Caveman: A Single Dad Next Door Romance

by Jo Raven

  “Why your cock is pierced,” she says.

  I choke on laughter. I sure as hell wasn’t expecting this. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” She nods gravely and looks down at my crotch. I’m naked, and, oh shit, I’m getting hard under her gaze. Her hand moves to the stud in my nipple, toying with it, and sensation tears through me, shooting straight into my dick, so that it tightens and rises against my stomach. “Tell me,” she says.

  No clue what she’s talking about. Fuck.

  “About the Jacob’s Ladder,” she goes on, still toying with the damn piercing. “Why did you put it in? Does it feel good when you have sex?”

  “I, uh…” Her hand trails down my chest to my cock, and how the hell am I supposed to think like this? “Yeah.”

  “So is that why you did it?”

  “No. Dakota… Oh shit.” Her hand now toys with the Jacob’s Ladder, tiny tugs and taps that make my body arch.

  “It must have hurt.”

  “Yeah. But I’m used to it.”

  Her hand pauses. “You like the pain.”

  My hips move restlessly. “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  Christ. “Sometimes I need it. Not much. Just a little.”

  “Is that why you cut your arms?”

  Oh hell. I clench my jaw and throw an arm over my face. Of course she noticed. “Yeah. I used to. Have you ever done it?”

  She doesn’t answer my question. Instead she asks another. “What about drinking?”

  “What about it?”

  “Do you often get drunk off your ass?”

  I shrug. My cock throbs in her hand. “Sometimes. Don’t need it when you’re here.” And ain’t that crazy?

  “Good.”

  Her hand clenches around my dick, and a long moan leaves my throat. “Christ, you’re killing me.”

  “How do the piercings feel when you get a blow job?” She moves down my body and licks the tip of my cock as if it’s her favorite cherry popsicle.

  “Ugh.” My mouth won’t work. My brain is exploding. Am I supposed to answer?

  “I guess we’ll find out,” she says and swallows my cock, taking it deep.

  Shit, so fucking good. She sucks on me, swirls her hot tongue on the underside, then pulls up licking the head and the small slit there. She takes me deeper again, her tongue playing with my piercings, and my hips come off the mattress.

  Oh yeah, baby. Damn. I won’t last five seconds. My balls lift and tighten, my dick swells and throbs in time to my racing heartbeat.

  I’m not in control, I realize. I’ve given it up to her. And she’s taking care of me. I reach down, stroke her hair off her face, and she winks at me. Her mouth curves into a smile, wrapped as it is around my cock, and my vision grays.

  I distantly hear myself groan, see my hips lift and jerk. Feel the cum shoot from my balls out my dick, burning me with pleasure. Feel like I’m falling, or flying, or hovering in space.

  When it’s over, after what feels like ages have passed and the world has resumed spinning, I lie there, panting like a lizard on a hot rock, my body boneless and heavy.

  Dakota is kneeling on the bed, eyeing me. I have to say something. Anything.

  “That was…” I lick my dry lips. “That was fucking awesome.”

  And I mean it. Never felt anything like it.

  “Because of the piercings?” She sits there, totally naked, sexy as fuck, and she’s asking me this?

  “Hell no. That was all you, babe.”

  She cocks her head to the side, smiling again. “Babe?”

  Oh shit. Slipping again. Me, giving cute pet names to my girl?

  And there it is. My girl. Girlfriend. Lover. Friend.

  “Come here.” I reach for her, and she crawls up to curl in the crook of my arm. She tilts up her face, and I kiss her, powerless to resist.

  “Come here, babe,” she mutters on my lips, and I laugh.

  Can’t count how many times she has made me laugh in these last days. More than I have in months.

  “My babe,” I whisper, and she captures my lips in another kiss.

  I’m still flying high. It’s warm and bright up here, and I don’t wanna look down. Those alarm bells? Let them ring inside my head. I don’t care.

  I’ll take my chances.

  It’s Wednesday, and work at Damage Control is slow. One of my customers calls to cancel, and I go out for a smoke. I send Dakota a text, asking how she’s doing, but get no reply. She was busy with a graphics project when I left home this morning.

