Clean Breaks

by Ruby Lang

  And then he was up again, his hand pressing into her clit, and he pulled back with great effort and slammed down again, sliding her across the seat in a hot sear against her back. She twisted desperately under his seeking fingers. His ass flexed again under her palm, and she screamed before he went deep into her again.

  The insides of her thighs felt almost raw under the abrasion of his jeans. Her back was slippery on the seat, and she felt stretched wide and cramped at the same time. She had lost command over her limbs. She couldn’t even grasp him, couldn’t get a handhold on the slippery, tense strength of him under her fingertips as he bucked into her and as his fingers rubbed relentlessly over her wet, hot clit.

  One more sharp flick and she was gone, the air streaming out of her lungs as she moaned loud and long, as he thrust into her feverishly, his loud—louder—groans and pants feeding the thick ripples of her orgasm.

  A last whimper as he came into her hotly, and they were both still, their breathing harsh in the hot, sweat-and-sex tinged atmosphere of the car.

  “Fuck,” he said, lowering his weight onto her.

  She didn’t even complain as the heat of his damp torso pushed her legs to an even more uncomfortable angle. She didn’t want him to pull out, so she rubbed her palms along his damp back.

  “Stay,” she said when he began to move. She was surprised to hear a note of pleading in her voice.

  But he stilled. “Aren’t you uncomfortable?” he asked, his breath fluting her ear.

  She closed her eyes. “I’m fine.”

  A pause.

  “Are we maybe trying to solve some of our problems with sex?”

  “That’s what grown up people do,” she said, her eyes still shut. “Or at least, that’s how they should do it.”

  • • •

  He didn’t feel like a grown up, Jake thought as the car finally left the park gate.

  Frenzied sex in the back seat of a car, almost getting caught by a ranger who shone his flashlight far too long over Sarah’s messy hair, over the red line on her cheek where she’d been pressed against the upholstery piping. Luckily, they were both zipped and sitting upright in the front by the time the ranger pulled up, but the lingering scent and their flushed faces made what they’d been doing very clear.

  Sarah didn’t seem to care, though. She hadn’t said much, even to the ranger. She stared somewhere in the distance, an almost-smile pulling at her lips. And she didn’t even say much after the ranger ran out of spiel about the dangers of parking in the forest in the dark.

  Perversely, that distance, that inward smile, made him want her again, his desire pulling him out of the car and into her house, even as his aching, bruised bones protested.

  They went through the same routine of frantic kissing as he walked her backward through her hallway. They pulled off the same clothing, and he smelled her—he smelled himself on her skin, saw the red marks left by his fingers and his car on her hips, saw the scratches inside her thighs, and he pushed his way into her body, eased by the wet from before.

  This time, he got to share a glass of water with her before they fell asleep in her bed. Early, early in the morning though, he woke up suddenly, remembering Mulder.

  He roused Sarah to tell her he had to go home and take care of his dog. The poor pup was whining by her food dish when he got back. At least she’d used the doggy door to care of her business. He gave her a few treats to appease her, but she was mad at him for having forgotten her. He supposed he deserved it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jake hoped that Sarah would be much more forgiving than Mulder. He was ready to call her to make up their date, when Winston’s name flashed onscreen.

  Jake briefly considered not answering the phone. Word had probably filtered from Jake’s father to the Soons—it wasn’t as if he and Sarah had planned to keep their relationship a secret—and Jake wondered how careful he should be about Winston’s feelings.

  Winston—bless his heart—let Jake know right away.

  “You’re with my sister?” were the first words Jake heard. “After you gave me that bullshit about just checking up on her because she wasn’t feeling well? What did she do to you?”

  What did she do to you?

  Jake tamped down an irrational and somewhat impractical urge to reach through his phone and throttle his old friend. “I don’t know, man. Maybe it was those one of those kale juices she gave me.”

  Winston almost seemed to take him seriously. “What are you talking about? You think she’s putting something in the juice? My mom loves that juice. Oh—wait.” Winston laughed tentatively. “That’s a good one.”

  Jake felt himself shaking his head. If Winston had been here, he’d probably be slapping him on the back or punching him in the throat—no matter what the answer had been. Maybe later they could have cemented their bond by knocking their foreheads into concrete.

  This man was his friend. They’d learned to ride bikes together over a few days on the path behind Jake’s house. They’d spilled blood together—mostly as a result of those clumsy attempts at learning to ride, of course. Sarah had tried at the same time as them. But she’d gotten on the pink seat of her tiny bicycle and pedaled away, never falling once.

  “So it’s just a pity thing, then, huh?” Winston said. “I should have known. You took her out with your dad! You’re not really hung up on her? I’m just looking out for you, man.”

  Jake winced at Winston’s hopeful tone. “You know, I can look out for myself, not that I think that’s even relevant.”

  “But people take advantage of your better nature. And you’ve been married for, like, years. You don’t know what it’s like out there—what she’s like. Who knows what she’s been doing all this time?”

  “More sorcery and witchcraft? Leading unsuspecting men to their doom?”

  “Yes!”

  “Listen to yourself, Winston.”

