by Kim Bailey
“All right, I’m listening,” she concedes.
My heart softens—a little.
“What you did was shitty,” I tell her. “I don’t care why you did it. I don’t care if you’re sorry. I just need you to understand that he’s my fucking kid, too. You want me to be more involved. You begged me—like you’ve ever given me any choice . . . You put all the blame on me for the fact that I didn’t get to see my own son grow up. I’m here, trying my damnedest, but you’re still blocking me. Locking me out. So, when are you going to let me be the father you’ve begged me to be?”
“I’m sorry,” she says. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she refuses to look at me. Instead, she stares at the floor.
The floor where only five days ago Chantal was half-naked with my mouth on her.
“It’s hard for me to let go,” Jamie admits. “But you’re right. I promise I’ll try to do better.”
Her agreement—her mild tone and submissive posture—should turn me on. My mind should be filled with ideas about taking her, proving to her that we could still be good together, but it’s not. My mind is stuck on her kitchen floor and how good I felt with Chantal as the one submitting to me.
Jamie screwed me over, but knowing how close I was to screwing another woman, here in her home, makes me feel a bit better. Remembering Chantal’s excited, pleading moans as she came makes me feel a lot better.
It’s like a game of retribution.
I just wish it were the kind of game I enjoy playing.
Wedding day.
It had to come sooner or later, didn’t it? As much as I’d hoped there was a way to stop it, that something would happen to break Jamie and Eric apart, I sort of knew from the beginning that this day was inevitable.
But, fuck. It really blows, regardless.
Thankfully, Jamie was decent enough to make sure I didn’t get invited. There’s no way in hell I’d have been able to sit idly by and watch the woman I’ve always dreamed was mine make it official with another guy. Especially that guy.
Fuck him.
Not being there to witness it hasn’t stopped me from obsessing over it, though. I can’t help but visualize Jamie in a white dress. I bet she looks like a real princess today.
I thought picking up an extra shift at work would be good—help keep me occupied—but traffic duty is dull as shit. The highway belongs to the provincial unit. So, I’m stuck in a town where—other than the odd red light runner—absolutely nothing happens.
Maybe I should have applied to the provincials. But I’ve been dedicated to this community for so long, the idea of leaving it felt like cheating. Plus, there’s Hunter to consider. I couldn’t risk the delicate relationship we’re developing by leaving here, not even for work.
So, I’ve stayed, stuck in a rut of trying to do right. Wondering when, if ever, it’s going to pay off.
My shift’s almost over, but I still get excited when dispatch calls me to assist on a call. A drunk and disorderly isn’t fun or glamorous, but it’s finally the distraction I need.
But when I arrive on the scene, it looks like things are already wrapping up.
“What’d I miss?” I ask our newest officer, Mike. He’s standing outside the bar. His partner, Francis, chats with an older man off to the side.
“Hey, man!” he greets. “Not much. Complaint was dropped. Owner says it was a misunderstanding.”
“I thought it was a 935,” I say, referencing the call.
Mike laughs. “Everyone in that place is drunk. The playoffs are on.” Motioning toward Francis and the older man, he says, “Owner looks a bit tipsy, too. Heck, if I weren’t in this uniform, I’d probably join them.”
“Baseball?” I ask. “You’re a fan?”
“Not really, but it’s a good excuse to drink beer.”
Damn. Now I want to drink a beer, too. Getting drunk with a bunch of sports fans, forgetting about the hell of this day, sounds like a good plan. I should have done that from the beginning instead of work.
Since I’m still on duty, and in uniform, I can’t drink the beer I want, but I can step inside for a few minutes. It’s probably a good idea to keep an eye on things for a bit—at least that’s the excuse I’m using, hoping to catch a bit of the game, too.
Stepping inside, the first thing I notice is the lack of proper air conditioning. The place smells like day-old armpit. It’s disgusting. The second thing I notice is the big, redheaded troublemaker banging on the bar top, calling for another round.
