by Alison Ryan
We caught up on the news, the search for more wreckage or survivors having been called off. Durham had meals prepared by his personal chef delivered, but besides television and food, we did our best to give the springs in Durham’s bed a more strenuous workout than he and his parade of trollops ever could.
On the third day, we got word that our new ‘home” was ready, and we boarded the first of a series of flights, first to New York, then Kansas City, back to Atlanta, where we checked into a motel near the airport, then Toronto, Vancouver, and finally Juneau. If anybody was following Paul and Vicki Porter, they’d have given up out of sheer exhaustion.
From Juneau we took a short flight on a small plane to Ketchikan, where we were met by a tall fellow who introduced himself as Harold Nickle.
“Mr. and Mrs. Porter, pleased to finally make your acquaintance in person,” he said, shaking both our hands. “If you’re ready, we can go out to Kilgore now.”
We were both eager to see our new home, so we made our way to the dock where a pair of boats awaited us.
“I’m told you can pilot your own boat, Mr. Porter?” Harold asked.
“I can, sure, but I think I’ll let my wife take her out. What do you say, darling?”
She laughed, “Just this once I think I’ll enjoy the scenery and let you do the heavy lifting, dear.”
“This is Ujarak. He’ll come by once a week with whatever you need from the mainland. Or more or less often, as you require. All his contact information is in these phones. They’re completely safe.”
Harold handed us brand new phones after introducing us to a middle-aged Inuit man. Ujarak’s stoic manner didn’t lend itself to conversation, so I shook his hand as we set out in a pair of speedboats, Ujarak piloting the lead, Piper and I following.
The scenery really was breathtaking, the water surrounded by tree-covered mountains dusted with snow even though we’d left temperatures in the 80s back in Georgia.
Our trip took just under an hour, navigating through channels between barrier islands and around fishing boats before arriving at a dock cut out of the particularly steep stone shoreline of one of the more isolated pieces of real estate we’d ever seen.
We tied off the boats and Harold Nickle took on the role of tour guide.
“Welcome to Kilgore Island. This dock is the only way on and off, so you’ll have no uninvited visitors. It’s a bit like a castle in that regard. The trees across the channel in that direction are the southern tip of Tongass National Forest. The house is right this way.”
No sooner did we leave the dock area, locking the gate behind us, when we were encircled by four snarling wolves. VZ and his pack remained at a distance, baring their teeth, until catching our scent on the wind and approaching with tails wagging, VZ stopping to sit next to me while his brothers rolled and showed their bellies.
“They’ve met Ujarak. I pity anyone else who tries to visit you unannounced,” Harold explained as Piper got down on one knee to pet the dog I thought I remembered as Ronnie.
We walked up a stone path through the trees to what looked like a ski lodge dumped smack in the middle of the thickest forest I’d ever seen. The house had wraparound porches on the ground floor and the second story. I glanced over at Piper, whose jaw hung open in astonishment.
“We’re going to live here?”
“That’s the plan. But let’s see the inside of the house before we make any hasty decisions,” I joked.
Inside, Harold showed us a home that the finest interior decorators in the Pacific Northwest had poured their hearts and souls into. No detail was too small, and the natural wood flowed from room to room.
The master bedroom had enormous his and hers walk-in closets that had been filled with designer duds for all seasons. I thought we might never get Piper out of her closet to show her the rest of the house. She was floored.
Downstairs, Harold showed us a heated indoor pool and a gym that would have left an NFL team envious.
The kitchen was equipped to create gourmet meals, and the subzero freezer was stocked with various cuts of meat. The fridge, of course, was absolutely loaded.
Harold explained that security cameras were hidden throughout the forest and he showed us an underground “safe room,” should we wind up facing any danger we, VZ’s pack, and the small arsenal of weapons on the property couldn’t handle.
Before long, Harold and our new friend departed and we were alone on Kilgore with our wolf pack.
Sitting on rocking chairs on the upstairs porch, we watched their boat leave.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked.
Fifty-Eight
PIPER
“I think,” I replied. “That there’s no Starbucks.” I pouted playfully.
Atlas rolled his eyes.
“But I also think,” I stood up and pulled off the bulky sweater I’d been wearing, revealing my lacy red bra. “That we ought to break in that gorgeous bed in the master.”
“You read my mind,” he replied, tossing aside his own shirt and following me inside.
The days became weeks and then months, and we settled into a routine, although a life as fantastic as ours makes the word “routine” seem inadequate.
Spencer had a well-attended funeral, and the internet was rife with theories regarding his death.
Atlas (We’d abandoned Paul and Vicki except when Ujarak came by) and I worked out each morning, both in the gym and the bed…or one of the couches…or the kitchen floor. Wherever the mood struck us, really. The sex was glorious, as we both seemed to revel in taking the other to higher and higher plateaus of ecstasy. We learned the rhythms of the water, the habits of the wildlife, and we weathered what at first seemed like thousand-year storms, but in reality were simply weekly occurrences on the Alaskan frontier.
