by Kim Pritekel
"Okay, I think this is the last of it." Deciding to dump the peach, Hannah grabbed the ever-present roll of tape, sealing up the box, and handing it to Josh Townsend, an employee of DiRisio's since it's inception, almost nine years ago. "Thanks, Josh." The man refused to answer, instead taking the box and scurrying away. He was angry at Hannah for closing the coffee shop, and felt she was betraying Denny for doing so. The researcher had run into that a lot since she'd made the announcement a month ago. It had been one of the most difficult decisions of her life, but one that needed to be made. She'd done her damnedest to try and find a buyer who would be willing to take over the coffee shop, transferring ownership of DiRisio's, but it was not to be. Ultimately, Hannah had decided to sell to the highest bidder, her heart breaking when she realized the place where she had first met Denny, and watched her dead partner put her heart and soul into, was to be turned into a French bakery.
As she gathered up the rest of the equipment in the back room, Tiffany helping her, she realized how grateful she was for the accountant's presence, and comforting support. No doubt this was all hard on the redhead, she had stuck by Hannah, doing everything she asked. They'd talked about the kiss, that had yet to be repeated, deciding that their relationship was indeed moving beyond friendship, but Tiffany understood Hannah wasn't quite yet ready for intimacy. The redhead was trying hard to hold strong, but each passing day she fell a little harder for the researcher, and she had to wonder sometimes if she was fooling herself. That may be, but she was willing to wait it out, be there to meet Hannah as she stepped out of her hell.
* * *
Her steps were sure, intent obvious. Pam stalked over to where Michael, Dean and Mia were cleaning fish, grabbing the big man by his ear and yanking him to his feet.
"Jesus, woman!" he barked, pulling away. He wasn't going to get free that easy. The older woman was on a mission, and quite focused. Michael found himself drug away from his task by various body parts until he and Pam were alone, just inside the jungle. He stared down at her, arms crossed over a barrel chest. "You wanna tell me just why you pulled me away like a child?"
"Sure," Pam said, mirroring his posture. "As soon as you want to tell me why you've felt the need to be an asshole for the past two weeks. It happened, Michael, get over it! We both had a baser need, and we took care of it. That's no reason to sulk around here, making everyone uncomfortable. There's only the six of us, and we all have a role to play here. When one of us decides not to play, it throws the entire dichotomy off. You got me?" she asked, poking the deeply tanned chest.
Michael was struck by the veterinarian's tirade, unable to hold his defensive posture, his hands fell to his sides. Sighing heavily, he ran his fingers over his thick beard. Pam could almost read his unspoken thoughts.
"Michael, you can't let guilt of past actions run or ruin your life. Even if we're stuck here until we all die, it will do you no good, but eat you up inside. And if we do get home, your kids are going to need their dad, and they're going to need him to be whole." Pam was taken off guard by the Texan's reaction to her lecture. Brows falling, a hand strayed to her hip. His laughter bubbled up from deep in his throat.
"Woman, you sure are a force of nature."
The vet grinned. "Can you believe my husbands called me controlling?"
"No!"
"I know. It was hard for me to believe, too." Pam grinned, reaching a hand up to cup the side of the man's face, suddenly sobering at the obvious pain in his eyes. "Don't let Melissa's memory hold you back from being a human being, Michael. We all make mistakes, but she knew you loved her."
Michael nodded, eyes falling. He knew Pam was right. Though he was loathe to admit it, he knew he was using what had happened with her as excuse to be angry for his own past deeds.
"Come here, you big pain in the ass." Pam took the mechanic in a hug, brows furrowing again. "Are you happy to see me, or do you have a banana in your pocket?" She pulled away just far enough to see a sheepish Michael indeed pull the short fruit out of his pocket. The laughter startled a few birds nearby.
Mia glanced over at Dean, wondering if he knew what that had been all about. He just shrugged slim shoulders, turning back to his rather nasty task.
"I swear, I will never eat fish as long as I live when I get home," he muttered, placing the newly shredded strips of meat onto the flat rock, used for just that purpose.
