Honey Red

by Liz Crowe

  Alyssa sighed. Hannah heard a small cry. “The trainer was there with the new dog and Nick actually seemed glad, willing to listen and learn this time. Because of his history, the Purple Heart and all that, he got pulled for a new program, one that actually supports vets and their service dogs. It’s a girl. Daisy.”

  “Oh, well, that’s….”

  “Yeah, I gotta go handle some kind of baby disaster, but I wanted you to know that he’s there, and I think he misses you, a lot. But the trainer is also a vet, and a tough asshole, so Nick is probably getting whipped into shape on many levels right now.”

  Hannah ran a hand over her eyes. “I’m glad for him. He needs this. I miss him, so much.” Her heart ached with remorse. If asked right then she would not even be able to enunciate which “him” she meant. She would give anything to see them both, hold them, let them hold her and soothe some of the near constant anxiety out of her. But it was too late. Between the three of them, there was just too much stubborn history to overcome. It wasn’t worth the effort. It would never work. Their own personalities and issues and society’s inability to accept a true polyamorous relationship precluded a scenario that would be much more than what they’d had already—intermittent blazing hot sex, interspersed with long periods of time apart pretending that they were just fuck buddies.

  “Oh, honey,” Alyssa sighed. “I know you do, but this is up to you now. Take control and don’t let these men ruin everything. Okay?”

  “Okay. Maybe. Probably not,” She rubbed her side, which had been aching, in yet another weird way, like everything about her lately.

  The next few weeks flew by and before she knew it Hannah could sense her body change, adjust, and the small hard bump under her shirt made her smile every time she touched it. She’d ended up turning down the Ford marketing job and had told Gavin but had threatened him within an inch of his life if he told Ian anything more than just the bare facts. Let the man wonder, she determined. He deserved it. He’d hardly even acknowledged her presence around the brewery, seeming to go way out of his way to avoid her.

  Nick had been whipped into shape by his new dog trainer who practically lived at his new house. Alyssa claimed it was the best possible thing for him.

  “I wish you would just go see him and tell him about the baby,” Alyssa said as they had their weekly catch up phone call.

  “Well, I might. I don’t know. Something is holding me back.” Hannah had looked down when her phone dinged with a new incoming call. Nick’s number flashed, making her breathless. “Uh, he is calling me now.”

  “Good, go, make up with him and Ian. You have to fix it Hannah. Otherwise, it will never happen. You know that as well as I do.”

  Her heart stuttered in her chest at the sight of his number. She would never in a million years admit it to anyone but she missed her men, both of them so much she cried herself to sleep every night, like a lame ass. The thought of life without them, even as complicated as it was together, made her miserable. But she was damned if she could figure out how to fix it now, with so much water under the bridge and time spent not communicating.

  She clicked over to Nick’s call without another word. “Hi,” she said.

  “Oh, uh, hey.” He was quiet.

  “Did you butt dial me or what?” She tried to keep it casual but the sound of his deep voice made her break out in a chill.

  “No.” The silence spun out. Hannah let it. “I got a package here. And, um, was wondering if you’d help me with it.”

  “A package? What are you talking about?” She pushed herself up off the cool metal vat and headed back to her office.

  “A box came in the mail, about a foot square. I had the postman read me the return address. I think,” his voice broke. Hannah was instantly on the alert. “I think it’s from Dan’s mother.”

  “I’ll be right over.” She tossed her stuff in the car then called Alyssa.

  “What’s Nick’s new address?”

  “Thank god!” Alyssa said and gave it to her before hanging up.

  She pulled up in the driveway of a tidy looking brick ranch house, complete with a ramp, rails and all sorts of things indicating accessibility. It was nestled in a tree-lined neighborhood of similar sized homes, the streets and sidewalks full of little kids on bikes, skateboards or playing in sprinklers. She got out, took a breath, and walked to the door. It opened before she could knock. Nick was there, holding his sunglasses. The new dog stood next to him, tongue lolling out but he wasn’t holding onto her. “Aw look at this one,” she crouched down and let the dog lick her face. “She’s pretty Nick. What’s her name?”

