Divine Intervention

by JC Wallace

  Satisfied, I strolled into the living room. I was met with a continuation of Wendy’s gushing giddiness and Jacob’s apparent trepidation for my reaction. I could have knocked him over when I strolled up to him, wrapped my arm around his shoulder, and laid a wet, sloppy kiss on his lips.

  “Dinner smells awesome, baby. Let’s eat.” I left both of them gaping and went into the kitchen, a little too smug for my own good.

  The table was already set, so I grabbed wine for my sister and a beer for Jacob. I got myself water because I’d just taken my pain meds. Jacob went to the stove to remove the food from the oven. Wendy came to the table, sidling up close to me as I uncorked the wine.

  “Well, baby brother, I have to say, you’re looking really good.”

  I was about to give her a smart-ass comeback until I looked at her. Shit, her eyes were glassy, and her lips were quivering, and my flight reflex kicked in.

  “I… um… thanks.”

  I planted my feet firmly but ducked my head in the guise of pouring her drink. I was the one who needed the drink. Every instinctual response from me was to push them away and let my anger loose. I thought climbing Lhotse was hard. Apparently, acting like someone who wasn’t a self-centered asshole was more difficult than climbing a brutal mountain.

  Jacob placed a pan of what looked to be lasagna on the table. “Ta-da.”

  Wendy oohed and aahed and sat. I grinned at Jacob, and he visibly relaxed. “Thanks for cooking. It looks great.”

  He nodded, and we both sat next to one another across from Wendy. She took a drink of her wine while I served up steaming squares of cheesy goodness. I was quite the glutton for Italian food.

  “So, you two are fucking now?”

  ****

  Chapter 14

  Jacob choked on his beer, then gagged.

  I rolled my eyes. “Behave,” I told her, pointing the spatula at her.

  We tended to try and get the better of each other, but it had been a long time since we’d actually been at ease with one another to do so.

  Jacob coughed into his napkin, tears rimming his eyes, face bright red. “You did that on purpose.”

  “I plead the Fifth,” she said, eyes looking anywhere but Jacob.

  “Bitch,” Jacob muttered and sniffed. It was Wendy’s turn to roll her eyes.

  I frowned. I knew that Wendy had dated Jacob’s brother in high school, but these two were acting a bit too chummy. Deciding to hold my suspicions pending further evidence, I dug into my dinner, savoring the burst of garlic and the perfect balance of cheeses.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Jacob eyeing me warily, no doubt waiting for my culinary reaction.

  I leaned close to him. “Perfection. You’ve definitely earned a reward later.”

  He leaned closer, and I nuzzled his ear and licked the whirl, which I knew drove him crazy. He shuddered, and I thought of all the deviously pleasurable things I could do to him later. Then, I remembered he was going home after dinner, and I hated it. Hated it with every part of me, and wanted to beg him to stay.

  I straightened in my chair and caught a glimpse of Wendy’s questioning, confused expression. She almost looked scared. After that, I was quiet. Not quieter than usual, but I was lost somewhere between how did I become so pathetic, smitten and weak so quickly and how could I live without this man here with me. He’d only come back into my life two weeks ago, and until Friday night, we hadn’t even been together except for a mutual rub-off.

  Jacob nudged me with his elbow as Wendy was bringing her plate to the sink. “You okay?”

  I smiled weakly. “Yup. I’m just tired.”

  Not a lie, and my back was starting that telltale tingling that said I needed to lie down. But that was all second to my inner torment, which turned into thoughts that were irrational but satisfied that angry, loner part of me.

  Jacob’s only here because he feels sorry for me.

  Once he’s sick of me, he’ll move on.

  No one will ever want me because I’m ugly and disgusting.

  They were so automatic I didn’t even have to work to raise them, and I didn’t deny their claims.

  “How about you lie on the couch while Wendy and I take care of this mess?” Jacob offered, his hand rubbing circles over my back. I was addicted to his touch.

  Only because no one has touched me for such a long time. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.

