by C.M. Kars
His thick arms cord themselves around my ribcage, my breasts pillowed against his forearms. He’s locked them around me, cutting off some of my air, but I don’t care about that. I want him to hold me tight and never let me go, I want him to want me, ruined as I am, fucked up as I am because I can make him happy, because he’s my Hunter and I’m his Sera if I try really, really hard.
I’m pressed tight against his chest, and his face goes into the skin where my throat meets my shoulder and he’s shaking – why is he shaking?
“Jesus Christ on the crucifix, kitten, don’t you see? I never gave up on you, even after all this time. Please stop crying, I hate it when you cry.”
“I can’t… can’t stop. I’ve ruined everything, I ruin everything. I’m the reason my parents split up, I’m the reason my mom decided to leave and chose some other asshole to fuck around with. I wasn’t good enough for her to stay behind.
“I was about to ruin my best friend’s relationship because I was jealous and I thought he was going to break her heart. And they’re getting married, Dean! They’re engaged, and even after all those awful, awful things I said to her, she’s making me her maid of honour! I don’t understand how she can just forgive me like that, I truly don’t understand,” I hiccup and dig my nails into Dean’s strong forearms. I may have broken skin but he doesn’t say anything.
“Please, kitten, please stop crying. You’re just going to make everything worse,” Dean moans, rocking me to the left and right, a little teeter-totter with a six-foot-four giant. “Come I’ll make you something substantial to eat, and I’ll put on a funny movie.”
“Fucking shit, Dean! You can’t just solve the world’s problems with funny movies and food! It doesn’t work that way.”
“Of course it works that way,” he whispers against my ear. I dig my nails deeper into his arms, and shudder against him. “And if you’re lucky enough to find that person who you can share your grief with, well, that’s something close to heaven. Please, kitten, let me take care of you, just for tonight. Just… stop crying, please.” Dean turns me slowly towards him, and I must be a sight.
But he’s looking at me like I’m a treasure chest, and I’m going to make him rich beyond measure.
“I wish you’d let me kiss you, kitten. No strings attached, I promise. Just to make you feel better. But I don’t think that’s going to be a good idea. You’re terrified out of your mind right now, and you’re feeling too much. I’ve been where you are, there’s no need to make yourself feel even worse for shit that’s already happened, alright? C’mon, what’s your favourite thing to eat? I’ll make it right now.”
I sniffle and swipe my eyes with my arm. I then dive in for a hug while nearly clipping Dean’s chin and squeeze him as hard as my arms will allow.
“You’re an incredibly good person, you know that, Dean? And you’re going to make some girl incredibly lucky one day. If she mistreats you, gimme a call, and I’ll arrange a beat-down given by yours truly.” I mumble into his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart. He keeps holding me, and I have a feeling that he won’t let me go until I ask him to.
“Do you even lift, bro?”
And that’s it. He’s got me laughing and crying all at the same time and I don’t know how I got here, in his arms, feeling as much as I do.
“Feeling better?” he asks, rubbing circles on my back. My dad used to rub my back too, when I was sick, just until I fell asleep. Dean’s doing a better job.
“Yeah.”
“So what’s your favourite food? I’ll laugh if it’s got anything to do with fish.”
I shake my head against his chest. “No. I can only eat salmon if there’s ketchup on it. I hate the stuff.”
“Ketchup, on salmon!? Sacrilege! I’m going to have to make you try my poached salmon on one of my off-nights. You in or are you in?”
I grin, and nod. “Yeah, I’m in. But my favourite thing to eat are amaretti cookies. And my nona Catarina makes them the best so you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“I’ve got it. Go sit on the couch, get some love from the boys. I promise you’ll feel better soon. Go on, the master chef’s got work to do. Let me work my magic,” Deans says, winking. He places a kiss on my forehead and nudges me towards the couch.
After a minute, he comes out of his bedroom and wraps me up with a huge Canadiens’ fleece blanket. Potter needs help getting on the couch, but Pongo and Kal do just fine, flanking either side of me so I’m playing monkey-in-the-middle, the canine edition. They are all so warm and snuggly that I nearly miss the Xbox controller Dean throws at me for Netflix.
“Pick anything you want. I can catch glimpses of it from the kitchen, so pas de probleme on that front. Fire it up, and give me your best comedy. Whoever loses doesn’t get a taste of the cookie dough!”
The thing I love and hate about Netflix is that there’s too much selection. I could spend an hour and a half narrowing it down to ten movies that I want to watch and still not have a ready decision for the night. But I do my best.
I’ve been angling on watching a classic that Sera had introduced me to while we were in high school. It features the comedic greats that are Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor. One’s deaf and the other’s blind and they somehow get framed for a murder and have to find the real killers while saving their necks. It’s pretty hilarious and hilarious is what I need right now.
I put it on and start dozing off almost immediately. It’s the smell that keeps me awake knowing I’m going to get some amazing amaretti cookies real soon.
Dean comes to the couch, lifts up Kal like he’s nothing but a puppy and plops himself down next to me, settling Kal on his lap. The German Shepherd doesn’t do anything, so I think it’s a regular occurrence.
