by J. L. Berg
“What wouldn’t you do?” Dean yelled back.
Taylor raised his fist in the air before he hopped in his truck. “That’s the spirit!”
Dean was shaking his head as we turned back toward the docks. “Sorry about that. He’s been swamped. It was the only time I could get the keys from him, and I really wanted to do dinner on the boat.”
“He seems nice,” I commented as we walked together.
“He is,” he said.
“But?”
He let out a huff. “But he’s miserable, and it’s my fault.”
“He’s a good brother,” I simply said.
He squeezed my hand as we stepped up to the boat. “The best.”
Taking a quick look around, the first thing I noticed was that it wasn’t a fishing boat like I’d expected. No lingering smell of fish guts, no nets, and nothing else that screamed work vessel. This boat was small. Much smaller than I’d anticipated and looked like it was built for fun more than labor.
“So, how do we get on it?” I asked. “Do I need to—”
Before I had a chance to finish that sentence, Dean was carrying me, one-armed, over the side.
“What? Oh my gosh!” I squealed.
Setting me down, he bent back upright and said, “I hope that was okay. I just figured it was the easiest and quickest way.”
My lips pressed together as I looked up at him.
Suddenly, he began to look worried. “I’m sorry. Was that wrong? I should have asked first.”
“That was ridiculously hot,” I said, the words bursting out. “You did that one-handed. That was, like, one of my fantasies come to life.”
“So, not wrong then?” He grinned.
“Oh no, you can do that all the time. Definitely,” I gushed.
“Duly noted.”
He played it off as cool, but I could see the sentiment in his eyes. I couldn’t have paid him a better compliment if I’d tried.
“So, what’s for dinner?” I asked as I watched him begin to set up.
“Can’t tell you,” he said.
“It’s a surprise?”
“Nope. I can’t tell you because I don’t know.”
I curiously looked at the basket of food. “Say what?”
He spread out a blanket along one of the built-in benches. “Well, I was thinking about how we could work on building our level of trust. And I’ve heard of these restaurants in big cities where you’re in complete darkness. Scary, right? But I thought, maybe I could re-create a sliver of that with our food. I had my buddy at Taps make our food, and with a couple of blindfolds and a little trust—”
“You just want my hands in your mouth.” I laughed.
“So bad.” He grinned, handing me a long black piece of fabric. “Now, tie me up. No, wait, that’s for later.”
I shook my head and proceeded to wrap the heavy piece of fabric around his head. When it was secure, I gave him a matching piece, and he did the same to me.
“Okay, now what?” I asked, reaching out into the darkness. I immediately felt his hands on mine.
“Now, we eat. I think,” he said, chuckling.
Together, our hands found the basket, and we went through the task of pulling everything out.
“Now, he promised me everything is a finger food. No soups or salads, so we won’t be sticking our fingers into anything weird.”
“You really like finger foods,” I joked, feeling slightly awkward with my wannabe Daredevil head wrap.
“Just being thorough,” he said. “Are you ready?”
I nodded before realizing he couldn’t see me. “Yes.”
A moment passed before he spoke again, “Do you trust me, Cora?”
I bit my lip and took a deep breath. “Yes,” I answered once again.
“Then, open your mouth.”
My lips parted, and seconds passed as my heart began to flutter in my chest. This was more exhilarating than I’d imagined it would be.
The waiting.
The wondering.
I nearly jumped when his fingers brushed my cheek and then the corner of my mouth. Something cold and sweet hit my tongue. His thumb tugged at my lip as I bit down on a piece of fruit.
All the flavors hit me at once along with the heat from his touch.
Salt from prosciutto, sweetness from cantaloupe.
Desire all the way down to my toes.
“God, that’s good,” I nearly moaned before I whispered, “My turn.”
I felt like electricity was running through my veins as I picked up a piece of the prosciutto-wrapped fruit and navigated my way toward him. My aim wasn’t nearly as good as his, my free hand finding the stubble of his chin first. I slowly moved down and across until I found his mouth, open and waiting.
With my other hand, the juices of the fruit already dripping down my wrist, I rubbed it over his lips and into his mouth. His teeth caught the tip of my finger, causing me to gasp as he yanked me forward.
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
“Good,” he said, ripping my blindfold off at the same time I went for his. “Me either.”
I could still taste the cantaloupe on his tongue the instant our mouths came together. Unlike our explorative kiss days before, this was passion and desire.
Heat and lust.
And I couldn’t get enough.
Every fevered glance and every dirty thought I’d had of this man since I moved to town—no, since I met him all those years ago, had been building to this very moment.
And, now, I wanted to revel in it.
His hand was in my hair and down around the curve of my waist. Everywhere at once. I straddled him, feeling a completely different hunger build between my thighs as our kiss deepened, and my heart raced.
Finally, he cupped my face and pulled away, just staring into me with such a deep emotion, I found myself doing something I’d thought I’d never do.
