Family Love

by Liz Crowe

  At that moment, the sight of him sent a bolt of lust down her spine, reminding her of what she’d been missing for well onto a year now. They hadn’t communicated much beyond logistics, either, since the three boys sucked so much energy from them both, not to mention the fact that Love Brewing was attempting to expand, and negotiations with real banks had been underway for about a month.

  Dom dropped off to sleep, as he usually did after his mid-morning meal, releasing her nipple with a pop, milk dribbling out of one corner of his pursed lips. Anton just watched them, hands in his jeans pockets, a small smile playing at his lips. She burped Dom, inhaling his baby smell, and wondering what in the world could have torn her husband away from his precious brewery at ten thirty in the morning.

  “Let me,” he said, taking the small, curled-up boy and cradling him close. “Why don’t you take a bath?”

  She frowned, taking in the chaos that passed for her kitchen these days. Antony was at the church pre-school, terrorizing his friends and teachers, no doubt. Kieran was still in bed. That kid would sleep until noon if she let him. She got up and stretched, wincing at the ache between her shoulder blades.

  Wandering out into the living room, she was thinking about lying down and catching up on an hour of sleep herself when she heard the water running into the tub. She went in to find Anton filling it, sitting on the side and adjusting the water temperature.

  “What in the world?”

  He rose and went to her, smiling. She cocked her head, curious, but also getting hornier by the second. Without a word, he unbuttoned her shirt the rest of the way, slipping it off her arms and to the floor. Her unclasped nursing bra joined it, as did her sweat pants and panties. She stood, a bit self-conscious of her soft belly and the still-red scar above her pubic bone. He dropped to his knees and pressed his lips there, licking along the edges of the line where they’d opened her and taken Dominic from her quickly failing body.

  He gripped her hips, keeping her close while he slid his fingertips between her legs. She gasped at the sensation of him, touching her there, of his lips and tongue, teasing her softest, most intimate parts. It felt so illicit, and wrong, and yet utterly perfect. Leaning against the wall, she threaded her fingers through his thick, black hair and draped one leg over his shoulder.

  He gripped her even harder and she tilted her hips to give him the access he wanted and she required. He teased her flesh, and when he slid fingers inside her, her entire world coalesced around a flash of pleasure so bright and so intense she couldn’t help but cry out. Her hips moved against his face and hands. Her breathing came in loud gasps. The death grip she had on his hair, holding him in place so she could ride out the incredible orgasm would make his scalp hurt later. They’d joke about it.

  But it was a moment long in coming, and one they both required. She let go of him and slumped against the wall, every inch of her thrumming with satisfaction. He got to his feet, unzipped his jeans and gripped his erection. The glistening moisture at its tip made her lick her lips and grab at him, kissing him while he backed up until he had to sit on the closed toilet lid.

  “No, no, I don’t want to hurt … oh dear Jesus, God in heaven, yes …” He hissed as she lowered herself onto his lap, taking all of him, even though it hurt a little. Grinding down, gripping the towel bar behind his head, she let herself relive that first time in the shed, sitting on the hay bale.

  She stood again, almost releasing him, just for the sheer joy of feeling it inside her, his dick, his cock, his penis. Her husband. “Faster,” he whispered into her breasts. “Please.”

  She went faster. And when he filled her with a moan of something that sounded almost like pain, she kissed him and kissed him and wished she could never stop kissing him.

  Later, lying in the tub while Anton distracted Antony, who’d been dropped off by a friend after his morning at pre-school and about five minutes after Anton had lifted her off him and helped her climb into the warm water, she relaxed for the first time in a year.

  She heard their voices, both raised slightly—Anton tended to match the boy’s volume instead of telling him to tone it down—then heard Kieran running down the hall from the room he now shared with his older brother. Warmth and happiness filled her from head to toe.

