Cruel Water (Portland, ME, novels Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  I sneak a peek at Ike, who is calmly sipping his coffee, apparently totally unfazed by Kyle’s outrageous suggestion. He actually looks at me and winks.

  Thankfully, we don’t have to wait long for breakfast. In pretty short order, we stand on the sidewalk, well fed and caffeinated, ready to head over to the hospital. Ike casually throws his arm around my neck and starts walking. I obviously have no choice but to move as well, although I’d rather be doing anything else than going back in there. Dorian and Kyle are behind us, at least I hope they are. My poor brother was unable to finish his eggs, nerves apparently getting the better of him over the course of breakfast. My mind is still kind of stuck on the whole offhand remark by Kyle about making it official. I’ve known Ike for all of maybe two months now, if that. Granted, it has been intense, and we’ve somehow managed to spend every night together these past few weeks, but surely it’s way too soon to be thinking of anything of a more permanent nature. Isn’t it? That calm and confident look on his face, though. Not to mention the wink. What was that all about? Of course he did tell me he loves me and I believe that. He’s given me absolutely no reason not to. He made it so easy for me to say it back, and I meant every word. But now in the light of day, walking into whatever we’re walking into, it all seems very ... fast.

  “Babe, I can hear the wheels grinding over here,” he murmurs over my head. “Do you need a minute?” He stops right outside the entrance to the hospital and waves Dorian and Kyle inside, without waiting for my answer. “You guys go ahead, we’ll be right in. Just follow the signs for the ICU.”

  “Ike,” I start, but I don’t get any further, because now Ike is pulling me toward a bench to the side of the door.

  “Talk to me,” he says, turning his body toward me and cupping my face in his hands, those intense silver eyes completely focused on mine.

  “Isaac ...”

  “Spit it out, baby. Whatever it is that has you tensing up under my hand, just let it out. Talk.” The last he says in a rather commanding tone, and it immediately makes me bristle.

  “Christ, but you can be bossy.” If I thought that would have any impact whatsoever, I’m sadly mistaken. No, instead of getting defensive and argumentative, which I’d secretly hoped for I realize, he smiles at me instead.

  “I know. But only for good reason. Now tell me.” This he says gently, and before I know it, all my thoughts come tumbling out my mouth. Kyle’s remark, his reaction to it, my own concerns about moving so fast: everything. Credit to Ike, he calmly listens to my rant and makes sure I’m done before he opens his mouth.

  “Let me ask you something,” he begins. “Why does this freak you out so much? The thought of a future with me?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “It’s not that I don’t want it, because I do. I just don’t want to hope and have things blow up in my face. For years I’ve learned to be content just floating around without a rudder. Watching others find their anchor and I’d just be happy occasionally drifting by. It seems safer that way. Storms come and I can simply ride the waves, get bounced around without getting ripped from my moorings.”

  Ike’s hand brushes at my forehead, where the same blue chunk of hair has fallen into my eyes. His expression is thoughtful, pensive. When his eyes land on mine, they’re warm.

  “I like your metaphor,” he says unexpectedly. “It helps me understand what’s going through your head. Thing is though, floating through life is not living it. Something I’ve learned recently, because I was much the same. No real direction, nothing to ground me. I got tired of constantly being in motion, going from one place to the next. That’s why I decided to finally turn the house, that I’d bought a few years ago, into a home.”

  I was listening, my eyes focused on his fingers stroking the top of my hand, but a light squeeze gets my attention. The look on his face is soft when I lift my eyes.

  “As soon as that decision was made, you came along,” he continues. “Unexpected, for sure, but in a very good way.”

  I smile at that, because I feel the same way. “Yeah,” I acknowledge softly and he smiles back.

  “Yeah,” he repeats before continuing. “So, maybe it’s too soon to talk about dropping an anchor, but Viv, what’s so scary about hanging onto each other and floating round the harbor a bit? Enjoy the view? No rush, no reason to be in a hurry.”

  He’s right. Of course he’s right.

