Deliciously Obedient

by Julia Kent

  “Lydia? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  The ghost of shame, she almost blurted out. The pit of her stomach burned with anxiety.

  “No, Mom, it’s just—”

  Sandy’s eyes looked over her shoulder, widening in surprise. “Jeremy!” she said, standing to give him a hug.

  And then her mom came to a dead halt.

  “Mike.” The word carried so many implications, the clipped sound of the k filling Lydia with a sense of foreboding more concentrated than her fear. That tone meant something, but she couldn’t yet tease it out.

  Mom didn’t talk like that.

  That severely reinforced her fear. Fear alone, though, couldn’t stop her from facing this head on.

  Pete walked in behind the men, and gave Sandy an inscrutable look. Lydia’s panic both bloomed and receded, leaving her exhausted and in alert, the mixture of feelings like so many parts of her life these days.

  Divergent.

  “Mike,” Pete said in a confirming voice, his tone lowering at the end of the single syllable.

  “Now that we all know my name,” Mike said, steady and strong in a way that made Lydia feel more grounded, “how about we warm up and talk.”

  “It’s about time,” Sandy said, her eyes challenging. Mike just narrowed his and gave a sad smile, but never looked down.

  Jeremy lounged at the doorway, leaning as though propping up the building. Lydia gave him the most imperceptible of nods and he joined her, Mike moving as well until the three sat on the couch, facing the fire, Lydia bookended by her two men.

  Her two men.

  Sandy took a chair next to the fire and Pete sat on the floor next to her, his arm casually draped across her knees. Both looked so tense. Her parents couldn’t stop looking at Mike. Surreal. A part of her wished they’d focus on her, because she knew how to handle their emotional attention when she was at the epicenter, even if it was negative.

  Having them zero in on someone she cared for pulled her in too many directions, as if she were being drawn and quartered psychologically.

  “About time?” Mike asked as Lydia reached over and took his hand. The look that passed between Pete and Sandy gave Lydia chills, because this time she realized: they knew.

  “Miles told you, didn’t he?” Her voice was cold, like Sandy’s.

  “Miles?” Her dad didn’t even try to play dumb. “No.”

  “Then you know,” Mike said, trying to engage Pete, who looked at him with a hardness in his eyes that made Lydia want to cry.

  “About the video? Yes.”

  “Daddy, why didn’t you say something?” Lydia jumped to her feet, too pumped and overwhelmed to try to stay warm under the blanket, her hands and feet bricks of ice, her heart melting. “You knew?” She turned to Sandy, who just nodded.

  “Yes,” Pete said simply.

  “And you knew who I was. Who I am,” Mike added, his words rolling slowly from his tongue as he processed everything in real time. Jeremy looked up from his seat at Lydia and she gave a small shrug. I’m as lost as you are. The way he looked at her told her he was in this with her, and that she wasn’t imagining the tension, the confusion, or the tightrope sense that a giant spiderweb of unresolved secrets was about to be untangled.

  If not destroyed.

  “That you’re really Michael Bournham? Yes.” Stunned to hear her mother say it, Lydia tried to meet her eyes but diverted at the last second, her throat closing and ears filled with the rush of blood pounding through her. She knew? Dad knew? How?

  “How did you—”

  “Lydia,” Sandy said in the same tone she’d used earlier when saying Mike’s name. “We’re not stupid. You like to think we’re naïve when it comes to technology, but when a video like that becomes news, you can’t miss it. It was everywhere. I was looking for a good crab cake recipe and bam—there was my daughter, caught on tape.”

  Her acerbic tone made Mike wince.

  “That’s some major viral penetration,” Jeremy muttered. Lydia smacked his shoulder and he widened his eyes as everyone looked at him.

  “Nothing. Go on,” he choked out.

  “You never said a word the entire time I was here,” Mike said, joining Lydia, on his feet and yet loose, in command of himself and fully braced, it seemed, for however this all unfolded.

  “We thought the cash payment was strange. And the super-short hair. But c’mon, Mike,” Pete chided, “you’re Michael Bournham. It took about one minute for a camper to recognize you and ask me, and then it clicked.”

