by Julie Kriss
He smiled at me from between my legs. “Worried?” he asked.
Was I? I just felt tight, strange. Despite his crazed jealousy, with McMurphy there had always been someone else, someone he liked better, at least for the moment. Someone he’d rather have.
My husband dipped his mouth to my hipbone and sucked the skin briefly between his teeth, a pain so exquisite I gave a helpless moan. “You taste good,” he said. “I’m inspired.”
“But you’ve done it a lot,” I insisted. I didn’t know where this panic was coming from, bubbling up from somewhere deep. I just knew it felt out of control and I couldn’t stop it.
“Dani, Dani,” he said. He laughed softly against my skin, then moved up my body. I should have smacked him, but somehow that laugh sounded deadly serious. “You really want to know the answer?”
“No,” I said, panicked again.
“Too late,” he said. He was at my breasts now, and he paused to take one of my nipples in his mouth, making me moan again. He sucked softly and let me go. “Not a lot,” he said. “But you’ve seen my ink work.” He lowered to my other nipple and sucked it, then let it go. “When I do something important, I take the time to do it properly.”
My pulse was beating in my throat. He was saying I was important. “Cavan, when I said what I said, I didn’t mean—”
“Stop,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.” He moved up and kissed my neck, winding his hand in my hair. “Forget it. Forget everything. Are you on the pill? Because I’m clean, and to fuck you properly, I need to do it bare.”
Can you die of arousal? I felt like I was going to find out. “Yes,” I told him. “And I’m clean.” That was one thing I’d done right with McMurphy: condoms, always condoms, plus the pill. I’d snuck two blood tests since I’d been with him just to be sure. I’d always spit, never swallowed. All of it seemed insane now, like a faraway nightmare. I would never have to do all of that again. Instead I had my husband, gloriously naked in bed with me. “Kiss me,” I told him.
He did. A different kiss, yet again, from the ones he’d given me before. Deep but soft, dirty and affectionate at the same time. I wound my arms around his neck and we made out like teenagers, his hands first on my breasts, then around my waist and back as he pulled both of us upright, me on his lap. He moved me—God, he was strong—until we were backed against the headboard of the bed, my ass perched on it, my legs wrapped tight around his hips. Then he braced a hand against the wall next to my head, angled me just so, and thrust into me.
I moaned into his mouth. He moved out of me, then in again. “Like that,” he said softly, breaking the kiss. “Just there.”
He moved again and again, the angle just right, pinning me to the headboard, letting him land deep inside me. I couldn’t hold him tight enough. I squeezed him with my thighs, my arms around his neck. He felt so good. I had never been so close to another person before, even during sex—so close I felt every breath, every smooth slide of his muscles, the noise he made in his throat as he worked deeper and deeper.
“More,” I said, gripping my hands in his hair.
“Greedy woman,” he said against my mouth, altering the angle of his hips just a little. He pressed inside me and slowed down, kissing the line of my jaw. “You feel that?” he said. “That’s me. No one else. Just me.”
I did feel it. Just him, giving me everything, taking everything in return. Then he hit a spot that made the world light up inside me even more than it already had. “Cav,” I said, digging my nails into him. “Cav—”
“There?” he asked. There was sweat on his back, beneath my nails, but he didn’t break his rhythm. Instead he evened it out, slow and steady, rubbing that one spot. “Oh,” he said in a pleased voice as he felt my body go stiff, the pleasure pulsing through me. “This is going to be good.”
It was. I went off, every part of me lighting up as I made a wild sound and my body bucked against him. He held me still, his hard body pinning mine, and when I passed the peak I felt him move deep into me and come, an animal growl in his throat.
We caught our breath, sweaty and tangled together, for a long minute. I was still wrapped around him; I didn’t want to let go. He didn’t seem to mind. He kissed the side of my neck.
I pressed my face against his shoulder. I had so much to say, and no words to say it. “Thank you,” I said.
He laughed softly, a vibration against me. “You’re welcome, I guess. Though I got something out of that.” He kissed the side of my neck again. “Get some rest. Round two starts in thirty minutes.”
