by Freya Barker
“Sounds like you don’t need to think about it, your mind’s pretty much made up,” I point out.
“Guess it is.”
“You do realize that honourable as it is for you to ‘step up to the plate’ as you say, Jordy is very much a capable adult who might want someone, other than her brother, in her life eventually?” I tease him.
“Don’t remind me,” he groans, making me snicker.
“I won’t need to,” I tell him. “Your sister will make sure you don’t forget.”
The words have barely left my mouth when I’m lifted from my seat and pulled on his lap.
“Enough talking,” he growls, before his mouth seals in my protest.
The comfortable awareness I’d been feeling suddenly flares up into a heated charge, as his tongue plunges deep between my half-open lips. A single thought of concern that my ass on his lap and my tongue tangled with his might not exactly constitute ‘pacing myself,’ evaporates as quickly as it develops, before my body takes over. My arms come up, wrapping around his shoulders and a hand slides involuntarily into his shaggy hair. I feel like the bone-dry grass at the end of summer, lighting up at the single touch of a random spark. Flaring, all encompassing, and hungry.
“Jesus, I could live off the taste of you,” Jared mumbles, tracing his lips along my jaw and down my neck. I wantonly tilt my head and moan softly as he accepts the invitation and sucks the soft skin in his mouth, while his hand slips under my shirt, stroking its way up to cup my breast. The callused pad of his thumb swipes over my nipple, the friction even through the fabric of my bra, enough to send a shudder through my body.
“Cold?” he asks, pulling away, clearly misinterpreting my reaction.
“No,” I breathe in protest, but it’s too late, he’s already pulling the quilt from the back of the couch, wrapping me up. I didn’t want him to stop, but I don’t say anything else as he tucks me close, his breath against my cheek.
We stay like that, and watch as the moon comes up and draws a line of light over the surface of the water. The fire subdued, but not out. Simply waiting for a breeze, a touch, to bring it back to life.
SIXTEEN
Jared
I feel a little stupid, knocking on her door again the night after.
Hell, I’ve felt stupid since leaving her last night. Not sure what the fuck I was thinking, putting the brakes on like that. Not usually my style, taking it slow. Especially not after a prolonged drought, like this current one.
For some reason it seems important with Mia.
Last night, I had her on my lap with my hand up her shirt so fast, she didn’t know what was happening. I don’t want that. I want her to know exactly what is happening. More than that, I want her to see it coming.
I haven’t seen her at all today, although Griffin came out on the dock this morning while I was having my coffee. I had an appointment in Barrie this morning with a local lawyer, Marie Blumberg. One that LeBlanc recommended yesterday, when we left the courthouse in Bracebridge. LeBlanc had been waiting for us when we arrived, and while I’m hesitant to admit it, if not for him, we likely wouldn’t have walked out of there an hour later with a temporary restraining order. The judge had suggested we make sure to consult with a good family lawyer to help us sort out what, if anything, we needed to have in place, in case that asswipe gets the urge to put in a claim for custody or something ridiculous like that. I have a lawyer on retainer in Toronto, but all he does is look over contracts and such. Not much help in this case.
I almost walked right back out of the office when Marie Blumberg introduced herself. I’m not sure what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t the bohemian grandmother, about five foot tall, wearing a butt ugly, floral tent and with her long grey hair in a thin braid down her back. Sure wasn’t like any lawyer I’d ever encountered, but the moment she opened her mouth, I could hear her bite. A terrier. Not only that, she was sharp, to the point, and by the time I left her office with a notebook full of homework and a stiff retainer lighter, I was feeling pretty good about her.
My good mood lasted until I got home to find out Mia had been by, while I was gone. In and out, Jordy said.
“Again?” Mia says, opening the door.
