by Lindsey Hart
“Feeney! Don’t cry!” Shade stands up and wraps his arms around my neck. He presses into me, all warmth and sticky caramel scent.
I wrap my arms around him and hold him close, breathing against his soft and slightly messy hair. I should say something. Something adult to make sure Shade knows I’m okay, but I just can’t. I have a giant ball in my throat, and there’s nothing coming to mind anyway.
“It’s okay,” Shade whispers in my ear. “It’s okay to cry. Dad says it all the time. But why are you sad?”
“I’m just…I just…I don’t really know. It’s a lot of things, I guess.”
“That’s okay.” Shade strokes my back with his little hand. “Dad says that crying can make us feel better. He says it’s okay to be sad because it will be over soon, and you’ll be happy again.”
I pull back slightly and brush at my tears before offering him a genuine smile. “He’s right. That’s very true. I’m just sad because I saw something sad, and then I started thinking about my family. I miss them sometimes.”
“But they’re not dead.”
“Oh! No. They’re not dead, no. They’re just…sometimes adults need a break from seeing and talking to each other so they can think about things. They wanted me to do something I didn’t want to do, so I had to leave for a little bit. I guess I was just feeling lonely.”
“You don’t have to be lonely. I’m your friend. And Dad is too.”
“Yes. You’re a good friend. Thank you for the hug. I really needed it.”
“Do you want another?” Shade asks solemnly.
I nod, and he throws his arms around my neck, pressing himself close to me again.
CHAPTER 16
Luke
It’s Friday night, and I can tell that Feeney has been wanting to discuss something with me for the past couple of days. I’ve been waiting for her to come out and say whatever it is because she’s not exactly someone who holds back, but she hasn’t mentioned anything so far.
Now that Shade’s in bed for the night, and I’m doing my classic blowing off steam by gaming, Feeney enters the living room. I know I don’t stand a chance in hell of winning this round while she’s standing there in my periphery all wide-eyed and bursting at the seams, waiting to talk to me, so I toss the headset onto the coffee table and shut the TV off.
That’s a pretty clear invitation to talk, and Feeney being Feeney, understands it and doesn’t waste time. She sits down hard on the couch, closer to me than I thought she would but still too far away.
That thought is errant and unwelcome—kind of. My body doesn’t think it’s unwelcome. I’m getting stiff and uncomfortable, and it’s getting to be noticeable, but there aren’t any cushions on the couch I can grab and thrust in front of my groin until my dick calms down, so I take a deep breath and think about anything except what I really want to be thinking about. It’s not easy, but thankfully, my brain and dick seem to be connected. Imagine that.
“Are you okay?”
“Do you think it’s slightly pathetic that you feel you have to ask me that?”
Feeney straightens a little, totally undaunted by my dismal tone. Not harsh. Dismal. “Not really. My mom used to ask my dad all the time. He’d give her an honest answer, and then they’d talk about it.”
“You know I’m not exactly the talking type. Christmas and the day after were a one-off.”
“Hmm.”
I have no idea what that means.
Feeney waits like she’s waiting for me to do just that, to talk to her. But I don’t and she doesn’t shake her head or roll her eyes or get pissed. Instead, she asks softly, with humor in her tone, “So, you were willing to uh…do the other stuff, but you can’t talk to me?”
My body feels like someone is holding a lit match to my skin. My dick is now approximately hard enough to chop through a redwood, a type of tree which I assume would take a lot of chopping. “That’s generally how people work.”
“Hmm. That’s generally shitty then.”
“Why are you so nice? How did you turn out that way in a sea of rich assholes?”
“I have no idea.”
“Do you realize that you are?”
“I don’t know. I guess I never actually thought about it.”
God. How can she not know just how rare a breed she is?
“If you’re having trouble with work, with the publishing…uh…I didn’t ask you many questions about it that night, but if you need anything, you know who my dad is. I could make a call.”