  Yes, I do. I need him, I replied to that stupid part of my brain. I needed him so badly it scared me because it wouldn’t last. It was just a given.

  ****

  In the end, Jacob did leave. I held on long enough and didn’t beg him to stay. Now that he was gone, the house was once again large, imposing, and cold.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he’d said as he pecked my lips and walked out the front door.

  I hated how up and down my emotions were. Vacillating between happy, horny, defiant, angry, sad, lonely. It was as if all of the emotions I’d ignored my entire life were fighting to get playtime. I was pulling for happy and horny, but I was just exhausted and my back ached. I decided sleep might give me a reprieve.

  As I climbed into bed, images from that morning, waking wrapped around Jacob’s warm body, pushed arousal through my tiredness: His desirable body with pale skin and a spattering of red hairs here and there… a large patch around his cock. Definitely a true Irish redhead. Not the bright, garish red some men had, but a warm amber, like his eyes. Well-defined muscles, not bulky, but enough to know he cared about his body. Long, slender fingers that had done wicked things to my touch-starved body.

  Reaching into my boxers, I ran my palm over my cock, the dry friction edgy and satisfying. A few strokes with the vision of my lover, and I was hard and ready for him. So I replayed that morning in my head as I stroked my cock leisurely.

  I spooned behind him, my morning wood poking into his back. Floating in a dreamy state and almost awake, I rubbed my erection against him, nearly moaning from the perfect pressure. He shifted in his sleep, instinctually pushing back against me, his breathing still deep. I ran my hand over his chest, his stiff nipples tickling the sensitive skin of my palm. With one finger, I circled the end of the nub, ever so lightly, in tiny circles. His breath hitched, and I swore my cock pumped out a gob of precum into my briefs. My pulse roared in my ears and my cock filled just from teasing my lover in his sleep.

  Lifting my head, I nuzzled into his neck. The musky sweaty scent from our night of lovemaking still remained. I licked his salty skin and then licked again as my hand caressed his stomach. I loved that his stomach was tight yet soft. Dipping below the waistband of his briefs, his cock was soft, giving credence to the hope that he was still asleep. I wanted to be the one who brought him from being unaroused to full arousal. I wanted to feel his cock grow under my touch.

  I wrapped my fingers around his soft limpness. I shivered in anticipation. As I fondled him, I ground my cock gently against his ass. Slow easy strokes of his shaft, and he shifted again and grunted. His eyes were still closed, but I could see them shifting under his eyelids. I groaned softly as my thumb ran over his cock head. Gradually, blood filled his shaft, the excitement of that action more erotic than even fucking. I gazed at his placid face. His mouth twitched, his eyes still moving beneath his lids. This was perfect. This was everything.

  He was everything.

  Kissing his cheek then his neck, I sucked up small spots, increasing my jacking. He started to come around. His back arching, he pushed into my fist with a whimper. I hooked my heel around his calf and opened his legs farther. He moaned as I squeezed the head of his cock.

  “Fucking beautiful,” I whispered in his ear.

  He turned his head and sought out my lips. Reaching his face over his shoulder, I shoved my tongue into his mouth. He bucked his hips, spearing his cock into my fist, desperate for more. He moaned into my mouth. Our breaths forced through our noses, not wanting to stop. When he broke away, he begged me to fuck him, just as we were
. He reached over and pulled a lubed condom from the nightstand, ripped the foil wrapper open with his teeth, and then handed it to me.

  Quickly, I pushed down the front of my boxers and rolled it on. I lowered the back of his briefs and guided my cock between his ass cheeks. Painstakingly slowly, I pushed into him. He groaned as I broke through. I hissed through my teeth as my cock made a steady entrance, sliding farther, farther. We were silent, nearly still, until my groin rested against his ass. I wrapped my arms tightly around him, pulling him against my chest, my leg thrown over his thigh, my face next to his, our breaths shallow and sharp. I rocked my hips, my movements fluid, almost rhythmic. This wasn’t a race. We were making love, sweet beautiful love, and my heart was unfolding in my chest, opening in the sunshine of what Jacob was giving to me.

