by Chloe Liese
When I could see straight and stay awake for longer than three-minute intervals, I got a good look at Nairne and had a fucking fit. She had a shiner on her cheek, her eyes were black and blue beneath, and her delicate long nose was swollen.
“What the fuck happened to you,” I’d demanded.
Nairne had stroked my jaw and smiled wearily. “I fell. Took the brunt of it on my face. I’ll be all right.”
I knew she was keeping something from me, but for days, I couldn’t string coherent thoughts together and all I wanted to do was sleep. So, time and again, when I fixated on her bruises, even after they began to fade, I failed to get the clear answer I wanted.
Through all that, Nairne never left, and it took over a week for me to logically reason that she was letting her education go down the shitter on my behalf. I’d told her to go back to school, but she’d just kissed me stupid until I forgot what I was irate about, then drifted off again, thanks to an exhaustion like I’d never known before.
I remembered learning Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs in a behavioral science class in undergrad, thinking that pyramid made sense. Food. Shelter. Sleep. Essentials to sustaining human life, came first. Later, touch and human connection. But falling for Nairne had inverted that fucker on its head. What was the point of balancing the needs of survival without the fulcrum of my existence?
Sure, my brain was scrambled eggs, and I had trouble remembering what I’d done the hour before. But without the close presence of her long bones stretched next to mine, the cloud of her sea breeze and flowery scent, the press of her slim cool fingers easing my anxiety and pain, there was no fucking point to the rest of it.
If my initiation into Cosa Nostra had been my passage out of adolescence, this nightmare had been my segue to a wiser adulthood. Nearly dying, then waking up to the woman I loved battered and crying over me, was terrifying. And though I’d grown up watching my mother slowly dying, constantly reminding me how fragile and fleeting life was, this experience had brought it home. Nairne and I belonged to each other, and I had one thing on my banged-up brain: figuring out how to ensure that our belonging never ended.
I was discharged. Made it into my place with more help from Tom than my pride cared to admit, but the bed was my limit. I lay there, fully clothed, and too exhausted to do jack shit about it.
Nairne helped me tug my sweats down and off my feet before she dragged the blanket up. “Sit up, love,” she murmured, scooching my hoodie off, careful of my head as she removed the ball cap, then pulled my clothes up and away.
Nairne kissed my cheek softly and the touch of her lips felt impossibly erotic. Her smooth skin, the swish of her hair. I became insanely aware of how close her breasts were to my chest as she undressed me. And when I cracked my eyes open, I watched her pulse beat steadily at the base of her throat, feeling uncomfortably aroused, completely inadequate to the task of pleasuring her the way I was used to. I breathed a deep hit of her scent through my nose and let my eyes slide shut again.
“Lie back now.”
I did as she said, sighing at how much better this was than the hospital. Everything smelled familiar, the sheets were soft, and the light was diffused and natural, not like those godforsaken grey fluorescents. Sheer relief washed over me, and for the first time in weeks, my shoulders dropped, tension unknotted at the base of my neck. God, I hated the hospital. Escaping it gave me a second, life-affirming wind. And even though right then I felt terrible and totally overwhelmed, I needed us both to know how fine everything was going to be, one of these days.
“Come here.” My voice was hoarse and gravelly, and I knew I sounded not a little demanding as I yanked her hand my way.
She started making some very rational statement about me needing sleep and space, but I tugged her hand harder and gave her a look that said such statements were not welcome right now. She sighed and scooted herself onto the bed.
As soon as she was within reach, I pulled her against me and slipped my hand up her shirt, cupping one of her glorious, soft breasts.
“Oh, fuck,” I mumbled to myself. “This is where it’s at.”
Her hands slid into my hair and she kissed my forehead. She felt so good. I was a man in the desert, getting his first drink of water in days. Each taste just reminded me how thirsty I’d been and still was. A moan left me as I kissed her face, her jaw, her neck—nowhere in particular since my eyes were shut. I had to prioritize between looking and tasting. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t handle my eyes absorbing every surface and plane of her body. I completely focused on the blissful sensation of touching and tasting her.