  She washed, got out, and made a mental note to get condoms the next time she was at the store. She’d missed her husband and the extreme physicality of their relationship. She had no intention of going without any longer. But she was also not about to have any more babies.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lucasville

  Eighteen months later

  “What d’you mean ‘angel investor?’ ”

  Lindsay was setting the table for supper while Anton sipped iced tea and bounced Dominic on his knee for the few seconds the kid would allow himself to be held by anyone.

  Antony, who would start first grade in a few weeks, played with the train set his uncles had given him in the bottom basement. That thing ran almost nonstop while he was home and awake. He had a penchant for placing his matchbox cars on the crossings and letting the train demolish them, which worried her a little … when she had time to worry about such things.

  “Exactly how it sounds. A guy with a giant bank account who wants to help pay for the brewery to move to a bigger location outside of town, so we can widen our distribution.” He put Dominic down when he started yelling for his brothers, then came and wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing her neck and cupping her breasts. She smacked him away.

  “Hands off. I have hot food and it’s the wrong time of the month, mister. Apparently, I can’t count on you to put on a rubber, and I am not having any more kids.”

  He laughed and smacked her behind. “I don’t really understand it, either. They don’t want to be known as anything but ‘silent partners.’ It’s kinda weird, but Joe says I should seriously consider it.”

  “Joe, huh?” She put the casserole dish on the table, poured milk in three cups and hollered for the boys before turning to face him. “I don’t care for him. You know that.”

  Joe Patterson was a hotshot attorney who’d wandered into the Love Pub about a year prior, seeking “something different” in beer. A native of California, he’d attended law school in Louisville, and had set up a thriving practice there, been married and divorced, and now practically lived in Lucasville, offering free legal advice “in exchange for beer,” he claimed.

  Lindsay wasn’t sure what she didn’t like about him. He was tall and slim, a former swimmer or water polo player or some such foolish California thing. His dark brown hair was cut close, and his hazel eyes were sharp, knowing, and never still.

  He was, in a word, handsome, and he knew it, which rubbed Lindsay all kinds of wrong ways. Handsome men were better off humble, in her opinion. The ones who weren’t were trouble waiting to happen. This was something she realized she’d better impart to her own potentially handsome sons soon enough.

  “I know, honey.” Anton patted her behind again and made a sound low in his throat, indicating his preference for a bit of alone time.

  “Off me,” she said, giving him a flick of her fingers and smiling when the boys barreled into the kitchen. With their contrasting dark, light, and rich auburn heads of hair, they were as different in looks and temperament as three humans who came from the same DNA combination could be. “Hands?” They all trooped to the sink and stood on the stepstool she kept there so they could, one at at time, soap, rinse, dry and jockey for

  position.

  They sat, and Anton said grace, adding a bit about the Reds beating the Cubs, which made the boys giggle and her frown. Antony talked a mile a minute, barely pausing to eat. Kieran ate while observing his brothers and his parents. Dominic played with his food, eating a little, but getting most of it on his face, the table, and the floor. She’d put away the high chair since he refused to sit in it after figuring out how to climb down when she made him sit there. “Me,” he’d said simply, pointing t
o his brothers at the table, one in a booster seat the other on a pile of phone books. “Table.”

  Once finished with the nightly battle-slash-ritual of a little outdoor basketball playtime with Daddy, using the miniature hoop Anton had installed, they trooped in for their baths. A loose term, meaning more “water all over the bathroom and sometimes tears” than “cleanliness.”

  She plunked them in front of a half hour of recorded cartoons, then carried Dominic into his brothers’ room so she could read them all a book. Antony fell asleep first, as usual. Kieran next. Dominic would require a second book, a glass of milk, a toy, a snack, and sometimes a stern warning from his father to “hush up and go to bed” before he finally succumbed. She kissed his slightly sweaty forehead and turned on his ceiling fan.

  “Mama,” he said, sounding sleepy, thank the good Lord.

  “Yes, my darling?”

  “Am I your fav-rit?”

  She smiled and turned to him. “You’re my favorite blond Love.”

  “Ant-nee is fav-rit black hair. Kee-an is fav-rit ginger.”

