator going,” Zak says, tactfully changing the subject.
I cock a brow, resigning myself to him playing hard to get for now, and cast the same eye over his tools.
“Did you check the gas?” I ask, chuckling silently as I tap the gauge on the side with my finger.
“We don’t usually leave it full when we’re not up here,” I add, noting Zak’s disappointment in his own mechanical skills.
“Alright, smartypants,” he grins, pulling me over to him by my belt loops on my jeans, spoiling me with a swift but deep kiss and a firm hand on my chest before he tears himself away.
“You’re welcome,” I gasp, wishing I’d brought a dozen more pairs of underwear with me as I plan my first load of laundry in my mind.
I let Zak fill the generator and start it up, grateful for the flickering light, knowing we’ll have both power and a Thanksgiving dinner after all.
I fish around for the umbrella I remember should be by the door, giving us some cover once we walk back to the house.
Zak holds me close to him, pulling the door shut bend us, and taking hold of the umbrella he says what we’re both thinking.
“I don’t want to lie to your Dad, Misty. But I don’t want to hurt him either, not when he’s like this.”
I nod in agreement, noticing how slowly we’re both taking our steps back to the house even though it’s raining buckets.
Zak leans in close, his mouth over my ear so I can hear him over the rain, but I also know it’s so he can be just that little bit closer to me for a few moments.
Once we’re back inside, I flick on some lights and we both blink a little before Dad’s gasps and groans draw us back to the living room.
“I don’t like this, Mark,” Zak says, helping Dad back to the couch and handing him his phone which he was trying to plug in and recharge.
“And you think I’m loving it?” my Dad snaps, before easing himself back down onto his back.
“I mean,” Zak explains patiently, “I don’t like it that you’re here instead of somewhere like a doctor or hospital. What if the lake floods… what if the storm gets so bad that-”
But my Dad has his hand up, his eyes full of apology.
“I’m sorry, Zak. I shouldn’t have snapped at you just now… The pain… I know, I know. But it’s Thanksgiving! How can I get my chiropractor or a regular doctor up here? And you’re right, it looks like we might have some more bad weather. We could even get snowed in before I can be moved again,” he adds.
Zak’s eyes dart to mine, and we both feel the horrible reality of either being stuck in the house with Dad in agony or having to come clean about how we both feel about each other.
I chew my nail out of habit as I try to think what the best thing to do is.
Zak quietly exits the room, and I know he’s getting the food from the SUV and putting it into the icebox so we at least have something to eat.
My Dad ushers me over, patting the small space of couch beside him.
“I’m sorry honey,” he says, his hand over mine. “I wanted this to be a special week, for all of us. I didn’t want to say it in front of him but maybe Zak’s right. Maybe I should-”
His face contorts in pain again and he stifles a cry, I can see tears in his eyes.
It’s unbearable.
“What about the Foskin’s. Down the way?” I ask, “Isn’t he a doctor? Or at least his wife is, I think.”
Dad puffs his cheeks and winces again. “His sister’s the doctor,” he muses. “But on Thanksgiving Eve? I doubt it, plus they might not even be up here this year. Look at the weather, Misty,” he says, sounding deflated again.
I wipe his brow, squeezing his hand a little harder.
“I’m not letting you lay here in agony,” I tell him.
“And I’m not letting you out in this weather, or putting a damper on our Thanksgiving with Zak,” he says with determination, but we both know it’s hopeless.
He’s in so much pain, and I don’t think he’d last comfortably through another night plus a whole day of this for the sake of a meal with an old friend.
“Sorry, baby,” he says again, looking away bitterly. Knowing how serious this really is.
“Zak’s here,” I remind him. “And he’s more than capable of helping out.”
That much I do know for sure.
CHAPTER TEN
Zak
I figure Mark must’ve brought most of the supplies in with him once he arrived, and I’m right.
It’s mainly salad stuff and bits and pieces that Misty brought along that’s waiting in the SUV. Drinks, snacks, and a ton of stuff really that makes me wonder just how many people they were expecting.
But that’s Mark, that’s Misty.
Always perfect hosts, providing anything and everything their guests might need.
I feel it again, the guilt.
There was a time when it was just Mark and me that was the focus, he’d make sure Misty was safe as she played in the woods near the house or down by the lake.
That feels like a lifetime ago, and it nearly is.
Things are different now. Misty is a grown woman now, and she can make her decisions.
That’s what I tell myself, but the thought of Mark in agony as I try to conceive ways to have his daughter, right under his nose?
No.
I won’t do it.
