“At least he isn’t suffering anymore.” Her hand moved to his forearm.
“True,” Neil said, his voice hoarse. “It just isn’t fair, you know? Eight years isn’t long enough to experience much of what life has to offer.”
“I hear you. Let me know how much you want to contribute to his funeral expenses and I’ll release the funds right away.”
“The funeral director is supposed to call me tomorrow after all of the arrangements have been made.” He cradled his face in his hands. “God, I really need a drink.”
My phone chimed to signal an incoming message with the sound I’d assigned to my father. He’d probably heard my big news from Mom. Neil and Collette’s heads turned in my direction at the same time.
“Hey,” I said quietly, taking in Neil’s red-rimmed eyes and Collette’s pained expression. “I could use a drink, too. We’ve got a reservation in twenty minutes at Cantina Rosario. Gold margaritas should do the trick for both of us.”
Neil smiled, but I could tell it was purely for show. “I appreciate the invitation, but I’m not good company right now. Some other time?”
“Sure. Maybe we can get a group together to watch the Blackhawks next week.”
He stood and fisted the cuffs of his hooded sweatshirt, which, coincidentally, had the team’s Indian head logo on the front. “Let me know when and where. Congrats, by the way.” He disappeared into the hallway before I could thank him.
I settled into his vacated seat. “What happened?”
Collette sighed and rubbed her temples. “He spent the afternoon volunteering in the burn unit over at Chicago Grace,” she said, referring to the hospital right in the heart of the shopping district. “A boy he’d spent a lot of time with passed away last night. Poor thing had an infection the staff couldn’t get under control.”
“Jesus,” I muttered, shaking my head. “How terrible.”
Music began to play in Neil’s office next door. The Police’s “King of Pain” blared, shaking the walls. Collette’s eyes closed and her lips thinned into a straight line. “Matt reminded Neil of Joey,” she explained over Sting’s vocals.
No wonder he was so broken up over the boy’s death. I didn’t know the details surrounding the house fire that killed the rest of Neil’s family. It was a taboo subject, same as the car crash that had claimed Collette’s parents, and Les’s adoption. Random bits and pieces of Neil’s story had come out in conversation, including how his arms had gotten burned while carrying his little brother to safety. Unfortunately, Joey’s injuries were too severe, and he passed away less than a week later.
“Maybe we should try to convince him again to come with us,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “Beating himself up over something he had no control over won’t do anything except make him feel worse than he already does.”
“I agree with you, but he wants to be alone right now, and we need to respect his wishes. I’ll text him when we’re done with dinner to see if he wants to meet us for a drink at that Irish pub on Grand Avenue.”
She rose from her chair and went about shutting down her laptop and collecting her belongings. I quickly responded to my father’s message and pulled on my coat.
As we walked down the dimly lit hallway to the back exit, the music faded as the song ended. A few seconds later, the strains of a guitar filled the air as the first haunting notes of an acoustic version of Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven” played on Neil’s stereo.
***
“Your ass in these jeans is my version of a red flag being waved at a bull,” I said, lightly swatting the aforementioned rump.
Collette jumped, dropping her keys on the concrete floor of the front porch. “Tequila has an interesting effect on you. It turns you into a bigger hornball than you already are.”
I picked them up and separated the one for the front door from the rest, sliding it into the lock. “Says the woman who eye-fucked my crotch the entire ride here.”
She ignored my comment, opening the door to a jubilant Oscar, who danced around her in a circle. “Huh. I guess Neil isn’t home yet. Thought he’d be here by now.”
I closed the door behind me and headed to the kitchen with the dog trotting a few steps ahead of me. “Here you go, boy,” I said, letting him out into the backyard. He ran down the steps and into the grass, sniffing around before getting down to business.
“He still hasn’t answered my last text.” Collette’s brow furrowed in worry as her thumbs moved over her phone’s screen. “Les hasn’t heard from him, either.”