“No!” I moderate my voice. “No. I don’t want you to do that. That’s not…thank you. Are you both on speaking terms now?” My stomach clenches tighter than my balls at the moment, which is ridiculously tight, and my throat dries right up.
“No. But I… I could try…”
“You’d do that if I asked?”
“Yes. What…no. You probably don’t want to talk about work. And anyway, maybe I’m not so nice because the are you okay question was a lead up to my other question.”
“What’s that?” It’s a bit of a shock to me to realize I genuinely want to know and that I’m actually enjoying sitting here talking to Feeney and spending time with her.
This isn’t how Britt and I used to talk about things. Feeney isn’t a substitute for the black hole in my life, but this is different. I don’t feel guilty. I know Britt wouldn’t have wanted me to feel guilt at all. She would have wanted me to be happy. Not that I’m being happy right now with Feeney because I’m most certainly not.
Jesus, I need to be honest.
“I was hoping you might agree to come with Shade and me to this animal sanctuary. He wants to see it and the animals. I got the idea because I had to call a place when we found the opossum in the backyard.”
“It’s a weird idea.”
“Well, they do amazing work. I looked through some of the photos and the stories. God. It’s really sad, but they try to give them happy endings and take care of them. For the ones that can’t go back to the wild, they get a safe home for life. I think that’s pretty amazing. I even cried.”
“You cried?”
“I did, and then Shade hugged me. His hugs are really, really nice. I…I think I know why your wife named him Shade. I’m sorry for thinking it was a weird name when we first met.”
“It is a weird name. That’s okay.”
Her brows squiggle together. “Now you’re being overly nice. What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“Is that who you really are under all those gruff, I don’t give a shit, don’t talk to me layers?”
“No.”
“I think you’re lying.”
“Why do you think she named him Shade?” I’m holding my breath now, waiting to hear what she has to say.
“I guess,” she says and flushes. She looks down at her knees. “I guess it’s because it’s hot here, and the sun can be unbearable. When he hugged me, I was pretty sad about a lot of things. I guess those tears were for a bunch of reasons. They were pent up, and I couldn’t stop them. He just held me and told me it was okay to be sad and that I wouldn’t be soon, and I just kept thinking about his name and how he was like a shade to someone who is dying of heat and thirst, how he’s like this respite. This amazing, tender, loving, and wonderful shelter for all the wounds we think are never going heal. All those things we feel are never going to be okay again, and then they are. All you have to do is spend a couple of minutes with him to forget about them.”
I have to say, I’m amazed. No one has ever asked me about Shade’s name. They haven’t even thought about it beyond probably assuming it’s some new age thing we picked off a popularly strange and hip baby names list.
“That’s exactly why she named him Shade.” I’m slightly breathless all of a sudden. Breathless and speechless.
I don’t get breathless, and I always have something to say. Who is this person sitting across from me? A woman who, in just a couple of weeks, has been able to accomplish what no one else has in y
ears. She’s seen me, and she’s seen Shade. She’s working her way past all the layers of despair, anger, and indifference I coated my throbbing heart in until it was so muffled that it barely had any room to beat.
Feeney has a gift for it—a gift of seeing, looking, knowing, feeling, caring, challenging, and changing.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. How could I have lost all my layers of protection in just a few weeks? Maybe it was just time. After two years of clouds and rain and storms, maybe it’s just time the sun shines its brightness out a fraction.
I edge a little closer, or maybe I just do it subconsciously. I’m not sure if my buttcheeks actually move off the spot where I’m parked. Perhaps I just feel closer. I look at her now, somehow feeling braver. She’s not saying anything, but I focus on her lips. Her lips are beautiful. Symmetrical and perfect. Full without being too full, they’re easily natural and not boosted by injections or whatever procedure is popular right now. They look soft, and I know they’re soft because I’ve had the opportunity to experience it. I’m surprised at how badly I want to kiss her right now.
