Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  “No. Not ready yet.” I shook my head, a little theatrically.

  He raised his eyebrows, grinning.

  “Stop that.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop eying me like I’m a piece of meat.”

  He grinned. “I was thinking more along the lines of… hmm… strawberry shortcake?”

  “Oh, no. You are so not going there. I am not short. And you are ridiculous.”

  “That’s why you love me.”

  We heard a loud cough and throat-clearing behind us, and the doctor whisked the privacy curtain to the side. “This way, please, Mr. Paris.”

  Screw the rules (Dylan)

  Before the long, long night at the emergency room was over, I tried twice more to send Alex home. She refused to go. Instead, during the hours I was waiting for treatment, she lay curled up on the chair next to me, her head resting in my lap as she slept.

  The last time we’d been like this, her sleeping next to me, was on a plane a thousand years ago.

  It was four in the morning before we finally got out of there. By that time, my hand was wrapped in a heavy cast, immobilizing the fingers. Two of my finger bones had been fractured, the skin torn open on all of them. At one point, when Alex was out of the room, the doctor had suggested I come back to see a psychiatrist and possibly seek out some anger management classes.

  “Look,” he said. “We see a lot of guys in your situation. You’ve been in combat. I’m guessing you’ve lost friends.”

  I nodded.

  “It’s not unusual to have long-term emotional responses to this stuff. Combined with the brain injury, it could be a real problem for you.”

  I sighed. “I was seeing a therapist at the VA in Atlanta, before I came up here for college.”

  “I think you need to consider setting up an appointment here.”

  “I already spend three mornings a week at the VA for physical therapy.”

  “So one more won’t hurt.”

  I nodded. “I suppose. I’ll do it.”

  “Good,” he said.

  A moment later Alex returned, carrying two large cups of coffee, and the doctor changed the subject.

  In the cab, after leaving the hospital, she said in a sleepy voice, “Just come back to my place for the night?”

  I swallowed and took a deep breath, a flash of anxiety running through me.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  She nodded. She was leaning against me, arms wrapped around my waist, as the cab cruised up the dark, nearly empty early-morning streets.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I don’t want you alone.” She breathed for a couple minutes, then said, “I don’t want to be alone.”

  So the cab let us off in front of her dorm. She unlocked the door, and we took the stairs up. At the door to the room she shared with Kelly, she turned back to me and put her arms around me. “Just sleep, okay? I meant what I said, I’m not ready for… you know.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “It’s all too new, and different, and confusing,” she said.

  “Sleep is good,” I said. I was pretty fucking groggy at that point.

  She smirked, then turned around and unlocked the door. She took my hand and pulled me in. We tiptoed, in case Kelly was there, but as promised, she hadn’t come back to the room. Good for her and Joel, I thought.

  I took a deep breath, looking at her. She looked back, her eyes wide and green and beautiful, and I said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Is kissing you against the rules?”

  “Screw the rules,” she said. She stepped closer to me, and I put my arms around her, holding the heavy damned cast slightly away from her body. Oh, God, it felt good to touch her. She was breathing quietly as she tilted her head back, and I leaned close, and our lips touched.

  My eyes closed, and all my attention focused on where our lips touched, warm, welcoming. Hungry. Her arms came up around me, pressing hard against my back, and suddenly she was pressing her entire body against me. I could feel her breasts against my chest, her hips against mine, and I nearly gasped at the intensity of it. Her mouth opened, and our tongues touched, and she let out a soft moan.

  I let my knees bend, then gripped her hard around the waist with my right arm and behind the knees with my left. Our lips never lost contact as I lifted her up and carried her toward the bed. Slowly, I sat down with her still in my arms. She twisted, then wrapped her legs around me.

  My right hand trailed down her back and side to her thighs, then back up, and I breathed deeply, drinking her scent in. The smooth skin, the curve of her thigh, the sweet smell of her hair and face.

  “Oh, my God, I’ve missed you, Dylan,” she said.