  Home. Yeah, it’s starting to feel like home now, more than ever. The thought of finding another roommate is impossible. I want to ask her to move in with me. Maybe tonight, after dinner.

  If I manage to keep my hands off her long enough to keep my brain functioning.

  Smirking, I shove the cell in my back pocket. So okay, a tiny twinge of fear still jabs into my insides. I’m still out of my depth, still floundering, but Dakota doesn’t seem to mind. She laughs, pokes me in the ribs, tickles me, then kisses me and fixes everything in my world.

  She’s like magic glue. Pretty, sexy, crazy super glue that keeps me together when I think I’ll break down or lose it.

  I’ll buy her a fridge just for her popsicles. I’ll buy her lollipops so that her lips always taste like strawberry candy. I’ll…

  Fuck. I snort to myself and shake my head. I throw my cigarette stub to the sidewalk and step on it, then turn to go back inside, when my cell beeps with a message. Grinning, I pull it out.

  But it’s not from Dakota. It’s from Matt. An icy feeling grips my stomach. Good news? No way. I open and read it. It’s short and just asks if I can talk.

  I’m still staring at it, trying to gather the courage to call him, when the door of the shop swings open, and Rafe steps out.

  “Hey.” He ambles over to me, hands in his pockets. “Got a minute?”

  Can’t find my voice. Mind still caught on the message. Maybe it is good news. Why the hell not? Why does my mind have to go directly to the bad? Maybe Emma is better. Maybe there’s been a miracle. Medical miracles happen all the time.

  “Z-man?” Rafe is watching me, eyes narrowed.

  “What?”

  “Relax, man. The guys and I just want to ask if you could talk to Dylan.”

  “Talk?” I can’t form a coherent sentence. My mind feels torn into ribbons. My thoughts are threadbare.

  “Yeah, talk to him. Ask him what is wrong. He won’t talk to us, but he’ll talk to you. You know that.”

  I look down at my cell. I have to call Matt. No choice. “Okay.”

  “Good.” Rafe nods, still giving me a suspicious look. “You all right?”

  I press my lips together and shake my head.

  “Zane—”

  “Not now, fucker.”

  “But you—”

  “Not now, dammit.”

  Rafe scowls. “I’ve been asking for months, dammit. We look after each other. You said—”

  “Fuck what I said. Fuck everyone.” My blood burns. My chest is tight. “I can’t look after anyone. So why don’t you fuck the hell off.”

  Rafe’s mouth falls open. He pales. Then without another word, he turns around and gets back inside.

  He didn’t punch me, as I thought he might. As I hoped he might, so that I don’t have to make that phone call and find out what I don’t wanna know.

  My fingers tremble as I scroll through my contacts, find Matt’s number and hit ‘call.’ I reach into my pocket for my packet of cigarettes. Before I locate it, Matt answers.

  “Zane.” His voice is rough as if he’s been smoking day and night. Maybe he has. “Hey.”

  “Hey, man.” I try to swallow, but my throat is bone-dry. “How is everything?”

  Silence stretches like elastic, longer and thinner, ever thinner, until I think my composure will snap along with it.

  “Zane…” Matt’s voice cracks, and oh shit, no. No fucking way.

  “Do
n’t,” I whisper. No, I don’t wanna know. I don’t want—

  “It’s over. She’s dead. She went peacefully, in her sleep. You need…”

  His voice is fading. The blood rushing in my ears is too loud. I need to sit down. I need to start running. I don’t know what the hell I need.

  “… funeral,” Matt is saying. “Tomorrow morning, in Bolinbrook. The viewing is tonight.”

  Tomorrow. The funeral. Emma’s funeral.

  I try to speak, but no sound comes out.

  “Zane, are you there?” Matt’s voice cracks again, and I close my eyes. I feel as if my head’s gonna explode.

  “Yeah.”

  “Will you come tonight?”

  I nod stupidly, standing on the sidewalk, talking into my cell. “Yeah.” My voice barely comes out, scratchy and hoarse. “Yeah, I will.”

  “See you later, then.”

  The call disconnects, and I find myself standing, yet not really feeling my feet. Not feeling anything. Except my chest hurts. I look down, expecting to see a bullet lodged smack in the middle of it. A gaping wound. A hole.

