Of Winged Creatures & Nesting Grounds: (A Quirky, Sexy, Dirty Doctor Romance)

by A. Wilding Wells

  “When did you know what he was doing was wrong? And I don’t mean the way you felt about making the art.” I grab her arm when she pauses, her face contorting as if she’s remembering something but doesn’t want to divulge it.

  “Not until I had to use what he’d done against him.”

  Chapter 33

  Sometimes goodbyes mean hellos

  Happy

  And then it killed him. And then it broke me. I’ll need to say that next. But there’s so much remorse and humiliation wrapped in it. I shouldn’t still feel responsible for Sebastian’s death. But I do. And not just his. But for three people. Three members of my family. I’m not a criminal, but some days, I feel like one. Guilt carrying the weight of a thousand lives. That’s more pounds of flesh than anyone cares to be responsible for. Raven.

  Conversely, part of what makes me feel like such a weirdo is that I’m turned on by telling Hunt about my past, and as I’m talking, all I want to do is kiss him and have him touch me. All I want to do is watch him. How do I ask for something so decadent? I feel trapped in my younger body with that idiotic pledge still strangling me.

  “Hey,” Hunt says, lifting my chin with one finger. “I hate to do this, but it’s getting dark and I don’t feel right about you riding in it. I don’t want your first ride to be anything but memorable. We should saddle up and head down. We’ve barely touched our food, but we can set up around a fire and keep talking if you’d like. I really want to hear more about this. About you and your story. You’re so beautiful and captivating. I have so many questions, so many more things to learn about you.”

  My cheeks burn when I ask, “It’s not too much too soon? You’re sure about that?” I cringe while waiting for his answer. Please continue to push me, to ask me, to listen to me. Help me fly.

  I haven’t had this kind of connection since Sebastian. I miss him. I hate him. I loathe him. God, how I loved him. He was my first without being my first. I stole his soul by trapping him, then he stole mine.

  Hunt kisses my forehead then stands, holding one hand out for me. “I don’t think anything with you would be too much too soon.”

  “Okay, let’s do that. I want to keep talking. And, Hunt?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. You’re making me brave.” I blink tears back and swallow over a giant lump in my throat. I met a man I actually like. I might move forward. Yes, I just might.

  “No, you’re making yourself brave. I’m just appreciating the front-row view of your beautiful bravery.”

  “And I’m getting kind of used to seeing you in that seat,” I answer.

  The ride back down is easy, though quiet. Maybe he needs a little break from all of my honesty. Maybe I do too. Did I say too much? There is so much to say. God, the layers. The ugly.

  Once back to our tent, Hunt and I settle the horses in the corral. After I’ve changed into my fleece pants and a sweater, we meet on the deck. He’s already made a blazing fire and set food out on a blanket.

  Hunt stokes the fire as I sit cross-legged on the blanket. I’m not quite sure where to jump back in. But I want to continue. That in itself blows my mind. Then again, so does he.

  When he sits across from me and pops the top off his beer, he smiles. Then he presses his lips to the opening. I’m not sure what his smile is saying to him, but to me, it says comfort, safety, keep him close by.

  “What’s your favorite candy bar?” he asks, breaking the awkwardness of who should begin.

  “Man, you really do want my secrets. Frozen Kit Kats, and for the record, I’m a candy bar snob and judger. If you say Milky Way or Three Musketeers are your faves, there is zero chance for any sort of relationship.”

  “So, there’s a chance? Thanks for the warning. Snickers, Twix, Kit Kats, and peanut butter cups. My bottom freezer drawer is stuffed with them.”

  “You, my man, are a candy bar slut. I may not ever need anything else from you again. That was pure poetry. I think I got wet when you said ‘my freezer drawer is stuffed with them.’”

  “I feel so dirty,” he says, inching closer to me. He bites his knuckle, a smile forming against it when he says in a low, barely audible voice, “You’re really sexy, you know that, right?”

  “Candy bar talk, huh? Who knew chocolate could make a girl seem sexy.” My unchecked emotions flare, and I inhale everything about him like he’s a magic elixir that’ll fix me. “My freezer drawer is stuffed with TV dinners and sperm samples. Talk about sexy.”