  I shifted, bringing my mouth to her neck. She tilted her head back, exposing her entire neckline, and I slowly moved my lips along her jawline to just below her ear.

  I whispered, “I love you.”

  At that, she put both hands to my chest and pushed, tilting me back onto the bed. I kicked off my shoes, and she straddled me, laying her chest against mine. She brought her lips to my neck, and I could feel her incredible hair against my lips. I felt her hands against my shirt buttons.

  She let out a low chuckle.

  “What?” I said.

  “You know,” she said, her voice almost a growl, “With this cast, you’re going to be practically helpless. I’ve finally got you under my control.”

  “I can live with that,” I said, shivering.

  She kept unbuttoning my shirt, working her way down slowly, licking my chest as she moved. I closed my eyes, arching my back a little, pushing closer to her. I gasped as she lightly bit one of my nipples, then let out a low groan as her tongue worked its way down my chest. My right hand lay uselessly at my side, encased in its cast, as the left one slowly traced the line of her back, her butt, her legs. I was lightheaded; this was better than any drug I’d ever known.

  We were both breathing heavily as I said, “I don’t ever want to be the voice of reason. But is this leading further than you intended?”

  She nodded, her hair running across my chest, then she whispered, “I don’t care.”

  I looked down my chest, then reached out with my left hand, taking her underneath her armpit and pulling her up to me until we were face to face. There was no way she didn’t know just how aroused I was, not in that thin little dress, with her legs wrapped around me.

  I took a deep breath, and said, “You wanted to wait. I don’t want to fuck this up by going too fast. Alex… you mean too much to me for that.”

  She kissed me, her lips slow and deliberate, her tongue just touching my upper lip, then whispered, “Dylan, make love to me. It’s been at least twenty minutes since we got here. I’ve waited long enough, damn it.”

  I chuckled, and then she laughed, and got up on her knees and slowly pulled her dress up over her head.

  I won’t lie. I’d been fantasizing about this moment for three years. In our time in Israel, we’d done a lot of making out. A lot of breathless moments. But I’d never seen her without her clothes, and right at that moment, there was nothing in the world I would have traded for it. She had a fantastic body, curved, her breasts hidden behind a black lace bra that took my breath away. My heart was pounding. From excitement, from fear.

  “You’ll have to do all the hard work,” I murmured. “You know, my hand….”

  She grinned. “I think you’re taking advantage.”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  She whispered, “I’m… not… um…”

  Her face flushed red, and she leaned close to me. Oh, God. The feel of her skin against mine set me on fire.

  “You’re not what?” I asked.

  She buried her face against my neck. “I’ve never done this,” she whispered.

  I took a deep breath.

  I’d suspected. She’d been a virgin when we met, of course, and if she’d had any lovers since, she’d kept them secret. Letting out my breath, I said, “We don
’t have to do this if you aren’t ready.”

  My body so disagreed with what I had just said. I would be in a lot of pain if we stopped now, but pain was something I knew intimately anyway.

  She whispered, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I said. I looked her in the eyes. And her eyes were frightened, there was no question. “Alex… I love you. I’ll go where you lead me. I won’t ask for more.”

  A tear ran down her face, and she said, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

  I gave her a half smile and said, “You’ve got that backwards, Alex. I’m the one who… who is undeserving.”

  “Don’t ever say that,” she said.

  “Why not? It’s the truth.”

  She shook her head. “You’re wrong, Dylan Paris. About this, you are so wrong. We were made for each other.”

  I leaned close and kissed her forehead, and she curled up next to me. Before long, she’d fallen asleep, curled up against my left side, her head resting on my chest.

  After she’d fallen asleep, I lay there a few more minutes. A tear ran down my own face. One, then another. I took a deep shuddering breath, knowing that somehow life had given me another chance. Somehow she had given me another chance. This time I couldn’t blow it. Awkwardly, with my cast hand, I pulled a blanket over us, and soon fell asleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  We call him Weed (Alex)

  When the alarm went off on Saturday morning, I groaned and rolled over, rubbing my palm across Dylan’s bare chest, feeling the bunched muscles. I slowly opened my eyes, just in time to see him reach out with his right hand, which was still bound in a heavy cast, and hit the alarm clock with it. The clock went flying and then cut off.

