Call Me Sugar

by Lacee Hightower

  “Ma’am.” Keith turns to meet both Ladonna’s and my eyes. “Rylee spoke often about some old medical journals her grandmother found at an estate sale or something to that liking. She loved those old books. Spoke of them often. Said they were dated back to the 1920s. Would you still happen to have them?” Keith looks at me for a quick second and gives me a smile that makes my belly flutter because I know just exactly what he’s thinking.

  “Of course, I still have them. All of them.”

  ****

  Every beginning comes from something else ending.

  I’m not entirely sure what I expected to happen when we walked through the door of Ladonna Fisher’s house. I knew there would be tears. I knew there would be hard feelings. But I never for a minute thought the three of us would leave with the start of forgiveness in our hearts, a plan in our heads, Keith’s bank account less $20,000, and an understanding that bridges need to be rebuilt and good memories not forgotten.

  Tomorrow, Keith will call the contractor in San Alba to discuss building a small addition to the museum, and I feel really good about his idea to dedicate the new room to Rylee. But my heart still hurts in more ways than one.

  Two weeks from tomorrow, Jason is leaving Springhill.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jen

  It’s been nearly a week since we visited with Ladonna Fisher and agreed to add on the extra room to the museum to devote to the field of health and medicine. If we can pull this thing off, Rylee’s Room will one day be overflowing with human skull collections, pieces of famous people’s vertebra, photos showcasing the history of anesthesia, and of course Rylee’s antique medical journals.

  Rylee Fisher needs to be remembered. Rylee Fisher will be remembered.

  Almost fifteen years have passed with me allowing something like the smell of an ordinary household spice to creep me out. The stench of cinnamon can still sometimes make my stomach churn, but I will master this silly phobia. The pack of cinnamon gum is still unopened inside my purse, and so far, the faint scent that hits my nostrils every time I reach inside for my keys or phone hasn’t brought on a gagging spell, which I think is a sure step in the right direction. Ironically, one of Jason’s Japanese business associates has offered to purchase the rare matsutake mushrooms and has given Jason step-by-step instructions on how to dry them in the oven, which will preserve them for up to a year. This will earn us a hefty down payment for the museum add-on, and should the foul-smelling sprouts spring up again, that will only guarantee more money in our pockets.

  Money or not, I still have no plans in helping Jason preserve the expensive mushrooms and inhaling their waves of nauseating stink. I may be handling the smell of cinnamon gum, but I’m not that far along just yet, and I’m nowhere near ready to let Jason see me spew.

  “Can I come in?” I ask a blank-faced Jason.

  “Things are a mess. Most everything is in boxes. But sure, Jen.”

  The immediate urge to drop to his feet and beg and plead and offer and submit is the hardest thing I’ve ever resisted. But no matter what I do, Jason has made his mind up. I’ve accepted the fact that he may want a better job, more money, and a fatter bank account. But moving a million miles away to “be closer to his family” is pure bullshit.

  His family is here. In Springhill, Texas. He knows it. I damn well know it.

  I have to try one last time.

  Certain I’d come up with the right words to approach this subject, suddenly, every word I memorized is forgotten. “Look,” I say firmly as I take a step closer and smell spicy musk, soap, and alcohol. “Are you absolutely positive you’re doing the right thing? Have you taken the time to really consider what all leaving Springhill means?” I brush my fingertips over the shiny buckle of his belt while looking into oceans of blue and a warm softness that I know I’ll never see in another man. Gripping the Western buckle between my fingertips, I squeeze, my skin warming as I look down and see an erection growing behind his jeans. Jason watches the subtle move of my hand with a troubled expression, that squared jaw clenching tight, then pulls back and kisses the top of my head, not with passion or romance, but with apathy and indifference.

  “Want a beer?”