  Reaching back, he placed his hand on my hip, not guiding, but just feeling the gentle glide. My hand found his cock again and he whispered, “Yes, oh… please,” as I stroked him in time with my thrusts. Unrushed, unfettered by desperate need, we were, in that moment, satisfied to ride the pleasure. He arched his back again, groaning so sweetly.

  “Come for me,” I whispered, continuing my languid thrusts but increasing the pulls on his cock.

  His chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes clamped shut as I worked him. His cock surged under my palm, and his body tensed as he silently shot cum over his stomach. I stroked him through the spasms and then gasped, unloading my own cum into the condom. A swirling light filled my vision. In the beauty of the moment, three words almost fell off my tongue, and I nearly jerked away in surprise. No one could fall in love after two weeks, right? I bit down on my tongue. I was mistaking lust and caring and intimacy for love. But I knew right then that I could easily fall in love with him. It was just a matter of time.

  ****

  By morning I was a wreck. Wandering my house, I had no clue what to focus on. My mind was all over the place, as if it had fallen apart and was trying to put itself back together. The confusion was numbing and even making coffee had been a trying task. The happy bubble from the day before had popped and dissipated. I had been left hurtling back toward the earth, and I hated the uncertainty and the lack of direction. I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. I gripped my hair tight in my fists.

  Focus. Do something. Anything.

  I was spinning and trying to grab onto anything to make it stop. When had my life gotten so far out of control? The accident? No. Until Jacob had come into my life, I’d been fine.

  Jesus, Paul, that’s further from the truth than anything you’ve ever told yourself.

  It was Jacob, wasn’t it? But when he’d been there all weekend, I hadn’t been spinning. He’d kept me level. Whenever I’d veered off the path, he’d brought me back. Did that mean I couldn’t live my life without him? That I was dependent on him? The thought roiled my gut. Dependent, needy. That wasn’t me. That just wasn’t.

  Right then, I didn’t care. I had to feel that safety and comfort again. I had to call him, get him to come over, anything to right what was terribly wrong. Wait. Running to him wasn’t okay.

  Get a grip.

  My head continued whirling, and I tried to take in a deep breath. Wasn’t working. The argument of calling or not calling raged in my head. Then the phone rang. Nearly tripping to get to it, I tried not sounding desperate as I answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Paul.” My father. Shit. I’d been ignoring his calls.

  “Hi, Dad.” Shaky voice. He’d love that.

  “I’ve been calling you for over a week. What the hell is going on?”

  I sputtered and tried to answer but nothing came out.

  “We need to talk. I want you in my office in an hour. Mark will pick you up.”

  “But, Dad, I…”

  And then I realized he’d hung up. I cocked my arm back to throw the phone but stopped. Closing my eyes, I gently laid the phone on the counter. My father only ever called me into his office for one reason. To tell me I’d done something wrong.

  ****

  Chapter 15

  I’d convinced myself that going to see my father was good. It was something to focus on, something concrete I could do to get my head on straight. My father had always been able to see what I was doing wrong, where I was erring, and get me back on track.

  I ran my hand over my chin. Stubble. Looking down, I was wearing some of the rattiest clothes I had— ripped jeans and an old, worn band T-shirt. No way was I meeting the old man like that.

  Within forty five minutes, I was straightening my tie and smoothing my gray suit jacket. I’d even done a quick spit shine on my shoes. The doorbell rang, and I grabbed my briefcase as I’d done hundreds of times before heading to work. Opening the door, I found Mark standing on the portico. When he eyed me in the suit, he raised a brow and quickly recovered. Yeah, I bet I looked way different than I had a couple of weeks ago.

  “Are you returning to work, Mr. Breaux?”

  Confidently, I said, “Soon, Mark.”

  He smiled, and I settled into the front seat of the car. Another surprise for him and for me as well. To distract myself from my fear about where I was sitting, I pretended to read a file from my briefcase. I also engaged Mark in small talk about the office: who was working what case, who was new, who was gone. He seemed genuinely interested in my thoughts. I was intrigued by his philosophies on some of the current cases. He seemed to understand not only the intricacies of the law but also the people involved. He reminded me of Jacob in that way.