  I lay my face down on his chest. I could hear his heart beating, and his breathing had already gone from the slow, deep breath of sleep to normal respiration. I closed my eyes and murmured, “Let’s skip running this morning.”

  He was wide awake, the bastard. I’d never known someone who just popped their eyes open in the morning, bright and chirpy.

  “Can’t do it, babe. I’ve got a not-so-sexy former Marine breathing down my neck. If I don’t run, he’ll find out about it somehow.”

  I chuckled. He’d spoken often of Jerry Weinstein, his physical therapist. Usually in disparaging terms. I could tell Dylan really liked the guy.

  “You can stay and sleep if you want, hon. I’ll be back soon.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m coming.”

  I rolled out of his bed, checked to make sure the huge T-shirt of his I was wearing covered everything, then stepped out of the bedroom and into the apartment he shared with two graduate students. A quick run down the hall and back, and I’d brushed my teeth and changed.

  By the time I got back to the room, he’d changed into his grey Army tee and shorts. It would be chilly out this morning, but we’d warm up soon enough. Still, I wasn’t crazy enough to go out in November cold in shorts. I wore pink sweats I’d picked up a couple weeks earlier.

  It had been two weeks since the night he went to the hospital. Two weeks since we’d slept in each other’s arms for the first time as adults.

  To be perfectly honest: they were the two happiest weeks I’d ever had in my life, at least since that trip to Israel, junior year of high school.

  Much to Kelly’s disgust, Dylan and I had spent almost every waking moment together, and I’d slept here in his apartment on the weekend. Three mornings a week we still went running. Now, after eight weeks, he wasn’t kidding around any more. No more three-block runs: instead, we went down Broadway to 110th, cut across to Central Park West, then ran the entire length of the park and back. It was about seven miles, and I was in better shape than I’d ever been in my life.

  I probably wouldn’t go much further, but I had the feeling that he was just getting started. He’d been talking for the last week about possibly competing in a marathon.

  As we tiptoed to the door, trying not to awaken his mysterious roommates, who I had as yet to actually meet, I could see that his right leg was noticeably more fit than it had been our first morning running together two months ago. His legs still didn’t quite match, but they were close. And despite the extensive scarring, they were still sexy as hell.

  As always, we started out with warmups, then slowly running. As we hit 110th, he picked up the pace.

  “What time does your sister’s… um… um… shit. Can’t remember the word.”

  “Flight?”

  “Yeah. What time does her flight get in?”

  “Three. I told her I’d meet her at the airport.”

  “Okay.”

  We ran in silence for a little while. He did that occasionally. Just blanked out on perfectly common words. Dylan said it was a side effect from the traumatic brain injury he’d suffered when the bomb blast killed his best friend. He didn’t talk about it easily, but he was talking about it, and that was progress.

  That afternoon, one of my older sisters, Carrie, was flying into New York. She graduated from Columbia two years ago, so this was sort of a homecoming. She said it was just to visit, but I had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being sent to check up on me. Because, well, I have that sort of family.

  That’s okay. Even though there was a six-year gap in our ages, Carrie and I had always gotten along well. Having five sisters is sometimes a blessing, but often a curse.

  She’d freak if she saw me running seven miles in the morning. It was hardly in character, considering my past aversion to sports and anything resembling them. And that cheered me. As crazy as it was, I was getting a rush from the running. We didn’t really talk, just ran side by side, and usually stopped and showered, then went and got breakfast.

  Kelly said that Dylan had cursed me. Last year the earliest I ever got up was 10 a.m.

  We got back to his tiny apartment at about 7:30 a.m. And a guy was sitting on the front step. Crew cut, jeans and T-shirt, head was leaning back against the door, mouth hanging open, asleep.