“I’m sure Neil’s fine.” I dumped a scoop of kibble in Oscar’s bowl. He barreled inside when I whistled and hungrily dug into his later-than-usual dinner. “I bet he’s at that bar, eating dinner with a Guinness.”
“You’re probably right. I just wish he’d answer me so I know he’s okay.”
I took the phone from her hand and fired off a text to Neil.
This is Ryan. Do me a favor and let C know you’re still alive. She’s worried sick about you.
He replied immediately with, I’m alive.
“See? It’s like you said earlier, he wants to be alone.” I set her cell on the counter and pulled her into a hug. “He’ll come home when he’s ready.”
“I’d be going crazy right now if you weren’t here to act as the voice of reason,” she said, her warm breath fluttering across the side of my neck.
“There’s no place I’d rather be,” I said firmly, tightening my arms around her shoulders. “I’ll always talk the sense back into you, sweetheart.”
She leaned back a bit, smiling for the first time all evening. “What if you get sick of it?”
“I won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
And there it was. The perfect lead-in to telling Collette exactly how I felt. “Because.” I drew in a deep breath. “Because your happiness is important to me. Because making you smile is my job, one I take seriously. Because you care so much about other people that their pain becomes yours and in turn, becomes mine. And because I love you and would do anything, anything in my power, to make it go away.”
Her eyes widened, glassing over as tears pooled above her lower lashes. “Oh God,” she whispered shakily as droplets ran down her cheeks. “Way to sneak it in. Quite masterly, actually.”
I laughed and skimmed my thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the wetness. “Not really. Not when I’ve been waiting for the right moment for days. The window cracked open the width of a hair, and I broke the glass because I was too impatient to wait for a bigger space to crawl through. Oh, before I forget, my mother invited you to Thanksgiving dinner. She and my father really want to meet you.”
“Do you want me to meet your parents?” She looked up at me with wide eyes.
“Yes. I want you to meet my entire family. I want to eat turkey while sitting next to you and I want to see you running around the backyard during the annual football game. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
Collette nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. “It’ll feel strange to celebrate a holiday without Neil and Les.” She swallowed hard and looked up at me. “I’ll miss them, but I can’t say no to the man I love. Tell your mother I’ll bring a dessert.”
Boom. In a tit-for-tat move, she showed her hand and claimed the last piece of my heart. I slid my arms around her waist and pulled her into a hug. She’d decided to step outside her comfort zone for me, and I’d be damned if I let it go unnoticed. “Consider it done,” I whispered in her ear, giving her an extra squeeze.
She squeezed me back, shivering as my lips glided down her cheek. I had to kiss her. It was the best way I could think of to show how much I appreciated her accepting the invitation. Our lips met and moved in a slow rhythm. My heart pounded as Collette pressed herself into me and ran her fingers through my hair. She whispered my name and slid her hands down until they cupped my face. We stared at each other for a moment before she smiled and said, “I love you, Ryan.”
My brain clicked
off, and my libido took the reins. I held Collette as close as humanly possible and kissed her deeply, doing my best to show this woman how much passion and affection I had for her. I had to have her. Right here and right the hell now.
“What’s under here today?” I asked, unsnapping her jeans.
Collette bought most of her clothes from Old Navy and Gap, but her undergarments were another story. She plunked down serious cash for bra and panty sets from the La Perla boutique on Michigan Avenue. I was convinced every fucking thing in there was designed to make men come in their pants. Most of them were no more than tiny scraps of lace and silk held together by strings begging to be snapped by the poor bastards who were too horny to take the items off the proper way.
Case in point? The low-rise black bottoms held together by little ribbons tied at her hips just asking for a tug. “Goddamn,” I mumbled, pushing her jeans down with my foot. “Is this new?”
“You like?” She turned around, wiggling her hips as she shimmied her shirt over her head.
“Hell yes.” These pretties could stay on for a few minutes before joining the rest of her clothes on the floor.