Watching Atlas chop firewood, shirtless when the weather permitted, was nearly a religious experience. I was left breathless and nearly as sweaty as he was just from enjoying seeing him play lumberjack.
We both arrived on Kilgore decidedly novices in the kitchen, but when we could take our hands off each other long enough, we used our free time, assortment of cookbooks, and YouTube to become culinary experts.
I also learned to give Atlas a straight-razor shave, something that had him wiggling and whining like a toddler getting a haircut the first time I attempted it. The nicks I left behind were more than worth seeing the child-like side of him.
We heard nothing more from or about QB, despite Atlas occasionally putting feelers out on the dark web for any news on his former boss.
His father had long since returned, uneventfully, to his old life.
Until we knew QB was out of the picture, either dead or his version of “retired,” we’d always have reason to look over our shoulders. But for now, we’d leave that to VZ.
Odin and the other Titan brothers assumed Atlas’s responsibilities at their startup and we had a life people don’t bother to dream about, because we don’t visit heaven until after we die, and who in their right mind dreams about dying?
One day, Ujarak had just dropped off food for us and the pack, along with a stack of magazines and a new axe for “Paul” when I felt the first kick.
We’d been talking about dipping our toes in the water of returning to the “real world” by taking a trip to San Francisco to visit Atlas’s family when I realized how late I was. I sent word to Ujarak to include some pregnancy tests in his next delivery, and the two lines were instant and unmistakable.
Atlas broke down and wept at the news, which, of course, had me bawling.
The love we made that night was the slowest and sweetest imaginable, with the French doors to the master bedroom wide open to the elements. The fireplace burned hot on one side of us and a wild wind whipped flurries across the porch and scattered them on the floor around our bed on the other side.
We lay in bed kissing for the longest time, Atlas whispering despite our solitude.
“You’re going to be so beautiful when you sta
rt to show. And glow. I won’t even be able to look at you.” Between every other word he kissed my neck, down to my shoulders. I reached between my legs to quench the thirst building there, but he noticed my hand moving below the blankets and he pulled it away.
“Let me handle that,” he whispered, his hand grazing me so lightly it felt more like a breeze than physical contact. I bit my lip to keep from screaming.
He disappeared under the thick bedding, kissing his way down my body, seeming not to want to miss a single pore.
By the time he arrived between my legs, the sheets were absolutely ruined. I’d discarded everything atop the bed, leaving the icy breeze coming in to turn my nipples to stone and raising goosebumps all over my body.
Despite my writhing desperation, Atlas refused to lick me where I needed it most, instead kissing his way down my legs, his hands all over my ass and then around to my hips and back up my stomach, grazing my nipples as his face again approached my sex.
Tears rolled down my cheeks, so desperate was the furnace between my legs for his touch. Finally, he made contact, a long, slow lick going from as deep between the cheeks of my ass as he could reach all the way up to my clit. His groan of appreciation for my flavor made me shudder, and I put both hands into his hair and urged his face deeper.
He French kissed my sex as if it were my mouth, his tongue exploring everywhere it could, lapping me up and making me squirm and beg.
“My clit Atlas, my fucking clit, PLEASE!”
His contented hum prepared me for what was next, his lips wrapped around my swollen bud, massaging and sucking it into a thermonuclear detonation in my soul.
The orgasm left me trembling and babbling, trying to tell him how much I loved him.
He drove his cock into me during the climax, stretching my vaginal muscles mid-spasm until I thought they’d surely tear. He plunged in methodically and purposefully. He was so hard it felt like an iron bar was splitting me in half, but every time the pain became too great he seemed to sense it and withdrew, sliding back in slowly and kissing me hard on the mouth.
His pace wasn’t enough to give me the frequent orgasms to which I had become accustomed, and instead he just kept me on a low boil, the fire burning to our left surpassed only by the heat inside me. The wind whipped harder now, and snowflakes actually landed on our skin, melting instantly.
“Atlas, please, baby. Please make me come. Don’t make me beg again. Please, I’ll be so good for you. I’ll come so hard, I can’t take you torturing me like this!” I pleaded with him, and my heels on the small of his back spurred him on to finish the job.
His pace quickened and soon I was biting his shoulder so hard I drew blood right near the scar Spencer had given him. He paid it no mind, pounding me until I felt like my bones and muscles had become jelly.
He resumed his slow thrusts again, but I pulled him to my mouth for a kiss and whispered in his ear, “I need it now more than ever.”
With snow swirling around our sweaty bodies, Atlas emptied his magnificent body into me and we slept just like that, joined below the waist and tangled up until morning.
By then, the fire had gone out and the snow was inches high on the porch and just inside our bedroom, but beneath the covers we’d pulled back onto the bed, it felt like a tropical summer.
“After I make you come again, I’m going to cut down the tree from which I’ll build his crib,” he said, smiling.
“You must mean her crib,” I replied.
Atlas rolled his eyes and kissed me, and I could feel him hardening again between my legs.
Despite what we’d been through I knew this much- no one would ever love someone as much as I would always love Atlas.