  My lungs catch for a long minute when I see a hole in the kitchen wall right beside the refrigerator and knowing damn well how it got there, and why. Desperation and sadness and dread all overtake me at once. All I want is to be in my happy place with Keith, his strong hands covering me, his voice stern and strict and demanding, his actions domineering and dictatorial as he tells me what to do or what he’s going to do. I want all of this, but with Jason included. His body behind me. His soft lips tickling and teasing and sliding over my shoulder. Concern drifting in his voice as he pushes through tight muscle and nerves into the place that only he has ever been.

  I walk behind him, circle his hips with my arms, and crush my body against him while understanding perfectly where his anger is coming from. “He’s a hard man not to love. He’s even harder to walk away from.”

  Jason spins me around, almost angrily, and gives me a perfect look at his strong chest and wide shoulders, while another seductive whiff of his cologne and male scent has me wishing for those smells lingering all over me for hours. “Just like John Wayne once said. ‘Life is hard, but it’s harder if you’re stupid.’ And you, Jen Boylan, aren’t stupid. Go fight for your dream. Make it happen. It’s only a few miles away.”

  Silence lingers between the two of us for a minute that feels like a year, and it takes all my power and self-control not to tear up and cry ugly tears. Jason opens both bottles of beer and walks back to the sofa. “Did you know that Megan Bennett is back in Springhill?” he asks out of the blue. “She moved back last week. With her wife that she married in New York.”

  “Megan Bennett?”

  Megan Bennett? Wife? WTF?

  “I had no idea.” My response comes out short and almost abruptly. “I haven’t thought about Megan Bennett in a good fourteen years. I guess congratulations are in order.”

  Jason twirls his beer in his palms then takes a long deep swallow. “She’s the only woman I ever fucked without a condom.”

  After I nearly choke on my beer, I see laughter behind Jason’s eye. “TMI, Jason. TM fucking I,” I add before we both bust out laughing. “I can’t believe you just told me that. How and when did this happen? And, more specifically, how the hell did I not know about it?”

  “Eighth grade. Right in her backyard. In broad fucking daylight. I rode my bike over to her house on Johnson Street because my mother insisted that I return some sort of weird-ass sewing scissors she’d borrowed. When I got there, Megan was all cute and shit, dressed in cutoff shorts and a skimpy shirt with those big bouncing tits of hers just waiting to be touched. And before I knew it, one thing was leading to another. Horny teenage boy meets hormonal sex goddess, and bam! Thirty minutes later, we were fucking like jackrabbits right in the damn grass next to their pool.”

  “Jason, why are you telling me this?” Suddenly, it’s not funny anymore. Nothing is.

  It may never be.

  “Do you love him, Jen?”

  “Do you?” I all but hiss.

  “Goddammit, Jen. The story about Megan. And her wife. We’re not in Dallas or New York, sweetheart. This is Springhill, Texas. Town of three thousand or such. People judge. People criticize. People fucking crucify. And the only damned reason Keith and I haven’t been treated like complete dog shit is because of Keith’s parents and the high respect this town had and still has for Martin Ryker. This thing between the three of us will only bring on more pressure, more stress, more small-town bullshit talk. I’m doing what I need to do. What I have to do. I won’t risk you being treated badly. I won’t risk Keith losing business.”

  “And here’s what you don’t get, Jason.” There’s a sternness to my tone, and frustration, anger, and irritation stirs deep in my chest. “People criticize everywhere. No matter the size of the town. And my thoughts on that?�
� I add with sarcasm. “Let them! Fuck them! I’m a grown-ass woman. I pay my taxes just like the couple next door. And if the people of Springhill want to judge our sexual preferences and morals, then screw them to Shinola and back. There’s no me and Keith. No me and you. There’s us. And it’s taken us nearly fifteen years to realize that we not only love each other, but that we need each other, even if it’s not conventional.” I push away tears from the corners of my eyes. “If you leave, nothing will be the same. My God, Jason, we’re like peas and carrots, ice cream and cake, macaroni and cheese.”

