by Josie Kerr
Mick laughed. “I can give you some of the beard oil to keep with you when you travel. Will you be here when I get back? It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”
“I’ll be a prune!” Em teased. “No, I’ll probably be upstairs. There’s a lot of stuff that I haven’t unpacked yet, and post-mortem reports that I need to get started on.”
“Okay, ducky. I’m going to head out but I’ll come upstairs when I get back.” Mick kissed her on the mouth and then on the top of her head and went into the bedroom to dress.
Em heard his low singing while he dressed. She couldn’t carry a tune if it had handles, and she enjoyed the fact that Mick had been singing more and more lately. Many nights as they lay in bed, he held her and sang love songs quietly until they both drifted off to sleep.
He popped back into the bathroom before he left for another kiss, and then reluctantly left. She settled back in the tub. She totally could get used to this.
She lounged in the tub until the water got uncomfortably cold. As she dried off, she noticed the bottle of beard oil on Mick’s bathroom counter. She sniffed it and put a dab of the oil on the inside of each wrist so she could smell Mick with her during the day. She got dressed and headed up to her own apartment.
Em was putting up books on the built-in bookshelves when her phone chimed with a text message.
Mick: Headed home. Pick up Thai?
“Sounds great,” Em responded and hurried to finish unpacking one last box.
There was a rustling of bags and a knock on the door.
“Silly, it’s open!” she called. “You don’t need to be so formal.”
The knocking continued. Frowning, Em opened the door to see a guy holding takeout bags.
“Ermengarde Davidson, I have a delivery. Will you sign?”
“Uh, sure.” Em signed the sheet, wondering why Mick had had the Thai delivered and why on Earth the delivery guy needed a signature. The delivery guy flipped his signature book closed.
“Thank you. Ermengarde Davidson, you’ve been served.”
Em was still standing open-mouthed with outrage when Mick got up to her apartment with their real dinner.
“Em, what’s going on?” Mick had never seen Em so furious.
She simply thrust the sheet of paper at him, too angry to speak. She knew if she opened her mouth, angry tears would flow and the last thing she wanted to do was cry.
Mick frowned as he read over the document. “This is complete crap! They can’t enforce a non-compete clause this far after the fact, right? You’ve been with Rory for almost a year! “
“I need to call Rory.”
“No need to, I think,” Mick said, hearing Rory bellow from downstairs. “We’re in Em’s apartment, Rory!” Mick called through the open door.
Rory stalked into Em’s apartment. “I take it you got one of these?” he said as he waved a piece of paper around. “Piece of shite, pig-fucker, assclown Holbrook. I hate that guy. Em, I’ve already called the lawyer. I’m going to see Ed Monday, though. Tripp’s gone too far.”
Mick had gotten suspiciously still and quiet. He looked first at Em, then at Rory, and then got ready to speak when Rory said forcefully, “I told Em not to tell you that Tripp was contacting her because I knew you would react exactly like you’re...”
“I’m not even doing or saying anything yet!” Mick roared.
“‘Yet’ is the operative word. Let the lawyers handle it, Mick. Em, you know I can’t let you work until this gets resolved. Enjoy some time off. Finish unpacking. Spend time with this eejit so he doesn’t do anything foolish,” he said, pointing at Mick, who scowled but then grinned sheepishly. “Okay, that’s resolved. I see you have Thai so I’m going to eat. Being filled with righteous fury gets me hungry.”
They had dinner and discussed what their next moves would be. After much debate, Em reluctantly agreed that going to Ed would be the easiest way to end this farce of a lawsuit.
“Thank goodness we don’t have a lot going on in the next two months, what with Thanksgiving and the winter holidays,” Em said, groaning with pleasure as Mick rubbed her neck and shoulders, melting the tension with his firm touch.
“Em, I think you’ve got a bit of drool right here,” teased Rory, pointing to the edge of her lip. Em flipped him off. “I can see that you two have some relaxing to do. I’ll check in with you tomorrow, Em. Mick, be smart.” Rory looked Mick in the eye and knocked on the table before he left.
“What was that about?” Em asked, twisting her head to look at Mick.
“You know Rory. He’s a mother hen. He worries about me. And you.”
Em put her arms around Mick’s shoulders and kissed his cheek. He patted her arms and kissed her in return.
“Want to have a sleepover, Mick?” Em asked.
“I thought you’d never ask, Em. I know you just had a bath this morning, but let me take care of you tonight, please. I’ll run you a bath and you can have a nice soak.” Mick curled his fingers around her neck and placed a sweet kiss on her cheek before he disappeared into the bathroom. “Em, do you have anything other than the orange stuff to put in the bath? Never mind, I found something.”
When the claw-foot tub was nearly filled, Mick came back into the living room and scooped Em off of the couch, making her giggle. He closed the door to trap the warmth of the bath in the small room, and proceeded to gently undress her, reverently kissing each limb after he removed its covering. Mick helped Em into the deep tub and then perched on a small, prissy chair behind her head so that he could continue the backrub that he started in the living room.