Fifty-Nine
PIPER
Once the novelty of my pregnancy wore off, and the limits of Atlas’s carpentry skills became evident (he couldn’t be good at everything – I feared for the safety of any child who slept in the crib he admirably tried to build), we agreed that we’d need to contact someone for help getting everything we would need for the baby and for our peace of mind.
Ujarak, our man on the mainland, could certainly provide tangible things such as diapers and a crib, but I longed for some measure of normalcy as my nesting urges kicked in. We needed a doctor. I wanted to hear a heartbeat and see ultrasound images.
After breakfast one morning, I walked in on Atlas opening up Craigslist and placing an ad in the “M/M Missed Connections” section for Durham, North Carolina.
Catching my eye, and sensing my obvious confusion, he laughed heartily.
“Piper, there was this guy I saw at Duke last time I was there. He was so handsome. I just hope he remembers me.”
I felt my face twist up in a playful scowl and I slid my body, still slender enough to fit between him and the keyboard, (though not for long at the rate my belly was swelling) onto his lap to watch what he was typing.
I could feel his bulge growing as I settled onto his lap, and I reached down between our legs and gave him a squeeze.
“Let’s see just how serious you are about this Blue Devil of yours,” I joked.
Atlas began typing: “How can we EVER EXPECT to see what’s inside when we’re out in the cold? Can U help? Tractor. Toaster.”
“What in the world did I just read?” I asked, completely bewildered, spinning around on his lap to face him.
“That’s one of the ways I contact the outside world,” Atlas explained. “Durham Evers, one of the guys who helped us after the plane crash, the guy whose house we’re living in, checks that same section of Craigslist periodically. I included some code words to verify that it’s me leaving the ad, and the rest is sort of doublespeak, just me dropping a hint. Hopefully he’ll get the message and set things up from his end.”
I was impressed yet again by Atlas’s resourcefulness. “As long as we somehow get somebody to check on our little bundle here, you can flirt with your buddy Durham through Craigslist all you want,” I teased.
“The only one I want to flirt with is you, Piper. And actually, you’re the only one I ever want to flirt with for the rest of our lives.”
My jaw fell open as Atlas stood, lifting me off his lap and depositing me back on the chair before dropping to one knee.
“I had to guess on the size, and as you might surmise, the stores here don’t have the best selection, but I hope you’ll like it.”
From somewhere, Atlas produced a diamond, and tears rolled down my face.
Sixty
ATLAS
Piper had been napping the last time Ujarak visited us, and I’d taken the opportunity to make a very special request. I needed an engagement ring.
“The biggest one you can find,” I’d instructed.
He’d only nodded. I knew it wouldn’t be a problem.
The way I’d lived my life up until Piper left little room for a family. I’d never considered the possibility of children. Nieces and nephews, sure. I figured my brother Odin would make a great dad. But the things I’d done, and would probably have to do more of in the future, precluded me from being any kind of father.
Or so I thought.
From the moment Piper discovered that she was pregnant, everything changed for me. If I’d been in love before, and I surely was, that love grew exponentially with the promise of a new member of our family. And my need to protect Piper was even more profound. I couldn’t let anything happen to her. Especially now that she was carrying our child.
How we’d raise a child in such a bizarre set of circumstances eluded me, but I knew that I was a better man with Piper by my side and that the two of us could do anything, as long as we had each other.
I dropped to one knee, trying to play it cool, but completely out of my element; and losing my composure.
“Piper, I love you and I want to spend the rest (my voice cracked) of my life with you. Will you marry me?”
Tears streamed down her face, and I wasn’t sure she’d actually even seen the diamond, but she jumped into my ar
ms and kissed me, the word “yes” spilling out of her mouth over and over again.
Once our celebration was over, we set out to plan our wedding, an event that would be more a matter of legal paperwork than any sort of traditional celebration. We promised each other that once our lives returned to “normal” that we’d have the big wedding she’d always dreamt of.
Sixty-One
PIPER
Durham Evers received the message left for him by Atlas, and the next time Ujarak visited, he brought with him some medical equipment, including an ultrasound machine.
Atlas arranged a time, and explained to me that I’d be under a sort of “virtual doctor’s care” for the time being.
We read up on our machine and got ourselves comfortable with it and one day, during breakfast, Atlas informed me that I had a doctor’s appointment later that morning.
At the appointed time, I lay back on a bed in one of our guest rooms, and Atlas fired up his laptop. Within minutes, we were on Skype from Charleston, South Carolina, with Charlotte DeGraff, an obstetrician who had delivered Durham’s niece, Thisbe. If she was trusted by the Evers family, that was good enough for Atlas.
Our ultrasound machine was set up to display its readings on Dr. DeGraff’s laptop, and she’d go over the results in real time.
She asked me some questions regarding my health, family history, diet, exercise, and general baby-related queries. Satisfied with my answers, she asked if we were ready to see our baby.
“Yes!” Atlas and I answered, in unison.
Atlas performed like a seasoned ultrasound veteran, smearing gel all over my tummy and moving the wand around as directed via Skype. The doctor pointed out the baby’s head and feet, but Atlas seemed preoccupied as he stared at the screen.