“If I were a lesser man, my feelings would be hurt,” I start, calling a spade a spade. “Gone for no more than half an hour and you pick that time, out of the entire day, to pop over?” I watch as her cheeks flush, and her mouth opens and closes a few times, as she’s working on a comeback. Before she has a chance to formulate a response, I slip my hand around the back of her neck and pull her close. I wait for a beat until her eyes focus on mine before I close the distance, pressing a close-mouthed kiss to her lips.
“Gonna let me in?”
She steps aside to let me pass.
“So I’ve decided I’m shit at this,” I announce, sitting down at the small dining table, watching her pull out the chair across from me. “I fully intended to proceed with caution, since I really don’t want to fuck up, but it’s messing with my head,” I confess. “You see, one minute it feels like you can’t get close enough, and the next, you go out of your way to avoid me. It’s denting my ego.” I draw an intended snort from her.
“I’m thinking your ego is dent resistant,” she finally speaks, if only to jab at me.
“Pretty much,” I admit with a shrug. “But here’s the thing, I like you. You’re great with Ole, Jordy adores you, you’re a quiet neighbour, and your dog is da bomb.” I hide a smile when I see her eyebrow hit her hairline. “But you’re also great with Ole, my sister worships you, you’re the perfect neighbour, and did I mention, I really dig your dog? Do you see my dilemma?” I watch with interest when one corner of her mouth starts tugging up and the tip of her tongue pokes out. “See? That, right there; your mouth moves, and all I can think of is my next taste of those lips, and when you sit down and tuck your leg up underneath you like you do now, I can’t help wonder how soft the skin is on the inside of your thigh. You’re great to talk to. Smart and funny. And that hair.” I shake my head as her hand instantly reaches up to check her curls. “My fingers ache to dive in there to see if I can mess it up more.”
“More?” she questions me.
“Stay with me here, I was going somewhere with this.”
“A point would be good.” There goes that eyebrow again.
“You’re also complicated, beautiful, and so closed off and skittish, I’m constantly worried I’ll say or do the wrong thing and send you running.”
She immediately lowers her eyes and stares at her restlessly moving fingers.
“Like that,” I point out softly.
“I’m not running,” she snaps, raising her eyes. “I’m just...thinking.”
“Okay, well could you maybe do it out loud? Since I’m kind of sitting here with my guts spilled all over the table, and the exposure is killing me.” I’m relieved to hear her laugh at that, her eyes lit with humour.
“I adore Jordy back. Love Ole. I enjoy being at your house, hanging out.” She smirks when I growl, and quickly adds, “And I like you, too. It’s a lot for me. A bit overwhelming and I want to share more. I think I owe you that, but I’m going to need a stiff drink first.”
“Then let’s get comfortable.” I push my chair back, while trying to downplay the urge to pump my fist. “And I’ll take one of those stiff drinks, too,” I add over my shoulder as I make my way out on her porch.
I don’t have to wait long before Mia follows me out, carrying two tumblers and what looks like half a bottle of scotch.
“This okay?” she wants to know, holding the bottle up for my inspection. A nice single malt Glenlivet.
“Perfect. You clearly like your scotch,” I conclude. Mia chuckles as she pours us both a generous two fingers.
“Actually, I got it for Doug. I may have had a taste at some point, but I don’t drink much.”
Doug? I’m not a jealous man. At least I haven’t been so far, but I haven’t heard that name before. I
overheard her mention something about her ex-husband, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t call him by that name. I wait until she sits down, this time not immediately beside me, but on the other side of the couch, like she needs a little distance.
“Doug?” I can’t stop myself from asking.
“Steffie’s husband,” she answers, observing me over the rim of her glass as she takes a sip, with a twinkle in her eye.
I hide my relief by taking a drink of my own before putting my glass down, leaning my elbows on my knees, and whispering, “Tease.”
Mia
Yes, I definitely needed some liquid courage.
Sometime between yesterday and today, I’d already decided that I was going to ‘ride it out’ like Rueben had suggested. Last night when he’d shown up, I was toying with the idea of opening up a bit more, but my good intentions were blown to bits by just a touch of his lips. This morning, I woke up after a restless night and started doubting myself again. Ironically, for mostly similar reasons to the ones he just brought up.
