by S. E. Hall
“Bubs! How are you? I miss you so much!” I practically scream, all in one breath.
“I am very, very good, Bethy, very good. I miss you. How are my fish? There are so many fish here, big ones, but they don’t swim by me.”
I clutch my chest and bite back tears, an actual twinge in my chest. I miss him badly, but more so, I’m overcome by the sheer happiness in his voice. “Your fish are good, Bubs.” I shoot a look at Cannon and he bows his head to veil his laugh—I haven’t checked the dang fish once, and they’re not known for their sturdy, long lives. Shit!
“What have you been doing?”
“Nothing, we just got here, Sister, except swimming one time. My dad wants to talk to you, bye!”
“Conner?” I yell to catch him, unsuccessfully.
“Conner, stay by Laura!” my father pierces my eardrum with his yell. “Sorry about that, Elizabeth, he’s far too excited to be contained. I’ll be sure he calls you back when he’s settled down.”
“I’d appreciate that. So, you guys made it there fine. Everything else all right?”
“Actually, I did wish to discuss with you the phone call I received from my attorney. If now’s a good time?”
I glance around, at or for what I have no idea, but Cannon’s right there, arm around my waist, and he leads me to sit on the bed, climbing up beside me. “Yes, now’s fine,” I finally reply, forcing a stoic tone.
“Wonderful. Well as I said, Damian phoned me regarding a call he received from Mr. Morrison.”
Silence.
“Elizabeth?”
“Yes?”
“Did you hear me?” he asks, irritation obvious. “Well?”
“Well what? Was there a question in there I missed?”
He sighs loudly and then clears his throat. “Elizabeth, I understand Conner had a memory of some sort and you’d like to have him subjected to a monitored psych evaluation?”
“No,” I bite, “no, I would not like to do that to him. Honestly, my attorney’s call was premature and without my go ahead. I hadn’t decided anything for sure, yet.” As quickly as my back had gone ramrod straight, Cannon’s hand is there, rubbing it, relaxing me somewhat.
“Calm down,” he leans in and whispers in my free ear, kissing my temple. “In for me,” he waits as I inhale, “out for you, baby.”
I wheeze it out and nod chastely, telling him I’m better…’cause I know without a single doubt, that question was coming next.
“But,” I speak once again to my father, rationally, “yes, I’d like to know more about Conner’s memory and that would be the only way.”
“The only way for him to remember?” he scoffs, brimming with condescension. “Rubbish. You mean it’d be the only way to use it against me. Elizabeth, I know you don’t believe or trust me, I dare say you hate me, but for Conner’s sake, I must implore you to not subject him to such invasiveness. I give you my word, daughter, nothing Conner might remember will reflect badly on me. You will have traumatized him for no reason.”
I grip Cannon’s thigh, flexing my hand repeatedly, like I can milk some strength out of him to seep into me.
“Elizabeth, tell me this, what is it that you want? What’s your ultimate goal with the fact-finding mission?”
“Easy,” Cannon mumbles beside me, touching my hand with his own. Apparently he can hear my father through the cell; not surprising, but shocking how I’m actually going to take his advice.
“I’d like to know how Conner got hurt and make sure the person responsible doesn’t get near him ever again. I’d like to know why my mother checked out and make sure the person responsible dies a slow, painful death.” I turn to Cannon, expecting a smile of approval, instead getting a frown.
What the hell? I said it monotone and calmly!
“Would you consider a compromise, Elizabeth? If you’ll agree to halt exposing Conner to lab rat type examinations, I will agree to telling you a bit about your mother’s condition, and to a sit down with you and your brother so we can speak with him together, upon our return.”
“Why would you do that? What’s in it for you?” I throw out harshly.
“Perhaps some peace, finally. I’m tired, Elizabeth. Tired of fighting with one child to see the other. Tired of knowing you despise me. Tired of bestowing any love I have to give on Laura’s children because my own are never near. But above all else, daughter, I’m tired of the thought of you hurting, going through life angry and bitter. You’re grown up now; you can handle more.”
“Are you dying?”
“Lizzie!” I jerk at Cannon’s reprimand.