  Feeling infinitely better, I lean in to kiss him softly on the lips. “Thank you for talking me off the ledge.”

  “Anytime, my love.”

  Ike

  The moment we walk into the waiting room, the tension is already thick. Viv immediately goes to sit down beside Dorian, who looks absolutely miserable sitting on the other side of the room from Kyle, who just looks angry. I’m content for now, leaning against the wall beside the door. Viv’s mother is missing and so is Nolan, but the other two brothers are there.

  “Where’s Mom?” Viv asks.

  “She’s in with Lydia, to see Dad,” Owen answers after a moment’s hesitation. “Nolan had to head back to Boston, but he’ll be back tonight.” His eyes linger on Viv a little longer before turning them back to the floor. Aaron just glares at everyone.

  “Oh, okay,” she says tentatively. “Any new developments?”

  Kyle huffs audibly, loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. “Nothing new from where I’m sitting. Nothing new at all,” he says with a scathing glare in Dorian’s direction.

  “Oh,” Viv says again, worriedly looking between her brother and Kyle.

  “Think she meant with her father, Kyle,” I point out and watch his face fall.

  “Right,” he says softly. “Of course.”

  “He’s a bit combative this morning, Mom and Lydia are trying to calm him down. I tried, but didn’t get very far,” Owen volunteers, surprisingly. His eyes keep flitting back and forth to Viv in the silence that follows. The feeling I got yesterday that he was starting to soften toward her is enforced.

  “I’m gay.”

  The declaration is loud, too loud for the small waiting room, and Dorian, who just blurted that out of the blue, looks panicked. Viv grabs his hand and leans her head on his shoulder in support. Nobody else in the room moves, but Kyle suddenly looks as if the heavens opened up for him. I scan the face of Owen and Aaron for a response, but all I see are blank faces as they look at their younger brother.

  “Kyle is not just my boss, he’s my husband. I met him a year after I moved to San Francisco, and we’ve been together ever since,” Dorian pushes on, his shoulders squaring as he does. Kyle is practically beaming from the other side of the room, and Viv throws me a little smile, which I gladly return. The two brothers still stare unmoving.

  Still Dorian plows on. “Whenever one of you would visit, Kyle would move in with a friend or stay at a hotel until you were gone. Well, all of you except Viv—she’s the only one who’s always known.”

  Now there’s movement from Aaron, who jumps up, swearing loudly, “Son of a fucking bitch!”

  I push off the wall, ready to intervene, if necessary, when he steps in front of his younger brother with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “You fucking got married and didn’t invite us?”

  Dorian’s mouth falls open, as does Viv’s, and I have to chuckle when I see the two of them looking up at the looming figure Aaron makes, gaping like fish. Then my chuckle turns into full-fledged laughter when Owen reaches over to ruffle Dorian’s hair.

  “This is not news, brother. Although I have to agree with Aaron, you owe us a wedding party.” Kyle’s smile splits his face in two, when Owen turns to him. “Welcome to our fucked-up family, Kyle.”

  When I look back to my girl, she’s pulled away from Dorian, who apparently found his tongue, since he is talking animatedly with Aaron. Viv looks around the room before her eyes land on me, and what I see in them is not good. I tilt my head, inviting her to come to me and after a moment, she gets up and walks straight into
my arms.

  “Get me out of here,” she hisses under her breath. Without questioning her, I pull her against my side and step outside the room. With a last glance over my shoulder, I see Owen watching our departure, his face inscrutable.

  Rounding the corner on our way to the lobby, we almost bump into Mrs. Lestar and Lydia.

  “Hey, sweetie.” Viv’s sister-in-law gives her a quick hug, before smiling at me. “Hi, Ike.”

  “Lydia,” I return, but Viv says nothing. She’s looking at her mother, whose face is a mask of anger.

  “All he wants is his precious Vivvy,” she almost spits out. “He won’t even look at me, won’t let me touch him to calm him down. Just you—his good girl.”