  But there’s nothing. Nothing on me to show what just happened. How much it hurts.

  Emma.

  I didn’t get to say goodbye. She was barely conscious the whole weekend I was there, and when she was, she didn’t say a word. She did smile at me once. I recall her smile, and my fists tighten.

  Not fair. Not fair that she’s gone. She can’t be gone. She can’t be.

  The cell casing creaks. I force myself to unclench my fingers before I break it, because... I stare at it blankly. Something I need to do.

  Tell Ash. Or Rafe.

  No, that’s not it.

  Call Dakota.

  My lungs feel too small as I search for her number. Breathing is difficult. No idea why. I’m just standing here. Standing still while the world is spinning madly.

  I call, but I get no reply. The pressure on my chest is crushing my lungs. I put the cell away mechanically. My brain is mostly blank. Can’t even recall what I wanted to tell Dakota.

  All I know is that I need to get into my pickup truck and drive to Bolinbrook. Need to see Emma one last time. Need to tell her goodbye.

  I turn away from the shop and start walking, occasionally stumbling. Still can’t feel my feet much. It’s as if I’m floating, and they’re rocks, anchoring me to earth. I drag them behind me like dead weights.

  Say goodbye. Somehow I hope Emma can still hear me, from wherever her spirit is. I’m going to her funeral. I owe her that much. It’s the last thing I can do for her, and I’ll be damned if I lose my shit before I get it done.

  The viewing is held at a funeral home. I can’t see the kids, and fleetingly, I wonder where they are, but I can’t focus enough to hold on to that thought.

  Emma is laid out in a dark wooden casket. Her small face is powdered and rouged, her pale hands folded over her chest. There are flowers around her. I sit there and look at her. I feel dizzy when I stand, so I just sit and look. She seems asleep.

  Please, wake up.

  People have drifted in and out of the room. Now they’re gone, and it’s just me and Emma.

  “Sis.” I have no tears. My eyes are dry, so dry they ache. “This ain’t fair. You should’ve stayed. You said you’d stick by me.” I stop, because it sounds so selfish. But she’s my family. All the family I have. Except… “The kids will miss you. Matt will miss you. I…” My voice breaks, and I rub my chest. Fucking hurts. “Don’t know if I can do this without you, dammit.”

  “Zane.” Matt appears at the door. “It’s past nine. They’re closing up here, and you should go to bed. You look awful.”

  He does, too. Not that it matters. I shake my head. “Talking to Emma.”

  “Emma’s dead,” he bites out, and I bend over, his words a punch to my stomach. “Look, you have to come to terms with that, man.”

  The chair creaks when he sits down next to me. He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I flinch hard, almost falling down. He withdraws it.

  “Zane… I’m sorry. I love Emma. I know you love her. I know this is hard. But you have to rest, or you won’t make it to the funeral tomorrow. You don’t look well, man.”

  I concentrate on breathing, getting air into my crushed lungs. My heart is banging in my chest. “’M okay.”

  “Come on.” He pats my arm and stands up. “Let’s go home.”

  Home. Home ain’t here, not anymore. I let Matt haul me to my feet and drag me toward his car. I’m thankful I don’t have to drive. Not sure I can.

  I let him drive me to their house, and once there, I drop on the sofa and spend the night staring a hole into the ceiling.

  She’s gone. Emma’s gone.

  Dammit all to hell, but when reality comes crashing down, it really doesn’t hold back.

  Matt drives us to the cemetery. The kids are riding in his mother’s car, he tells me. His mother. Keep forgetting Matt has parents, unlike me and Emma. His parents are here, and as it turns out, also some cousins. Maybe that’s good. More people to say goodbye.

  Goodbye to Emma. A knot is stuck in my throat, and I can’t swallow. Can’t speak.

  The casket is there. There’s a hole in the ground. They’re gonna put Emma into a fucking hole in the ground. I can’t…

  Matt’s hand on my arm brings me back from the brink. “Ready?”

  The fuck I am. How can I ever be ready to put my sister into the ground?