“Would you let me wash your hair?” Mick asked, continuing to rub Em’s shoulders and neck. “Massage your scalp?”
“Good God, you’re spoiling me, Mick. But yes, please.”
Mick ran warm water over Em’s hair, being careful not to get any in her eyes. His strong fingers massaged shampoo into her scalp, making Em groan as she relaxed further.
After he rinsed her hair, Mick bent down next to her ear and whispered, “You ready to get out?” Em was so relaxed that she couldn’t speak, so she just nodded.
“Okay, love. I’ll be right back,” he said, and disappeared into the living room. He returned with Em’s chenille bathrobe, warm from the dryer, which he slipped on to her shoulders after he helped her out of the bath.
“What are you doing, Mick?” Em giggled. “This is about the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“I’ve wanted to pamper you for a while, Em. You work really hard, and deserve to be taken care of.”
He kissed Em on the mouth, nipping her bottom lip and stroking her breast under her bathrobe. Mick swept her up into his arms and carried her across the hall to her bedroom, where he laid her on the bed on the unmade bed and stretched out beside her.
They lay like that for a long time, kissing and touching each other, with Em slowly ridding Mick of his clothes. When they were both completely naked, Mick made slow, sweet love to her, worshipping her body as he continued to soothe her soul. They peaked together, each calling out the others name as the waves of pleasure washed over them.
“Thank you, Michael,” Em breathed into his ear.
“The pleasure was all mine, love.”
*****
Em lay in the bed, unsure what to do. She hadn’t been unemployed in 20 years and hadn’t taken a vacation in three.
She sat up and looked at Mick’s still-sleeping form. He was so tall that his feet hung off the end of her double bed. He lay sprawled on his stomach and it was a beautiful sight. He was all long, hard lines. He had one arm thrown over her waist, his hand cupping her hip possessively.
Em stroked her fingers over the tattoos on his back, the big abstract swirls of dense black ink that began on his shoulder blades and ended just above his buttocks. They must have taken hours to complete.
Not for the first time, she wondered where he’d gotten the scars that the tattoos skillfully camouflaged. She didn’t know details,
but she wished that he would trust her enough to share the particulars. There was still so much about him that was mysterious. She lay back down and wrapped her body closer to his side.
Mick rolled over on his back, pulling Em with him. She looked over his body greedily. He had a liberal dusting of dark hair on his torso, thick on his pecs and thinning over his abs, then growing thicker on his lower belly, ending in a dense thatch that surrounded the base of his thick cock.
He rolled to face her and said, eyes still closed, “Was that cat of yours looking at my bare ass? He needs to know my fine derriere is for your enjoyment only. Voyeuristic beast.” Em laughed, not in the least bit because Beauregard was indeed sitting on her dresser, glaring at Mick’s naked body.
“What are you thinking about so hard over there?” He smooched her cheek and pulled her closer. “Is it me? Is it all the things I have time to do to you, now that you’re not traveling all over?” His cock twitched with interest. He cupped her ass and squeezed it, nudging her with his hips. “I know what I’m thinking: I’m thinking that if we have more sleepovers here, you have to get a bigger bed and a blindfold for that pervy cat.”
Em sighed.
“Em, what’s wrong?” Mick’s eyes flew open.
She stroked his beard, one finger lingering over the stripe of silver. His worried blue eyes searched her face. He took a deep breath and stroked her cheek.
“What would you like to know?”
“I want to know everything,” she said.
“A lot of it’s not good, you know that, right? A lot of it’s really, really ugly.”
“I figured, but if we’re together, I want to know all about you. I know I know more than most people, but I’m greedy when it comes to you. I want it all.” She kissed the palm that rested on her face.
“Where do you want me to start?”
“Why not here?” She touched his back.
Chapter 32
1984
Today was one of the bad days.
Moira was on edge because she thought that Remy, the current boyfriend, was going to ask her to marry him. Mick shuddered.
Remy was the worst type of boyfriend: a stupid drunk who was prone to violence. Not that Moira was above slapping them around, but she didn’t generally use her fists or that belt with the wicked brass buckle, or at least she hadn’t until she met Remy.
Mick was in the kitchen boiling water for broth. Earlier he had lifted a sleeve of crackers from the corner shop. He suspected that Mr. and Mrs. Callaghan looked the other way at his pilfering, knowing that the stolen packages of crackers and other small foodstuffs were the difference between not eating at all and having some small bit of food in their bellies. Besides, now that he was doing odd jobs for the Doyles, he was going to have money to actually buy food from the shop.
Colin had been running a fever for a couple days, and his color didn’t look good at all. Mick had tried to keep the younger boy out of his mother’s way so she could get ready for her outing. After she left, Mick was planning on calling Rory’s Mam to see what he should do. He figured Colin would be okay for the few minutes it took to run down to the corner pay phone.
Mick stirred the powdered broth into the boiling water.