  “You can’t handle someone like my sister. Look, I get it; you’ve had a crush on her for years. Maybe you even hung out with me because of it—don’t interrupt. It’s fine. I get it. My hormones were raging all the time, too. But you can’t date someone like her, Jake.”

  “Winston, in the grand scheme of teenaged behavior, Sarah was actually pretty normal.”

  “But she’s my sister.”

  Jake didn’t answer that. He was too angry. It was too much to hope that Winston had given up this stupid idea he’d held in his mind for so long.

  “She’s too strong. She’s selfish, Jake. A total bitch.”

  “Holy shit, Winston. That’s your sister. And she was never selfish.”

  “Please.”

  Jake struggled to get words out. The frustration felt thick in his throat. “Is it selfish to not want to do what your family wants you to do? Is it selfish to have opinions, curiosity, independent thought? Even if she weren’t your sister, why the fuck would you say something like that about anyone?”

  “You don’t know her as well as I do. She should have been better than everyone else. And then she just . . . left the parents for me to deal with. She doesn’t care about the family.”

  “Like the way they practically abandoned her the only time she seemed to step out of line? I know what happened.”

  “Jake,” Winston said soothingly, “I know Ilse hurt you and you want to get back in the saddle. There are a lot of ladies out there—”

  “Why do men keep saying this to me? Why do we keep saying this to each other? We keep talking about saddles and riding along. I’m not a cowboy, and you are a dentist. I’m your friend, Winston. We’ve known each other since we were kids. I have feelings for your sister and probably always have, but I didn’t hang around because of her. I hung around because I liked being friends with you and you were older and I admired you. There. Is that what you need to hear?”

  “I don’t need your shrink talk, Jake.”

  “I don’t need your bullshit about the way women are and the way men are. And I don’t need this stupid
bro-business you keep on trying to make us into. We’re not bros, and I don’t owe that image anything. But I have known Sarah for almost all my life. She isn’t some general hazy collection of parts. I know how her eyebrow scrunches when she gets mad. I remember that she’s always exactly three minutes early for everything and that she doesn’t lie, even when it’s polite. And I know when she’s hurt and scared. Don’t tell me what I can or can’t handle. I don’t care if I can’t handle all of her, Winston, because I don’t need to. She can handle herself. I’m just glad to know her and be with her.”

  “You’re in love with her.” Winston’s words were a gasp of outrage. Jake almost wanted to laugh. But Winston’s next sentence dampened his urge. “And you think she can love you. She doesn’t need you, you know. She’s too busy being an independent lady. The minute she’s done with you, she’ll drop you and she’ll break your heart.”

  Jake thought of every withdrawal, every refusal Sarah had made. He remembered how hard it was to just convince her to go out with him. He thought of how much she mistrusted him. He didn’t let Winston hear it, though. “So what if she does? This is none of your business, Winston.”

  “Everything is everybody’s business.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense!”

  “No you don’t make sense.”

  “Winston, we are not children anymore. You can’t just . . . turn everything around when the conversation isn’t going your way.”

  “Can, too!”

  “Can not!”

  “Can—”

  “I’m hanging up and blocking you if you don’t stop this.”

  “Not if I go first.”

  In a way, this was probably also pretty typical of their relationship, Jake thought, looking at the “Call ended” screen. He wasn’t actually going to block Winston but—

  It wasn’t their finest hour.

  Something about talking to Winston, about dealing with these old memories, with the Soons and his dad, made him feel like a child instead of a thirty-something professional with a divorce behind him and dog under his table. But Sarah didn’t make him feel like a child, even though she was caught up in all of that. Maybe because she didn’t treat him like one. Maybe because he didn’t act like one when he was around her.

  She’d warned him that their families would snarl any happiness—he knew their shared past would complicate things.

  Of course, with her flawless timing, Sarah chose to come to his door right then. Mulder barked excitedly as Sarah let herself in and crouched down to let the dog lick her face. Mulder clearly didn’t hold Sarah responsible.

  She hesitated a bit when she saw him—or maybe that was his imagination. She had some grocery bags slung over her shoulder, and her hair was wet. He still hadn’t showered. He wondered if he smelled.

  He probably smelled like her.

  She came up to him and put her hands on his chest and kissed him, and that felt very good. “You look upset,” she said.

  “It’s nothing. I’m sorry I had to leave last night, but I’m glad you’re here. I was—I was just about to call you.”

  She quirked her brows at him. To prevent further conversation, he lifted her firefighter style. “What has gotten into you?”

  “Just doing my job, saving you from the flames, miss,” he said.

  “Uh—”

  “I’m told I like to rescue people.”

  She was a pleasant weight in his arms, and it was fun to haul her around, especially when she seemed to cooperate. Hah, who’s handling her just fine?

  “What am I being rescued from?” she asked as he tromped smartly to the bedroom door and kicked it open.

  “Ravening beasts,” he said, rolling her onto the bed.

  Mulder’s claws scrabbled on the hardwood as she ran to catch up with them, but Jake was too quick. He shut the door. The dog whined and whined. At this rate, she probably wouldn’t forgive him until dinnertime.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Saturday morning: first watercolor class.

  Sarah frowned as an orchid she was trying to paint blobbed and ran until it resembled a large ham.