  My anxiety stayed low, and my distraction techniques had worked. As I entered the building, the security guard, Ernie, greeted me with a hearty handshake. He was an older man, always smiling, a real people person. He commented on how good it was to have me back, and I had to correct his assumption. Anyway, he was glad to see me and hoped that I returned soon.

  As we rode in the elevator, I caught my reflection in the shiny brass of the doors. I hadn’t truly seen my reflection since before the accident— well once, and that mirror hadn’t survived the encounter. My gaze was glued on the scar reaching from my temple over my cheek, branching off onto my chin and jaw. The distortion and yellowing color of the metal didn’t highlight the deep red color. It was there for everyone to see. I’d forgotten and strode in there like the man I had been.

  “It’s not that bad. Really,” Mark said quietly. Maybe he thought because I’d spoken to him in the car he now had the right to comment.

  I reared back like a snake that had been stepped on and struck. “Who asked you?”

  He flinched but didn’t reply, turning his gaze forward. Immediately, I felt like an ass. He’d never been anything but nice to me, and I was an ass. Unfortunately, my panic was overtaking my mind. When the door opened, I turned left instead of right, heading to the bathroom. I needed a moment to compose myself and make a plan.

  “Paul, where are you going?”

  My father’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

  ****

  Chapter 16

  When I turned, it seemed as if the entire office full of people were looking at me from their cubicles. Well, at least the paralegals and secretaries who occupied them. A few attorneys and, shit, Tucker Manley, who I’d attended law school with. One of the friends who’d abandoned— I mean— who I’d pushed away.

  “Paul,” Tucker (in all of his handsome, nonscarred glory) said, approaching me with his hand out. Automatically, I took it. “Great to see you. You look good.”

  I frowned at him. Good? I looked fucking hideous. “Thanks,” I mumbled. Some people were smiling, some wide-eyed, some whispering. Jesus, I was on display.

  “My office, Paul. Now.” My father turned on his heels and disappeared through his door.

  It was something he had said to me hundreds of times since I was a small boy. Right then, it felt different. Harsher. Colder.

  I ducked my head and followed, suddenly wishing I hadn’t bothered with the suit. You could put fancy hubcaps on a dented and
scratched car, but in the end, it was still dented and scratched.

  I closed the door as I entered his office. My father was already sitting behind that large oak desk I’d always been so jealous of. To me, it had been a sign of success. But wasn’t it just a sign of having enough money to buy it? I rubbed my fingers over my scar. It would never go away. Never. For some reason, the souvenir from my accident hadn’t seemed so permanent until that moment. I felt as if I’d been slapped. Hard.

  “Sit down.”

  My body obeyed without thought. I hadn’t seen my father but twice over the past year. Once, he’d come to my house under the guise of talking about my return to work. The other time had been by accident at the hospital. I had a doctor’s appointment, and he was visiting Frederick Latmore, a senior partner in our firm, who’d suffered a second heart attack. He was another twelve-hours-a-day seven-days-a-week work alumnus. He’d been forced to retire. His was the partner position currently open.

  My partner position.

  My father seemed grayer now, and more lines covered his face, but he was still fit, still in control. His imposing manner wasn’t diminished by the monster desk but enhanced by it. Many a man had cowered before him, but not me. Not until now.

  “I asked you to come here so I could see you in person. I’ve been talking to your sister.”

  I wanted to roll my eyes.

  “I’m doing better,” I stated flatly.

  He pursed his lips. “It’s been a year, Paul. From what I can see, you look well. I’m not sure what has kept you from your job for so long.”

  I waited and then wondered if he had actually phrased that as a question.

  He stood and walked to the window, hands behind his back, standing tall, gazing out over the city. Sort of dramatic but he had always tended toward theatrical statements, especially in court. He was a masterful lawyer and always crafted each word and motion as part of a larger performance.

  “What of your case?”