  We both laugh, and he pops open another beer, flicking the cap into the fire.

  “You really weren’t kidding about getting pregnant?”

  I pour a glass of wine and take a few sips before I answer. “A baby is not something to kid about. Even though I bagged on the tests with you.”

  “You think you’re ready for a child when you aren’t even sure about a relationship?” He pulls my legs to his lap and massages my sock-covered feet.

  “There are tons of women who want kids without wanting to be in a permanent relationship. Whatever permanent means considering divorce rates.”

  “Then I’m sure it’ll happen for you.” A shift happens in his emotions, something that crosses his face and stiffens his shoulders. And, holy shit, it scares me. I’ve never seen a wall go up around him. But then he corrects his posture and clears his throat after a few seconds, changing the topic.

  “When was your first kiss?”

  “It wasn’t him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “You guys never kissed?” His brow furls.

  “We never did anything other than what I told you.” I cross my legs and he sneaks his fingers toward mine. I love that he wants to touch me when we’re near each other. I’ve never had this thing. What is it? It’s simple but intimate. Just our fingers, but it feels like everything.

  “He was your fiancé? But you never kissed. How the hell was that?”

  “He never pushed it. I wondered why. Then I got insecure about it. Especially considering all the things I’d seen him do with other girls. Why didn’t he touch me, kiss me? I wanted him to. Some of my need stemmed from my parents dying in a plane crash when I was eighteen. Yeah, there’s that too. It was big, but only the start. Too many pieces to my puzzle, aren’t there?” I’ve worked hard to forgive them for lying to me my entire life. It’s amazing that their deaths aren’t the ones that nearly killed me. No, their deaths only fueled me to want Sebastian more.

  “Your parents too? Holy shit. You’ve really been through the blender. Give me the meat. I need to understand where all this went.”

  I take a sip of wine, stalling to decide how far I can go, how much more he can take. How much more can I share?

  He leans in, placing his forehead to mine. “Tell me. Let me in.”

  “Sebastian asked me to marry him shortly after my parents died. I was lost, and he was a warm bath. I loved him so much, wanted him so badly. He kept telling me we would wait. For everything. My pledge to God, he’d say. I told him I would do whatever he wanted to do. I was lost and naïve. I was a kid in love with a man.”

  We nibble on our dinner for a minute, a bite of this and that. Everything goes down like dry cardboard. And maybe for him too, because he says nothing. The only sounds the crackle of fire, the crickets, and the toads. And my heartbeat, which is racing, thumping. Exploding.

  “I went off to college, and he stayed in Chicago to work on his masterpieces. Our long-distance relationship made me want him more. I kept pushing our wedding date up. He kept pushing it back. I told him, why do anything more than a courthouse wedding, since my parents and his were dead, and I just wanted us to finally be a married couple. I wanted stability and intimacy, I wanted to be married and to have kids so badly. I had things to replace as far as I was concerned, I wanted us to start building our own family. Then I came home for Christmas to convince him in person that I was ready, and it was time. What I didn’t know, is that I was coming home to my nightmare.” My chin quivers, and I sip my
wine to hide it. Hunt’s hand slides around to the back of my neck, and he whispers, “It’s okay.”

  I fight the urge to get up and run into my side of the tent, it’s only a few steps. But why would I do that when I have Hunt, and all his attention? I exhale slowly, in partial disbelief that he’s as interested as is.

  Sebastian told me he wanted out. He wanted his new muse, my sister Sunny. Then he told me she was pregnant with his baby. I told him he wouldn’t leave me. He said I had no choice. I said I had all of them. I had everything, a criminal in my pocket, photos of all the paintings on a disc. It was jail or me. I wanted to be pregnant with his baby, I wanted to be his wife. I loved him, so I pushed him into a corner. I didn’t realize death was on the table.” I swallow hard. “How could I have known?” Tears run down my cheeks, my nerves fraying.

  Hunt grabs my wrists as I examine the undersides of them in recollection of things I considered the day all hell broke loose. I wanted to go to Hell. And, without slitting my wrists, I did for years on end.