I am a tease, pulling Doug’s name out of a hat, but if I’m not mistaken, he’s a bit jealous and that, plus the swig of alcohol, is enough to force the words from my mouth.
“I get panic attacks,” I start, not really telling him anything he doesn’t know yet. “Mostly when I’m in public. I’m better than I used to be, living here helps, but I still struggle when I have to go out in public. My official diagnosis is agoraphobia.”
There—I jump right in and wait for some reaction from him, but he hasn’t shifted uncomfortably. Hasn’t even so much as blinked.
“What happened?” he gently asks instead. “I mean, I know you worked as a midwife in Toronto, so I assume this is not something that already developed in childhood. What happened?” he repeats, tilting his head slightly.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, letting my gaze wander out over the water. “One minute I was on a full subway train on my way home from the clinic, when the lights went out and the train screeched to a halt. The next thing I know, there was yelling and screaming, people piling on top of each other.” I wrap my arms around my body to stop the shaking, and keep my eyes open on the lake so I remember where I am, fighting hard to keep the tendrils of panic from taking hold. I shake my head sharply when I sense Jared leaning in. I want his touch, but then I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish. “From what I hear, we were down there for close to six hours, but I only remember the first few minutes of it. The rest is gone. I don’t remember EMTs finding me, curled up, and wedged under a couple of seats on the floor. I don’t remember people stepping on me, breaking my arm. I don’t even remember feeling pain until they set it in the hospital I was transported to.”
“Jesus.”
“They thought maybe I’d hit my head, that I didn’t remember, but tests came back clear. I was kept overnight, in case I had a concussion, and was sent home. Three months later, I had another one in a movie theatre. Months after that again, that time in line at the grocery store. And then another one, and another one. Over the years, the attacks came more frequently. At first only when I was in crowded, enclosed spaces, but with time, it happened on almost every occasion I’d step outside my house. Then finally, about five years ago, I couldn’t leave the house at all. Steffie had been carrying the load by herself for so long, I sold my half of our midwifery practice. Blair finally left. He couldn’t cope, and I can’t blame him.”
“Christ, Mia,” I hear Jared say, and I finally turn to look at him.
“Do you remember where you where August 14, 2003?” I ask him, but I don’t wait for an answer. I barely notice the shift in his body. “I do—I don’t think I’ll ever forget.”
“The blackout,” he mumbles, and I suddenly notice his face has turned pale as he closes his eyes.
“Jared?”
“That day is etched in my memory.” His voice is rough, as he suddenly stands up, looking down at me with pain clear in his eyes. “I was running a hockey camp for inner city kids in Cleveland when the lights flickered and then went dark in the arena. I didn’t get my sister’s phone call until I got back to the hotel. That semi that plowed into my parents’ car? He barrelled through an intersection when the traffic lights stopped working. What are the odds?”
I’m frozen on the spot when he turns and heads inside, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. What are the odds, indeed. A painful coincidence. One that hits me with a force of a sledgehammer. For years, I’ve claimed that date as my cross to bear. The day my life was irrevocably changed. Like some kind of virtual grave marker, August fourteenth was mine to mourn.
How selfish. How utterly self-involved. So mired in my own life falling down around me, as a result of that day, I never even considered any possible impact it might have had on others. I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite this small in my life.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here when I hear the door slide open and Jared steps out. I thought he’d left.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt immediately, when he crouches down in front of me.
“For what? It’s not your fault,” he gently says, swiping at the tears on my face.
“I thought you’d left.”
“Nah...I just needed a minute to wrap my head around it.” His fingers slide into my hair, cupping the side of my head, and I lean into his palm.
“Quite the coincidence,” I find myself saying.