What the hell is he doing here?
“Causing trouble?” I ask as I approach him.
Eyes widening, Sean’s entire face lights up when he sees me. “Wow! Look at you, dressed in your finest.”
He’s drunk—just like the last time I met him.
Raising his hands in mock surrender, he declares, “I’ll behave.”
“Shut up and put your hands down,” I say, taking the seat next to him.
“If I don’t behave . . . promise me you’ll use handcuffs.” His voice is low enough that no one else can hear, and his sly wink could be seen as innocent, but it makes me very uncomfortable to have him hitting on me in public, especially when I’m in uniform.
Especially when I like it.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, ignoring his come-on.
“Watching baseball . . .” He looks up at the screen on the wall. “Fuck,” he groans. I hear a few other people in the bar making similar sounds. “Watching my team lose,” he corrects.
“I meant what are you doing in town? I know you don’t live here.”
“And how would you know that?” He smiles brighter.
“I’d know. Now, answer the question. Why are you here?”
He leans toward me, our shoulders touching, and murmurs, “I like it when you’re a demanding jerk.” Straightening in his chair, he takes a slug of beer before finally answering my question. “I got invited to the reception. Not the wedding, of course. I’m only good enough for a party.”
The reception.
Dark rage fills me. This guy—a washed-up, hockey playing drunk—is going to see Jamie in her wedding dress. And I’m not. He gets to witness my princess, happy and beautiful, while I sit home, cursing the day.
“You’re already drunk,” I advise him. “Aren’t you supposed to save the drinking for the party?”
“Nah, I don’t think I’m gonna go.”
“What? Why not?”
“’Cause I can tell how much the idea of it bothers you,” he says, his eyebrows drawing together. “And I didn’t really want to go in the first place. Your girl’s all right. I mean, I don’t know her, but she seems okay. But, Saint Eric? Never could stand the guy. Everyone thinks he’s so high and mighty—he’s a pretentious asshole if you ask me.”
“Thanks, man, but Jamie’s not my girl anymore. She’s his,” I remind him, even though I’m having trouble believing it myself. “You should go if you want to.”
With a sigh, I a look around the bar. It’s quiet, everyone drowning their sorrows after the loss of the home team. I want so badly to join in the despair.
“Listen, I gotta go,” I tell him, standing up. “My shift’s done, and I need to take back the car. You should get out of here, too. This place smells like ass.”
Laughing at me, he says, “We should hang out tonight. I drove too far to just sit around in a hotel room.”
“Not a good idea.”
“Come on,” he urges. “I promise to be good. Besides, the last thing you need is to be alone, wallowing in this shit by yourself.”
He’s right. Goddamn him. How the fuck is he so brutally right when he doesn’t even know me?
Giving in to his suggestion, I send him to my place in a cab while I go back to work and close out my duties. Maybe I shouldn’t trust a stranger in my home by himself, but he’s Sean fucking Iverson. It’s not like I have anything he could possibly find valuable. The worst he could do is drink all the beer in my fridge, which is exactly why I stop
to buy more.
Coming home with an armful of alcohol and snacks, I’m surprised by how quiet the place is. No music. No television. With a quick look around, I realize Sean’s not here.
Maybe he listened to me and decided it wasn’t a good idea after all.
Cracking a beer, I head out to my backyard, intent on lighting up the grill and making myself feel better with a couple slabs of meat. The sight that greets me through the sliding glass doors both thrills and annoys me. Sean’s lying inside the tent that I have set up for Hunter’s next visit, his long legs hanging out of the front flaps.
I’d just made peace with the idea of spending my evening alone. Even though letting go of Jamie is hard, I’ve got to do it sooner or later, and I don’t think a babysitter is going to help. But when I make my way over to the tent and see he’s sound asleep, I realize I like having someone else here. Even if he is a drunk troublemaker.
Kicking the bottom of his shoe with my own, I’m surprised when his eyes immediately snap open. Smiling sleepily at me, he says, “Hey there, boss.”