  “Never thought of us being comparable to food items.” There’s a soft tenderness to his voice that tightens my core as he rises and walks to the kitchen. He drops his empty bottle into a stainless-steel trash bin. “So how exactly do you see this working? One day Keith fucks you. The next he fucks me. The next, I’m fucking you or the three of us are fucking each other. How messed up is that, sweetheart? Tell me,” he says with a tick in his lip. “Can you accept walking in and seeing me face down with Keith behind me? Inside me? Can you accept Keith’s cock pulsing between my lips or his teeth marks or red welts running up my thighs and on the cheeks of my ass? Do you really want to watch his lips working their way up to my ass, his teeth sinking into my skin? Do you want to listen to my groans when he pushes that long cock of his balls deep inside me? Can you accept being with two bi-sexual men, Jen? Does that make you think about ice cream and cake? Peas and carrots? Something tells me you might change your pretty little mind real quick.”

  Holy fucking shit. Yes. Yes. Yes, a hundred times over.

  “Jason, I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know how this can work anymore than I know if the sky will be blue or gray when we wake up tomorrow. All I know is that I love you both. I have since I was a teenager. And I’ll take whatever the two of you can give me because I happen to love you both that much.”

  “Jen, stop.”

  “No, Jason! You stop, dammit.” With my hand on the firm plane of his stomach, I can feel his pulse racing as tears slide from the corners of my eyes. “Call me crazy. Call me messed up. Call me whatever you damn well like, but there’s very few things I can think of that I want to see more than the men I love doing every single thing you just mentioned. I want to see you bring Keith and his dominancy to that point of no return with those beautiful lips of yours. Those blue eyes that anyone would melt in. I want to see your luscious erection hard and swollen as you submit. And I ache to see the two of you sharing your passion. Playing together. Making love. Fucking. My God, I do.” Everything between my thighs is hot and swollen and wet, and my hand pushes inside my leggings and into my panties, where I run a fingertip through my wetness. “Does this taste like someone who’s running?” I move my finger over Jason’s lips in a slow determined slide. “I could watch the two of you forever.”

  There’s a flash of desire in his eyes that tells me he’s remembering my lips on his, the way I taste, the way he felt inside my most private spot. “Christ, Jen.” His hands slide down my back and stop right above the curve of my butt like he’s afraid to touch me, like if he does, he’ll be considered an adulterer, a cheater, a deceiver. Shame and guilt and thoughts of betrayal cling inside my chest because I love Keith. I’m in love with Keith, and I want his heart, his promise, his babies. But I can’t help these feelings for Jason. I can’t deny that looking into his ice-blue eyes doesn’t and hasn’t always left me hungry and needy and wet.

  “You should go.” He takes a step backward and pushes his hands deep into his pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. Keith has some going-away something or another planned.”

  Another long uncomfortable silence lingers between us while I stand and stare into his captivating gaze while thinking of my own words, my own thoughts, my own beliefs, which are strong and clear and unmistakable, and deep in my heart, I know that I’m right.

  Peas and carrots … ice cream and cake … macaroni and cheese…

  I lift to my toes and press my lips against his. “Until tomorrow night. I love you, Jason.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jen

  Two weeks into September, school has started in Springhill, and already, things are busier than ever. Today, I’ve managed my first museum tour for two dozen adolescent history students, thankfully with the help of Morgan helping out in the gift shop since she’s only part-time at the newspaper office. She’s sold over half the stock, and as usual, we can’t keep the Blazin Roxx handbags on the shelf. After the visit with Ladonna Fisher and an eerie but strong realization that Rylee may or may not have been more than friends with Daniel Ryker, I’d left with questions about this whole museum and wondering if I could continue working it. But after a long discussion with Keith and Jason, somehow the doubt transformed into certainty and now it feels good. It feels right. It feels like something Rylee would want.

  An hour after closing, I’ve had a hot shower and moisturized every inch of my skin with warm vanilla sugar body lotion, enjoyed a short but pleasant phone conversation with my mom, and taken an extra few minutes with my makeup and hair before dressing in a watermelon and white mid-thigh length bandeau dress and silver open-toe flat sandals with floral embellishments. Jittery nerves rumble through my belly as I drive to Ryker Ranch. Tears keep threatening while my mind continues to remind me of something Jason told Keith and me. Think of my leaving as a way to prove that I love you both that much, not that I love you any less.