"I've never been a fish person, actually. I don't know," the girl shrugged her own shoulders, squinting as she studied what she thought was a tiny bone buried in the meat. Carefully she picked it out. "I kind of like it now." She set the, hopefully, boneless meat aside for Dean to cut up with the sharpened rock. She remained quiet for a moment, mind wandering in a few different directions. "Dean?"
"Yeah, Sweets?"
"How did you know you were gay?"
The question about his sexuality surprised him, especially coming from the sweet young girl, all of them had become extremely protective of. She was such a kind, compassionate and sensitive, and utterly beautiful. Dean knew someday she would truly be a stunner.
"Don't tell me I've got another lesbo on my hands. I've already got two."
"Two?" Mia cocked her head to the side, studying the grinning man, who waved her off.
"Never mind. But, you're not-" he eyed her.
"No!" Mia wasn't offended, just shocked at the question. This got even more laughter from her companion. She reached over, smacking him playfully on the arm. "I'm just curious, you goof."
"Okay, okay. I don't know," Dean swiped his forearm across his forehead, wiping away the sweat from the midday sun. It may be January, but oy! "I think somewhere inside I always knew, since I was a boy. Crushes on this actor or that actor, loving to watch the Olympics, especially the men's gymnastics!" He winked at her conspiratorially. "I remember getting my first woody the year Mary Lou took the gold." He sat back, a slight, wispy smile on his lips.
"Who?"
Again, Dean waved her off, unimportant details. "I just loved the boys, loved looking at them, fantasizing about them, jerking off to them-"
"Ew! Dean!"
"Sorry, Sweets. Just part of every growing queer's legacy." They were quiet for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts. The attorney glanced at the girl next to him, his own questions running through his mind. "You got a boyfriend back home?"
Mia grinned, though it was shy, her head lowering so her curtain of dark hair covered her burning cheeks.
"Ohhhh! Daddy like! Tell me about him."
"His name is Abraham Schwartz."
"Mm, Jewish boy. Don't believe what they say about circumcision, Mia," Dean whispered, leaning over to the giggling teen. "Foreskin has its plusses, too."
"God, Dean, you're so gross!"
"That may be, but I'm also an expert on such things. So? Is the boy cut?"
"Cut?" Mia was confused for a moment, but then the meaning hit her, her cheeks becoming enflamed. "Dean!" Her body heat went up about three hundred degrees, part embarrassment, part memories of the little bit she and Abe had done.
The attorney was thoroughly loving the conversation, and the reactions of his young friend. His virgin alarm was humming steadily. All the better to torment her.
"I'm sorry, Sweets," he chuckled, once again using his special nickname for the special young girl.
"We hadn't gotten that far," Mia admitted, almost ashamed to tell this man, who obviously knew so much about the carnal world, in all its forms, that she was inexperienced and pure. Dean sensed this, and immediately felt bad.
"Mia," he said, voice soft as he reached over and raised her face with a finger under her chin. Once he had her dark gaze, he smiled. "Be proud. It's nothing to be ashamed of. This Abraham guy obviously wasn't the right guy, or the right time."
Mia smiled, though it was shy. She nodded slightly, still feeling embarrassed, but better by the sincerity she saw in Dean's eyes.
"I'm a pig," Dean continued, dropping his hand and turning back to his task.
"Always have been a pig, always will be a pig, but you, dear, Mia, are a beautiful lady."
"Awww, you're so sweet, Dean! Cheesy and queer, but sweet."
Dean chuckled, nodding. "You got that right, Sweets. It sucks here, with only Michael." They both snickered at the attorney's fate.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Am I crazy, or is there something going on between Denny and Rachel?" the girl, who had been wondering about it for months, glanced shyly over at her friend. She was worried he'd laugh at her, that she was all wrong about their relationship. She was surprised by the soft smile that graced Dean's hair-covered lips. She didn't like him with the facial hair; it just didn't suit him, somehow.
"Oh, I think so. Definitely." Dean nodded to emphasize his own words. "Those two share a very special bond I think, Mia. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were very much in love."
