by Pratt, Lulu
Jagger took a deep breath. “Are you saying…”
“I think I am.”
“There’s no one around.”
Suddenly, he was pulling me in close to him, gripping me tightly as our mouths met. This was different from the last kisses — there was a tenderness, a sense of knowing that this could well be the last time. We weren’t just looking for pleasure — we were making memories.
Together, we sunk down onto our knees in the grass. I didn’t care that my knees would be stained green when I walked into the parking lot, or that I might have white chalk in my hair. Let the town gossip as much as they liked. I wouldn’t be here forever, after all.
Without breaking our kiss, I climbed atop Jagger, wrapping my legs around his waist as my hands found his cheeks. I wore just a breezy red, white and blue sundress, in honor of the holiday, and I could feel the rough cotton of his pants on my thighs. A strange part of me hoped that they would leave little micro-cuts I could trace the next morning, when this crazy dream was all over.
His hands pulled me in closer and closer, fingers digging into me as though I were a butterfly he might pin to a board.
“Fiona,” he breathed. “Fiona.”
Over and over he said my name as he covered me in kisses, traveling from my lips to my neck and down to my collarbone.
My eyes were dampening, but I refused to stop — I didn’t want to let him see what my name coming from his mouth had meant to me. Because then there would be no turning back — I’d have to change the whole course of my life, and I couldn’t do that.
So I held my breath and moved my underwear to the side.
Without words, he understood what I was doing. Jagger reached into his pants and pulled out his cock, and as the lights of the stadium began to shut off, I took him inside me, gripping him even harder between my legs.
“Ride me,” he begged. “Please. I want to remember what your face looks like when you’re happy.”
I willed the tears away, forcing myself to live in this one eternal moment. God, he felt so good, so right, within me.
I began to gradually rotate my hips around in small circles, bathing in the feeling of him pressing into my sacred spot. He held onto my waist as though I might fall off, his enormous hands swallowing me whole.
“Ride, Fiona.”
My knees dug into the ground as my hips rose and fell, moving forward and backward now, picking up the pace, even as my heart screamed that this couldn’t be it — this couldn’t be the end.
I leaned low over his chest like a jockey going parallel to his horse. I needed to be closer to Jagger — having him inside me wasn’t nearly enough.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “You’ve always been beautiful.”
My hands grasped his shoulders as I thrust even faster, knowing that my emotional bandwidth was running out. How much longer could I hurt myself like this for? The pleasure was immense, but knowing that I might never experience it again… that pain overran the pleasure.
There was no real warning from my body. One minute, I was moving with Jagger, up and down, following an unspoken rhythm. The next, I was in the throes of a glorious orgasm.
I tossed my head back and cried out, my voice seeming louder than the earlier cheers of the crowd, the tears finally dampening my cheeks. My entire body tensed as ecstasy coursed through me, incapacitating my limbs, forcing me to spend ages in one single, drawn-out orgasm. I panted and shook, feeling bewitched by a higher power. Jagger lay beneath me, gasping at the sight, knowing that this was something primal and rare.
At long last, I took him out, knowing that I couldn’t handle any more power inside me, that any touch would cause my now sensitive muscles pain.
Wordlessly, Jagger got on his hands and knees, hunched over like Atlas carrying the world. He grasped his cock and stroked it once, twice, three times, before his back arched and he came silently onto the grass, creating an unsteady, milky line that contrasted with the straight, bright white markings on the field.
We lay back down onto the field, looking up in the dusky sky, watching as it turned from blue to red.
CHAPTER 12
Jagger
I WATCHED AS Fiona stood up and dusted blades of grass from her legs with the efficiency and piety of someone who hadn’t just fucked in a public football stadium. If it hadn’t been so strange and incredible, I might have laughed out loud.
Following her lead, I quickly straightened my pants and got to my feet, unwilling to let her see how deeply I’d felt whatever just passed between us.
“So,” I began, then realized I had nowhere to go with it.
Her lips pressed tightly together. She didn’t look angry — more like she was speaking to a friendly stranger. It was inexplicable.
“I’m going to go to the celebration outside,” she said, her tone formal. “Are you going that way as well?”
Apparently this was her coping mechanism — pretending like nothing had happened. Fair enough, I suppose — in the Marines, we say that everyone has their own way to sit on a bomb.
“I actually have to go be a volunteer firefighter,” I admitted. “Roger asked me to join this morning, said that it would really boost the guys’ spirits to have a Marine on the team. I’m not sure that’s true, but it did butter me enough to get me to agree. We’re meeting at the station now,” I finished, referencing the fire house down the road a ways.
Fiona looked perfectly unperturbed. “Okay. Then I’ll… see you around.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Personally, I wasn’t sure I could take seeing her again, knowing we had no future. It was too much for me.
There seemed no appropriate way to fit in a ‘goodbye,’ especially if it might be one of those ‘forever’ varieties of goodbye. So instead, I slowly turned away and began to walk out the stadium, feeling certain that Fiona wouldn’t stop me.
But then—
“Jagger?”
I spun around, sickeningly hopeful that she might say she’d been so very wrong, that she’d stick around, that we’d play it as it lay.