“Do you want to meet my dad?” I blurted out, causing his eyes to widen.
“What? Like, now?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “No. But soon?”
He sat up a little straighter, his hand still at my hip. “Does this mean, you’re going to tell him? Because showing up at his door with another guy would be really confusing, and I refuse to be your gay best friend.”
I grinned before turning serious. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Today, right before Molly called her sister, she said something about being homesick, and it hit me. I’m homesick. So much so that it hurts.”
“Then, go back,” he said. “But you don’t need to bring me. I mean we’re just starting something here and—”
I smiled. “I want to. Even if you’re just moral support.”
He seemed pleased with that. “Okay, but don’t you think you should at least meet my mother first? You might change your mind.”
I shook my head. Firmly. “Oh no. No way. You haven’t met my family yet. Your mom can’t be nearly as weird as my crazy family.”
Amusement painted his features as he said, “Now, I’ve got to go!”
“Yes, well, just remember you said that when my dad starts quizzing you on Star Wars trivia.”
“Huh?”
“So, you know how some families bond over football or other organized sports?”
He nodded, his hand still firmly wrapped around my waist.
“Well, mine is a little different. A little geekier. We like to bond over fandoms.”
His eyes got all squinty as he contemplated the foreign word. “Fandoms?”
“Yeah, like, okay…let me try to explain. My dad, he’s really into movies and television. He’s always the guy in the front of the line for any Marvel movie, and he’s always binge-watching something with aliens in it. And my brother? He loves comics. Spent every dime he’d ever earned growing up on them. I’m pretty sure his entire basement is probably filled with them to this day.”
“And you?” he asked, seeming mildly amused by my story.
“B
ooks,” I said. “I’m pretty obsessed with books.”
His brow rose. “Any kind of books? Like, what is your ultimate favorite?”
I bit my lip, making him all the more interested.
“Oh, come on. Now, I really want to know.”
“The Princess Bride.”
“Wait, I thought that was a movie.”
I laughed. “It is. But, first, it was a book. A really amazing book.”
“Any other really amazing books I should be aware of?”
“I’ll make you a list.” I grinned. “In fact, maybe I’ll just order you a stack.”
“Oh, boy.”
“You asked.”
“Hey,” he said, smoothing back my hair as his eyes found mine, “how come I never knew this before? This different side of you? I mean, the girl in the hospital, she never spoke about book obsessions or nerdy parents.”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I guess, after I got married, I let a lot of me go. I thought I was still there, you know—the strong-willed, fiery Cora who kept her job and said no to nannies even though she’d married a rich guy. But I had changed. Blake thought a lot of what my family loved was silly, and in turn, so did I.”
“You miss them a lot.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then, let’s go visit them.”
I smiled up at him before looking up at the stars, feeling more at peace than I had in years. And, for once, my heart didn’t ache.
Recovery Journal: Day Forty-Five
I think the goal of rehab is to empower me.
To make me feel strong enough to go back out into the world.
They’re reteaching me practical skills, like tying my shoes and dressing myself. They’re even trying to help me cope with the changes in my body and how to embrace them.
But all I see is a broken man.
All I see is one arm where there used to be two.
All I feel is frustration where there used to be none.
All I see is a failure where there used to be so much more.
My brother says it will all be better once I come home.
“Let’s get you home and get you settled back into a routine. Get you back in your old life.”
What old life?
What old routine?
The only way I could go back would be if I had the old me to return with. The one with two hands and a lifetime of possibilities. He died out on that ferry, and all that’s left is this new version of me.
Whoever that is.
So, how do I move forward in an old life with old routines when I’m not even me anymore?
“So, you’ve got everything packed?” my mom asked for the tenth time as she was busy making her famous shrimp and grits.
It was a beautiful fall Sunday afternoon, and since I’d been doing an impressive job of getting out of weekly dinners the last few Sundays to spend time with Lizzie and Cora, Mom had tracked me down early today, showing up at my door the minute church was out and demanding mother-son time.
“Yes, Mom,” I said. “I’m all packed.”
“Extra socks?” she asked, helping herself to just about everything in my fridge. “I’ve heard it’s hot in Texas this time of year, so extra socks are always—”
“I’ve got plenty of socks.” I laughed. “Really, I’ve got this.”
She made a pout and an exasperated huff in front of the stove before turning toward me. “I’m just trying to help. You know, you can ask me for it every once in a while.”
Oh, boy, here it came.
“I mean, I’m a good mom, right?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“And I deserve to know things.”
“Yes, Mama,” I said, rubbing her shoulders as the drama began.
We’d already had this conversation at least twice. This would make it the third.
“Finding out your son has a girlfriend from the owner of the coffee shop? That’s just not right, Dean. And then to not be able to invite her over for supper?”
I suppressed the eye roll that was forming. “I know. But it just sort of happened. And I don’t know that we’re calling each other girlfriend and boyfriend yet.”