I arched up and kissed his jaw, the soft beard familiar. “What about round three?”
“Greedy woman,” he said agreeably, nuzzling me. “I’m older than you. I’m not sure how many rounds I can go. But I’m willing to give it my best shot.”
I smiled. “That’s all I ask.”
Twenty-One
Cavan
Three, it turned out, was the number. Maybe I could have gone more rounds at nineteen, but at twenty-nine three rounds qualified as a bona fide sex marathon, longer than I’d ever gone in my life. By the end even Dani was worn out, which made me pretty fucking proud of myself.
We talked for a little while as we drifted off to sleep. I was curled behind her, my arm over her waist. “What do you want to do when this is over?” I asked her.
Dani sighed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I wanted to go to college once. Become a vet tech, or even a vet. But I never even applied.”
“You could apply,” I told her, stroking her shoulder gently. I could totally picture Dani as a vet. “You’re only twenty-three. You have lots of time, and now you have the money.”
“I hadn’t even considered it,” she said. “There’s been so much, and it’s happened so fast. I just thought—” She rubbed her hand over her eyes. “I just thought it was over. Off the table.”
Yeah, I knew that feeling. The one where you look at the future and see nothing, one big blank, a blackboard with everything erased. I’d had that feeling at eighteen and I’d never gotten rid of it. “You should think about it,” I said.
“I don’t know, Cav. There was a school in Portland I could get into, and I like the idea of going there, but I’ve never been, and…” She trailed off.
“And now you’re married,” I finished for her. “To me. And you don’t know if you want a husband when you go to Portland.”
“That isn’t it,” she said, rolling over and looking up at me. “I want a husband all the time. I want you all the time.”
I propped my head in my hand and looked down at her. “You don’t have to decide right now,” I said. “Decide later. But think it over.”
She frowned. “Think over the school, or the husband?”
“Both.”
She winced. “Cavan, I know I said some things. I didn’t mean them.”
The pain was just a dull ache now, nothing I couldn’t handle. “You did, though,” I said, looking straight into her eyes. “You did mean them. I told you to be straight with me. There’s no need to take anything back.”
“I’m just confused sometimes,” she said, distressed. “I don’t say the right thing. Everything’s such a mess.”
I leaned down and brushed my lips gently against hers. “Sweetheart, we just did three rounds of amazing sex. Neither of us is thinking straight right now.” I kissed her again, feather-light. “Sleep on it. Sleep on everything. Decide later. Just promise me you’ll think about school, all right?”
“Okay,” she said. I kissed her once more, and she sighed. “You’re so sexy.”
I smiled. “I’m glad you think so.” I kissed her collarbone and she rolled over again so I was against her back.
“What about you?” she asked when we were settled again. “What do you want to do when this is over?”
I almost laughed. I had the same blank spot in my life that she did. But then I thought about it, and something came to mind—something I’d almost never let myself think about. “I’d
like to travel,” I admitted. “I’d like to see more of this country—there are so many beautiful places here. Just go from one place to another, seeing it all.”
“A road trip,” she said, sleepy and amused. “Like the one we’re on now. You’re a good driver. Can I come? I promise I’ll let you pick the radio music.”
“You won’t, liar,” I said, nudging her and watching her smile. “Go to sleep and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”
“Okay,” she said, and closed her eyes.
We slept like the dead after that, passed out on the twisted hotel bedsheets. The cleaning staff was going to know exactly what happened here, and I didn’t care. Those few hours were stolen; I took them for me and me alone, something I would keep close to me forever. I forgot about everything, gave myself the gift of a few sweet hours sleeping with my wife. Then, at the first light of dawn, I got up.
While Dani still slept, I showered and dressed. Jeans and a Henley again, the suit packed away. I put all my things in my bag and sat at the lonely, uncomfortable little hotel table, the pad of hotel stationery in front of me. I wrote for a while. I left her most of the money—a sizeable stack of bills—and my car keys. The marriage certificate. Then I stood and walked to the door.