Instead:
“I know I’m moving away soon.” Yeah, no kidding. I prepared to respond sardonically, and then she added, “And I want to leave town knowing that you and Jolie made up.”
Okay… that’s not what I’d been expecting.
“May I ask why?” I replied, trying to keep my tone in check.
After all, what business was it of hers how my sister and I communicated with one another or in our case, didn’t communicate?
Fiona cleared her throat. “I feel like I’ve wreaked enough havoc, you know. I let myself get involved with you, knowing that I was going to move soon. And I let Jolie refuse to address the situation for all these years, even when, as a friend, I should’ve encouraged her to take the first step to healing. I mean, for chrissakes, you have a nephew. It’s more than just a petty sibling dispute at this point — it’s about a whole family.”
I found that my cheeks were burning with shame. Why did an outsider need to be telling me this? Because, of course, she was right. God, Jolie had become a mother, and I hadn’t even acknowledged it. I could get away with that kind of childish pettiness when I was overseas — nobody faulted a Marine for being bad about contact. After all, there were wars happening. But now that I was back home, and had been mere yards from Jolie and reconciliation, it was mortifying that I’d chosen not to make an effort. Why hadn’t I told her I was back in town?
Fiona’s slight push had apparently broken a dam inside me. Suddenly, after years of pushing away my feelings through guns and miles, I was confronted by the fact that you can’t really run from family — not forever, anyway.
Unable to hear my racing thoughts, Fiona pressed me. “So? Will you do it? You told me yourself that you regretted choosing your father, that you wished you’d done everything differently.”
In the middle of the field, standing tall and proud, her dress flapping in the wind, she reminded me of those pa
intings of Joan of Arc. The red hair whipping around her fast could easily have been flames.
Despite myself, I whispered, “What if she doesn’t forgive me?”
Because that was the real fear, right? What if I humbled myself, opened myself up to complete and total rejection, only to find that Jolie didn’t want to hear it? Not like I could blame her — I’d been a terrible brother.
“If she doesn’t forgive you,” Fiona insisted, “then at least you tried. That’s half the battle. Trying is what makes you a man — succeeding will be what makes you happy.”
Beneath her thick lashes, those brilliant eyes flashed. With her encouragement, there was nothing I couldn’t do.
“All right,” I said finally. “What’s her address?”
Fiona’s mouth quirked into a small, satisfied smile. Ah, that was what I liked to see.
Hunching over our phones, shoulders barely touching, she showed me Jolie’s address, written in Fiona’s phone under contact info for “BFF : J”. It was so sweet and innocent, like how we all used to customize ringtones for our best friends in middle school. I laughed, and Fiona asked me to explain myself, but I deflected, saying I’d just found something funny.
After I’d typed in the address, Fiona straightened, and I reluctantly followed suit. Our skin parted ways, and I imagined a pair of thighs splitting — that slow, sticky peel of flesh off flesh, the little line between the two forms that suctioned one to another. Would I ever see Fiona’s thighs part again? Would I ever get to taste that sweetness between them?
I shuddered at the thought. I had never run my tongue down there, had never sampled her special flavor. It was like knowing that I’d never see the ruins of Machu Picchu, or row the canals of Venice — a sudden, definitive loss of experience and magic.
Fiona confirmed that I had the address, that I knew how to get there.
“Yes, Ms. School Teacher, I can get around my hometown okay,” I chuckled, hoping my face didn’t betray how much I wanted to stretch this conversation on forever.
“Hey, I’m just checking. You haven’t been around for a while.”
“Yeah. I’m thinking about changing that.”
“Really?” Her eyebrows shot up, crinkling her smooth forehead. “You’re not going back on tour.”
“Well, barring a national emergency, at least not for a little while. I’m thinking at least a year.”
“Oh. Wow. I just thought… I thought this was very temporary.”
Moved by something outside of my own body, I grabbed her hand and murmured fiercely, “Fiona, if you would stay here, I’d settle down in Little Lane forever. I just need to make sure you know that.”
Her lips parted as her eyes scanned my face. I waited, still clutching her tiny fingers, hoping against hope that maybe—
“Go find Jolie,” she whispered back, tears clouding her words. “Please.”
I dropped her hand. Well, I’d tried. And, according to her, that’s what counted, right?
I couldn’t stay there a moment longer. Whirling on my heel, I walked out of the stadium, into the cool July night.
Thankfully, attempting to get out of the parking lot was a blissfully distracting situation. It seemed like everyone from Little Lane wanted to talk with me — congratulate me on the big game, thank me for my service, slyly ask if I had a special lady. The last question nearly made me choke, but I put on a brave face.
By the time I’d reached the edge of the lot, every part of my body seemed to have been squeezed or pressed by a stranger, and I nearly ached from the touch. On the bright side, maybe all the new flesh would water down memories of Fiona’s on mine.
I consulted my phone one more time, checking to see that I’d memorized Jolie’s address correctly. Should be on the other side of the lake, near the old mill. Nice part of town, I thought with some pride. She’d done well for herself. She was safe.
