December (The Oliver Brothers Book 1)

by Watson, Q. M.

  “You want to slap your cock against my face?” I can’t stop laughing. “Oh my God.”

  “You said talk dirty to you. That’s dirty, and I’m drunk.” He nuzzles his nose against my neck, releasing a sigh. I shudder from the feel of his warm lips. “Stop making fun of me.”

  “I’m not. But you want to smack me in the face with your cock.”

  “December.” He groans, but I can hear his amusement in his tone.

  “Are you talking about my forehead area or in my mouth?”

  “Both.”

  “Oh my God.” I laugh.

  He cracks his eyelids open and stares at me with forged annoyance. “Go on. Get it out.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t stop laughing.”

  I laugh.

  And snort.

  And laugh.

  Then giggle.

  He waits.

  And I laugh some more.

  “My crazy girl December. What am I going to do with you?”

  “Love me,” I suggest.

  “I already do. I love you more than I think I should,” he whispers low in my ear. “But you’re worth it. You mean everything to me, December.”

  I’m speechless. I don’t say anything. How can I? I lie next to him, listening to his breathing. After a while, his body settles and he sleeps. Josh transforms into an innocent boy when his eyelids are shut. My heart threatens to split open from sadness. I skim my lips across his before I carefully untangle myself from him and go retrieve the things needed to clean his feet.

  Kneeling on the floor by his feet that dangle off the mattress, I pluck out every tiny shard of glass that’s embedded into the soles of his feet with tweezers.

  I dip a washcloth into a bowl of warm water and wash and rinse the blood off his feet. Then I apply some antiseptic and wrap his wounded feet.

  I close my eyes and pray to God. I pray for Josh’s healing, not only of his body but of his heart and soul as well.

  I’ve always thought that we were divided into three parts. We have our temples, which are our bodies. Then there’s our heart, the center of our decision making. After that are our souls, the root of ourselves. Our souls are the essence of ourselves. I pray for all three to heal, for him to find a strand of happiness and cling to it, and for his torment to come to an end.

  My nails are caked with Josh’s dried blood, and I feel numbingly cold. I can’t lie next to Josh covered in his blood. It doesn’t feel right. It feels terribly wrong to lie next to him with his blood on my hands. So I shrug on my coat and boots and leave him. I leave him peacefully sleeping in bed, even when I don’t want to.

  I drive aimlessly around. The town is asleep. Shops are closed. Lights are dimmed. Windows are blacked. Everyone is sleeping. I drive and drive, not really headed anywhere. My car suddenly stops, my headlights flashing against a brick house. The pale light against brick is stark. The house glows within the darkness as if it’s a lighthouse drawing me in as I float adrift in stormy seas.

  My car door is pried open, my seatbelt unclipped and removed. I glance down and watch Danny pull me from the seat of my car and carry me into the house.

  “I hurt him.”

  He doesn’t say anything. He simply unlaces my boots and strips me of my clothes and runs a warm soapy washcloth over my hands to clean Josh’s blood off.

  “I hurt Josh,” I say with a shaky whisper, tears sliding down my face.

  He gets one of his T-shirts from his drawer and pulls it over my head. The rest of my energy I use to push my arms through the big sleeves.

  “He was bleeding.”

  “Quiet.”

  Danny takes my arm and leads me to his bed. He tucks me in, and I can’t help but stare at him, blinking bleakly. “I made him bleed, Danny. I hurt Josh.”

  “Be quiet, December, and sleep,” he orders more firmly. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “You can’t say that. It’s not going to be okay.” I wipe at my eyes, losing the battle against my tears. “I hurt Josh. You don’t understand.”

  Danny wraps his solid arms around me and begins to rock me in his iron-tight embrace. “I do understand,” he whispers into my hair. “I understand more than you think I do. I know you love Josh. I know you care about him, December. But you have to ask yourself, do you love him enough to let him go. Sometimes when you love someone, the only reasonable thing is to let them go. It’s the worst kind of agony there is. No pain compares to it. But you have to release them, hoping they find their own happiness and their own path to love.”