It has to be someplace else or without Mark here. That’s final.
The old ‘icebox’ as Mark calls it is a genuine fifties refrigerator, still working and with all original parts that looks as good as the day it was made.
I can see the turkey, stuffing, and prepared vegetables, along with the famous pumpkin pie he’s made himself.
I almost whine out loud at how much effort, how much love Mark’s put into all this.
But it doesn
’t change how I feel about Misty.
The cough and splutter of the generator from outside, even over the storm reminds me just how much we’ll need that power if there’s to be anything hot to eat but I still can’t help thinking Mark, he shouldn’t put himself through this agony, not for my sake.
Maybe he already knows? He’s not stupid. Blind Freddy could see how I’ve been eyeing his daughter the whole time, not to mention he could have seen me holding her in the outhouse.
Maybe that’s why he was off the couch?
My mind reels and I find myself staring at a large bowl of yams and potato salad, making my mouth water as I realize I haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours.
A full course of Misty, not included as actual ‘eating’ mind you.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I figure everyone present could do with a feed and I fire up the electric grill.
The generator groans a little in reply but still gives me all the power I need to cook.
I deliberately give Misty some time with her Dad and notice that the smell of cooking soon mingles with the welcoming fragrance of a warm, open fire in the lounge room as she fixes it for him.
I’ve picked deliberate, non-thanksgiving foods for our lunch. More of an early dinner.
Steaks, some of those salads and a helping of fresh mashed potatoes I whip up while the griddle sings under the weight of the heavy USA steaks Mark knows I love and have missed so much.
I’ve always cooked for myself, needed to. I’m a big guy and I eat, a lot.
But cooking for others, knowing that Misty will have her lips around every bite too gives me more drive than ever.
Apart from the fact that my best bud needs to eat also.
Eventually, I hear Mark smacking his lips and Misty comes into the kitchen.
I caution her with a look.
“I thought I’d fix us all something,” I tell her, wishing I could give her so much more.
Just the two of us.
She nods, and her eyes widen once she sees what I’ve prepared.
“We’ll need to save some room for tomorrow!” she gushes.
“Yeah, you will,” I warn her, winking. Promising her she’ll have more than food to need to make room for.
“What about Dad, Zak?” she asks, her face darkening. “What are we going to do?” she asks, pouting again.
A look I’d love anytime, except when I know she’s hurting like her Dad.
“We’ll go for a doctor – I’ll go for a doctor,” I repeat. Motioning toward the food.
“Right after we’ve all had something to eat and calmed down a little, this storm isn’t letting up any either… give it some time,” I tell Misty, who seems to yield to my request.
She mouths the words I love you before leaning over to peck me on the lips after making sure her Dad can’t see.
I’m speechless, something about her total innocence and her sincerity blows me away.
After decades of doing deals with people who always have a minimum of five agendas, Misty’s honesty is like a breath of fresh air.
I want to tell her I feel the same because I do. But I think I’ll save it for when I claim her properly. When she can feel it as much as me just telling her.
“Let’s eat,” I suggest, and she silently helps me with the plates, salads, and pitcher of juice as the storm rolls overhead.
“Not quite what we wanted, but we’re all here, Thanksgiving eve just the same,” I remind Mark who seems more cheerful for the sight of food as well as for the fire.
“Thanks, buddy,” he says earnestly as I nestle a tray onto his lap. Both Misty and him seem to have found a suitable upright position for him.
We both take a seat opposite, over the large timber coffee table, and help ourselves.
I nearly choke on my steak once Mark says it out loud.
“You two seem to be getting along,” he says casually, not meeting my gaze.
I sigh, there’s no keeping much from Mark. Not too much anyway. He knows something’s up and wants in.
“We had an issue on the road, on the way up,” I confess.
Mark nods his head, waiting for the rest of it.
“It was nothing, Dad. Just a slip on the road. Zak was driving after the weather came in bad,” she offers, the same notes of innocence in her voice.
Defensive now.
“Truth, Zak?” Mark asks me, finally. Not mad, just worried all over again.
“Truth, friend,” I tell him.
“But Misty was the one who got us out, just oversteered on a corner. Those damned wet pine needles, we never get ‘em in Africa,” I joke.
But nobody laughs.
I can feel Misty’s eyes on me, but I avoid them.
Only because I catch her Dad’s eyes flit from mine to hers and then back again.
“Once we’ve eaten, Mark, tell me about this Doctor who might be in the neighborhood,” I finally suggest.
Mark’s eyes move to mine, and he can see I don’t mean anything other than to help him, or Misty right now.