“Zed, stop. You can’t,” she warned quietly, trying to push my hand away.
“You stop.” I shoved her hand off. “This is my happy place, and you know that.” I resumed kissing anywhere my lips found. The hollow of her throat, the sharp edge of her collarbone, the swell of the inside of her breast. “Don’t you want me to be happy?”
I could practically hear her eyes roll. “Impossible man. You know I do, but I also know with you, one thing always leads to another, and you’re not cleared for another yet.”
I ignored her, moving my hand to her other breast where I focused on pebbling her nipple to a sharp point. Then I found a spot on her neck that I wanted to devote myself to. I needed her to assail my senses, to wipe out the sterile smell of medicine and antiseptic, hospital gowns and floor wax.
It worked. I was consumed with the warm fullness of her tits, the points of her nipples as they hardened under my fingers, the smell of flowers and herbs and salty ocean air that never left her hair or skin.
“I don’t care. I promise I’ll stop before that. I just need this, Nairne.”
Finally, I opened my eyes, and placed my lips gently over hers, groaning with pleasure as our mouths met, warm and willing. We’d kissed rarely since I’d woken up—I was constantly being assessed or medicated or told I should sleep, and as a result I’d barely managed to get her on my lap and in my arms during my entire stay.
My heart pounded and my dick came achingly to life. I slid my tongue along her lips, entering her mouth desperately, savoring every second, fisting her hair and pressing my forehead against hers. I could feel her trying to slow me down, but I didn’t want to.
Suddenly, a wall of fatigue smashed into me, like I’d been hit with a tranquilizer. My hands slipped from her hair, and my head fell back on the pillow.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, as my lids dropped heavily.
“It’s all right. Sleep now,” she murmured against my lips. Those lips. They feathered kisses over my mouth as she smoothed back my hair.
I drifted off, lulled by the waves of Nairne’s soothing voice and touch, with the scent of the sea, a vision of a garden, filling my dreams.
Thirty-One
Zed
When I woke up, the room was dark but not inscrutable. I squinted for the shadow of Nairne’s body, but as I reached for her side, I knew she wasn’t there. A glance toward the door, and I saw it was left cracked open to allow a sliver of light and the murmur of voices to seep into the room. I could differentiate Nairne’s voice from anyone’s—warm and a little raspy. I smiled involuntarily when I heard her soft laugh. The low rumble of another voice sounded like Dad’s.
I sat up gingerly, taking my time, and was pleased that I didn’t black out, which was pretty common when I got up too quickly these days. Scooching to the edge of the bed, I reached for the nightstand, pushed off the bed, and anchored myself from furniture to wall. Then, slowly, I got to the bathroom, all by myself.
I fist pumped the air after that victory. But my fist morphed into a hand pressed against the wall when the floor started slanting. My antics were probably ambitious, but as Gianno used to tell me after every plateau I hit when training, chi la dura vince.
He who perseveres, one day wins.
When he wanted me to push through, Gianno was never one for shaming or threatening me, calling me a pussy or asking if that was as good as I had
. No, Gianno set my potential squarely at my feet and made it so I could believe in myself and take full responsibility for what I would become. It was hard-ass and wise and daunting.
And I was beginning to think Nairne’s similar streak was a genetic inheritance from him.
“Chi la dura vince,” I muttered to myself.
Pep talks came easiest in Italian, so I stood there and muttered to myself a little while longer. And in my boxers and bedhead, leaning on the wall and fighting the periodic dip and swell of the floor that made the bathroom feel like a sailboat more than a spa, I decided first things first. I was done pissing sitting down. I managed to pee standing like normal, though I did have to squint and stick out my tongue to stay balanced, same as when I got really drunk, but hey, I did it. Small victories.
I leaned against the sink and washed my hands, begrudgingly inspecting my appearance. “Wow,” I spoke to my reflection as I turned my head cautiously side to side. “I look like shit.”