She made a disgruntled sound in the back of her throat, turning back to the stove to tend to her onions. “Well, in my time, if you were spotted kissing in public, that meant something.”
I smiled, running my hand through my hair as I remembered that day.
We’d been out for a walk with Lizzie, enjoying some cooler temperatures, and happened to stop by the coffee shop. I thought I was being discreet, but I forgot where I was.
In a small town like Ocracoke, there was no such thing as discreet when you were out in public.
By noon the next day, the whole town had known we were “an item,” as my mother would say. And, although we hadn’t put a label on what was happening between us, hearing my mom call Cora my girlfriend had me grinning like a damn fool.
But I’d been doing that a lot lately.
It had been two weeks since our first date, and every moment since, I felt like I was flying.
“It does mean something,” I said finally. “It means a lot, Mama.”
I could see a small smirk forming as she turned to grab something from the fridge. “Well, good. ’Cause a single mom like that deserves a good boy like you.”
“She’s been through a lot,” I said, taking the place to the right of her. It used to be my spot, where I’d always be on Sunday afternoon. Mama’s little helper—or big helper when I had gotten taller than her. But then I had come home from the hospital, and Sunday night dinners had kind of fallen apart.
My brother had gotten too busy, and I’d become too self-involved in my misery to help her.
“What if I can’t be the man she needs me to be?” I asked, picking up the knife she’d been using to chop the vegetables.
I held it over some of the leftover garlic cloves and tried to chop one. The garlic clove went flying across the room. My mother smiled, taking my hand and steadying it, helping me go through the motions.
“Then, you learn,” she said. “And you become the man she needs. Life is all about growth, Dean. Growing as a person, a couple.” She paused. “A family.”
“I’ve failed our family these last few years,” I said, placing the knife down as I turned to face her.
“No,” she replied. “We’ve failed each other. And, now, perhaps it’s time we look at fixing that.” She gave me a little wink as she reached up to fix my hair, something she’d been doing since I was a kid. “Growth,” she pressed. “But, first, you have a cowboy hat to buy.”
I laughed. “Actually, I’ve been told this family is more into lightsabers.”
“Lightsabers, huh? Well, it’s a good thing I’m a hoarder,” my mom said before grabbing my hand. “I might have just the thing.”
At least I had time to shut off the stove before she hauled me toward the front door.
“You look like you’re about to throw up,” Cora said, reaching for my hand as we waited in line at the docks the night before our flight.
I swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”
The warmth of her fingers wove with mine. “You know, someone once told me that the word fine is really just what people say when they’re actually not. Or something like that. I could be paraphrasing.”
I looked over at her, taking a deep breath. “That sounds like something Molly would say. She’s suddenly become very wise, like her mother, since Jake came back.”
“Dean, are you going to throw up?” Lizzie asked from the backseat, sounding very concerned.
“No,” I assured her. “I’m okay. Really.” My eyes stared out into the dark water as I felt the trepidation coiling in my gut.
“We should have flown to the airport,” Cora said, the worry loud and clear in her voice. “I should have thought this through.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” I pleaded as we lurched ahead, the signal given to
load up.
“Sure, of course,” Cora said, driving forward.
I desperately tried to ignore the way my heart was trying to leap out of my chest or how sour my stomach felt. The moment the car inched onto the ferry, I felt a surge of panic and a desperate need to turn back.
The one and only other time I’d been on the thing, I’d been heavily sedated. My mom, too, had offered to fly me home, but having just come out of several months of rehab and a hospital stay where I’d basically been taken care of like a small child, asking my mother to pay for a plane to take me home because I was too terrified to step onto a ferry was something I couldn’t do.
So, I’d endured it.
Medicated, that is.
Today, I was completely sober.
And completely miserable.
“I’ve been making a list of all the movies I’m going to watch with Pappy,” Lizzie said behind me. “Do you want to hear them?”
I nodded. “Sure,” I managed to squeak out.
“Okay, so first, there is A New Hope and then The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, followed by The Phantom Menace and—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “You’re watching them out of order.”
“What?”
I turned to Cora, who was busy following directions to the correct parking spot on the ferry. I turned away, trying to stay focused on Lizzie. “The Phantom Menace is the first one. You’ve got to watch that one first.”
“But it didn’t come out first,” she said.
I smiled weakly, feeling pretty proud of myself for knowing something Lizzie Ashcroft didn’t. It was a rarity.
“No, it didn’t. It’s actually the fourth, but it is the first, if you go by order.”
“That doesn’t make any—”
“Just trust me, kid. I was a pretty big Star Wars nerd when I was younger.”
“Really?” Cora asked, her interest piqued.
“Yep,” I said, still looking down at my hands to avoid the windows. To avoid the water.
“I have a feeling I would have liked Dean Sutherland the teenager.”
I tried my best at a laugh. “I have a feeling you’ve met him on occasion. Stuttering, dopey kind of guy.”
“Oh, yes, right—him. Yeah, I like him.” I could hear a smile in her words.