  “I can’t just let him go, Danny.” I shake my head, disgusted by the thought. “No. I’m not like his mother. I’m not like their mother. I’m not letting him go. I wish people would stop asking me to.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m not doing it. I refuse. Never.”

  “Shush,” he says, gently rocking me. He rests his cheek on top of my head. “Sleep, December.”

  “You saved me,” I reply, basking in Danny’s warmness. “Who saves him?”

  He gives me a squeeze. “Sleep, baby. You have to work in the morning. Let’s get some sleep. We can figure out everything later. I want you to sleep. The rest can wait.”

  I do as I’m told and close my eyes.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE PRESENT

  Today is my longest shift. Or maybe it just feels like the longest shift in history because it is the very next day, the very next day after I wrapped my best friend’s raw feet. But I carry on and complete my duties. I take care of my animals, scrubbing their cages, feeding them on schedule, and training them. Today, I teach the chimps how to express their feelings by signing. Everything is going accordingly. Except Bobby keeps giving me the finger. I love Bobby, the youngest chimp. I try not to laugh each time he does it, but I fail. I burst out laughing each and every time. I think that’s why he keeps doing it. I can’t help it. You haven’t lived until a chimp flips you off.

  At the end of the day, I’m bone tired and irritable. Half of my annoyance is from Josh ignoring my calls and messages. Josh ignores me when he thinks I want to distance myself from him. The other half is from the horrible sense of me losing at this great thing called life. My life seems to have gone to shit lately. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, not that I had much clarity in the beginning.

  Piper calls me, but I miss it because my phone is set on silent. I listen to her voice message. She wants to have coffee with me as soon as possible. Piper says she needs to talk to me about a few things. That it’s important. I grimace at my phone. It’s not that I have anything against Piper. She has done nothing to me. Piper’s been kind and respectful toward me. She’s always been nice. I just . . . okay, maybe I’m lying. Maybe I do have something against Piper. She’s Danny’s fucking ex-wife. I don’t want to have coffee with her. I don’t want to be around her unless I have to, unless it’s necessary. That may be a young and childish way to act, but I don’t care. My attitude toward both Danny and Piper needs improvement. I have so much resentment inside of me because of Piper and Danny. He’s secretive when it comes to her, and the way he protects her gets under my skin. I honestly can’t tolerate it. If Danny would be open about her, then that would be a completely different story. I don’t think I would have much of a problem if he was open about their relationship. But since he’s not, I don’t want to have much to do with either of them. It kills me because I love Danny like I’ve loved no other.

  Speaking of Danny, he sends me a quick text.

  Danny: Outside.

  Me: Okay.

  Danny: Let’s go somewhere and have dinner.

  Me: No.

  Danny: Why?

  Me: I’m going to stop texting you now because I’m headed outside.

  Danny’s smiling at me when I walk to the end of the curb where he’s parked. I open the door and climb in, strapping the seatbelt over me. My nose wrinkles at the appealing scent of leather and Danny’s rich fragrance. Why does he have to smell like dark spice and heat
? My heart hammers from his scent alone. I inhale heavily, breathing him in, hating myself as I do it.

  He’s happy to see me. Danny’s elated to be picking me up from work. Early this morning, I agreed to let him pick me up for the rest of the week. I usually wouldn’t agree with something like that. I don’t like Danny taking care of me in any way. But Danny and his hands and mouth were remarkably persuasive when I woke up. Despite this, I act oblivious to his cheerful mood.

  He begins the drive, and I watch miles disappear until Danny opens his mouth.

  “Why don’t you want to have dinner?”

  “I’m not in the mood,” I tell the window.

  “It could be a quick dinner somewhere quiet.”

  “No.”

  “We can go out for drinks, then.”

  “No.”

  “Give a man some room to work, December.”

