by Freya Barker
She takes everything I give her and when I’m spent, barely able to stay standing, I feel clean—untainted.
“Love you,” I rumble, as I grab her under her arms and pull her up, pressing her against the tiles with my body. “Love you so fucking much it hurts.”
“I want to hurt her,” my little Pixie spews venomously, and I can’t hold back a chuckle, dropping my head in the soft spot between her neck and shoulder. I inhale her deeply and am surprised when my dick shows signs of renewed life.
“How long before they get back?” I mutter against her skin, as my hand slides up her side to cup her breast, lifting it up for my lips.
“Ahhhh,” she moans as I take most of her small breast inside my mouth and suck deep. “Too soon,” she manages breathlessly.
“We’ll have to be quick then.”
In one move I bend down to lift her, hook my arms underneath her knees, and brace her against the wall, spreading her wide open. Sliding my cock along the crease of her pussy I can feel how wet she is. Sucking me off turns her on as much as it does me. I poise myself at her entrance, and with a single thrust, drive myself deep inside her.
“Hold on,” I warn her. She slips her arms around my neck and clings on as I fuck her fast and furious against the wall.
The feel of her nails digging into my neck, the sound of slapping wet skin, and the guttural little sounds she makes drive me crazy. I’m fast barreling toward my second orgasm, when she hasn’t come once yet. I slip my hand between our bodies and easily find her distended clit, right where our bodies are joined. All it takes is a few fast flicks, and then firm deep pressure from my thumb, to feel her inner walls clamp and pulsate around me. I follow right behind her.
“Not sure that’s what the doctor meant when he said for you to take it easy,” she mumbles, when I gently lower her legs, making sure they’re firmly underneath her before letting go.
“Bullshit,” I counter. “You’re my best medicine.”
-
“Don’t take off your stuff,” I tell Mak when she comes running in just as I step into the hallway.
They were gone for quite a while. Had I known, I would’ve maybe tried for a third round, but in bed this time. Don’t think my knees would’ve handled another go against the wall.
“Guess what?” I look down into my niece’s upturned smiling face.
“I give up,” I joke, raising my hands in surrender.
“I saw an elk!”
“You did? That’s pretty cool.” I keep her talking as I get dressed to go outside myself.
“I want to take a picture, so I can show the kids at school. Otherwise they won’t believe me. Do you think next time Isla can come with her camera?”
I smile at the ongoing chatter until I realize I have no clue when she’s supposed to go back to school. Or where. In the next day or two, Stacie will likely be transported to Durango Mercy Regional where she will be undergoing the first of a series of graft surgeries, and of course Mak will stay with us.
Isla walks into the hallway to see us off, and with Mak still chatting away as she goes outside, I quickly pull Isla aside.
“Mak has to go to school.”
“I know,” she says, cool as pie. “She mentioned something this morning. Maybe call the school from the hospital, see if Stacie feels up to talking to them. I’ll look into to finding her a school here. We’ll also need to pick up the rest of her stuff in Albuquerque. Do something about her place there. Her job. I’ve started a list.”
“Uncle Ben!” Mak shouts from outside. “Are you coming?”
“Better go, honey,” Isla says, grabbing my coat and pulling me down for a kiss. “Tell Stacie I’ll see her tomorrow.”
She’s not coming with me today, because Al is leaving tomorrow. I think Isla secretly would love him to stay around permanently, but as long as his wife is alive in nursing care in Flagstaff, that’s just not an option.
It’ll be quiet without the old guy around.
Isla
“That girl tuckers me out,” Uncle Al mutters when I walk into the kitchen. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna lie down for ten minutes.”
As soon as he disappears in his bedroom, I go in search of my computer, which I find on the narrow table under the TV. It’s been since before Christmas that I’ve done any work on my edits and I feel like being creative.
With Atsa asleep in his bed by the fireplace, I curl up on the couch, flip open my laptop and sign on. Immediately my email notifications pop up; fourteen new emails. I scroll through them; discarding most since they’re newsletters or advertising, but there’s one that catches my eye.