  “Don’t call him that.” She occasionally wished he weren’t so verbal already. Damn kid was ahead of the curve on almost everything, it seemed.

  Dominic giggled. “’Night, Mama. Love you.”

  She flicked off his light and closed the door, eager to get to her husband, until she recalled the bad timing. She grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge—a new, dark chocolate stout she really loved—and poured them into tall glasses.

  He was sitting on the lower patio, a huge fan trained straight at him while he leaned back, hands behind his head, eyes closed. She observed him for a few minutes, taking in his strong, reliable, stocky physique, hardly changed from the day she met him, wearing his usual jeans and brewery t-shirt.

  The reunion after Dominic’s early, chaotic months at home had brought them closer. He’d even begun to talk about the brewery and his plans for it, which pleased her. It was her name on those bottles and kegs, too, after all. She’d gotten him to teach her how to brew a few batches, going so far as to create her own special hoppy wheat variety for summer they called “Ginger-Head Wheat.”

  “The lawyer called again today,” she said, by way of making her presence known. She handed him a glass. He took it, drank half, and held onto the glass.

  “And?”

  “And, I have to decide what I’m going to do about it.”

  He finished his beer and set the empty on the table with a distinct bang.

  She frowned at him. “You’re not going to change your position about this? Remain as stubborn as my daddy’s mule?”

  “Lindsay, I can’t stop you from accessing your inheritance. But I’m telling you right now that if you use it for anything but the boys’ college funds, we are gonna have a problem.”

  “Anton,” she said, trying to arrange her face in neutral, calm lines. “The house needs a new roof. We won’t make it through another winter without one. I’m wasting time and money taking our clothes to the laundromat because the dang dryer keeps giving up the ghost. Dominic’s hospital bill is enormous.”

  He raised a dark eyebrow at her. She fumed but forced her voice to remain calm. “And don’t even start with me on why that is. I’m not about to listen to it. The dishwasher is on its last legs. You want to build a pole barn. The money for all of these things and more is there, in that trust fund, waiting for my signature.”

  He sighed and looked up at the darkening sky. Lindsay waited him out, sipping her beer, watching the fireflies flicker in the yard behind him. “No,” he said, leveling his stare at her. “When your father fired me for something I did not do to his precious baby daughter, no matter what I or anyone said—even his beloved Patrick—I swore to myself I’d never again accept anything from him. I didn’t even take my last pay packet, and I needed it.”

  “No, you took me instead.” She knew she was treading thin ice now, but she was sick to death of this lame excuse.

  “No, you offered yourself up to me, if I’m not mistaken, and I don’t think I am.”

  “You wanted it as much as I did.”

  “I won’t deny that, Lindsay, but I wasn’t going to act on my base impulse, unlike some folks I know.”

  “Damn good thing I did, I guess.”

  He studied her, eyes narrowed, as if pondering her statement. Anger heated her face. Her throat closed up. Memories of the most God-awful months of her entire life, spent trying to manage the boys, the house, herself—alone—washed over her. “I mean, maybe I’m assuming you’re as glad about it as I am.” She rose.

  “Oh, sit down and calm your horses. Lordy. You are the most hair-trigger woman I know.”

  “So let me get this straight. You’re happy to consider taking … how much was it again?”

  “Two-hundred fifty,” he said under his breath.

  “A quarter of a million dollars from a total stranger so you can move a perfectly good-sized brewery out of that beautiful old building you spent years and thousands of dollars bringing up to code and prettifying. So you can maybe, hopefully, possibly sell a few more bottles in states that don’t even border this one.”

  “That about sums it up, yes.” A hard edge had crept into his voice. She knew it well, and also knew she’d be better off dropping the subject now and picking it up again later.

  “And yet, when I tell you our very house is coming down around our ears, you still won’t allow me to touch the money my family left me legally in order to make a few God damned repairs.”

  “No need to curse.”