I paused. There was no sound from the bedroom; Dani was still asleep. I knew what she looked like, her face beautiful in rest, her dark lashes against her cheeks, her black hair tousled from sex, her skin slightly flushed with pleasure. The ring I’d bought still on her finger. She was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and in the quiet dawn light I could admit it to myself: I loved her.
I’d never loved anyone before, and I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with love, except give it away, which was what I was doing. What was I to her? An illusion, an idea, a means to an end? It didn’t matter. If Dani didn’t love me, I still loved her. That was the only thing I knew.
So this, what I was doing right now—it had to be done.
I couldn’t drop it and go back to bed with her, no matter how badly I wanted to. And I couldn’t stay and explain. I couldn’t make things different just by hiding in bed with my wife and wishing. I had to go face the problems and make things different on my own terms.
And still I couldn’t move.
I took a breath, which hurt. I blinked and turned my gaze away from the bedroom doorway, which hurt. I opened the door, which hurt like hell.
Then I went through it, and I shut it behind me.
Twenty-Two
Dani
No. No, no, no, no, no.
I knew something was wrong when I woke and Cavan wasn’t in bed. It was instinct; my gut telling me something. But I knew he wasn’t in the shower or gone to get coffee. I knew it was bad.
I got out of bed stark naked and left the bedroom. On the table were a piece of paper, the car keys, a stack of money, and a handwritten note.
No, no, no…
What had he done?
The piece of paper was our marriage certificate. I picked up the note.
Dani,
I’m sorry about this. I know that’s inadequate to say, but I am. If I had a choice, I would never leave you. Not for a day, not for a minute. This isn’t what I want. But we don’t always get what we want. We both know that, I think.
What matters to me is that you’re safe. The money is just a start—there will be more in your bank account before nightfall. The car is yours; I’ll get another. The room is paid for. Everything that’s mine is yours, even my name if you want it.
Go do the things you were meant to do. The things that will make you the person you’re born to be. Leave the old things behind, the things that don’t matter. Find Dani Farraday, and become her. That’s all I ask—that, and that you keep yourself safe. Don’t take risks for me.
I’m not gone. I’ll help you. And if anything happens to me, you know the drill. Go to Devon, or Max Reilly in San Francisco.
If you want a divorce, say the word, because I don’t own you and I never have. You own yourself. But until I hear that word from you, I consider myself married. To you.
You know what? Even if you divorce me, I’ll still consider myself married to you. Until I die.
Whatever there is of me—it’s yours. Even if you don’t want it, and even if it isn’t much. But that’s the deal, sorry. You asked what I wanted, and that’s the answer. For me, it’s never been any other way.
-Cavan
I called him. Of course I called him. On the new phone we’d bought me yesterday, before the wedding, before we were married, before we’d done all the things we’d done that made me a different person. I called him and he picked up.
“Dani,” he said. There was white noise behind him—a highway, maybe, or traffic.
“You’re going back to Arizona, aren’t you?” I said, my voice cracking.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said.
“It does!” I shouted. I gripped the edge of the table. Tears came in a rush, up the back of my throat. I couldn’t stop them. I started to cry. He was going back to McMurphy, alone. Because of me. “Don’t do it, Cav. Please.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “And don’t cry, okay? I can’t take that.”
“If I cry, will you come back?” I said through a sob.
“No, baby, I don’t think I will. I’m not what you need right now. Not for a little while. So yeah, I’m going to Arizona. It’s the only thing to do.”
I pulled my knees up and hugged them as heartbreak hit me like a hammer. It hurt. I was still stark naked; his come was still inside me. It hurt.
“Please don’t,” I said. “I love you.” I’d never said that to him, I realized. Not once. If I’d said it, would he have stayed?
“You think you do,” Cavan said, and for the first time there was a slight crack in his voice, like he was feeling more than he let on. Only someone who knew him would be able to tell. “You feel a lot of things for me, Dani, but I’m not sure love is one of them. And we can’t be married if you’re not sure.”