I unzipped my fly and lowered to my knees, pushing my pants and boxers down to free my rock-hard cock. Stroking it to alleviate the ache, I moved the thin strip of material between Collette’s legs to one side with my teeth.
“Here? What if...ohhhhh,” she moaned as I gave her center a long, slow lick.
I went to town, teasing her folds and sucking her clit until her thighs quivered and she pulled my hair so hard, my scalp stung from the sharp yanks. Scrambling to my feet, I pulled out my wallet and retrieved the condom inside. Within seconds, I was covered and ready to slide into paradise. Two gentle tugs on those tiny bows and her panties hit the floor. I stripped faster than I ever had before and lifted her to perch on the edge of the center island. “I love you,” I said, staring into her eyes while entering her in one slow thrust.
“Oh God,” she breathed, lowering herself until she was propped up on her elbows atop the granite. “I love you so much.”
“You always feel so fucking good.” I pumped my hips and leaned forward, hands gliding along the polished surface until they found hers. Dipping my head, I slipped a pink nipple into my mouth and sucked until it grew into a taut point.
Oscar looked up at me from where he sat on the floor on the other side, his head tilted quizzically as Collette moaned and sighed and made all the noises I loved hearing whenever we made love. He jumped up and rested his paws on the wooden panel, tail wagging wildly. “Go to your bed!” I stopped moving and frantically pointed at the archway. “Go!”
He obeyed and scampered off.
“He usually gets a bone for dessert after dinner,” she said, laughing.
“His will have to wait because I’m busy giving you yours.” I withdrew to the tip and glided into her, turning a giggle into a groan.
She rocked into my thrusts. I increased my pace when the all-too-familiar tingle started at the base of my neck. “Ryan, I’m gonna…” Her head tipped back as she tightened around me, her orgasm triggering mine.
As we struggled to catch our breaths, a door opened and slammed shut. “Figures,” Collette muttered, hopping down. She wrestled on her jeans, stuffing the untied panties into a pocket, and reached for her shirt.
Oscar tore past us, his nails skittering across the floor. As I hopped around on one foot, struggling to get my pants on with one hand while buttoning my shirt with the other, a heavy thud came from the next room. Collette and I froze, our eyes meeting for a second before moving in the direction of the noise. Oscar’s whines broke the silence and propelled us into action.
I ran down the hallway after Collette, fighting with my belt buckle. She slid to a halt at the end. “Oh God!” she cried out, running over to where Neil lay in a heap on the hardwood. “What the hell have you done?”
His eyes flickered open. “I think that lasht beer waash a bad idea,” he drawled, his head lolling to one side.
“How many did you have?” I asked.
“Dunno. I drank one and da beer fairy gave me anudder and anudder and anudder and–”
“Yes, we get the picture. I’m going to kick the beer fairy’s ass,” Collette grumbled, brushing some hair off of his forehead. “After I kick yours.”
“Whhhhy?” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Ugh, what da fuck is dat annoying shound?”
“It’s your own whiny voice, you idiot.” Collette sighed and looked at me. “Could you grab a bottle of water from the fridge? Maybe it will help if he dilutes his stomach.”
Neil groaned as I moved toward the kitchen. “Make the spinning shtop. You know I can’t handle dis kinda ride, Cocoa Puff.” He belched loudly. “Ohhh, I don’t feel so good.”
“Ryan!” she yelled. I pulled a U-ie and helped Collette haul him to the powder room. A second after she lifted the lid, he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet.
He groaned again, hugging the bowl with both arms. “Imma shtay here a while, ’kay?”
I hit the handle to flush his mess. “I’ll go get that water for him.”
“Grab his toothbrush and the tube of paste from his bathroom,” Collette called as I made my way back down the hallway. “Aspirin, too. He’s going to hurt in the morning.”
“I’m shorry,” Neil whimpered.
“I know,” Collette said softly. “You can’t drown your sorrows in beer every time a patient passes away. It might make you feel better for a little while, but it only hurts you in the long run.”