  “Fuck you, Anton. You are the stubbornest damn wop on God’s green earth.” She jumped up and headed indoors. He grabbed her arm.

  “Let go of me.”

  “Honey, you’re as stubborn a cursed red-headed Mick, and I love you. But I won’t have a dime of your father’s money spent on my house. We’ll get the stuff done, and we won’t freeze in the winter or hand wash dishes. And I’ll buy you a new dryer next week. I can swing that.”

  She sighed. They stood, glaring at each other in the darkness, the fan blowing her hair in her face.

  “Whatever,” she said, too tired at the thought of arguing anymore to bother.

  He tugged her and she dropped into his lap.

  “I’m not having sex tonight, Anton. I can’t afford to risk it.” He lifted her hair and started kissing her neck. Her body reacted instantly. She squirmed, sighing when he cupped her breast, already sensing herself giving in to him the way she wanted.

  As she was about to pull him up and into the house, wondering if they should head for the bottom basement since it was cooler there, a loud crash and terrifying shriek from Keiran made her leap to her feet. Anton barreled into the house, taking the flight of steps in two strides. She ran behind him, heart in her throat. The scene was so confusing at first that she had to look everywhere to sort out who was hurt and what had happened.

  There was no blood. No one seemed to be dead. But, for some reason, Dominic was sitting on the very top of the large bookshelf that held various framed photos, a few books, and was the repository of Anton’s massive collection of signed Kentucky Wildcat basketballs. Dom had somehow climbed up and pushed half of them to the floor where they rolled around at her feet. One of them must have hit the floor lamp, causing the crash. Kieran stood at the top of the short flight to the bedroom hall, thumb in his mouth, tears running down his cheeks.

  Anton reached for Dom, cursing a blue streak. The boy squished himself into a corner, as far from his father’s grasping hands as he could get.

  “Shit!” Dom echoed, merrily. “Fuck!”

  He tossed another ball over Anton’s head. It hit the front of the television hard enough to shatter it. Kieran shrieked again and put his hands over his ears. Anton had his foot on second lowest shelf, knocking over photos and scattering magazines.

  “Shit fuck! Shit fuck! Shit fuck!” Dom had started crawling along the top shelf. As he was about to pick up something Lindsay couldn’
t quite make out, Anton snagged him by the ankle. “Daddy!”

  “I’ll Daddy you,” Anton growled, pulling the boy down to the floor and giving him three, then four, then five hard wallops on his diaper-clad behind. Tears filled the boy’s eyes as he tried to turn and look at his father.

  “Stop! Hurting my brother,” Kieran said, running to Lindsay. She hauled him up, but he was getting almost too big to pick up.

  Anton’s face was so red Lindsay worried he might pop a blood vessel. He had hold of Dom’s arm and was shaking him hard enough for the boy’s head to wobble.

  “You are the biggest troublemaker. I swan I will beat it out of you if I have to,” Anton said, preparing whack the boy’s backside again.

  Dom let out a wail of dismay so loud, Anton let go of his arm and just stood there, his eyes wild. He dropped into his recliner and put his head in his hands. Kieran wiggled until she put him down so he could run to his brother.

  Dom shoved him away and headed straight for her, climbing up her legs and into her arms, pressing his face into her neck. He’d shed his PJs at some point, which he did almost every night. His body temperature had always been such that he could go without a coat in the cold and wanted as little as possible on him when it was hot. He was burning up now, shaking and sobbing.

  She glared at her husband. “He’s still just a baby, Anton. That was a mite excessive.”

  He raised his face from his hands. “Well, I’ll tell ya what, Linds.” He got up, stepped on the second shelf again and fished around until he found something and pulled it down so she could see it. “Next time I’ll let him grab this and see what he might get up to with it, okay?”

  She stared at the shotgun, her pulse racing, while she held Dom, Kieran clutching her legs. “You have a loaded gun in my house. Where our sons are fully capable of getting their hands on it.” She framed them as statements, not questions. “Were you going to let me in on this?”