  “Holy shit,” Dylan muttered. Then he ran up to the guy.

  I was astonished at what happened next. Slowly, he reached out and squeezed his nostrils shut, then leaned forward and shouted, “Wake up, Weed!”

  The guy jerked to a standing position instantly, saw Dylan, and shouted, “Holy shit! It’s the Studmaster!” then grabbed Dylan in a bear hug.

  They growled at each other, teeth bared, then Sherman, who was at least five years older and a head taller than Dylan, lifted Dylan off the ground and twirled him around. Like a ballerina, but with growling and laughing.

  “Oh, man, what are you doing here?” Dylan said when Sherman put him down.

  “Terminal leave, baby! And I’m gonna get so drunk I’ll be blind! Those New York girls better watch out, because: I. Am. Here!”

  Dylan shook his head, laughing, then said, “Alex, this is my so-called friend, Ray Sherman. Sherman, this is Alex Thompson.”

  I gave him a smile and approached. His eyes widened a little bit, and he said in an aside to Dylan, “The Alex?”

  Dylan nodded, a smile curling up on one side of his mouth.

  He turned to me and said, “Wow. I’m so glad to finally meet you, Alex. Dylan’s been talking about you nonstop the entire time I’ve known him, but… wow. He actually understated how beautiful you are.”

  I smiled a little as my cheeks went red hot. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Dylan’s talked quite a bit about you too.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t believe anything this guy says about me. It’s all lies.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” I said.

  “Huh. You obviously don’t know Paris as well as you think. I bet he didn’t tell you how awesome and super masculine I am.”

  I shrugged and grinned. “He did say you were kinda cute.”

  Sherman burst into loud laughter, doubling over. “Oh man, she got both of us, Dylan. I love this girl! Where did you find her again?”

  Dylan smiled at me and s
aid, “We ran into each other on an airplane.”

  “Man. I gotta fly more. So what’s on the agenda?”

  Dylan chuckled. “I wasn’t expecting you this soon. Um… We’re going to pick up Alex’s sister this afternoon, she’s visiting New York for a few days. Alex is dragging me to a party tonight. You should come, so I’ll have someone to talk with. Right now, we’re going to grab a shower and go get some breakfast. You coming?”

  “Food! Hell, yeah. Alex, you gonna introduce me to your sister?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Awesome. Let’s get going then.”

  “Promise to keep quiet in the apartment,” Dylan said. “My roommates aren’t even alive this early in the morning.”

  “What the fuck is quiet?” Sherman asked loudly.

  Dylan gave him a look, and Sherman smiled, then mimed locking his lips.

  We entered the apartment, and Dylan showed Sherman where he could stow his bags. I went to get a shower first, and Dylan stopped me in the hall and whispered, “Is this okay? I know your sister’s coming; I wasn’t expecting Sherman until next week.”

  I kissed him on the cheek. “Of course it’s okay.”

  He grinned. “You’ll love Sherman. He’s a great guy.”

  “I think I already do.”

  Almost an hour later we were eating breakfast in a booth at the back of Tom’s Diner. I sat to Dylan’s right, and Sherman was across from us.

  “So,” Sherman said, “If you don’t want to tell me anything, you don’t have to. But after two years of hearing about your story of love and woe, I’m really curious. Last I heard, you two had broken up, and Dylan was busy attaching explosives to his laptop. How’d you get back together?”

  “I’ll answer, but you’ll have to tell me why you call him … what was it? Studmaster?” I grinned when I asked the question.

  He burst into laughter. “Deal,” he said.

  “Oh, no,” Dylan said. “Not going to happen.”

  “Too late, dude. I already promised the lady, and I never break a promise.”

  Dylan rolled his eyes and drank his coffee.

  “Well,” I said. “My second day of classes this year, I was walking down the hall to my work-study assignment, and there was this surly looking guy lurking in the dark. And the first words he said were something like ‘Don’t touch me.’ And it was Dylan, the love of my life. One thing led to another and here we are.”