“Sorry,” I murmur in the phone. “I just meant, are you, I mean, you’re different, like trying to borrow back time or something.” I peek at Cannon and he winks.
“Like a fine wine, people tend to get better with age. My father,” he sighs, “everyone thinks him the kind, distinguished, level-headed gentleman, which he is, now. But when he was younger, when I was younger, he was the meanest son of a bitch you’d never want to meet.” His laugh is facetious. “Elizabeth, I admit I was a horrid father. I was so busy chasing status and wealth that I forfeited my greatest treasures. And I was the worst possible husband a man could be. Your mother—” his voice cuts out and I hear a loud, sharp throat clearing. “Anna was a fine woman, her greatest fault her overly soft heart. The more I was gone, preoccupied, the deeper into depression she fell. I watched her spirit slowly die and I did nothing, hoping she’d get drunk or sedated before I had to hear the nagging and crying. And when she was finally broken, I chose to use it as my justification to seek the company of other women rather than to save her. I was a cheater, a louse, and the sole cause of your mother’s demise. I will forever be sorry, Elizabeth. I robbed you of a happy family, and your mother.”
It takes me a minute to realize he’s stopped talking, or that Cannon is cradling my head to his chest as the tears pour freely. I’ve just had the longest conversation with my father ever, and it’s more of a glimpse into my past than what I got actually living it. I almost don’t know what to say, how I feel, anything…but my spirit finds a voice.
“T-thank you, for the um, talk. Have Conner call me. And,” I sit up, needing my own support, “I would be agreeable to the three of us having dinner, or whatever, when you get back.”
“Elizabeth, I—”
If he says “I love you,” this phone and the wall are gonna make fast friends.
“I’ll see you soon.”
Chapter 24
Tonight’s show, wrapping up our stay in Lincoln, went great; everyone in sync and seemingly high spirits…until we were all once again packed together on the bus.
The current tension in the circulated air couldn’t be penetrated with a chainsaw wielded by Mike Myers even if today was the 13th! Problem is, I know precisely what’s eating at each of them and can’t do a damn thing about any of it.
Silly me misplaced my magic freakin’ wand again and can’t make Vanessa suddenly materialize to appease Jarrett. Nor can I simply walk over to Rhett and politely ask for my V card back, vanquishing the jealous, pensive vibes radiating off Cannon. And Rhett? Huh, rewind, ‘cause there’s no telling what crawled up Rhett’s ass, if anything at all. He quite literally could be farting happy bubbles ten seconds from now; there’s a questionably large gamut of mood swings all trapped in one great guy.
No wonder Bruce blazes a hasty trail between driver’s seat, venue, hotel, and back to driver’s seat without fail. You wander one inch off your path around here, and you’re liable to get chewed up and…swallowed. Case in point: the clueless hiker who stumbled into this foreboding den of angry bears.
“As much fun as this is,” I slam both hands flat on the table and rise, “I’m gonna take a shower. If you actually kill each other while I’m gone, clean up your mess!” I chirp sardonically and walk away, not daring to glance back.
I listen against the closed bathroom door for any sounds of an ensuing blood bath. After a few minutes of hearing only
absolute silence, I turn on the hot spray, stripping and immersing myself in a steamy jet of blessed sanctity.
Maybe it’s time for a real break off this merry-go-round. I never did like those things. The initial rush of adrenaline is enticingly deceptive, ‘cause after a while you’re disoriented, nauseated, and can no longer decipher anything specific, everything around you just one big blur.
And this traveling tin can of dysfunction is starting to feel a lot closer to that nightmarish ride than fun, or its original purpose, escapism.
“Fearing change is a sign of ignorance, Elizabeth. It shows one’s lack of confidence in their ability to decipher and maneuver any situation by using their intellect.”
One conversation, even remotely of substance, and I’m recalling his idealistic “lessons,” with which I don’t agree, in my head?
Talk about a change I don’t like…
But it’s already blowing and strengthening in gale force, a new wind sweeping through my life a smidgen more every day.
The big questions I need answered will ultimately be what decides if this is fleeting pessimism or the path I should travel. But I won’t ask or beg. No, these answers must come to me, willingly and blatant.