  “Daisy,” he said, his jaw clenched. “And trust me, we are bonded, thanks to the hard ass ex-Marine who trained us.”

  “Relax, honey, it’s okay.” She put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, so she took it off. “Where’s the package?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Ian laughed when Jamie ran for the pool, thin arms and legs pumping. He jumped, scattering a few families that were already there. “Sorry,” Ian slipped in and grabbed the kid before he drowned. They swam, threw a Frisbee, played Marco Polo and variations on that annoying theme for a couple of hours. Ian had made a point to do this weekly now, after their first impromptu swim a few weeks ago. He was determined to at least get this part of his life right—the part where he was a half-decent father to his son.

  A harsh conversation with none other than his own mother, the usually supportive Moira, ghosted through his brain. He’d been sitting late at night, sucking back bourbon and wondering if he’d ever feel good about anything again when she’d made a surprise phone call. He grabbed it, thinking one of their many aunts, uncles or cousins were dead, given the usual nature of late night calls from her. She’d been staying with Gavin and Alyssa a few days, taking her turn at holding one twin infant while the other one got fed.

  “Ian James Donovan,” she’d began right away, making him wince and wish he’d ignored her call. “I did not raise you to be this person.”

  “Ma,” he said, biting down on a bourbon-infused ice cube and staring back out into the night sky. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Don’t you talk back to me, young man.” Something in her voice made him sit up straight, put the booze glass down, and pay attention. “I just had a very distressing conversation with your brother, and I want you to tell me just one thing.”

  He let the silence expand and fill the space where he should be answering her, as he’d been raised, as she liked to remind him. But his throat hurt, his head pounded, and he was suddenly propelled straight back to that moment when the doctor had told him that his basketball career was over. He’d shattered his knee, and the rehab process took him out of his college starting line-up right in the middle of what was to be their championship season. His heart pounded, and his skin got clammy. He stood up and paced, forcing the memory of the years after that filled with drunken failure and self-pity away.

  “Did you break up with that lovely girl because she was pregnant?”

  “Um, huh?” This was not what he was expecting.

  “And that young man, Alyssa’s brother, why aren’t you talking to him? He is a wounded soul Ian, and if what I am hearing about you is correct you not only walked out on Hannah, you left Nick behind too for reasons I refuse to accept, not about you.”

  Ian made a mental note to kick Gavin’s ass for spilling all this. One thing he always wondered was how he could possibly explain the nature of an honest to god three way relationship to the woman whose opinion he valued above all others. And now, apparently, his do-no-wrong brother had done it for him?

  “Ian, love,” his mother’s voice softened, making him tense because he knew that meant harsh words were imminent. “I realize you’ve had a hard go it. You put so much of yourself into being an athlete, and I let all those coaches convince me to let you do it, to focus on nothing but that for so many years. Then, when it was taken from you, you did exactly as I feared you would. You
collapsed and became a shell of the man you could be. Then, God brought you a son, our sweet boy Jamie and you returned home, and…” she paused for a breath and Ian resisted the urge to be a cynic about “God bringing him a son” knowing that would be the wrong tact at this point. “Oh, Ian,” he could hear her, breathy, and near tears which she had used so much in his life to exacerbate the guilt she could lay thicker than mortar. “I don’t pretend to understand you, the choices you make with…men. But I love you more than life, and I want you to be happy. But you are being a right arsehole now, and I will be damned if I’ll let you.”

  “But, Mom, you don’t understand.” He whined and knew he was doing it.

  “No, perhaps I do not. But I do understand one thing: You must make this right. At least agree to talk with these people. Don’t pull away, turn in on yourself like you do, not now. They need you.”

  “No, Ma, they are just fine without me. Besides I’ve got Jamie to focus on and the brewery and….”