Since I’d arrived early, I was one of the few people who’d been able to park in the few spaces in the lot. Everyone else had been resigned to residential streets, or simply walking from home. All I had to do was cross the curb and I’d be there, driving to Jolie’s, about to pry open a new chapter in my book.
By the curb, all the buffet tables were lined up, filled with mac n’ cheese, hot dogs, beer and anything else consummately ‘American.’ I licked my lips, and considered dropping in briefly for a snack. Football is hungry work, and I felt pretty certain the people serving the food would allow me to forgo the requisite meal tickets, given the whole Marine and star quarterback thing. My life has its perks.
Then I saw who was serving the salad.
Jolie.
She was smiling and depositing a heaping serving of Caesar on someone’s plate when our eyes met. Hers darkened, and she quickly turned to greet the next customer with a smile now far more obviously fake.
Well, it was now or never.
I made my way to the table, crowds parting for me like the Red Sea. I stopped directly in front of her station, and people moved around, no one daring to criticize me for any possible line cutting.
For the first time in years, I was face to face with Jolie.
“Can we talk?”
She pursed her lips. “I’m serving a meal, Jagger.”
“Please.”
“Fine.” This, said with a particular tone of martyred exasperation.
She yanked off her apron, tossing it on a chair behind her, and shuffled out from behind the buffet table, which was hemmed in by boxes of supplies and backup trays.
We met over to the far left of the tables, underneath a thin oak tree whose leaves were in full bloom for the summer. The trees had been the city’s one acquiescence to greenery near the football stadium — as I recalled, some environmental group had insisted we didn’t just have a huge stretch of asphalt with no local color. At the time, it seemed petty, but now I was grateful for the pushback. Meeting your estranged sister under a tree in a parking lot was much better than just meeting in a parking lot.
“Say what you wanna say, Jagger,” she sniffed, leaning up against the bark. “I’ve gotta get back in a minute.”
Pressed for time, I blurted out, “I was wrong, Jolie. All these years, I’ve been wrong. And I — I can’t believe I did that to you and to Mom. I was mad at first, sure, but then slowly I started to learn that Dad had been cheating.”
This finally broke her steely expression. “What? You didn’t know? How?”
“No. I guess… I didn’t see what I didn’t want to see. I had on blinders to anything he could possibly do wrong.” I shook my head at my own willful ignorance, even now disappointed by actions. “So I chose him, not understanding why you and Mom were so angry, thinking that maybe you were just ganging up on him.”
Jolie’s annoyance had turned to concern. She stood there listening to me, hearing me for the first time in years.
“Of course, when word got back that he’d been cheating, I was furious with myself. I’d let us lose our relationship over, what, an adulterer who’d broken our mother’s heart? Broken our family. It was awful to think about. But I was too proud to crawl on my knees back to you, to beg for your forgiveness. I wanted to join the Marines anyway, so I figured that was excuse enough to leave you in the dust.”
“Now, though,” I said, my voice rising, “I’m back. And I want to say I am so, so sorry for everything I’ve done. You don’t need to forgive me, but by God, I hope you do. Because I’d really like to be a better uncle to your little boy than I’ve been a brother to you.”
I could see Jolie’s eyes turning red, but she didn’t let my speech break her, not yet. “Why now, Jagger? What made you change your mind after all these years?”
“A special person made me see that I was being, well, pigheaded. That there are more important things in life than pride.”
“Thank God,” Jolie murmured, and then without warning, she pulled me into a hug. I was limp for a moment, letting the bad feeling drain from my body. I then hugged her back so fiercel
y she laughed and said, “Hey, are you trying to break my bones?”
I loosened my grip and leaned back to study her face — it had been too long. She looked like an adult now, not the little girl I’d known. It would take time and effort, learning about this new woman before me.
She wiped tears from her lash line then suddenly changed tunes, punching me on the shoulder and grinning.
“Would this mystery person by any chance happen to be Fiona?” she asked with a wicked smile.
“Um, uh, what makes you say that?”
“Oh, don’t you try it with me, I saw the sparks out there on the field. When you were looking into the stands, I know you were trying to find her, not me.”
“Sorry about that.”
She punched me again. “Okay, enough apologies from you. For one, I owe you an apology — I’m sorry I didn’t make any effort to move on either. We were kids. It was immature and stupid and let’s just agree to never allow that shit to happen again.”
“Done.”
“And for two, you’re not allowed to apologize for love.”
I scoffed, my heart accelerating as I asked, “Who said I’m in love?”
“Don’t be a dumbass.”
“So we’re still doing name-calling, that remains on the table?”
“You’re in love with Fiona,” she declared so loudly I shushed her before the whole town to hear. “Which is great, because she’s had a crush on you since high school.”
“Wait, really?” I was trying to take in all this information at once. I had missed having a sister — seeing yourself reflected in the eyes of someone who cares for you is a crucial part of understanding who you are.
“Yup.”
“I… I felt the same,” I admitted, not sure where all of my emotional bravery was suddenly coming from.
For the first time, I felt like a Marine in more than just name. I was a Marine in the way that counted — my heart was strong.
I was pulled out of my excitement with a recollection of reality. “It doesn’t matter,” I sighed. “She’s leaving town soon, in a few weeks. She told me today.”