  “When I checked in, did you know that it was Lydia in the video?”

  Pete’s jaw tightened. “No.”

  “You figured it out later?”

  “When Lydia called to tell us about Iceland, we thought something was up. And you were here about two, three days,” Sandy said, searching Pete for confirmation. He nodded.

  “You didn’t say anything.” His tone was open. It wasn’t an accusation. Curiosity infused his expression.

  “Not our issue to bring up. We figured you were here for a reason.”

  “But you didn’t bring it up with me!’ Lydia gasped, angry tears flowing now, her face hot and red with incredulity. “You let me move to Iceland and come back and bring Jeremy and...and you said nothing! Nothing!” All the hiding, the covert talking with Krysta, the threats to Miles, the promises extracted from Grandma—all of it had been in vain? She’d wasted s–o much time and energy hiding the truth from her mom and dad that it had never occurred to her that they knew the truth.

  And had said nothing.

  The rush of relief that she should have felt at having the secrets out of the way never came, because in its stead there was a new sensation, a creeping fury that seeped in. All the energy she’d invested in juggling so many hidden aspects of who she was turned out to have been a giant emotional suck.

  “Lydia,” Sandy sighed, standing and walking to her, taking her hands. Mom’s warm palms felt like flames against Lydia’s ice-cold fingers. “We have tried so hard to respect your need for independence. Unlike your brothers, you always wanted to be given more latitude when it came to living a life outside of the campground. Finding the right balance between making sure you we welcomed and loved while giving you space hasn’t been easy.”

  Pete snorted. “We fuck it up all the time.”

  “Pete!”

  “I think we can say the word ‘fuck’ in front of them at a time like this, dear.”

  “You can say ‘fuck’ any time,” Lydia added, giving Jeremy a fierce look, because she realized the words That’s what she said were about to come out of his mouth.

  He just snickered and covered his mouth with his hand, trying and failing miserably to look casual.

  An intrusive silence descended over the room, the snaps and clicks of the fire the only noise for a few beats as the group tried to sort out what to do next.

  Mike took control. “Pete,” he said, catching her dad’s eye, “and Sandy,” he added, doing the same. “I never came here to deceive you. I realize I did, and I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat, his face somber, and Lydia saw the splash of freckles on his cheeks, so boyish, even as the skin under his eyes carried a seriousness.

  “When the camera caught us on tape I realized my error, and I did whatever I could to protect Lydia.”

  Pete’s look went beyond skepticism and bordered on homicidal. When did her dad become so...badass? She saw so much of Miles in him in that moment, and caught a glimpse of the young man he must have been when her mom met him.

  Of course he was angry. She was his little girl, and Mike had humiliated her—globally—sent her off to Iceland, moved to the campground and lied to them, and now here he was trying to atone and—

  And it would all be fine.

  A glow filled her, a sense—even as she cataloged her dad’s fury and her mom’s indignation—that by choosing her own authenticity, she would be fine. Even if her parents rejected her choices, they would never reject her.


  Which made standing up for what she really wanted all the more important.

  “If you call sending her off to Iceland with a fake job ‘protecting’ her—” Pete started.

  “Fake?” Lydia screeched. “not fake!”

  Mike gave an equivocating look. “It wasn’t fake, but it was a new position created to assist with...” A half-sigh, half-grunt came from the back of his throat as he closed his eyes and seemed to gather his thoughts. “To help Lydia escape media scrutiny.”

  Sandy made a sound of disgust. Lydia looked back and forth between her parents with a look of disgust.

  “You’re judging him? Why not me? I’m the one who fucked her boss on camera.”

  “Lydia!” Sandy objected.

  “I said it’s fine to say the word ‘fuck,’ Mom.”

  “That word is the least of my worries.” Pain seared through Lydia as Sandy’s tear-filled eyes caught hers.

  “Mom,” Lydia said softly. “I—why didn’t you and Dad tell me you knew?” A bitter laugh coughed out of her. “If I’d known you knew, it would have been...well, different.”