  “Mom,” Lydia pleads, trying to pull her back by the shoulders, while throwing Viv an apologetic smile. Viv stands beside me frozen, just staring at her mother, until Lydia firmly guides her past us and down the hall.

  I turn Viv in my arms and tilt her head up. “Wanna go? Let’s go,” I tell her, but she shakes her head.

  “I’m done with this,” she says through gritted teeth. “I want to have a word with my father, and then I’m done with this, and with them.”

  “Sure?” I check.

  “Abso-fucking-lutely. My brother reveals his sexual orientation and the double life he’s lead since he was a teenager, and my family simply accepts it. No recriminations—no argument—no blame.” Her bark of laughter sounds hollow. “I deserve that, but he has taken that away from me too. I at least deserve to tell him what he’s done.” She turns down the hall and starts walking. I easily catch up and put my hand on her neck, just as a point of connection. Perhaps more for me than for her, because this will be gut wrenching.

  The nurse at the desk cautions us. “He’s very restless this morning. We’ve had to place him in a separate room. Family only, though,” she says, looking between us.

  “I’m his daughter and this is my husband.”

  I try not to look surprised. I just squeeze Viv’s shoulder.

  “Very well, end of the hall, last door on the right.” With a finger pointed in the general direction, she turns back to her monitors, effectively dismissing us.

  Determinedly, Viv pushes the door open and steps into the room, only faltering slightly at the sight of her father, who looks fragile and gray. She seems to take strength from my hand on her back.

  “Vivvy ...” he whispers the moment his eyes spot her.

  “I need to tell you something,” she says, her voice wobbling a bit but her spine strong under my palm. “You almost ruined me. Almost,” she repeats as her father’s eyes grow big. “I adored you, growing up. You were always larger than life to me. Superman, a hero, someone who always made me feel safe and protected. Until you turned into someone I needed protection from. And there was no one, Dad. No one. I lived in a house filled with people and no one saw. No one listened. No one cared enough. And every night you came into my room—every time you violated my body and my mind—you isolated me further. I lost my family because of you. You took everything.” A sob rips from her chest and I slip my arms around her stomach, holding her up when she looks like she’ll collapse.

  “Always my good girl,” he mutters, a smile on his face, his eyes distant with vile memories. It takes all I have not to beat the life out of the brittle man in the hospital bed.

  “Yes,” she spits out with renewed fire. “And after I stopped being your good girl, I was a shell: confused, betrayed, and empty inside. Nothing but a mark for another predator in search of a good girl to find me. Belittle me. Beat me. Rape me. I blame you. It’s all on you ...” She whispers the last, silent tears streaming down her face when I turn her in my arms. My own eyes are blurred when her hands go around my neck and she climbs up my body, wrapping her legs around my hips.

  With my hands under her ass for support, I turn to walk out the room but stop in my tracks. Owen stands in the doorway, his face as white as the hospital sheets.

  “Take me home,” Viv pleads, oblivious to her brother in the room. Her brother, who looks like his entire world just collapsed.

  “My God, Viv.” His soft voice cracks on his sister’s name and she jerks in my arms.

  “Home, Ike. Home.” The sound coming from her is thin and weak, but insistent.

  “I’m taking her home.”

  Without waiting for an answer, I carry Viv through the hospital and out to the truck, ignoring the curious glances. She pulls herself up into a ball when I deposit her in the passenger seat, lowly keening. The moment I get behind the wheel, I send a text to Pam with my address, before dialing her.

  “Meet me at my house,” I say simply as soon as she answers. “I just sent you a text with my address.”

  “What hap—” she starts asking but I cut her off.

  “Viv needs you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Viv

  “Babe, you’ve got to eat. You heard Pam, if you don’t eat even a little, she insists you be admitted. Please.”

  I hear Ike’s voice, just like I’ve heard Pam’s voice whenever she’s been here, but I can’t bring myself to react.

  I’ve watched the sun go down and come up again. I’ve heard life go on outside and in the house. I’ve even made it to the bathroom when the need arose, and yet here, in my safe cocoon of blankets I can pretend the world outside doesn’t exist. Nothing matters.