"Really?" Mia's voice was soft, wistful. Again the attorney nodded.
"It's beautiful to watch, isn't it?" His smile turned sad. "I think Denny is fighting it, though."
"Why!?" The teen couldn't understand not grabbing at love with both hands. The girl was a romantic at heart, and filled with ideals of youth.
"Hannah."
"Oh." Mia's heart fell, understanding all the implications behind that one word. "But what if we're stuck here?"
"I don't know, Sweets." Dean sighed, cringing internally at the very thought of being stuck on the island for the rest of his natural life. He knew his loafers certainly wouldn't make it, nor would his libido. "I can only hope they'll see reason."
* * *
The night was quiet, unusually so. It was almost as though the entire island had fallen to sleep. All except Denny. She lay on her side, facing Rachel, who also lay on her side, facing her. They were no more than six inches apart, the blonde's face relaxed in peaceful. Denny studied that face, so beautiful. Dark blonde brows arched slightly over the most amazing green eyes Denny had ever seen, and it wasn't just the color. No matter how hard the author tried to hide herself, the coffee shop owner could read it all in the green depths. Ironically, the eyes of a famous author read like an open book. Denny didn't understand why no one else could read Rachel, why her own husband couldn't see everything, because it was all there. All you had to do was pay attention.
She thought about what she'd seen in the blonde's eyes over the past several weeks, and it nearly took Denny's breath away. No doubt she saw her own feelings reflected back at her, and it scared the brunette half to death. She hated to admit it, but the guilt was steadily seeping from her, replaced by longing so strong, it sometimes made Denny lose her breath. She felt Rachel in every part of her being, seemingly down to a cellular level, but how could she dare act on it? It wasn't fair to the author, who seemed to be so confused in her own heart about things involving said heart.
Who was she kidding? And why was she putting her own issues on Rachel's shoulders? When it all boiled down to it, Denny was scared. What was she afraid of? She knew love, she understood its beauty and ramifications. She had taken a huge gamble on Hannah, and it had paid off for eight years of wonder and deep love. Perhaps she was scared because the little blonde author had entered her life, and the love she felt for Hannah seemed to have been swept away. No, not swept away. Denny would always love Hannah, no matter what, even I they were stuck on the island for the rest of their lives. But she had to admit that her heart was big enough to allow more than one love in her life to enter. She did love Rachel, that much she grudgingly admitted to herself.
Rachel felt like she was being watched, her brows knitting for a moment as she was swiftly pulled from sleep. Eyes opening, she found herself staring into an unwavering blue gaze. She said nothing, but smiled in greeting, though it quickly faded at the look of intensity in Denny's eyes. She studied those eyes, looking deeply within, almost able to read the brunette's thoughts. She wanted to blush at what she saw there, a shiver of heat flowing through her body. Though married for three years, with Matt for four, well, would have been nearly five now, she had never experienced desire at his touch. At least not to the degree that a simple look from Denny could muster.
Denny reached out a hand, needing to touch the softness that was Rachel's face. Green eyes closed as the backs of her fingers brushed Rachel's cheek, her hand turning over so her fingertips traced her brow, down the straight line of her nose, and over soft, full lips, which brushed her fingers in passing. The hand trailed its way down, along the blonde's jaw, opening to cup the side of Rachel's face.
Rachel's heart was beating at an insane cadence, her skin tingling where Denny had touched her, lips slightly parted as her eyes opened, noting where Denny's eyes rested. I want to kiss her, too.
Denny licked her lips, as though readying herself for a big, juicy steak, as if her very life depended on it. She met Rachel's gaze once more, her own breathing beginning to hitch, her blood racing through her, warming her in the most wonderful ways. She reached her own hand out, touching the soft, warm skin of Denny's shoulder, tracing the valleys and hills of muscle, skin and bone, awed at just how soft the brunette really was. So very different from Matt and the few other men she'd been with. She allowed her fingers to trace up, over the smooth, yet hard skin covering the muscle leading toward the brunette's neck.