  Tonight, Keith and I say goodbye to Jason, along with a big piece of our hearts. As much as Keith says we will all survive and that he will be just fine, I know he’s carrying around a gut-wrenching pain that will remain in his heart forever. And I know this because I feel that same ache inside me. It’s like hundreds of sharp knives piercing at my chest, as I remain defenseless, like I’m in the line of fire with my hands tied, my body exposed and indefensible.

  It’s torment. It’s anguish. It’s heartache.

  Thirty minutes after I’ve arrived at the ranch, I’m sitting in Keith’s living room with the taste of red currants and blackberries on my tongue from the nice glass of cabernet I’m sipping on, as Keith and Jason both indulge in scotch and water while Jason speaks about his new job opportunity while doing his best—unsuccessfully—to make it seem like it’s the right thing to do.

  It’s not the right thing to do. It never could be.

  “I’ve decided to leave a day or two early,” Jason announces, which makes tears pop up and my stomach clench. “Some extra time will be good. I need to see my parents. Visit some family I haven’t seen in years.”

  “And I’ve made a decision as well.” Keith is suddenly on his feet with power and determination flashing beneath his hardened expression. He slams his tumbler against the coffee table. “Tonight, we will do what we need to do, what we ache to do, what we must do. And that’s be together as three people that love and need each other.” His gaze connects with Jason’s. “Not the two of us, but the three of us. Jointly. In unison. How and where we need to be. Where life intended us to be.”

  “No,” Jason argues with a death stare. “Life intended for you and Jen to be together.”

  “And who the fuck died and made you a mind reader?” The rage in Keith’s voice stops my heart for an instant, and I pull air into my lungs, his burning hard stare almost frightening. “Yes, Jen and I were meant to be together. I know that today more than I ever have. We all know that. But she also loves you. And I love you. I have since I was sixteen years old, you fucking selfish bastard.”

  Jason scowls then pushes hands through his hair. “Fucking selfish bastard, Keith? Is that how you perceive me? Is that truly why you think I’m leaving? What the fuck do you expect from me? To be on standby? To sit home and twiddle my damned thumbs while you and Jen get on with your relationship? Catch a movie—alone—as I wait for the chance to touch you again? To touch Jen again? This has fucked up and trouble written all over it, man. It’s only a matter of time before this becomes Springhill’s n
ewest shit show. I won’t do that to you. I won’t do it to Jen. And if that’s what you consider a selfish bastard, then so fucking be it.”

  “Fucked up by whose standards?” Keith asks. “Your boss? Rock? Homer down at the store? And trouble? A shit show? Come on, Jason. You can do better than that. You damn well know I’m not buying it either. Do you really think that, after all these years, these people haven’t figured us out by now? Do you think they still assume we’re just good ole buddies chewing the fat? These people might be simple folks, but they aren’t idiots. They know, Jason. And furthermore, do you really think I give a goddamned flying fuck what they think? It’s you. Me. And now Jen. And if one of us decides this can’t or isn’t working, then we discuss it … together. And we decide … together. Tell me if you feel differently … boy.”

  Jason’s hands tug at his hair. “I don’t, goddammit! You know I don’t. It still doesn’t mean it’s what’s best or what’s right for Jen.”

  “But it is,” I counter, with my heart twisting as I look at the misery in their faces. “It’s the only thing that’s right for me, Jason. I’ve loved you both my entire adult life. And I’m not twelve. I no longer care who judges. I no longer worry over belittling or sneering when I walk down the grocery store aisle. Love like we share doesn’t happen to just anyone. What we have is unique and rare. My God, some people live their entire lives without experiencing love at all. And I know for damn certain that a little piece of both of you will shrivel up and die if you can’t be together. Let’s give the people of Springhill a chance. Let them learn to accept us for who we are and see the good within us, instead of assuming that they will only look for the bad and judge us for something they don’t even understand.”