  She was used to doing things well. She was not doing this well. She tried to blot it with her fingertip. What she really wanted to do was to rub it all out and start over.

  She’d spent much of the week with Jake, and in the course of those days, she’d decided that she was going to ask him to Petra’s wedding.

  Unaccountably, she felt nervous.

  She had been sure of herself last night when they’d had more plans to see each other, but the school had called just as he’d pulled into her driveway—she could hear a man’s distraught voice over the cellphone—so she’d kept Mulder and he’d gone off. And she’d fallen asleep on the couch with the dog before his text came.

  Was that their life? Had they . . . settled? That made her nervous, too. Was he just replacing his married routine with his girlfriend routine? Because they already knew each other in a lot of ways, this relationship was easier than other ones she’d been in. She didn’t have to explain her parents’ obsession with cleanliness and food, her upbringing, her past. He already knew about Winston and her entire childhood.

  But so much of the relationship was new, too. She hadn’t known him as a particularly artistic person, but he left little doodles around her house and his. An envelope in the recycling bin had a diagram of Orion. A grocery list on the refrigerator yielded two tiny muscled superheroes punching each other with Blam! Pow! blazoned across the top. And once, when she was looking for something to clean a spill, she found a paper napkin with a sketch of a woman stretching. The woman had no features, but Sarah was pretty sure it was her. She smoothed it out and, like the sentimental fool she was, filed it.

  She frowned at her own painting again before looking at the clock. She’d never had to take care of a dog on her own before, so she was worried about what might greet her when she got back to the house.

  Jake had gone back to his own place to crash before heading to the school. So she had walked and fed Mulder that morning, and she’d enjoyed it. And it made sense, because if he’d wanted to spend the night—if she wanted him to spend the night—then of course he had to bring his dog.

  So everything was fine and logical—she liked fine and logical.

  But an irrational part of herself wanted reassurance. She’d always been able to rely on herself and external achievements for it, but no one was going to award her a medal for dog-keeping.

  The instructor walked by her easel. “Relax your shoulders, ease your grip. Pressing too hard only makes the ink blot.”

  “I will master relaxing, dammit,” she muttered to herself.

  She rolled her neck and focused on the page again.

  She didn’t notice anything amiss when she got home. She’d had a text from Jake saying that he’d come by. He’d also said something about bringing her a bouquet of kale, and even though it was exceptionally cheesy, it made her smile.

  She didn’t notice at first that Mulder hadn’t run to the door. She didn’t notice that the house was quiet, because she was used to it being silent.

  Not so quiet. As she unloaded groceries, she became aware of a pained panting coming from under the table.

  Mulder did not look happy.

  She was glassy-eyed and miserable. And she kept pawing weakly at her mouth and drooling—a lot. Mulder was not a drooler.

  Sarah pulled a chair out and crawled under the table to give the dog’s flanks a reassuring pat. The pup whimpered softly.

  Sarah grabbed her phone from her pocket, but as she tried to decide what to do, she heard the door, accompanied by footsteps. “We’re in here,” she called. “Something’s wrong with Mulder. I’m trying to figure out where the nearest vet is.”

  In a moment, he was under the table with them. Mulder whined when she saw him. Sarah felt guilty and terrible, but now was not the time for it.

  “What did she eat?” Jake asked, examining her mouth. “Has she
thrown up?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Something’s wrong, though. I think you need to take her to the vet right now.”

  They were both supposed to be the kind of people who were calm in a crisis—she was a doctor and he was a social worker for God’s sake. But she could hear the edge of unease in both of their voices.

  Enough.

  She took a deep breath. “You take her to the animal hospital”—she showed him her phone with the map pulled up—“and I’ll stay here and try to find out what she might have gotten into.”

  He nodded and raced out the door.

  • • •

  Of course his ex-wife chose this moment to call him. “Sarah, I’m here,” he said, not bothering to look at his screen.

  A pause. “It’s Ilse.”

  There was a trill indicating a message had come in. Jake sighed. “I can’t talk right now. My dog is sick and I’m expecting—”

  “Your dog?”

  “Ilse, this is a bad time.”

  He hung up and checked the picture. Sarah had sent a photo of a plant with heart-shaped leaves. And she herself arrived minutes later with the pot.

  It took a while, but in the end, Mulder was fine. She’d nibbled a philodendron. A look of annoyance and self-recrimination had flashed across Sarah’s face over the fact that she hadn’t remembered the name of a common plant. Jake could also tell that she was miserable that Mulder had gotten sick by eating it. And maybe he was sad that all those things had happened, too, but Mulder was fine. It had been an accident. And Sarah was too hard on herself.

  Jake wanted to tell Sarah that he was lucky to have her, that he was glad she was around with her cool head. Not that he hadn’t handled crises before—he worked with people and kids and their fears and hang-ups all the time—but it was different when he wasn’t the only one who could be relied on. She could do some of the thinking and take action. She’d been worried, but that had only made her quick and decisive, and that made him love her even more. Not that he could tell her that right now. It was too soon. Everything he felt was too soon.

  So he just said she shouldn’t blame herself about Mulder.