He began to cry. “Eight fucking yearsh old. Eight. Hardly had a chance to live.”
I paused with my hand on the fridge door handle, my heart constricting as my friend cried over the death of a young boy whose life had been tragically cut short.
13
Ryan
The pipe organ roared to life with another somber hymn as the small white casket slowly rolled down the aisle toward the rear of the church.
I had little personal experience with death, what with my parents and three out of four grandparents still alive. My maternal grandmother had passed away during my first year of college. Not to belittle her importance, but there was a big difference between a senior citizen and a kid dying.
When I insisted on accompanying Collette and Neil to the funeral, I’d expected it to be a sad affair, given the tragic circumstances surrounding the young boy’s demise. It was a naïve stance to adopt, and I learned the hard way that grief wasn’t just an emotion less than five seconds after slipping into a pew.
Within the stone walls and stained glass windows, grief morphed into a palpable entity. It was etched on the faces of anguished mourners of all ages. It hung thickly in the air, a gray storm cloud up in the steeply peaked ceiling.
It grew bigger and darker throughout the service, despite the minister’s repeated declaration of how this was a gathering to celebrate Matthew’s life. When the life consisted of years numbering in the single digits, it seemed wrong, callous even, to look for any thread of a silver lining.
The Reverend tried his best to lighten the mood from the lectern, regaling the attendees with stories about a boy who loved baseball and superheroes. A smattering of smiles broke through the gloom when Matthew’s uncle spoke on behalf of the family. He stood next to the large picture of a smiling, gap-toothed boy in his Little League uniform and shared his favorite memories of his nephew, most of which centered around camping trips and involved typical boy things like mud and bugs.
I squeezed Collette’s hand and mouthed, Are you okay? for the umpteenth time since we’d arrived when she looked at me.
She nodded, her dark brown eyes shifting to the floor as the small casket passed our row.
To her right, Neil watched the coffin, stone-faced and tight-jawed. He’d been abnormally quiet since his bender three days ago. It was as if he had closed himself off from everyone and retreated into himself as some sort of form of self-preservation. He functioned on a nor
mal basis for the most part, following his usual home and work routines without any kind of deviation. But his haggard appearance made it obvious he wasn’t sleeping well, if at all.
Collette had tried several times to convince him to go to the doctor and ask for a mild sedative so he could get some rest. Neil refused, claiming drugs were a Band-Aid and insisted he would be fine on his own terms in due time.
We left the church and drove in the long procession to the cemetery. Matthew’s mother, who had exhibited astounding strength at mass, broke down and sobbed as family members placed roses on the rounded top of the casket after the short graveside service. My heart ached for the woman as she stumbled over the grass on wobbly legs with a long-stemmed red rose clutched in her hand.
I slid an arm around Collette, who shivered from the frequent gusts of cold wind, and pulled a fresh tissue out of my jacket pocket. She wordlessly took it, dabbing at the corners of her eyes as the distraught mother draped over her son’s casket wailed in agony.
Neil shot forward and helped Matthew’s father escort the devastated woman toward an idling limo. He met us at my car, climbing into the back seat as I started the engine. Silence reigned as I navigated the narrow path winding through headstones of all shapes and sizes.
We shed our coats and slumped on chairs around the kitchen table at Collette’s house, weary from the steep emotional toll the day’s events had taken on us.
I glanced at the wall clock and decided to break the ice. “It’s coming up on noon. What do you guys want for lunch?”
Neil gave a noncommittal shrug, loosening his tie. “I’m not hungry, so whatever you two want is fine with me.” He scrubbed his face with a hand and leaned down to pet Oscar, who had stationed himself within reach.
Collette stood and went to the fridge, rummaging through the shelves and drawers. She returned with an armload of cold cuts and condiments. “You have to eat something,” she said, opening the pantry door. A loaf of bread and two bags of chips landed on the table seconds later.
“Yes, mother,” he mumbled, taking the plate she held out to him.
More than Money (Found in Chicago Book 1) Page 10