  “You okay?” he asks softly.

  “I’m not done.”

  “But are you okay?”

  His fingers find mine. I slug the rest of my wine back. “I will be. Someday.”

  “Yes, you will. If I have anything to do with it.”

  My eyes drift shut. How is it all this time has passed, yet it feels like yesterday? How come I can’t remember what I ate for dinner three nights ago, but I can still recall the scent of Sebastian’s breath and the rage in his eyes when I told him he had no choice. When I open my eyes, Hunt is staring at me with so much tenderness and love on his face, it momentarily erases my nightmare. And when he nods and offers me a wink, every fantasy I’ve had about him becoming more than a sliver of hope is confirmed again.

  I clear my throat, knowing if I can expose all of this to Hunt, I can surely open my heart to him even more. “He told me he had something bigger. Something that could hurt me more. A secret. Then he told me who everyone was. And was not. And my world turned upside down again. But not for the last time.” The words sting my gut, exploding points of pain shooting through my nerves in recall.

  Hunt’s throat bobs as he grips my hand tighter. “What did he say?”

  “Sunny is my mother, not my sister. My parents were my grandparents. My brother is my uncle. My fiancé impregnated my mother.”

  Hunt’s brow shoots up then dives into a deep crease. “Jesus, it’s a wonder you can trust anyone at all. That’s a lot of fucking lies to have dumped on you.”

  “You’re telling me.” I swallow a surge of sobs.

  “Come here, you beautiful girl. Just come here.” He wraps his arms around me, and my shoulders crumble, following my heart.

  My insides ache. Why didn’t I let him go? I caged him, and it killed them. And here I sit, in my own cage, as a result. Please let me out, Sebastian. Please leave my mind. Let me be free to fly.

  “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” he whispers against my ear as he rocks me. “Jesus, you’re going be great, little bluebird. Flying and perfect.”

  “No,” I say, pulling away. “They’re dead. My fiancé, my mother who I thought was my sister, and her baby. They are dead because I told him there was no way out. I trapped him. So he chopped the heads off my doves then drove off a parking ramp and into the Chicago River. They all died that day, all of them except Breakfast at Tiffany’s, who lived with me in California. I have blood on my hands. Blood that should not have been there. That’s who you’re playing with. A soul-stealing raven.”

  Chapter 34

  Shiny cages are still cages

  HUNT

  I held Happy in my arms for a long, long time while she cried. It doesn’t matter how long. All that matters is she’s unloading. I would feel like the luckiest guy on Earth if she weren’t so sad. What a life. No wonder she is who she is. Beautiful. Fearful. Brave. Broken. She’s one contradiction after another. Walking over scorching coals made of her own flesh and blood.

  “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve lost.” I graze the back of my hand along her cheekbone.

  “Did you and…Sunny…your mother, ever talk?”

  “A little, she said she never meant to hurt me and I was never supposed to find out that she was my mother since my grandparents adopted me when I was born. Never meant to hurt.” She laughs through a clenched jaw. “It’s not like she slammed my finger in a car door for fuck’s sake.”

  “Lies are tough to stomach.”

  “Yeah, especially when they come from your family. You’re supposed to trust those people more than anyone.” A cynical smile twists on her lips. “I’m not convinced about that, but I am exhausted. I don’t think I can talk anymore tonight.” She stretches her arms over her head, cracking her neck from side to side.

  “I want to tell you something,” I say.

  Her dark lashes lower to half-mast, and worry hangs heavily across her brow when I press my palms to her warm cheeks.

  “You’re so many things. Bright and bewitching. Charming and gleefully unaware of it. Wonderfully weird like only the best of the best could ever be. Scared, possibly more than anyone I’ve met in my life. And you are lucky. Lucky that things have broken you beautifully. It’s important to look at the ugly things in life as exquisite gifts, which will give you wisdom eternally. Things that seem impossible to appreciate now. It’s not a curse that you’ve seen the underside of life. It’s a blessing.”

  “Do you believe in miracles?” she asks.

  My stomach clenches at her pained expression and her wet face. And those lips. Red, bitten, trembling.