***
“It’s bad enough we’re sleeping together in Conner’s bed, so don’t get any big ideas, Mr. Perky Penis,” I warn him and the obvious erection poking at my back.
“Can we fake some moaning at least? Or, just scream my name a couple times and I’ll be happy.” He laughs, tickling my sides.
“That to inflate your ego or deflate Rhett’s?” Yeah, I called him out. “Don’t be a dick. Rhett’s no threat to you. No sense in fucking with him for no reason.”
“You’re right.” He sighs, pushing aside my hair to nuzzle his face in my neck, his arms circling my waist and firming their hold. “I just need him to know you’re mine now. I’ll be the one seeing to all your needs. No more ‘Rhett’s my rock’ missions. I’m who takes care of anything you crave, want, or require. You cry, my shirt gets wet. You scream, my eardrums bleed. You come, my dick’s squeezed. All of it, everything.”
I have to snort in laughter. He goes from sweet and poetic to crudely sexy in one breath. I love it. “He knows that and supports it, so be nice. I’m serious. I care about him and won’t play mean mind games. Just like I know you care about Ruthie, at least fundamentally, which is why I didn’t shoot her back a nasty text. By the way,” my tone dips shamefully, “I really am sorry for creeping your phone. I did grab it by mistake, but once my eye caught her name, I was hooked. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care. Read my phone anytime you want. And send her any text you want. If I had something to hide, I’d probably have a password.” He playfully nips at my earlobe. “I love you. Mi business es su business. Promise.”
“I’m not going to attack her,” I would love to, “that’s ridiculous. She didn’t do anything to me personally.”
“Probably best you don’t go at her. That’d be like her showing up to a dog fight carrying a rabbit; she wouldn’t stand a chance against my tough little nut.” He chuckles on my neck. “So glad I get to see your sweet center, though. My favorite piece of candy, hard on the outside, decadent on the inside.”
“Oh, brother.” I roll my eyes even though my back’s to him. “Go to sleep, Walt Whitman.”
“He was brilliant. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Agreed, and none surprised he’s read another of my favorites. But I remain silent, actually quite tired, ready to cease the sonnets and go to sleep.
“Baby?” he whispers.
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay after the talk with your father? You haven’t mentioned it.”
My exasperated lament bounces off the walls of the small room. “Surprisingly, yes. Now I know why my mom got weird, and while I appreciate him finally admitting his role, his fault, it was still on her to be stronger. She stayed, tolerated it, and found ways to block it out and accept it. Conner and I didn’t have that luxury. We had to live through the dysfunction, sober and trapped. They were both equally selfish, if you ask me.”
“I did ask you, and I think you’re right; your feelings are valid. So what’re you gonna do now?”
“I’m gonna eat dinner with him and Conner and see if I can’t get some more answers.”
“Want me to go with you?” he offers in an empathic, kind tone. Another part of me melts, soft and pliant to let him in, thus rolling over to face him.
“I appreciate that, babe, more than you know, but I think both of them will talk more if it’s just us. You understand?” I peer up at him, hoping he does.
“Absolutely.” He nods, resolute. “You called me babe.” His smirk appears, my favorite look on him.
“Yeah?”
“Liked it. You’ve never pet named me before.”
“Well, Siren was taken.” I shrug with a soft giggle, suddenly feeling cheesy and embarrassed.
He in turn growls, diving into my neck once more. “Oh yeah, Siren is definitely taken. By me, mine, forever.”
***
When I wake, the bus is stopped and peaceful. “Where are we?” I grumble in a froggy morning voice.
“Brownsberg, Indiana,” he answers with a smooch to my forehead. “Your uncle went to a hotel to sleep since he drove all night. Not sure where Rhett or Jarrett went.”
“You call your friend?”
“Sark? Yeah, told him we’d come check out his place in a couple hours. You ready for coffee?”
“God, yes,” I moan, then whimper before I can stop it, when he releases his hold on me and rises.
“I’ll meet ya in the bathroom with a cup. Grab a shower, sleepyhead.”