Dean nearly whacks me in the head when he tried to put an arm on the back of the couch and tosses me an apologetic grin. The kind of grin a little boy might give you if you found him with his hand in the cookie jar. I grin back and turn back towards the movie.
Dean’s laugh changes depending on what’s happened. He has a belly laugh when it’s slapstick humour, but when it’s witty or a turn of phrase kind of humour, he laughs with a certain kind of wheeze. Then when it’s a combination of the two he legit starts howling and has to wipe tears from his eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a good time watching someone watch a movie.
“You have a really great laugh, Dean.”
You have a really great laugh, Dean. Could I sound more stupid? Damn it.
“Why, thank you. I was born with it.”
I snicker, then force my hands to stay in my lap when my laugh gets out of control. Dean’s eyebrows pop high on his forehead and he smiles, all teeth, and extra enthusiasm.
“I don’t remember you being this funny.”
“Yeah, I started working out my humour muscles after the whole high school shit went down. Now, it’s all good, and I’m pretty hilarious.”
I chew my lip. “I’m really sorry about that. I don’t think I can say it enough.”
Dean shrugs, working off the pain of that day. I really wish he didn’t have to, that he still didn’t carry it with him. “It happened. There’s nothing we can do to change it. I’m an adult now, and enough time’s passed that I don’t really think about it anymore. So, just drop it, okay?”
“Will do.”
“I think this is the best comedy I’ve ever seen,” Dean says as soon as the movie’s over. To be honest, I don’t remember anything, or realized how fast it flew by. No, I was too busy watching him, being totally captivated by mundane things, like how he likes to crack his knuckles repeatedly, or the way he pops the cracks from his neck, or the way he throws his head back with almost every laugh that comes out of him. Stupid things, things that I never would have noticed before, that’s for sure. The kind of things that I think got MacLaine to fall in love with Sera. The kind of things that nobody really notices until you’re really looking. The kinds of things that seem to matter in the end.
But they’re also the kinds of things that can easily be forgotten as you grow old together and become different people. It’s exactly those kinds of things that get swept under the rug of time, and lost forever until all you remember is the resentment and lack of appreciation you’ve failed to receive in the past twenty years.
“Do I got a bat in the cave, or something?” Dean asks, swinging his head towards me.
My cheeks start burning when he catches me staring and I hurriedly shake my head. “I was just comparing you to the old you.”
He nods. “Yeah, I was a skinny kid. Then I decided to hit the weights and I’m better than the Terminator, baby,” he says in a horrible impression of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s accent.
“You were cute back then. Now…”
Dean goes very still, and all three dogs’ ears pop straight up like they can hear whatever I can’t see. He clears his throat, and just stares at me, looking over my face like I’m going to feed him a lie. “Yeah?”
“Well, I think you’re beautiful.”
He blinks at me like my words aren’t making any sense. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Dean nods, and absently strokes Pongo’s head sitting on top of his thigh. “No one’s called me beautiful before. I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. How about you pick another movie instead? It’s been forever since I’ve taken a night off and just relaxed like this. On top of it all, you’re making amaretti cookies from scratch? Heaven’s got nothing on this place.”
“Doesn’t take much, huh? I thought you’d be more of a jewelry, expensive gifts kind of girl.”
Maybe I should be offended but a part of me is thrilled that he’s even talking to me at all, especially after I broke down like that. “I can buy my own stuff, thanks. You provide the gourmet meals and I think we’re set.”
Uh oh. What just came out of your mouth?
“Are we? Set?” Dean asks, quiet and unsure. I want to launch myself at him again and hug the shit out of him. And then I want him to squeeze me back, and never let me go.
Ah, the girly hormones again.
“That’s not what I meant, Dean.” I say, but the words are strangled and unsure.
“What did you mean, then?”
“I sort of would really like to skip this conversation. C’mon, it’s your turn to pick a movie. I’ll watch the shittiest horror movie you got, I don’t mind at all.” I’m grasping at straws and the look on his face tells me he knows it, too.
I’m so screwed.
“I don’t want to skip this conversation. This conversation is immensely appealing to me right now, more so than my dear, sweet Netflix.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t name your Netflix, did you?”
“She’s She-Ra, Princess of Power.”
Sera would get this reference in two seconds. Me? Not so much. But somewhere in the dregs of my childhood memories when life was easy and there were no bills to pay, I vaguely remember something about a blonde chick with a sword and a flying unicorn, or something like it.
“Okay….”
“You’ve been stalking me, trying to get all up in this business,” he gestures to his entire body, and it’s really hard not to drool. Or laugh, because Dean is a total dork, and it’s really freaking cute. “I know you want a piece of me, you’ve told me so about a hundred times. I’m just wondering why the sudden change of heart?”
“Oh, now you want the no-strings-attached-sex? Yeah, so not going to happen.” I fold my arms over my chest and watch his eyes dip to my cleavage. Goal by five-hole!
“I’m just being curious, and the door is that way,” he motions with his head to the door behind me. He’s absolutely right, I can leave anytime I want. But do I want to?