Denny fought a shiver at Rachel's soft, teasing fingers, her own hand finding its way down the blonde's side, and finally tucking itself behind her back. Rachel felt the slight tug at her back, but wasn't sure if she began to move from that, or her own uncontrollable need for closeness. Bodies a hair's width apart, Rachel looked up into Denny's eyes, feeling the soft warmth of the brunette's breath on her face. The blonde swallowed, suddenly filled with nervousness, and uncertainty. What am I doing? No longer able to look into those intense eyes, she closed her own, tucking her head under Denny's chin. She felt strong arms wrap around her, and she snuggled in as close as she could against Denny's chest.
The coffee shop owner was so grateful when Rachel snuggled up against her, taking the temptation of her lips- so close- away from the brunette, allowing her to just hold Rachel, and feel her close. Their breasts and stomachs were pressed together, the warmth electrifying. Denny made her heart calm, sighing deeply as she held Rachel as close as she dare. She had a lot to think about, and a lot to consider, but she didn't want to think about it, knowing it would leave her with troubled dreams. Closing her eyes, finally falling into a deep, easy sleep.
* * *
Matt slid a hand through his hair, fussing with it, making sure it looked properly messy, the casual ease of his look belying the hour it had taken him to attain it. Samantha liked it, so he was willing to do it for her. Today they were going for a fun day playing miniature golf and go-cars. He liked Sam; she was fun, young and hot. The detective grabbed his sunglasses and keys, checking his breath one last time before locking the house behind him.
He had struggled for a long time, trying to decide what was prudent. Truth be told, and he had told no one, since Rachel's death, he realized just how unhappy they had been as a couple, and the relief within his heart was palpable. He loved Rachel while she had been alive, there was no doubt, but he found through her absence, he hadn't liked the man he'd become while married to her. He had spent such a long time trying to make her happy that after awhile, he hadn't given a damn, and had let himself go, his wants and needs until he'd given in with Diane, getting caught red-handed. Now, though it was tragic how their marriage had come to an end, he could see that Rachel knew that, and was preparing for the end. That was why she had left the bulk of her estate to Reenie and her sisters. His anger had fizzled over time, realizing that it didn't matter in the long run. He needed to make himself happy, and Rachel's money wasn't about to do that.
Matt had stopped by the cemetery two weeks ago, filling the bronze container next to Rachel's large stone- the author's memory buried next to her sister Daisy, just as she'd want- and had sat on the grass, gaining new
life as spring inched its way forward. He'd talked to the blonde for hours, telling her all about his thoughts, what he wanted for his life, and what he planned to do. He begged for her forgiveness in his infidelity, but hoped she'd understand that he needed to move on with his life. The detective wasn't sure how often he'd return, but he assured her he loved her and always would.
With a spring in his step and song in the air, Matt climbed into his brand new SUV, started the engine, and listened with satisfaction as it rumbled to life. Buckling himself in, he pulled slowly out of the garage, letting it buzz closed behind him.
* * *
Brows drawn, Meredith Adams listened, nodding periodically, glancing over at her grandson who sat in a chair, fingers tapping on the arms.
"I'm sorry, what was that last part?" she asked, shaking herself from her thoughts of the past month.
"I said I'll need to see him twice a week for at least two to three months. If we have any progress, we can bring it down to once a week. Mrs. Adams, that is one angry boy," Lynn Mason said unnecessarily. The older woman nodded solemnly.
"I know. These past eight months have been trying on all of us. We just don't know what to do with him anymore. My husband, Walter is threatening me."
"Threatening you?" The counselor didn't like the sound of this, and her body language spoke volumes as suit-clad arms crossed over her large chest.
"Yes. He said that if Conrad gets into one more fight, he's out," Meredith near whispered, not wanting the thirteen year old to hear. "I don't know what to do!"
"Hopefully I can get him to talk about this. He hasn't dealt with the death of his parents. Bottling it in his extremely dangerous, and counter productive, as you've seen." She placed a hand on the older woman's arm, gently leading her toward the door of her office, a subtle hint that the boy's session was over. "I'll see him back here day after tomorrow. Mary can schedule an appointment fro you."