Julie Winton.
I hesitate briefly, wondering if I should simply send it on to Neil, but curiosity wins and I click on the name.
MINE
There’s just that one word, plus an attachment.
The image is one of a room I saw only a brief glimpse of, before I was tossed on my back in the snow. The wall depicted looks like a gallery, or perhaps a shrine is a better description. In the center is my own photo, the one I took of Ben overlooking the reservoir, the one she reportedly bought from the gallery. All around it are a host of others, mostly grainy images of Ben: some alone, but also some with me, taken from a distance, with one thing in common; her face glued or superimposed on mine.
Even more disturbing are the other shots, showing Ben, naked, tied to the bed, and clearly out of it.
CHAPTER 32
Ben
“Son of a bitch, Neil. How in hell did that get through?”
I’m furious. I come home from spending a few hours at the hospital with my sister, thinking it’s safe to leave my girl at home, only to find her in a ball on our bed, crying her eyes out. It doesn’t matter that by her own explanation it was only “pregnancy hormones,” or that she was crying because she couldn’t have “another go at that bitch.” What matters is that she was upset because of an email that never should’ve reached her.
“I’m sorry man. I closed down the tracking program as soon as the woman was in FBI custody. She must’ve had that email lined up to go out from her phone, but without reception, it got stuck in her outbox. The phone was dead when they took it as evidence from the cabin. They must have charged it up to examine it at the FBI offices, and as soon as it found a signal, it would’ve automatically sent off whatever was in the outbox.”
I hate that he makes sense. I want to hang onto my anger, but I have to admit I can’t really blame anyone for this unfortunate fuck up.
“Got it,” I grumble. I could probably be a bit more gracious but Neil doesn’t seem to hold a grudge.
“I’m still sorry,” he says, with a lot more meaning than I’m comfortable with. Living through that shit and having any memory of it was bad enough; having every-fucking-body get a gander at your naked, helpless self is beyond humiliating. Son of a bitch.
“Yeah,” I blow him off. “Anyway, you got any more news? I haven’t talked to Damian yet, but I figure your nosey ass probably knows whether that psych assessment has come back yet.”
“Funny you should mention that,” he says, chuckling. “Nothing’s official yet, but I may have accidentally tripped over the hospital transcripts of a forty-three-year-old, caucasian female with paranoid schizophrenia in an acute stage of psychosis. Further hospitalization is recommended to attempt to control symptoms with a variety of treatment options.”
“In other words, she’ll be found unfit to stand trial,” I conclude.
“Likely,” Neil agrees before he offers, “but, she’ll be behind bars either way.”
“Nah. They’ll drug her up until she can barely function and declare her healed. She could be out in months; forget to take her meds and end up just as bat-shit crazy as she is now.”
It’s the truth. I’ve heard stories of people who’ve done unspeakable things, who avoid prison by reason of insanity and before you know it, they’re back on the streets. I never thought much about it, I only had myself to w
orry about, but the prospect terrifies me now.
I have Isla and our child to worry about.
“We’ll keep track of her,” Neil says, immediately understanding. “I’ll personally keep track of her. I promise.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
I end the call and pour myself another glass of scotch when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Got another one of those?” Al asks, pulling out the stool beside me.
“You bet.” I get up to grab a second tumbler and pour him a good two-finger measure. I can hear the sound of laughter coming from our bedroom, where Isla and Mak are cuddled up with her laptop, watching some comedy on Netflix.
“Couldn’t help overhear part of that,” Al says after taking a sip from his drink. “Need me to stick around?” I turn around in my seat and clap a hand on his shoulder.
“Thanks,” I tell him sincerely. “But there’s no way to tell what’s going to happen. Only thing sure is that she’s locked away for the foreseeable future. You’ve gotta go see to your wife and trust me that I’ll take care of mine.”