“I never said I wanted to have sex right now. I have cookies baking!” he gasps, like it’s a sin to cause the delicious bite-sized almond goodness to cook for a minute too long.
“I like the cooled-down version of you, kitten, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you hot and bothered, either, see if memory serves correctly.”
Fire blasts through every single nerve ending and my vagina lets out a girly sigh in my head.
What the hell?! “You want to sleep with me?”
Dean nods. “Hell, yes. But on even footing, with the strings. I like getting tangled up in them.”
“I’m not into the whole BDSM thing.” I just can’t get over the fact that I’m going to be beaten for something that isn’t to another’s standards. Sounds like living in an Italian family, and I got enough of that.
Dean leans his head onto the back of the couch and stares at the ceiling. “Yeah, I like my women being able to be active participants. It doesn’t work so well if I can’t understand her around the ball-gag. How is there supposed to be a safe-word if she can’t speak?” He frowns at the ceiling like this a serious problem and is threatening the very foundation of modern civilization as we know it.
So cute.
“That’s good to know. But I don’t want to have sex. I just want to sit here and watch movies and eat cookies.”
Dean nods. “You only like me for my cooking skills, I get it. You don’t have to rub it in.”
I snort. “The truth hurts but it will set you free.”
More nodding from him and then he focuses back on the TV and his precious Netflix.
“Alright, I’m going to go with…” but the beeper on the oven lets out an alarming bell and Dean nearly breaks Pongo’s neck trying to get up off the couch fast enough.
Pongo looks over at me, all confused and sleepy and I pet his head, and rub his ears like I’ve seen Dean do. The dog plops his head down on the couch and sighs, long and deep. I smile without having a reason for it.
“You should come look at these, come and admire their utter perfection coming from my kitchen.”
“I’m sure they’re good, Dean. Put a few on a plate and bring them over here.”
“I see you’re going to be the bossy one in this relationship.” I raise an eyebrow at him as he gets a spatula from one of the drawers and eases it under the cookies only to place them on a nearby plate. He’s completely concentrated on the task, and my heart gives a little painful squeeze.
I pull in a deep breath, trying to soothe the ache, but I know I’ve tumbled down into crush-land, and I’m stuck in the rabbit-hole without a chance of getting free anytime soon.
When he comes back to the couch with a plate full of cookies, he takes a seat, closer to me this time, and grabs the remote with his free hand, starting to scroll through his selection. I grab the plate from him, when he asks me, “Are you sleeping over tonight? I can drive you to your place so you can pick up some clothes, and this bad boy does open up into a bed.”
I’ve got an amaretti cookie halfway to my mouth and now I don’t want anything to do with it. The scent of warmed almond paste tickles my nostrils, and makes my stomach wail but I don’t think I can get it down.
“No, I’ll walk home. It’s only fifteen minutes. But thanks, though.”
“Right. I’m going to make you walk home, when I have a car and it’ll take two minutes. I can even blow the stop signs ‘cause I’m a badass rebel like that.”
I picture Dean and Hunter in my head, standing side by side. Dean’s obviously taller, and probably weighs more, but there’s something primal and dangerous about Hunter MacLaine that I haven’t seen in a lot of guys my age.
We’re spoiled brats compared to him, squandering our health on booze and shitty food, ignoring going to the gym because we’re working too many hours to enjoy whatever free time we have left, and he’s a Dad to a four-year-old who has the same disease.
Dean’s like bright sunshine standing next to MacLaine, and I’m not sure how I’ve never seen it. Maybe I’m the dark one, and we’re yin and yang. Maybe I’ll be the one sucking up all his light and I’ll eventually snuff him out.
“If you don’t mind,” I say, lips numb. “Actually, woul
d you mind driving me now? I just got really tired, and I have some research to do tomorrow, so I’ll need to get up early.”
“I don’t know if anybody’s told you,” he says, voice robotic, “but tomorrow’s Sunday aka the day of rest. If you break those rules you could get arrested.”
I smirk. “And I’d only have you as a visitor.”
“Yeah, we’d do that whole palm to glass, glass to palm thing, and weep perfect cinematic tears, and I’ll wait for you while you do your time.”
My heart trips and I can’t tell if he’s flirting with me or just spouting off shit.
The ride home is confusing as hell, too.
Chapter 22
I’ve become a bro – the girl equivalent of being friend-zoned. I don’t know how this happened, but it did, and signals are being sent and I’m getting them all cross-wired and it’s enough to make my head hurt.
I feel like I’m sixteen again, so unsure of what to do next but knowing I’ll die if I don’t.
Dean has kept me at arm’s length and I only get to hang out with him on Thursday nights, right before he starts his weekend grind at the restaurant he works at.
I know I’ve been putting it off, and my feet are nothing more than cinderblocks and there’s a never-ending pit of shame flowering in my belly, but I force myself to knock.
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Bitch.
Bitch, who?
Bitch, open the door so I can grovel and make you be friends with me again.
My heart’s pumping fast and hard, and my throat’s tight as the wait gets longer and longer and longer… This was a bad idea. The invisible ticking clock threatens to strangle me as I come to the slow and swift realization of what I’ve done. The only true and good person in my life – I’ve pushed away.