  Suddenly the covers are yanked down my body and Ike’s pulling me up by my arms.

  “What the—” I start, but Ike shoves his face in mine.

  “This is not you,” he barks, startling me. “This is not you and not how you handle things. We’re having a shower and then we deal. No more hiding under the covers, it’s been four fucking days you’ve lain there with that blank look on your face and it’s enough.”

  He’s angry. So, so angry and a niggle of fear starts working its way up my spine when he picks me up and walks me into the bathroom.

  “Stay,” he says in a tone that warrants no objection, before he turns around and turns on the taps, putting a plug in the bottom of the tub. Turning back to me he grabs the hem of my shirt, the same shirt I’ve been wearing all this time, and looks me in the eyes. “Lift.”

  Without thinking I do as he says and lift my arms up. In a single move he has my shirt up and over my head. He undresses me in record time, turns me toward the tub, and orders me to get in. The moment my butt hits the porcelain bottom, I pull up my legs and wrap my arms around them, turning my face to the wall. I hear rustling and then feel him get in the tub behind me. When his legs slip around me, I hold myself stiff as a board. Still, he’s persistent and his hands come around to loosen mine, which are tightly clasped together around my legs.

  “Baby—let go.” This time his voice is soft, coaxing, but still I hold on tight and shake my head.

  “I can’t.” My voice sounds scratchy and alien, even to my own ears. “I’m scared.”

  “Last time you were scared and we had a bath together, you let go. You felt safe enough to let go.” He absently strokes my arms, before his voice drops. “I don’t know what else to do, love.”

  It’s the hitch in his voice that hits home. I let go of my knees and slowly lean back against his chest. His arms immediately band around me, pulling me tight. Suddenly it’s not enough, I need more contact—more Ike. I twist my body, partially turn my front to his chest and bury my face in his neck.

  “I’m so dirty,” I mumble against his skin.

  “I’ll clean you.” Ike’s deep rumble feels wonderful against my skin.

  “You can’t clean this kind of dirt,” I try to explain, and his arms tighten around my body.

  “Baby,” he argues softly in my hair. “That dirt is not yours, it never was. And if they made you dirty—I will make you clean.”

  That’s when the dam breaks. Bottled up emotion I thought I could safely tuck away, like I did once before, pours out of me. Again, like before, it’s Ike who won’t allow me to hide. My fist co
mes up and strikes him on the chest. And again and again.

  “Why?” I cry. “Why won’t you let me be?”

  One of his big hands folds around my fist and presses it against the chest I’ve been pounding.

  “I can’t,” his voice breaks with emotion. “I can’t let you go back to just existing, and not living. You have to live, honey. All that beauty, it’s gotta shine.”

  While I sob myself empty in his neck, Ike grabs the soap and starts washing every last inch of my skin with a tenderness that fills me from the inside out.

  -

  “There she is.”

  I turn around from the kitchen island, where I’ve been trying to force down a piece of toast Ike made me, to find Pam in the doorway, smiling from ear to ear.

  “Damn, girl. For a bit there, I thought we’d lost you for good.” Her eyes track to Ike, who is leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’ll do, my friend. You’ll do.” She then claps her hands. “Right. Coffee. Bring it on. We’ve got work to do.”

  That’s Pam. No frills or flowers, just painfully direct and to the point. With the cup of coffee Ike served her in hand, she calls me with a wave of her hand before walking into Ike’s living room. The pleading look I throw back at him is met with a little shake of his head and a soft smile. Drat. Grabbing my own cup, I pop the last piece of toast in my mouth, which earns a pleased nod from Ike, and follow Pam into the living room where I curl up on the chaise.

  Ike comes in moments later and leans over the back of the couch to kiss me lightly. “Gonna leave you girls to it, for a bit. Heading out to pick up some groceries, the fridge is empty. Need anything?” he asks, and I simply shake my head. Nothing I can think of now, anyway.

  Before he has a chance to back away, my hand shoots out and grabs his arm. “Wait. What day is it?”