Boss. Yes, it’s my castle. I’m the fucking king. I’m glad he knows it.
“Aren’t you too hot lying in there?”
“Yeah, it’s a little warm, but I was three sheets to the wind when I crawled in here, so I didn’t notice.”
“You sober now?”
“Not entirely. Sober enough to notice how good you look even out of uniform, though.”
“Knock it off,” I tell him. “I was going to barbecue. You hungry?”
“Fuck yes. But do you mind if I take a shower while you’re cooking? I’m sweating like a pig in here.”
“Fine.” I sigh in frustration, but I’m laughing a few seconds later as I watch him struggle to get his two-sizes-too-big body out of a tent made for a child.
“What’re you laughing at?” he questions, slinging his arm over my shoulders as he follows me inside. “You think it’s funny to see me suffer?”
“You think that’s suffering?” I ask, pushing his arm off me and sliding the door closed behind us.
“I don’t know, but it sure hurts every time you reject me,” he says. The serious knit of his brow, the tick of his pulse, and the hard line of his bearded jaw all give away the sincerity of his statement. He attempts to cover up the truth when he points to his heart and says, “It hurts right here. And right here.” He grabs his crotch and thrusts for emphasis.
Could it be? This bold, brash, copper-headed fool has a sensitive side? Seeing this hint of vulnerability from him eases some of my tension. Seeing his hand holding the bulge in his jeans does something else entirely.
“Bathroom’s down the hall. First door on the right. Towels are on the shelf. You’ll see them,” I grumble.
“Are you always in a bad mood?”
“What are you talking about? I’m not in a bad fucking mood. You’re just a pain in my ass. I don’t even know why I invited you here.”
“Really?”
He steps toward me, his intent clear from the sarcastic tone of his voice and the wicked gleam in his eye. I don’t back down. I won’t.
Because I’m still the one in charge here.
And it’s time he knew it. It’s time I showed him.
I wait, calm, motionless, until our chests are brushing. And then, without warning, grab the back of his neck and pull him toward me.
He’s bigger, taller, but he bends to my will.
His face brushes the side of mine as I lean in to hotly whisper in his ear, “Shower, now.”
“Are you joining me?”
“Only if you stop asking questions and do what I fucking tell you.”
His groan vibrates through my chest, sparking my arousal.
This man is likely to be the biggest mistake I’ll ever make. But, at this point, I just don’t care. I’m too angry, too hurt, and too susceptible to stop this. I’m a wide-open wound, and he’s going to either infect or heal me.
“Come on, then,” I say, leading him down the hall.
My bathroom isn’t tiny, but with the two of us, it feels crowded.
He’s undressing beside me, and I can feel the heat of his stare, but I don’t look as I strip off my clothes. Instead, I turn my back to him, ignoring him while I get some towels.
“Get in,” I demand when I don’t hear him moving. When I turn around, he’s still standing there, cock in hand, staring me down. “I told you to get in.”
“You first.” He smiles at me, like this will get him his own way. He should know better by now. He should have fucking figured it out. I thought he had.
“The only way this works—the only way this happens—is if you do what I say.”
“Dylan . . .” He says my name and it sounds like a caress. “I know you want control. I know you need it, but this is supposed to be about forgetting yourself. You need to let go.”
Shaking my head, I tell him, “I can’t give up the control. It’s just part of me.”
“You’ve still got all the power here, trust me. I’m just asking you to let me help. I can make you forget for a while—help you get release. Please.”
He begs, and I give in, doing what he asks.
Maybe it was the begging. Maybe it was the truth in his words. Or, maybe I really do need to learn to give myself over once in a while.
The warm water feels good on my skin. I step fully under the spray, letting it relax me further into the moment.
His hand touches my back, calming and reassuring, before tracing down my spine, stopping at the curve of my ass. My muscles tense in anticipation, but his hand starts traveling back up along its original path. When he reaches my shoulder, he massages deeply.