  “Honey, you came back here licking your wounds and it was so clear that you needed a safe place.” Troubled eyes landed on Mike, then back to Lydia. “A sanctuary. Camp Charles is always here for you. I wasn’t going to pry, and I didn’t want to scare you off. So Dad and I decided the best thing to do was—nothing.”

  “You didn’t do nothing,” Mike said in a quiet, even voice. “You welcomed me here, too.”

  Pete jumped in. “Your case was different. We didn’t know what the fuck to think when you showed up.”

  “Pete!”

  “Sorry, hon. But we didn’t. Then we realized it was better to have you here, where we could learn more about you, than off doing God knows what elsewhere. So we lost a daughter and gained a playboy.”

  “Former playboy.”

  Pete snickered. Mike joined him. Sandy just shook her head with a smile on her face. Lydia watched the whole scene in shock. Jeremy picked at a cuticle.

  “You two knew who I was and said nothing so you could keep me under your watch. Meanwhile, Lydia went off to Iceland and I sent Jeremy so he could keep Lydia under his watch. The only person here not being watched was Jeremy,” Mike opined.

  “And I’m the one most in need of observation.”

  Lydia sat back down on the couch and put a comforting hand on his knee. Tension was dissipating. Her fear was lessening its grip. The air had changed in subtle ways, and her dad was less badass. That had to count for something, right?

  “What I don’t understand, Mike, is why you’re here? Lydia’s with Jeremy now.” Pete’s eyes narrowed, but when Sandy whacked his shoulder and gave him a meaningful look, he pulled back, a flurry of emotions crossing his face in seconds.

  And the fear came roaring back.

  “I don’t think we need to pry,” Sandy added, standing quickly, reaching for Pete’s hand. “Whatever Lydia and Mike and Jeremy need to work out is really up to them.”

  Her dad went pale, realizing he’d intruded on a very personal part of her life. And then it hit her—she didn’t have to reveal a damn thing. Only when she was ready—if she was ever ready—would she need to share the very private truth of what she and Mike and Jeremy were.

  If they ever were.

  Being true to herself didn’t mean declaring it, loud and proud, to the world. It meant being the best Lydia she could be.

  And if, sometimes, that meant keeping something within her own emotional sanctuary, then that was fine, too. Courage didn’t mean revealing every scrap of herself to the world. Aligning her inner life with her outer life didn’t have to be all-or-nothing. There could be shades of grey.

  And more than fifty, to boot.

  “Thanks, Mom.” Lydia reached out to squeeze her shoulder and instead found herself in a bear hug, her mother’s arms around her.

  “We would never love you any less, Lydia,” Sandy whispered. “Everyone has troubles, and if you’d have come to us, we’d have listened with love. That doesn’t mean we don’t have opinions.”

  Lydia laughed through tears.

  “But,” Sandy continued, “those opinions don’t get in the way of making sure you know that who you are is as important as what you do.”

  Pete gave her a quick hug and said, “Ditto,” giving her a peck on the cheek.

  Mike turned to her parents and said, “Again, I’m sorry.”

  Sandy just shook her head. “I don’t understand half of what’s happened in the past month, but I do know what a man looks like when he cares deeply for a woman.” She reached for Pete’s hand and squeezed. “I’ve seen it every day of my life for the past three decades.”

  “And now I see it in both of you,” she added, giving both Mike and Jeremy looks that made Lydia see that she’d thought this would be the hard part.

  As Pete and Sandy made their leave, she stood in the quiet rec hall, the click of the outer door leaving her, Jeremy and Mike alone, finally, to figure out what authenticity really looked like when lived second by second, breath by breath, thought by thought.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “That went well.” Jeremy made his way to a small fridge and opened it, fishing three amber bottles out, hoping to find something to cut through the helpless feeling that thrummed through him. “I need a drink,” he continued, holding the other two out. Truer words were never spoken. “Want one?”

  Lydia and Mike both took them out of his hands and the three drank in silence, the fire crackling like neurons dying.