  Releasing an exasperated sigh, I recline the passenger seat all the way back so I can nap on the way home. “No. I don’t want to go out. I don’t want to have dinner. I don’t want to have drinks. I want to go home and sleep. I’ve been on my feet working all day. I don’t know what you do all day, but I work. So no. I don’t want to do anything except go to sleep.”

  He’s silent for a moment. This moment seems prolonged, the air suddenly thick with tension. “I don’t sit on my ass all day, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  I keep my eyes closed and shrug. “I don’t know what you do all day.”

  “Then maybe you should ask.”

  “Why? It’s not like you tell me a lot these days.”

  “You want to argue with me.” He isn’t asking, simply stating.

  “No. I want to sleep.”

  “Why the attitude, then?”

  “Why all the fucking questions?”

  “We have a lot to talk about,” he starts calmly. “We have a lot of unresolved issues.”

  “Tell me something, Danny. What are you exactly talking about? Gee, I thought we were fine,” I say dryly.

  “You and I both know we’re not fine. After this week, you and I are going to spend two weeks together during the Tying Ceremony. We haven’t done that in four years. We need to talk before then.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter. “Just take me home.”

  “Have you at least packed?”

  “No.”

  “It’s Wednesday. You have two weeks of clothes to pack. Let me help you.”

  “Fine.”

  He used to pack my luggage before. I always let him because Danny gets pleasure from doing simple things for me. He’s a man that gets off by helping, volunteering his services any way he can. I got off on it too. I secretly liked to be taken care of. I liked that Danny wanted to care for me, that he put so much importance on making sure I was comfortable, satisfied, and safe. It was a luxury I never had until he came along. I don’t like him caring for me nowadays. It irritates me.

  Once I’m home, I do nothing but watch from the sidelines as Danny handles packing. He’s neat and orderly. I am not. So I let him fold my clothes. Danny is thorough. He packs more than enough of my underwear, bras, and socks. It should annoy me that he moves with such ease throughout my bedroom. It seems like Danny knows what I keep in each drawer. He finds all my things effortlessly.

  He goes into my bathroom and comes back out with an armful of my toiletries. He has my toothpaste, toothbrush, face cleaner wipes, lotions, a hairbrush, and a box of tampons. Oh, did I mention Danny is thorough? He always goes above and beyond.

  How perfect.

  I stare at the little blue box cradled in his arms and frown. He packs it all away and then looks at me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We didn’t use protection.”

  “I know.” He zips my luggage. “I’m clean. It’s clear you’re clean. What’s the problem?”

  “I could be pregnant,” I answer casually like we’re talking about the weather.

  He goes completely still. His brown eyes are narrowed and aimed at me. “You could be pregnant?”

  “Yeah. I’m on birth control pills, but I don’t take them every day like I should. Sometimes I skip days, sometimes I skip weeks. I wasn’t sexually active before, so I wasn’t faithful with taking them every day. I only used them to help ease my period.”

  His jaw gets tight as he stares. Danny’s eyes are facing heavenward as if he has to ask God for help before returning to me. “You have to take your pills every day or switch to something more efficient. You cannot abandon responsibility, December. You have to take your pills when you’re actively having sex.”

  “I know,” I mutter, annoyed at his condescending tone. “I’m not a child, Danny, so stop treating me like one.”

  He lifts a brow. “You could have fooled me. You act like one.”

  “Look,” I mutter, pissed off. “I know this isn’t a perfect time for a baby. But I’ll deal.”

  He gives me a mocking laugh that boils my blood. “I find that truly unconvincing when you can barely take care of yourself. Your immaturity baffles me. I think you need a lot of maturing before you become someone’s mother.”

  “I don’t care what you think anymore, Danny,” I confess quietly. “My concern about your thoughts died long ago. I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman. And I don’t even know if I’m pregnant. It’s way too early to tell. But if I am, you don’t have to be around me. You don’t have to do a fucking thing. I’ve been doing just fine on my own for the past four years. Women are strong when men are weak. I’ll handle it. Just get the hell away from me for now.”