“Yours?” He pulls up one eyebrow.
“She will be. Soon.”
“No need to rush things, Son.”
“Gonna be fifty next year, old man, I’d hardly call it rushing.” I know Isla had wanted to keep the pregnancy quiet for a bit so the two of us could get used to the idea first, but her uncle deserves to know. “Besides,” I add. “No child of mine will be born without my name.”
It’s deadly quiet. Al’s glass is suspended somewhere halfway to his mouth as he gapes at me, the wheels turning behind his eyes. Suddenly he slams the glass down on the counter and I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter on impact. Without taking his eyes off me, I see him take in a deep breath.
“Isla! Get your ass out here, girl!” he bellows suddenly and I can’t stop the bark of laughter.
“What?” The dog jumps up in confusion as Isla comes running from the hallway, Mak padding in behind her. She takes one look at her uncle staring at me with something close to murder in his eyes and then she turns her gaze to me, with much the same expression on her face. “What’s going on?”
“You were going to send me on my merry way without telling me you’re pregnant?” It’s almost humorous, seeing her mouth open and close like a fish as she reaches for an appropriate answer.
“You’re having a baby?” This from Mak, who is the only other person who seems to be happy with the news. Must be a familial thing.
“You told him,” Isla hisses at me.
“I had to,” I explain, looking from one to the other, before I settle on Mak. “Yes, honey. We’re having a baby.”
“Yay!”
“Ben!”
“Son of a bitch!”
The last was Al who looks ready to feed me his fist, yet the person who worries me most is my Pixie, who appears hungry for blood.
“I had to,” I repeat, keeping my gaze fixed on her. “Because he didn’t want me to rush into marrying you, and I wasn’t going to ask you without his blessing.”
It all makes perfect sense to me, and to an enthusiastically nodding Mak, but the other two seem less convinced. Time to bring out the big guns. Or the ring.
One of the reasons I was so pissed off about finding Isla in tears was because I’d planned to ask her tonight, with her uncle still here, but the timing was clearly off. Mak helped me pick out a ring this afternoon, after we left the hospital, and she’d been as excited as I was.
I slip off the stool, take a step closer to Isla, put my hands on her waist and lift her up, swinging her around so I can sit her down on the edge of the counter. Before she has a chance to react, I pull the box out of my pocket and flip it open.
“Marry me.”
Isla
Seriously?
That doesn’t even remotely sound like a question, let alone a proposal.
Something in my face must’ve given him a clue, because his face softens as he grabs my hand with his free one.
“You know I don’t do words, Pixie, but you’ve got to know by now how meaningless my life would be if I didn’t have you to share it with. You were a surprise when I met you, and you’ve been a surprise every day since.” He pauses, checking me out like he’s gauging his level of success, when Uncle Al pipes up.
“Girl, just say yes. Put me out of my misery. If I have to listen to this man bungle through this wedding proposal any further, I might actually have a stroke.” Then he turns his attention to Ben. “And you’re about as smooth as low grit sandpaper. You need some game.”
I almost laugh, watching Ben’s face fall, but then I spot Mak’s hopeful little face, looking at her uncle like he hung the moon, and I melt. Because I recognize it. Sometimes I look at Ben the same way. He’s bossy, can be overbearing, and he certainly has the ability to irk me, but he also believes in me, makes me feel safe, and loves me without reservation. My uncle is wrong; he’s not bungling his proposal, because his intentions are right there, plain as day on his face.
I place my hands on each side of his rugged face and kiss him sweetly.
“Of course,” I whisper against his lips, smiling when I hear Mak let out a whoop.
-
Still, it’s bittersweet when Mak and I furiously wave goodbye to my uncle walking through security at the airport. Ben stands off to the side, his hands in his pockets, only lifting his chin slightly when Uncle Al looks at us one last time before disappearing.
He’ll be back. In April, he said, when he can drive without the risk of snow.
“Should plan your wedding then,” he suggested with a big grin.