  “If that went well,” Mike said slowly, “I’d hate to see what ‘poorly’ would have looked like.” The two shared a look and Jeremy felt a veil of horror lifting. They’d lived through it. Pete and Sandy now knew about Mike and yet...

  Had they figured out the part about Lydia and Jeremy and Mike?

  For that matter—had Lydia?

  Too many questions remained.

  Must drink more.

  “No one lost a body part, Pete didn’t discharge a shotgun, and no one got arrested,” Jeremy answered.

  “Nice standards.”

  “They work when I’m in Asia.” His own words made him pause. When I’m in Asia. One look at Lydia, whose rosy lips hugged the top of the bottle in a manner that made him hard, her delicate neck sliding with each swallow of beer, and he realized there wouldn’t be any more whens.

  Unless she was with him.

  The beer didn’t make a dent in his mood as he finished it, so he got a second. Making a mental note to himself to buy a few six packs to replace what they drank, he saw the logical assumption there.

  That he and Mike would wake up here in the morning.

  And preferably not in the outhouse.

  Lydia had remained remarkably centered through the whole discussion. At times, he’d thought she would fly off the handle, but no—articulate, bold, and yet guarded, she comported herself with a steady grace, reinforcing his feelings for her.

  Mike, too, had behaved admirably, clear and apologetic without being weak or obsequious.

  Jeremy had performed well, too, in his role as a bump on a log. Because—seriously? What was he supposed to do other than show up and just listen? He hadn’t been hiding in a cabin in disguise, nor had he lied to parental figures.

  This was, probably, the one time in his life where he had transgressed the least of anyone in a group.

  Too bad it felt...weird.

  All of them were shaken, and as he made his way through the second beer he began to loosen, back relaxing and his mind able to unclench. Mike stayed calm, unruffled, while Lydia stared wistfully at the fire, now sitting on the couch again and quite peaceful.

  Were they all gearing up for round two? Jeremy hadn’t known what to expect when they’d talked to Sandy and Pete. Mike’s revelation had to happen, but to learn that they knew about the video all along was startling.

  More than that—Lydia’s silence about his and Mike’s pro
position, about the true nature of their relationship as a triad, worried him. Unwillingness to be open about it was prudent in some ways, but was it also a clue into her answer for them both?

  “Can I have another one?” she asked in a small voice, face turned up to him, a shaky smile playing on her lips. He nearly fell over himself to hand her his, but instead grabbed another bottle from the fridge and popped the top for her, handling it to her with a look that said Talk to me.

  “Thanks,” was all he got. Mike raised his eyebrows and sort of shook his head, a question Jeremy couldn’t answer.

  When she got to the bottom of the bottle she turned to him with a relaxed, aware look, then gave the same shaky smile to Mike and said, with great authority, “Let’s go back to my cabin and talk.”

  Talk? Mike had just had enough talking, thanks. Ready to explode and confused as all hell, he wanted to talk right now about as much as he wanted to French kiss Jonah Moore.

  Man enough to be brutally honest and apologize to the Charles’, what he hadn’t expected was that they knew. Knew. Knew about the video, knew it was Lydia, knew he was Michael Bournham the entire time he’d been here. Now he felt deceived, in a twisted way. Always the strategist, this was one surprise that he’d never anticipated. The finely-honed radar that prepared him for nearly every contingency had failed him.

  Miserably.

  Reeling from complex layers of information that would take months to emotionally sift through, he found his body frustrated, his spirit dizzy, his heart hopeful and his cock hard as fuck.

  Every time his eyes rested on Lydia, it only rose more. Being through the big challenge of coming clean left room inside him for the teeming emotions that couldn’t fit neatly into little boxes.

  Though she had a box he wanted to fit something in...

  As they reached the main door, Lydia pulled a barn coat off a hook and shuffled her arms in, buttoning the front with precision. Her common-sense approach to everything, from corporate life to campground living, gelled with his own beliefs. The playboy persona he’d cultivated meant nothing to him now. He’d rather split wood with Pete, kayak for hours alone, play with alternative currencies and stocks, or read the latest Hugh Howey novel.