“Quite.” Slipping his hand from my hair, he moves to sit right beside me on the couch, his arm around me, and instinctively I pull up my legs to snuggle into his side. “It amazes me sometimes how small the world really is,” he says in a low voice, as his hand finds my hair again, playing with a curl. “How indelibly intertwined we all are. Invisible connections that surface under strange or extreme circumstances, and somehow seem to confirm a higher force at play. I don’t necessarily believe in God, or at least not in the traditional way, but I believe there is something that links us all.”
“A universe with plans,” I contribute, feeling his words resonate inside me.
-
Funny—I kept expecting the soft stroke of his fingers on the tender skin of my neck and shoulder to lead to something more, but Jared seemed content just to touch me and frankly, so was I.
We talked a little, off and on. Nothing quite as deep or revealing; I guess we both were left a little raw and exposed and were happy with the comfort of the simple intimacy. Simple, but almost more profound than as if we’d been stripped naked.
Although I have to admit, lying in my bed, after he’d gently disentangled himself from me and left with a soft kiss on my lips, stripped naked sounds pretty good right about now. I close my eyes and concentrate on the touch I can still feel on my skin, the scent of him I can still detect lingering with me, and the sound of his rich, deep voice vibrating in my ears. It doesn’t take much to give myself relief. Already primed by his proximity, a few lazy strokes over my clit and an almost distracted tweak of my nipple, is enough to tumble into a warm, gentle orgasm.
With my hand still tucked between my legs, and a heart rate that is yet to return to normal, I fall asleep, feeling a lot lighter and much less lonely than I’m used to.
SEVENTEEN
Jared
“Morning.”
My sister comes shuffling into the kitchen, looking as if she’s still half-asleep. Not a surprise since the sun is only just getting up.
She had been last night, when I got in. Just as she had been the night before. She hadn’t asked me any questions about my whereabouts yesterday, but from the squint she’s directing at me, I have a feeling I’m in for it this morning.
“Morning,” I rumble back, doing my best to ignore her observant eyes.
“Rough night?” she asks, pulling down a coffee mug and grabbing for the coffee pot that just finished gurgling.
“Do me one, too?”
I have my hands full of the dough I started making in the middle of the night, after I got tired of restle
ssly rolling around in my bed. You’d think Jordy would’ve inherited the Suzy Homemaker gene in the family. My mom had been a great cook and a fabulous baker. Growing up, we never lacked for friends just ‘popping’ in, who mostly walked right by us and straight into the kitchen, where Mom always had something on the go. I was only seventeen when I was moved around to billet families, depending on what OHL team took me on, and I missed my mom’s cooking something fierce. That’s when I started asking her for recipes of some of my favourite things. When I finally was drafted by the Sabres, I made sure the condo I moved into had a state-of-the-art kitchen. My teammates found it odd, preferring to eat out or order in, but I didn’t give a shit. I liked cooking, and they liked eating it. Even if they gave me a hard time about it. After they died, it became a way for me to connect with Mom.
“Are you making Mom’s cinnamon rolls?” Jordy says when she sets down my coffee and leans on the counter, looking at me.
“Mmmm,” I grunt, trying to avoid the question I know is coming. My sister knows me too well.
“Did something happen?”
And there it is, she doesn’t beat around the bush.
“Not really,” I try. “I was up early and hungry.”
“People who get up hungry usually make eggs. Takes all of two minutes. They don’t make Mom’s cinnamon rolls, which take a couple of hours beginning to end. Try again,” she snaps, and this time I look at her.
“They were on my mind. I couldn’t sleep. I still miss them,” I tell her honestly, watching her face soften.
I’d been staring up at the ceiling, with all these thoughts tumbling through my mind, and wished I could pull up a stool in my mom’s kitchen and talk to her about it. The way I used to.
Instead, I’m elbow deep in the flour I use to roll out the dough, with Jordy wrapped around my midsection, her arms squeezing tight.
“I miss them, too,” she mumbles against my shirt. “Days would go by that I only thought of them fleetingly, but since Ole was born, it feels like the loss is sharper again.”