“We can do that,” Ben answered for both of us, which resulted in another discussion around the importance of communication, or rather the lack thereof. I was feeling a might left out to say the least. A significant oversight, since I’d be the one walking down the aisle, the size of a truck by then. This baby is due early June.
I argued to wait until after the baby is born to get married, but nobody else agreed with me. Then Ben promised that he couldn’t imagine me any more beautiful than round with his child, and I finally gave in.
Last night, the two men had talked about Ben’s retro trailer ideas while I sat curled up in the corner of the couch, just listening to them talk as I twirled the pretty blue moonstone ring on my finger. Ben’s choice was perfect and indicative of how well he really knows me. I’m simply not a diamond kind of girl, and when he told me the moonstone reminded him of the first time we kissed out on the dock, he had me burst out in tears. Even Uncle Al grudgingly nodded his approval.
Happy times.
Even while saying goodbye, because he’ll be back.
We dropped Atsa off at Jen’s again this morning, who is getting much too attached to our big, hairy, and very lovable mountain dog and stopped in at the hospital on the way to Durango, to see Stacie. Her transportation to Mercy Regional is scheduled for tomorrow. Ben suggested we all see Uncle Al off, and drive straight through to Albuquerque, with the trailer hitched to the SUV.
The plan is to pick up as much as we can haul back of Mak and Stacie’s stuff, and pack the rest into storage. With Stacie looking forward to months of rehabilitation and at this point unable to see where the future will lead; she, along with Ben, decided that mainly for her peace of mind, she’d give up her little bungalow. We’ll spend one or two nights to get that sorted and then we’ll pack up the trailer and head back.
We’ll stop in Durango, this time at Mercy to see how Stacie has settled in and to give her the few things she’s requested from her home, and then it’s back to Dolores.
It’s not going to be easy, a lot of driving back and forth to Durango to see Stacie while she’s recovering at first. Then once the bulk of her surgeries are done, we should be able to bring her home, hopefully sooner than later. Home with us, because her road to recovery is really only just starting.
The emotional lash back will undoubtedly come. Not just half her body, but also
half of Stacie’s beautiful face is marred by burns and will likely be scarred, even after grafting. Although there’s a lot that can be done with plastic surgery these days, she will never look the way she did before.
Ben’s biggest concern is her emotional well-being. Of course she is in a tremendous amount of pain still, but it’s obvious she is already retreating. Except when Mak is there; she comes alive when she sees her daughter.
“Can we stop at Sonic?” Mak pipes up from the back seat when we get back into the car.
“You guys have a serious addiction to fast food,” I observe.
“But I’ve never actually been to one,” she argues. “Every time we’d drive by one at home, Mom would tell me next time.”
I peek sideways at Ben, who’s looking at his niece in the rearview mirror before turning his hangdog eyes on me. When I turn around to check on Mak, her eyes hold the same pitiful expression.
“Oh for Pete’s sake, fine. Let’s do drive-thru,” I give in, rolling my eyes.
Mak squeals in the back seat and Ben reaches over and squeezes my knee, his signature shit-eating grin on his face.
The worst part?
I may have developed a pregnancy addiction to mozzarella sticks dipped in peanut butter fudge shake.
To Ben and Mak’s delight, we hit every Sonic Drive-thru in Albuquerque while there, and I keep telling myself it’s because we have no time to put together a proper meal. All lies.
“What’s wrong?” Ben asks me when we’re driving back home. He must’ve heard my deep sigh. Would be hard not to, since I may have put a little umph into it.
“I wish we had a Sonic closer by,” I complain, to Ben’s hilarity.
“We may have created a monster, Makenna,” he says over his shoulder, and I hear her soft giggle from the backseat.
“Guess she doesn’t know they have one in Cortez,” his niece answers, snorting.
Oh no. Correction; by the time April comes around, I’ll be the size of a blimp.
It doesn’t stop the grin from spreading.