Suddenly, she inhales softly, and I know she knows. She’s very perceptive, and she’s good at reading me. Unsettlingly good.
I finally gaze into her eyes and find them deep enough to fall into, dark and heavy lidden. Every time she blinks, it’s like she’s trying to blink away what she really wants.
I get it.
I feel jumpy because this feels sudden. Too sudden. I’m not a spontaneous person, and I don’t get out of control. Well, minus the Christmas whisky incident.
I haven’t read many manuscripts at work lately since I’m on top of things, and with success, I was able to hire other people to do that a long time ago, but when I used to sit there and read, I was always surprised at the pure trash that came across my desk: garbage romance, almost all of it. Sometimes I’d burst out laughing at how ridiculous it all was. I guess by then, I’d forgotten what it was like to want a person so badly and so wildly that your whole body feels like it no longer belongs to you because it doesn’t follow any of your commands.
I’ve been worn down now for so long—worn into this thin, lifeless thing, worn into a rut and smushed and crushed down with all the passing tires like an old western wagon train analogy—that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be alive, to get goosebumps.
Britt and I were together for a long time, and I guess some of those sharper needs and hard impulses softened into a much more gentle passion based on familiarity and trust.
Right now, I don’t feel familiar, I have goosebumps, and my dick is slowly taking over my brain. The fucker might not have hands, but he’s the one driving. I’m shocked that I feel like one of those characters in the trash romances I’d always toss in the trash and send out a rejection letter to.
Right now, I’m all sharp edges and red hot emotion.
Maybe Feeney is too because she leans forward just a fraction, which does it. I move, she moves, and we crush together, our arms frantically wrapping around each other. Her hands pull me in, claw at my scalp, and tug at my hair. My lips crush hers as I devour her. She’s definitely sharp edges and red hot emotion. I feel like she could burn me up. She burns through me as her nails scrape over my scalp, and her teeth move over my bottom lip as her tongue thrusts against mine.
This could ruin everything, or it could fix everything. I have no way of knowing how it’s going to go.
CHAPTER 17
Feeney
Oh my chicken nuggets, this is a good kiss. Luke is beautiful. He’s huge—the typical larger than life. He’d steal anyone’s breath just by showing up, but this isn’t just showing up. This is him, pressed up against me until my nipples feel like they’re going to go full-on paper shredder mode against my bra and shirt. This is him leaning into me, giving me zero doubt that he’s just as turned on and ready as I am. His panties might not be soaked because he’s not wearing panties, but there is a definite bulge in his jeans that throbs against my stomach where it’s pressed against. All of a sudden, his tongue probes past my lips and enters me. My mouth, I mean, but even that is hot enough to set my body on edge.
“W-wait,” I stammer. I pull back an inch and nearly miss getting my lip ripped off as Luke goes in to nip me.
His hand is at my shoulder, the other splayed warmly and protectively against my back, making me feel so tiny next to the massiveness of him.
“Did you change your mind about the agreement?” he evenly asks since I did just participate in basically attacking him, mouth first.
“N-no. Did you?” Good god, this is a humiliating conversation.
“Yes, which is stupid and thoughtless. I’ve gotten so good at growing a thick skin and a rock for a heart to keep it safe that it’s second nature to be an asshole.”
Gulp. I can’t believe he just said that as it makes me warm and tingly on top of the already warm and tingly sensations coursing through my body. “That’s not why I said to wait.” I swallow thickly. “I just…I don’t want to do anything that could hurt Shade.”
“You could never do that.”
“I don’t want to just disappear out of his life like all the other nannies because you end up pissed off that we got this wrong. I don’t want to go.” Now that I’m saying it, I know it’s true. Maybe because I just started, maybe not, but perhaps it could be that some things you don’t need years and years to figure out.
“I know you could never hurt him. That would never happen—me being pissed off, or us getting it wrong.”