“I am sure,” I said, mopping tears from my cheek with the back of my wrist. “I’ve loved you from the first, I think.”
“Ah, no. That was me,” he said. “It was over for me when you walked in that day. But for you, it’s different. You never had a chance to figure anything out on your own. You had McMurphy, and then me. You’re not in that equation anywhere, Dani. Just you. So I’m giving you that. I have to.”
“Why?” I said. I was crying again, trying to swallow it all back down. “Why are you doing this? Why did you do any of it? Leave with me, take on McMurphy, give me your money, marry me? Why me?”
He was quiet for a second, and I could hear the rush of traffic. Where was he? Had he gotten as far as Phoenix yet? “I never told you what happened with my mother,” he said.
I went quiet, waiting.
“It was my fault,” he said, that crack in his voice again. Just the sound of it wrenched my heart. “She had this boyfriend, Patrick. It was bad. The signs were there—all of them. He’d run her down, insult her, call her a cunt and a slut. He cut her off from her friends. He was always accusing her of cheating on him, fucking every man she saw. He was using drugs, dealing. He’d shout at her in public. It was fucking textbook. It was all there.”
I listened, but I had chills down my spine. I recognized all of those things. That had been my life.
“He hated Devon and me,” Cavan continued. “Devon was sixteen; I was eighteen. We’d run wild, like feral cats. We had too many years alone, too many years with her boyfriends coming and going. Mom was difficult; she wasn’t easy to like but she’d had a hard fucking life, and it made her cagey and vulnerable to a certain kind of man. There was a certain kind of man who could convince her he’d fix everything, at least at first, and she’d believe him. Patrick was that kind, but worse. The worst of all of them.”
I rested my head on my knees, the tears coming slower now. I was starting to understand.
This was me, all me. “Did he hit her?” I asked.
“She never admitted it,” Cavan answered me. “That’s what I mean when I say she was cagey. She knew Devon and I would probably pick a fight with him, the cops would come—it would be a big fucking mess. She wanted it all quiet, because she thought she could handle it. She thought she had it under control.”
I closed my eyes. Oh, yes, I knew that feeling so well. “What happened?” I asked.
“I had an argument with her,” Cavan said. “That last day. Devon wasn’t there. Patrick had done something, I don’t remember what, and I got pissed off and lost it. I told her she needed to kick him out, and if he wouldn’t go, she needed to pack her bags and get the hell out. Whatever got her away from him for good. I told her it would only get worse, that someday he’d hurt her. I told her to save herself. I even told her that if she wouldn’t do it, I’d pack her bags for her and haul her out of there. I’d shove her in the fucking car and start driving.” His voice cracked again. “That’s what I said.”
“Cavan,” I said, my voice laced with pain.
“She said no,” he said. “She said she’d try and kick him out, but she wasn’t leaving. She said that she knew him, she knew how to handle him, that she could make things work. She had all the excuses—he just needed time, and caring, and if he could just get a job. The whole script. I knew all of it was a lie, but you know what I did? I backed off. I accepted it. I told her she was crazy, but I didn’t push. I walked out. My last words to her were, ‘Don’t blame me when you end up in the hospital.’ Can you fucking believe that, Dani? I was an eighteen-year-old selfish asshole. That’s what I fucking said.”
“It isn’t your fault,” I said.
“No? She was dead four hours later. He must have come home, and she must have tried to kick him out. He strangled her, then stabbed her with a pair of scissors.” He took a breath. “If I’d just done it, Dani. If I’d just thrown her over my shoulder and put her in the car and hit the gas, it wouldn’t have happened. I fucking knew, and I didn’t push hard enough. I didn’t fight hard enough. I didn’t do enough. That’s on me—it will always be on me. I couldn’t look Devon in the eye anymore; I couldn’t be around him. So I did yet another heroic act—I bailed on him. I walked away and left my sixteen-year-old brother alone, because I couldn’t stand to look at him. That’s the great fucking guy you married, Dani. That’s the deal you made.”