The pressure he applies is perfect, and when his mouth moves over my other shoulder, kissing hotly up my neck, I allow it.
“Turn around, please,” he asks.
Indulging him, I turn, expecting to see his sarcastic smile or a playful wink. Instead, what I see are his eyes filled with desire. His mouth, parted and swollen. That mouth calls to me. So, I lean in and kiss him.
I kiss him hard. And he submits.
His beard is soft. Lips tender. He opens to me, giving himself over, groaning in pleasure as my tongue sweeps his mouth. When I take his thick, copper hair in hand and pull it harshly, he doesn’t protest. He doesn’t complain when I tilt his head back, biting roughly on his neck.
Easing my hold on his hair, I allow him to kiss me again. His hands are on my chest now, sculpting to my pecs, gliding smoothly over my abs. When he reaches the base of my cock, he pauses.
Breaking away from my lips, he asks, “Can I?”
Fuck. “Yes, quit teasing me,” I warn.
Now he smiles. Not the normal taunting smile I’ve seen him wear—a smile of happy relief.
“Thank you,” he says, kissing me quickly before dropping suddenly to his knees.
Gripping my cock firmly, he strokes slow and steady. His mouth is on my stomach, my hip, my thigh. The tension in my body starts to build with the friction of his hand. His touch so similar to my own yet so fucking different. So much better.
My heart pounds as his tongue traces up my shaft. When he takes me in his mouth, I stop breathing, the air in my lungs—like the rest of my body—feeling pressurized. Grabbing hold of the wall, I prevent myself from falling over, the pleasure is so intense.
“Mmmmm . . .” he moans around my dick before letting go with a loud pop. Looking up at me, he asks, “Does it feel good?”
“Quit talking and put your mouth back on me.”
I’d demand he touch himself as well, but he doesn’t need that instruction. His hand’s already stroking his own thick shaft.
Without hesitation, he does as I tell him, diving at my cock. With his mouth wide, he swallows me whole. Head bobbing, he doesn’t relent.
Closing my eyes tightly, I try to hold back. I try not to let the hot suction of his mouth overwhelm me, but my eyelids can’t block out his grunting noises or the feel of his tongue lap
ping at my balls.
With a strangled shout, and without warning, I come, hard.
“Fuck me,” I pant, coming down from that delicious, but very short-lived, high.
Sean’s laughter is fearless. Slumping back against the shower wall, he wipes his face. “Sorry, doll. I can’t fuck you right now. I just came in my own hand.”
Turning back into the shower spray, I quickly rinse off.
I need space.
That brief moment of letting go—that’s as much as I’m willing to give. Any more than that and I risk more than a moment without self-control. I risk losing myself completely, and that’s not something I’ll ever be willing to do.
Not ever again.
***
The last traces of daylight fade and countless stars take over the inky sky. Leaning my head back, I stare up into the mystical looking space as I down the remainder of my beer.
Jamie’s probably having her first dance right about now. She’s probably glowing with love and adoration, the people around her all likely just as enamored by her as I am.
Fuck, this sucks.
Being alone isn’t new to me. I’ve been alone for almost as long as I can remember. Jamie’s the only person I’ve ever had a real relationship with. She’s the only one who could stand me long enough to try, and if I’m being honest with myself, it was probably only because we were both too young to know any better.
Connecting with people isn’t something I’m good at. Sean proved that this afternoon. The minute I left him in the shower, I was done. And he knew it.
He left immediately after, making excuses about needing to find a hotel for the night and wanting to get back on the road early in the morning. It was all bullshit, of course, but I didn’t try to stop him.
So, here I am.
Alone and hating it.
Hating myself for being the asshole that I’ve become.
The glow of my cellphone lights up the dark of my yard. I don’t recognize the number, but the only person who’d possibly be calling me right now is my mother. As much as I appreciate her attempts to be there for me, her multiple affairs and countless lies make it hard for me to fully trust her. I love her, but she’s just as selfish as I am.