  “Yes,” I tell her. “I’m holding one in my arms.” I run my thumb over her brutally gorgeous lips. My forehead rests on hers, our pulses erratic as I caress a trail down her neck, then slide my hand behind it.

  She blows out a ragged breath, a bone-melting sound that gives me permission I didn’t think I had.

  “Suppose you let me kiss you.”

  She licks then parts her lips in answer, her quiet, “Oh,” wrapped in a whisper. Then she says, “You are trouble.” A half smile forms as her gaze drifts down to my mouth.

  “So maybe I am. I might be worth the trouble. Some people are.”

  She nods, and I drop a featherlight kiss onto the edge of her mouth. A moan of approval vibrates out of her and seeps inside me. I part her silken lips with my tongue, sucking first, then taking a swipe inside her mouth.

  Jesus help me, don’t let me take anything from this beautiful blue-eyed girl that she’s not ready to give. But how do I not grab on to this kiss when I’m so stunned by the jolt of energy spiraling through my nerves? I crush my mouth to hers, shattering any possibility that there isn’t something powerful growing between us. A hunger needing to be quenched. An unrewarded desire answered. There isn’t a poet in all the world’s history who could create a better kiss than ours.

  My mind races to catch up with the tangle of emotions and demands my body’s sprinting through. I want to strip her with this kiss and force her to reject the lunacy she’s accepted for truth. There isn’t a chance she isn’t feeling what I am. Her limp arms and wandering fingers running up my back then threading through my hair as she presses her breasts to me are proof. This kiss will change everything for us. All the atoms in our universe will shift. All the awareness we share will grow.

  “I might not stop,” I say, following a groan.

  When she pushes me onto my back and climbs over me, I grip her face with both hands and open my mouth to her again. Our tongues dance in thrusts and slippery twists, and without another thought, I let my hands wander. There isn’t a choice inside me as to whether or not I could love her. She’s shown me her window and I’ve climbed in. And maybe, if we’re lucky, fate will find us tonight and seal our destiny. Because, in this moment, as we kiss, I know these few things: I don’t want a maybe. I don’t want a possibility. I want a sure thing. I want her to be my sure thing.

  “Hunt,” she says as my finger
s drift under her shirt, onto her back.

  “Tell me it’s okay?”

  “It’s not,” she says, and her body becomes rigid.

  I can’t begin to wonder what might have changed between the moans and the way her hips bumped against mine. But something grabbed a hold of her. Fear?

  “It’s okay.” I slide my hand off her warm back as she scoots away from me. I take her wrist and stroke the softness underneath, bringing it to my mouth for a kiss. “Too off plan? Even though my hands roamed you on the exam table?”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “How about we do something off plan, like stay up all night?”

  “And screw?” She rolls her eyes.

  “Or talk. Or whatever it is you want to do,” I say, lifting her chin. “I don’t know what that would be, but I’ll do it blindly, whatever it is. Sing campfire songs and get drunk on bourbon. Hell, you tell me you want to go raid the ranch kitchen for leftover pie crumbles? We’ll ride double to get over there safely. I just like being near you, and I only want you to trust me.”

  “We’re so different. You’ll just jump right in and swim at the deep end. You’re probably one of those oddballs who’s okay with your arms and legs hanging over the edge of the bed, aren’t you? I’ll bet you cross frozen ice without considering the consequences.” She covers her face with both hands and groans.

  “Happy. You’re beautiful in ways you aren’t willing to see. But I see them. You might not believe me because you’ve been fed a lot of lies, which have poisoned your truths. You’ve got to get back on this Earth and let yourself forget the bullshit dragging you down. Life is unfair, but unfair is good sometimes. Now, fight for yourself. Fight for what you want! Feeling sorry for yourself will only keep you in the blind spot. I’d hate to see you miss your beautiful self.”

  She scoots back a foot. Then another few inches. The look in her eyes changes from supple and sad to steel. And, before she opens her mouth, a jag of pain stabs my insides. She wraps her arms around her legs and rocks. Her clenched jaw travels in a grind that might shave a sliver of enamel off her teeth.