  He stares at me. I stare back into his deep brown eyes before I look away. It hurts too much. All of this hurts. How could everything go so wrong?

  Danny gets close to me. “December—”

  “No. Go away.”

  He steps forward and gently cups my face, returning my gaze to him. “This doesn’t change my feelings toward you. I love you, December. I’m trying my best to be a patient man. I’m in love with you, and six babies won’t change that; nothing will. I only want us to mature as a couple first. We’ve been through a lot together, but we’ve never really gotten to a place where we’re functional.” His thumbs trace the trail of tears down my cheeks. “I want that for us. You have no idea how much I want that for us. But I’m not going to leave you, December. I’ll never leave you, especially when you need me most. I will give you space.”

  “Go and give me space, then,” I say, attempting to shrug from his embrace.

  He drops his hands from my face. He holds my gaze as he slowly steps away. “I’ll see you Friday.”

  I nod, closing my eyes shut.

  Danny’s gone when I open them.

  I do need space. I need a break from everything. It’s like I’m a stack of cards one blow away from caving in. Grabbing my luggage, I discreetly go to my car and leave my house. I put miles of space between me and everyone as I drive in the direction of the Huntersville Hotel.

  The Huntersville Hotel is in the center of town around little boutiques and souvenir shops. It’s a pleasant area of town. The delicious aroma of grilled food from restaurants causes my stomach to growl with hunger. I stare at all the golden lights twinkling in the snow. The square has always had a holiday feel to it.

  After signing in, I check into my plush suite. I thought I’d go big with a suite. I mean, if you’re going to have a mental breakdown, why not do it in luxury?

  Kicking off my shoes, I sigh as my bare feet sink into the thick, soft white carpet. Everything from the posh, oversized, cream and gold-colored furniture to the antique forest-green wallpaper is lavish. But it’s the bed I want. I step into the large bedroom and gaze in wonder at the oversized bed overflowing with white silks. I collapse onto the massive mattress piled high with pillows and luxurious linens. The dreamy foam shapes to every curve of my body. I lie on my back and stare vacantly at the ceiling. Then I burst into tears. I call my sisters. I didn’t want to bother them, but I need them.

  CH
APTER EIGHTEEN

  THE PAST

  Danny, age twenty-five

  December, age fifteen

  My sisters and I skate up and down the black asphalt road of our neighborhood street. It is summer, and school is out. The weather is dangerously sweltering. It is hot. It is ninety degrees. The sun in the sky is nothing more than a burning yellow sphere, threatening to boil us to death.

  I practically collapse into the poolside chair next to Gary. Gray dragged our pool chairs out into the front lawn. My mother is into trailer-trash décor right now. We have poolside chairs with no pool. Huge inflatable pool balls, but no pool. We do have an actual pool table next to the deck. Mom and Papa Pete play pool at night.

  We also have outrageously tacky plastic pink flamingos in front of the rosebushes. I love my mom and all the stages she goes through.

  Gray is sitting pretty in his mirror multi-colored sunglasses and vibrant striped tank top with his long, muscular legs bursting out of his white denim cut-off shorts. His wavy ash-brown hair is pushed away from his handsome model-like face. I swear he greased his high cheekbones to emphasize how beautiful he is.

  He eats sliced watermelon out of a bowl on his lap. Juices from the watermelon drip from his full bottom lip, and I have to roll my eyes, because if I don’t, I’m afraid I might moan or do something even more stupid. Gray is the vision of summer. And his sights are on January in her mini shorts and her neon pink bikini top as she skates up and down the street. She’s happy, laughing, and smiling. He flexes his newly-formed biceps each time she passes us.

  “Showing off?”

  He gives me a sardonic grin. “You can’t help but notice, huh?” He flexes his biceps again, sculpted muscles moving under golden-brown skin. “Try not to strain your eyeballs or anything. I can see that you’re checking me out, and I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”