  But I follow him out of the car. There are chairs. There’s a priest. He waits for all of us to sit and starts talking. He talks and talks, words, and words, and more fucking words, washing over me like soap bubbles, pretty, light and just as empty, bursting into nothing.

  I’m not alone, I tell myself as they lower the casket into the earth. I’m not. I have my friends. I have the kids. I have Matt. He said we’ll always be a family, ever since he started dating Emma.

  I glance at him. He’s, what, twenty-six? But he looks old, emaciated and bent, his mouth thin.

  One by one the people get up to leave. I stay seated. Don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Where I’m supposed to go. Nothing makes sense.

  “Zane.” Matt is suddenly in front of me. I blink. “Come home with us. You need to sleep. I don’t think you slept at all last night.”

  Maybe that’s what I should do. Besides, I can’t think, so I might as well follow his lead.

  “Your friends know what happened?” Matt shoots me a glance as we walk toward the cars.

  I don’t answer. I don’t understand what happened myself. I slow down, look back at the fresh mount of earth over the grave. Why am I leaving already? I can’t leave Emma here alone.

  “Zane.” Matt grips my wrist and jerks me back around. “Snap out of it.” He sighs. “Listen, man. I have to tell you something. I decided to take the kids and move closer to my parents. They need all the love they can get right now, and they need someone to take care of them.”

  “What?” I rub a hand over my face. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s not too far. They live in Missouri. You can come visit sometimes.”

  “Where are the kids?” I turn in a circle. Everyone’s gone.

  “My mom took them home. I couldn’t—”

  “You can’t take them away.” I’m wheezing. “You fucking can’t. They’re Emma’s kids. You have no right.”

  “Dammit, they’re my kids, too, man. I have every right.” His hands ball into fists. “You think I’m not grieving Emma, too? She was my wife! But I have to think of the kids first, their needs, their wellbeing. Put yourself in my place, and tell me you—”

  “Fuck you.” I spin on my heel and head toward my truck.

  “Zane, wait.”

  What for? There’s nothing left for me here. Matt is fucking leaving, with the kids. I think of little Mary and her baby brother, Cole. How we kept each other company almost every weekend for more than half a year now. How Mary would sit next to me on the sofa, so I could read h
er stories. How Cole would fall asleep as I sang AC/DC songs—softly, as a lullaby. They are my family.

  They’re gone.

  It’s all gone, and I need to leave before I lose my last shred of sanity. Was this what Matt had meant all those weeks ago—when he asked if someone had my back?

  My friends. Dakota. They’re all I have left now. I need to get back to them before I forget why the hell I’m still alive.

  I somehow make it back to Madison without killing myself or anyone else. It’s nothing short of a miracle, because I barely remember the route and can’t even tell how fast I drove. Weird snatches of memory, like images from a dream, inform me that I stopped at some point and peed by the side of the highway. I also stopped at a liquor shop, flashed my fake ID and bought two bottles of whiskey. It has to be real because, as I park at the front of my building, I see them in a brown paper bag at my feet.

  Why the hell did I buy them? I’m thirsty, but my stomach churns, making me wanna puke. I’m sweating, and I’m cold, and it all seems surreal—a man crossing the street with his dog, the cars rolling by, the skyline. The colors are muted. The world has turned black and white.

  Strange.

  I grab the bag, open the door and half-climb half-fall out of the truck. Dakota must be home. It’s just after noon. But when I ring the buzzer, nobody replies. Where can she be?

  Fumbling with my key, I almost drop the bag twice. I’m okay. I can do this.

  Why shouldn’t I be able to? A dark mist gathers in my mind. Something… something bad happened.

  Emma.

  I groan to myself as the memory returns. Dead. She’s dead. Oh fuck.

  Pushing the main door open, I stagger into the building and up the stairs, clutching the rail and cradling the brown paper bag under my arm. It’s like walking underwater, my feet heavy, the air like molasses around me. It takes me forever to reach my apartment, and then another forever to open the door and step inside. Padlocking the door behind me, as if that can keep the world out, I shuffle inside.

  The whiskey bottles clink when I put the bag on the coffee table. The sound shatters the stillness like a gunshot. Echoes come back, and I shake my head slowly to clear my ears. Clear my head.