  “Ian,” her voice was sharp and angry and strange to his ears. “I know you’re trying to be a good father, and I love you for that, but there are more people in this equation now, partially thanks to you. Gavin tells me you were the catalyst for the…relationship and the one who ended it, for reasons no one understands other than to say ‘oh, you know Ian can’t take the responsibility or the pressure.’ And that, young man, I will not accept about you. Not anymore.”

  Ian rubbed his eyes, sat and stared around the pool, letting his mother’s words poke holes in his psyche. She was right, but he had no idea what do to about it now. Shit just happened to him, he justified. Nick was in his path one day and so he acted on it. Hannah appeared in his life and so he did the same with her. She suggested making it three, so he facilitated it. And now? Now, it was up to him. He had to fix it, but terror coated his brain; fear that they would reject him and that it could be too late. And that, ladies and gents, was Ian Donovan in a nutshell it seemed—the reactor, the non-actor, the passive forty-year-old man with a son and an empty bed and heart. He tried not to groan aloud as he flopped back onto the lounge chair hearing Jamie’s delighted squeal as he raced around the sand pit with some buddies he found.

  Ian was left to brood and glare at the happy family groups sitting around on an early summer day. He was such a shithead. Such a loser—had happiness in his clutches and tossed away why exactly? Because life had not gone as he’d planned. And he’d used the people he loved, made them feel like … what did she call them, playthings? Making up rules he got to break to keep the equilibrium of their triangle to his liking?

  He sat up, watching his son scamper around the other, larger boys. Poor kid—stuck with a single dad who barely knew the first thing about raising kids, other than making sure he had a good breakfast. He dreaded the coming years—the adolescent angst, girlfriends, underage drinking or pot smoking or whatever the fuck it was teenagers did. He groaned and sat back, putting an arm over his eyes. Visions shot across his brain—Hannah, their first time together, the amazing feel of her body against and around his. Her soft lips, sweet smell, crazy laugh and bizarre sense of humor—Jesus, he missed her. And not just the sex either although lack of that had turned him into an adolescent with a boner anytime he saw her. He loved how great she was with Jamie. How she naturally fit in pretty much any place or situation she was in. Jamie kept asking for her too, which was annoying, since he had no decent answer for the kid.

  And Nick—Ian winced, thinking of his handsome face, deep voice, tough as shit demeanor and his hard, rough, masculine physique, hotter than anyone had a right to be. The few times they fought were epic, but they had matching temperaments and when the three of them were together, it was indescribable and sublime—and he fucking wanted it back. Permanently. And he didn’t care who knew or disapproved. He was nearly forty years old, a single parent and he was lonely. He’d been proactive about the sex part; it was time to get his shit together and work for the emotional connection he knew he wanted. He sat up realizing he must have dozed, unnerved by a shout to his left, his parent radar honing in on the noise.

  He shielded his eyes from the late afternoon sun. The group of boys that had just been in the sand pit was gone. The club was fenced in, so it wasn’t like they could get out anywhere or anything. He heard the shout again, this time around back, at the snack bar. He jumped up, his vision tunneled. Something was seriously wrong, he sensed it. Rounding the corner, he saw a group of kids in a circle, and several moms with phones to their ears, looking frantic. He sought out Jamie’s bright blue trunks in the group, his brain absolutely refusing to take in what his eyes showed him. The boy was on the concrete, his face ashen grey, completely still.

  “Hey, there he is! Mister Donovan, something’s wrong with Jam….”

  Ian pushed past the pimply teenaged lifeguard and jerked the boy into his lap. He was as still as a stone. “Somebody call…,” his voice faded when he realized the kid was not breathing. “Does anybody know – hey, lifeguard! Help me out!”

  An older boy grabbed Jamie, laid him on the grass nearby, and started administering CPR. Ian sat, incredulous, unable to process it. The mothers were fluttering around. “Did he choke? What did he eat? Is he allergic to anything?”