After a few weeks in the hospital, I’d lost some muscle and my skin was paler than it usually was. My normal olive undertone was washed out, my hair stuck up, and when I turned far enough, I saw the spot they’d shaved away to stitch me up. My beard was kinda scary looking. Clearly, I needed a shave, but my hands shook and felt weak from just turning off the water. Shaving was going to have to wait.
I was getting woozy standing that long, so I bent my knees slowly, realizing I had them locked, then shuffled back into the room. I found my sweats and hoodie and pulled them back on, along with my ball cap.
Slowly, I opened the bedroom door, leveraging the wall until I turned the corner to the living room where the suspected two pairs of eyes landed on me. Dad popped up, taking my elbow and helping me over. I sank slowly onto the couch next to Nairne, who immediately reached her hand out and clasped mine tightly.
“Thanks,” I muttered to Dad.
He patted me gently on the shoulder, then dropped back to his seat.
Nairne eyed me thoughtfully while gently massaging the base of my neck. “What do you think about getting away for a little while?”
Dad leaned back in his chair, sipping a coffee and eyeing me inscrutably.
“I…” My throat felt dry, so I cleared it, wincing when the action reverberated in my head. “I’d like that, but you need to get back to your program…”
“Don’t worry about that, Zed. I’m on leave until next semester.” She cleared her throat and glanced over to Dad, then back to me. “I think we should go away for a bit,” she pressed. “Soon as you’re cleared for travel. Somewhere quiet, secluded from everything. What do you say?”
Thinking was hard. And I was worried about something, wanted to address that with her, but its specifics slipped through the cracks of my memory and disappeared into nothing.
I scrubbed my hands over my face and tried to collect the fragments of thought into a collective statement. The idea of going anywhere made me want to curl up in a ball and turn off all the lights. But staying in noisy London where shit had blown up—the paps, the stalker, the night at the charity gala—felt intolerable, too.
“I…” I swallowed. “I want go away. Just us though.”
Dad raised his eyebrows and hid a grin behind his coffee.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Trust me, mimmo. The moment I’m sure you’re not going to black out on Nairne any time you get out of bed or stand too quickly, I’ll be out of your hair.” He leaned forward, playfully grabbing my shoulder and massaging it. “Probably just a few more days, so long as you get good rest and don’t do anything too strenuous.”
Nairne smiled widely, and I leaned her way, falling into her scent and warmth. I wrapped my arms around her waist, and we fell against the arm of the sofa, making her giggle. The sound made me grin because it sounded like bells and windchimes. It made me want to get the fuck out of the city and go somewhere quiet that involved me and Nairne and a bed we didn’t leave for days. Where we could talk, and I could straighten out my mind. I lifted her legs, so they were next to mine, pleased I had the strength to actually do that. Then I pulled her against me, so I was spooning her.
I looked over at Dad who was engrossed in The Guardian. “Get out of here, old man. I’ve got my lady to canoodle.”
Dad snapped the newspaper shut and stood, smiling. “Music to my ears. I’ve got a few museums I’d like to visit.” He stretched up tall, arching his back, and looked over his glasses at us. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll catch a cab right away if anything comes up.”
Nairne nodded. “Of course. Thank you, Brando.”
Dad pocketed his phone, and headed out the door.
I sighed as I nuzzled into Nairne, already feeling sleepy again, but I want to stay awake and be with her. “I miss you,” I muttered against the smooth skin of her neck.
She laughed softly. “I’ve not left you for weeks. What do you mean?”
I shrugged, burying my face deeper into the soft curve where her throat met her clavicle. “You’ve been with me, but I don’t feel like I’ve actually been with you… I can barely remember anything, Nairne. It’s hard to recollect what happened yesterday, let alone the weeks I spent in that shithole.”
Nairne looked at me over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, that was thoughtless of me. What you’re saying makes sense. You haven’t felt like yourself, and that’s made it hard to feel close to me, too.”
“Yeah.”