“But…but…”
“It wouldn’t. It wouldn’t because we decided it wouldn’t, and we’d go with that.”
“You can’t just decide on your feelings.” Clearly not, because we’re both sitting here right now, like this, with all the throbbing and pounding and raging hormones.
“We won’t get it wrong.” He repeats it with finality, like a benediction, but his jaw ticks after.
I don’t know what that tick means.
Maybe it means he knows like I do, that this could wreck us. I know we’re two flawed, lonely people coming together under some fucked up circumstances. But then, what’s wrong with being flawed? Isn’t everyone? I mean, there are sets and sets of flawed people all over the world who make things work. I know there are tons who don’t too, but that’s life and choice, and it can go either way. Tonight, I’m choosing this. I’m choosing to make it go a good way, a beautiful way.
Call it a sixth sense—a pervy sixth sense maybe—but I already know our bodies will fit perfectly. It took no time at all for us to bury under each other’s skin like a sliver and not want to leave. A god sliver, if that kind of thing even exists. Maybe it’s more like a piercing you’ve been longing to get, but your parents won’t let you get it, and when you finally do get it in secret, it’s so freaking satisfying and beautiful that you never want to stop looking at it because you’re so proud of it. Your body doesn’t even try and reject it because it’s that great. Yeah. Not implying my belly button piercing went down like that or anything.
Luke was all gruff and hard like stone. He needed to keep himself safe so he could heal, but maybe what he needs now is connection. He was probably waiting for it all along, waiting for a lighthouse to guide his lost ship back home in the dark. Argh, it’s a lot of pressure, and I can’t think like that. I just have to promise myself that because he dropped his guard, and we both just sense we need each other for no apparent reason at all other than we’d somehow be a perfect fit, I need to get it right.
Maybe the sixth sense is actually an impending sense of something glorious and right.
I promise myself that not only will I never hurt Shade; I’ll never hurt Luke either.
And I’m doing a lot of thinking over here while Luke’s hand is all over me, our bodies still pressed together, our breaths close enough to mingle. He waits for me because he’s patient and steadfast. Also, because he might be gruff, but he’s a lot of other things too.
�
��Do you feel like your heart is all shadows?”
Luke blinks. “I guess so. Sometimes.”
There are so many other words I don’t use—words such as lonely, alone, solitude, pain, and despair.
“Did you know the light of a single candle is enough to keep a person from freezing to death in the dead of winter if they get stranded, and it’s freezing?”
“No, I can’t say I did.” His lips waver at the corners. “We live in Florida, so I can’t say I’ve ever contemplated freezing to death.”
What I’m trying to say is maybe we can be that candle for each other, to thaw the cold. We’re like two hearts reaching out—sudden, abrupt, aching, and searching.
Ironically enough, I guess I have my parents to thank for this. Without them, I wouldn’t be here right now.
“Are you sure this isn’t a mistake?” I know I’m all over the place, but I have to be sure.
“It’s not.”
“I feel like we can’t just turn our emotions on and off.”
“We didn’t turn anything on or off. People change. Feelings change.”
“It hasn’t been enough time. How do you know for sure?”
Luke shrugs. My hand is still on his shoulder, and I can feel it rising and falling. My fingers are curled imperceptibly into the smooth cotton, searching for his warmth and smooth skin below as my thighs pulse at the thought. I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. The skin at the shoulder isn’t usually a turn on for most people, but maybe I have weird undiscovered fetishes.
“I don’t know. If you haven’t noticed, I don’t know much of anything lately. I want to have all these answers, but I don’t.”
I stare at Luke, and he stares back. I finally realize what I see on his face. It’s sincerity. That’s what it is. It’s not just clouded desire or a guy saying anything necessary to get in my pants. Not that I would ever think such things about Luke. I don't need to know him for years to know he’d never do that to me or anyone. Not now, never in the past, and not even if we were both young with zero experience and tons of hormones.