  Ian heard it but didn’t at the same time. Allergic? He had no idea. Nothing had indicated that before, although he did get a rash when he ate too much peanut butter—which was pretty much all he would eat for a period of time about a year ago. He must be choking, He reached out, needing to touch the boy’s still hand when the EMTs appeared with a gurney and took over. Ian stood, and watched as they worked to get his son to breathe again and experienced his entire universe collapsing inward upon itself. He wanted his family, but he’d ruined that, and now?

  “Hannah,” he whispered as he watched them try and revive his son. “Nick, somebody call…” he slumped back to the grass realizing that he neither deserved their support nor did they owe it to him. But he needed it now more than anything. He could not do this alone.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Nick sat, trying to ignore Hannah’s cloying scent. Her honeyed essence was somehow magnified, multiplied times a thousand probably because he hadn’t seen her for so long. He had to clench his hands into fists to keep from yanking her to him, kissing her, holding her, shaking her silly for being so obstinate. He gritted his teeth. Ignoring the wet nose of the dog that was not Brutus, he found the package on the table and pushed it towards her. “Can you open it? Tell me what it is?”

  He heard paper ripping, tape being removed. Then his ears picked up on something else, something strange and yet familiar. He tilted his head. But decided it was just the dog. He reached out and felt her, and it was okay. Not Brutus, but fine. He scratched her ears, nervous, waiting. The dog put her head on his leg, whining. “It’s okay.” He whispered.

  He truly did feel centered with this dog in his new house. The new pain med cocktail kept the headaches at bay much better. For the first time in over a year he was beginning to feel a bit like the old Nick thanks in no small part to Frank, the guy who’d lived with him the last weeks reminding him that no real Marine would wallow and allow the lame funk he operated under. Frank and Daisy were a package deal the man claimed. Nick did not get to keep her without the come to Jesus portion Frank provided.

  “You are alive, Marine,” the man had barked after Nick had cursed him to high heaven for the second or third time, as he sat sullen and brooding sunk his now comfortable morass of pain and self-pity. “Get on your feet and listen to me.” Frank had been a drill sergeant, no surprise there, and the familiar cadence snapped something together inside Nick’s brain. He’d jumped to his feet, fast, and stood, listening carefully as Frank commanded him.

  “You are not allowed to be this way, not anymore. You’re fit, a survivor, a Marine forged bag of muscle and bones, and I will be damned if I let you sit there and sulk your way through the rest of this life.”

  Nick’s body had tensed, and his h
eart pounded but he felt it then…the small beating pulse of purpose, starting somewhere in his gut and working its way up to the base of his skull. Flashes of sensory memory—sights, sounds, smells and touches from Dan, Ian, Hannah, Alyssa, his baby nephews—made him flinch but he had stood tall, firm, and kept listening.

  “I will not allow you to toss this chance away. This dog was trained at great expense to be your eyes, your companion, and you sit there and ignore her like so much shit on your shoe? Hell, no.” Frank had been in his face then, breathing heavy and speaking straight into Nick’s by now eager ear. “The enable-Nick-to-be-a-lame-ass time is fucking over. Do you hear me? This.” He’d grabbed Nick’s hand and put it on the dog’s harness. He’d shivered all over, guilt and anger running rampant through him. “This is your new reality Marine. And you are too smart, too strong and too worthwhile to let it slip away because you are a whiny-ass child. You are not a child. You are a man. Fucking act like one. Now.”

  Frank had kept talking. And Nick had kept listening. And by the time the man had left, he felt good, not great—that would likely never happen again now that his time with Ian and Hannah seemed over—but good and independent enough to allow a small bit of satisfaction to creep in under all the usual “my life sucks” bullshit that he’d been living with for the last year and half. He even entertained the concept of reaching out to Ian and Hannah, once his ten-day emotional boot camp was over, hoping he could relay some of his own remorse at how he’d acted to them both.

  Then, this package showed up the day after Frank left. So he’d called the first person he thought might help. Ian had ignored him. So, his next one was to Hannah, and he had never been happier to sense another human being in his space as he was now.

  “Um, let’s see, there is a picture. You and…Dan.”

  He sucked in a breath. His hands shook as he placed them both on the table. “What else?”