Why is he in such a hurry? I wanna lay here and relax, devour my caffeine fix, and drag myself up gradually.
“Up, baby!” he yells from the other room.
I am not a dog.
“Please,” he adds in sugary taunt, earning himself reprieve from the chastisement I had on the tip of my tongue.
“Hmpthmph,” I grumble, peeling myself from the warm, much comfier than my bunk, bed. When I dawdle to the bathroom, he’s waiting with coffee and a smile—only.
Now I know why he’s rushing me. Empty bus, won’t give him play in the bed… I should’ve realized it sooner, really, but I just woke up. Slow on the uptake.
“Did you know you’re naked?” I cock a brow and reach for my coffee.
“Did you know you’re not?” He wickedly leers back, pulling the cup out of my reach. “Get naked and have a sip.”
Holding his hungry stare, I grab the hem of my shirt and suggestively lift it up and off, tossing it aside. “Drink,” I demand, holding out a hand.
He steps forward and tilts the cup to my lips, giving me time to blow on it before pouring some in my mouth. I try to slurp fast, needing my sunrise crack like a twitching junkie, but too soon he pulls it away.
“The rest,” he drawls, looking down to my shorts, intense and assertive.
“This is blackmail,” I jeer, not genuinely aggravated, and shimmy my pj shorts over my hips and down my legs. I step out of them and use a toe to fling them in his direction, my mouth open. “More.”
He complies, once again offering me a drink. “You hold it,” he instructs, going to turn on the shower when I do.
I’m appreciating both my coffee and him, naked and glorious, his lengthy, hard erection jutting up and out from his defined, leanly sculpted body. He steps under the waterfall and holds out a hand to me. Audaciously, I set aside the mug and hasten to him, anticipation flushing through my whole body…more evident in certain tingling parts than others.
He draws me in and very impressively, since this shower wasn’t meant to fit two (I don’t mind the tight squeeze), pivots me directly under the spray, running his hands up my neck, using his thumbs to tilt my head back, saturating my hair. When he’s satisfied it’s good and dowsed, he curls his long fingers and brings my head back upright. “Turn arou
nd,” he demands, a baritone overtly brimming with arousal. He lathers in shampoo, his care thorough and methodical, no strand left untouched, individually gliding each between his fingers. “I love your natural color, baby.”
“Oh yeah? Took you a while to say something,” I goad, glancing over my shoulder with a coy grin.
“I noticed the second you walked out. I just wasn’t sure it was okay to profess it publicly back then. I notice everything about your gorgeousness.” He’s moved on to soaping up my back and butt, distracting me beyond further conversation. “Okay, turn around.” He takes me by the hips and guides me around, exuding complete control. “Lean your head back and rinse that out.”
I’m about to ask why he’s not doing it when his hands answer, roaming down my torso, fondling my breasts far more than what’s required in the mere interest of cleanliness. Then the devilish mitts slide lower, washing my belly, before he’s thoroughly washing my most intimate place.
Completely at his mercy now, I moan, my head thrown back, fingers tangled in my own hair. Exhilarated and in real danger of combustion, I push myself against his hand. “What are you doing?” I shriek, jerking my head up, eyes popping open. “Oh my God, that tickles.” I giggle. “Why are you kissing my armpits?”
“Because I’m guessing no one ever has, and that’s a damn shame. Your little pits are precious and deserve love too.” He lifts his head and winks before moving to the other one. “Okay, baby, turn around again so I can do your conditioner.”
“No need. That’s two in one shampoo. Not the greatest, but saves time with five people showering on one hot water tank.” I shrug. “My turn to wash you,” I say, and it comes out in a sexy purr.
I lather soap in my hands, my eyes sweeping over every part of him, deciding where I want to start—not that there’s a wrong choice. My foam-filled hands worship the brawny muscles beneath them, fingers digging in on the definitively outlined pecs, hip indents, and rippling abs. Blushing fiercely, I take intricate, methodic care between his legs; first his heavy sac, rolling it in my hands, then his light smattering of closely trimmed hair, finishing the job by stroking my firmly clenched hand up and down his rod-hard length…multiple times.