She turned and I helped her pivot her legs as well, taking the liberty of latching one over my hip so we pressed tight against each other. She raised an eyebrow at that and reached her arm underneath mine, rubbing slow circles over my back.
“I understand,” she whispered. “You’ll get there. Try to be patient. Hopefully, by your follow-up in three days, you’ll get the okay to travel and I can whisk you away.” She leaned close and kissed me gently. It was a single chaste kiss, and then she pulled back.
“I want more,” I growled. Slid my hands inside her leggings and cupped her gorgeous little ass. She pressed her hands on my chest.
“Gentle, Zed, remember?” She looked at me pleadingly, her eyes laced with worry.
I sighed. “I’ll probably fall asleep regardless. It seems to be my specialty lately.” I laughed at my own expense and Nairne ran her hand through my hair.
“That’s all right. Mony a mickle maks a muckle,” she muttered.
I squinted and tried to decide if I’d misheard her or if she’d dropped into one of her many languages I didn’t speak. “What’s that?”
She smiled, continuing to weave her fingers through my hair. “It’s just an old Scottish saying. Basically means, a little bit each day goes a long way. Nan said it when I got discouraged with my studies or footie. I took it as a reminder that even if I wasn’t where I wanted to be at the moment, I could have peace that I was doing my best, working toward that goal.”
I smiled at the similarity between her mantra and the one her father had coached me with. The one I’d just relied on to put the reins on my pity party and start the small steps toward getting myself healed and strong again.
She curled her fingers through my hair appreciatively, and as I lay close to her, everything south of my navel ached. I told my poor dick to forget it. I had to wait for fucking medical clearance to get off. It really was the pits.
I kissed the silky skin behind her ear, felt her breasts crush against my pecs. Fuck, how was I going to wait another week for her?
“I need a haircut. I look like a monk right now, with that spot back there shaved away.”
She sighed. “It makes sense. I’ll miss these waves, though. Very tuggable.”
“Don’t worry, fragolina. My hair grows like a weed.”
She smiled and it felt like she wanted to say something but was holding back.
“What is it?” I asked.
She bit her lip, slipped her fingers through my hair some more.
“Nothing. Just looking at you. Feeling grateful you’
re all right.”
I kissed her again. Palmed her breast, one then the other. They were perfect. Full. Heavy. It had been a while since we’d been intimately acquainted, but I could swear they seemed bigger than I remembered. Maybe that’s what near-death experiences did to you—made you appreciate your woman’s tits even more than you did before. My hand slid near her rib and accidentally hit a tickle spot.
“Zed, stop!” Another swipe sent her in a fit of laughter. She thrashed through her giggles, and her curtain of long, auburn hair flew around us.
“Tell me what’s on the tip of your tongue.” I kissed her, tickled her more.
“Seriously,” she gasped.
I stopped, smoothed her hair off her shoulders and stared into those sparkling green eyes.
I’d had an agenda, but it flew out of my head as I stared at her, fell somehow deeper in love. “You’re beautiful. Among many other things. Smart. Clever. Funny. And really beautiful. I don’t tell you that as often as I should.”
“You show me plenty. But thank you.” She smiled at me, kissed me on the forehead. “You are, too.”
Thirty-Two
Nairne
Our car bumped along the uneven road to the tiny town of Prestonpans, my childhood home. If I closed my eyes, I could still picture Nan hanging laundry and singing under her breath, Granda turning the earth in the garden while our wolfhounds Cináed and Conall snuffled around. Peering out the window, I saw so little had changed. Townsfolk went about their business, children played along the street, and the briny scent of the North Sea filled the air.
Zed’s head fell to the side in sleep. He still needed more than previously, but I thought it a good sign. After all, our brains did all their processing, healing, and restoring while we rested, so every moment he slept encouraged me. His jaw was lined with a thick shadow, and his short hair was only slightly longer after one week. With his dark glasses on, his eyes were inscrutable, but I could tell he was peaceful—no fitful dreams or worries, his brow smooth, mouth relaxed.