“The Foskin’s,” Mark says abruptly. “The sisters a doctor, apparently. No hope of reaching my own on the phones right now, not that they’d get here,” he says bitterly, disappointed.
“Eat,” I demand. “We’ll get to all that later.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Misty
“I’m going with you,” I tell Zak, helping him to clear up the dishes from what was a delicious although awkward meal.
“You’ll stay here with your Dad,” he tells me firmly but gently, gripping my shoulder just enough to convey just how much he wants to do a whole lot more.
“But, the night before Thanksgiving?” I protest.
“It’s that or I try for an ambulance, Misty. Take a look at your Dad, he’s in agony there.”
I look down at my feet, suddenly ashamed for thinking of Zak and me and my own desires more than my Dad’s wellbeing.
“You both get back in here, and Zak I want to talk about old times until Misty falls asleep!” My Dad calls out, making us both smile, albeit awkwardly.
Nothing gets past my Dad, almost nothing I hope.
Despite Zak’s protests, we both agree to at least a few hours of forgetful conversation, even some card games when Dad produces a deck from somewhere before it gets too late to do anything else.
“This was your plan all along, lure us to the lake house then throw your back so we can play nurse all week?” Zak asks my Dad, forcing a smile. But I can tell he’s not happy about it either.
Same here.
“I’ll be fine,” my Dad announces before he’s suddenly gripped with another unexpected spasm of pain.
His cry hurts us both and it’s clear how much he’s been covering, just to keep the charade going all afternoon and evening.
“Ah Jesus, Zak! I wanted this to be perfect, for you… for Misty,” he groans as we both move closer to comfort him.
“I’m going for that doc now, buddy. No more arguments,” Zak tells us both, and with a firm voice, looking right at me he adds. “And it is perfect… just perfect so far.”
I hear myself starting to whimper, suddenly begging Zak to do something, anything for my Dad.
“I’m going now, just point the way and I’ll come back with your local doctor or whatever I have to find,” he tells us both.
“Had a man once, motorcycle wreck. Drove him for three hours to get help… I’m sure we can rustle up something in the USA,” he reflects, creasing me a smile to reassure me.
“Tylenol for now, and don’t move!” Zak commands my Dad.
I want to try and stop him, to tell him to stay, but the phones are down, even the cells and it really is the only hope of getting my Dad any relief.
I walk Zak to the door, slipping him my Dad’s Jeep keys.
“Take it, it’s the next road about a mile down the hill we came up, on the left,” I instruct him.
“If they’re even there,” I add, sounding hopeless.
/> Zak lifts his hand, wanting to cup my face and kiss me I can tell. But Dad’s watching.
“Alright,” he murmurs. “Just stay put and I’ll be back soon,” he promises.
The door, the storm.
It all opens so quickly before it closes that it almost feels like Zak’s never been here at all.
I miss him instantly, my Dad presses my hand into his once I come back to him.
“You like Zak, huh?” My Dad offers, wheezing a little as he collapses, exhausted once he hears the Jeep pulling away.
“He’s the only one who can help us now,” I murmur, looking away and wishing I’d gone with him.
Needing him now more than ever.
Dad chuckles to himself. “I’ll be alright honey, if I can just get word to my own doctor, that chiropractor… he always fixes me up, doesn’t he?” he adds.
And there it is.
The thought playing in my mind that if we can both get Dad out of the lake house, get him some help, I can have Zak all to myself.
I almost feel ashamed.
Almost.
Dad and I chat for a time and eventually, after a little more refusing Tylenol, he manages to drift off to sleep.
The rain beats down as the fire cracks and the wind howls, but I don’t feel like we’re in for the type of storm we’ve been anywhere near worried about.
Another type of worry plays at the back of my mind.
It’s not even an hour later once I hear the jeep back in the drive, plus the sound of another car.
I spring up, feeling nervous all of a sudden, conscious of myself for no real reason.
I know it’s Zak, but who else is really with him?
A part of me feels annoyed before I even get to the door.
I pull it open before he even knocks and at once I can see the reason for my misgivings. Like my feelers could sense something I wouldn’t like.
Zak smiles at me but noting my look of hostility, he’s quick to explain the situation.
“This is Dr. Foskin,” Zak announces and I hear my Dad groan, in agony.
She doesn’t look like a Doctor, more like Malibu Barbie, but who am I to say what a doctor should look like.
She makes her way over to my Dad and I shift my attention to Zak, giving him a WTF look.
Thankful For Him: An Instalove Possessive Holiday Romance Page 4