“What are you cooking there?” Moira’s voice came of the darkened hallway. “What is that smell? I don’t need to smell like a soup kitchen when Remy comes over.” Moira Brennan stepped over to the stove, snatched the pan from the range, and promptly disposed of the contents in the sink.
Mick was livid. That was all the food they had in the house, other than the stolen crackers. He faced his mother in the kitchen, hands balled into fists. Moira eyed his clenched hands.
“What are you going to do, hit your mother?” Moira spat. Mick didn’t answer her, knowing it was for the best.
Colin wandered out from the boys’ shared bedroom.
“Mickey, my belly aches.” It was telling that Colin came to his older brother, not their mother, for soothing.
“Colin, go back in the bedroom and I’ll bring you some crackers to settle your stomach.”
The small boy continued into the living room, stopping between Moira and Mick.
“Mickey, it’s a different kind of ache,” he said, and promptly vomited all over the skirt of his mother’s dress.
The three of them looked at Moira’s dress in horror, the look on the two boys’ faces rapidly turning to fear and on Moira’s to rage. Moira turned to Colin and smacked him with her open hand across his face.
“Don’t you dare! Now will you believe he’s sick? He needs to go to the doctor!” Mick yelled, prompting Colin to burst into noisy tears.
Moira was yelling her response when Remy arrived.
“Christ, I can hear your caterwauling in the hallway. What the fuck is going on?”
Mick silently fumed while Moira played the victim. He knew that no one liked to be thrown up on, but for fuck’s sake, Moira had a closet full of clothes, in contrast to Mick and Colin’s meager two pairs of pants and three shirts each. Mick’s shoes were too small and had holes in the soles, and Colin’s weren’t much better.
Remy turned the full force of his anger on Colin.
“Apologize to your mother, you little fuck,” he screamed in Colin’s face, grabbing the boy by the collar.
“You don’t yell at him,” Mick said. “He’s sick! He couldn’t help it!”
“Wasn’t talking to you,” Remy growled.
“No, but I’m talking to you,” Mick said, getting in Remy’s face. He was already taller than the man, though Remy outweighed Mick by a good 50 or 60 pounds.
Colin had begun crying silently. “I’m sorry, Ma,” he said in a small voice.
Remy gave Colin a jerk. “What are you sorry for?”
Colin said, “I really don’t know.”
“Now you’re just being smart. I’ll teach you to smart off to your Ma. She don’t deserve your lip,” and he slapped Colin’s face soundly.
When he began taking off his belt to deliver a beating, Mick stepped in front of the boy.
“Move,” Remy growled.
“No.”
The two faced off in the living room.
Remy swung the belt, the large brass buckle connecting with Mick’s side. Mick had received a beating a few days before for tracking mud into the house, and the welts were barely healed. These new blows caused blood to bloom through his thin shirt. Mick staggered and Remy looked at Moira in disgust.
“If you can’t control your own kids, I don’t want anything to have to do with you. Call me back when you get these brats sorted. I don’t need this hassle.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Moira snapped.” How do you think I’m going to afford to keep you in the manner you’ve become accustomed to if you’ve driven Remy away?” She scoffed at the two boys. “You just don’t want to share me with him. A woman has to have some enjoyment in life. She can’t just be a servant to her family.” She stood in silent fury for a few moments, while Colin knelt next to Mick’s crouched and bleeding form, trying to comfort the much larger and older boy.
Mick balanced his weight on his hands, trying to push himself to stand up, but Moira stepped on his hand with one sharp-toed shoe, kicking him sharply in the ribs with the other. Mick grabbed Moira by her ankle to halt the barrage of blows, and in doing so, brought her to the ground, her head thumping hollowly on the leg of a table. She lay on the floor very still.
Mick sucked in a breath as he looked at his mother’s motionless form. He checked to make sure she was breathing, then scooped up Colin and ran barefoot for 20 long, snow-covered blocks to the Doyles’ home, only stopping to call emergency services from the corner pay phone.
He stood on the front stoop of Rory and Grace’s house, hoping that their father’s offer of help had been serious. Sheila Doyle opened the door and stared at the pitiful scarecrow standing on her porch with a smaller, shivering blanket-wrapped boy in his thin arms.
“Michael, where’s your coat?
Where are your shoes?” she asked, horrified at what she saw on her stoop.
“Mrs. Doyle? I think we need some help,” Mick said quietly before sinking to his knees.
Paddy and Rory managed to get the boys in the house and settled in the guest room. Colin wouldn’t let Mick go, so Paddy wrapped them both in the same quilt as they rested on the bed.
“Ach, he’s skin and bones, this one is.” Sheila Doyle pursed her lips in anger. “The wee one isn’t much better.”
“Mick gives Colin any food he gets. Willie told me that his ma knows Mick nicks food from the shop but she doesn’t say anything. Mick leaves money on the counter to pay whenever he can.” Rory looked at his best friend with worry. “What’s going to happen, Mam? They can’t go back to that shitty apartment.”
“Where is the boy’s father? Do you know?”
“I don’t think Mick knows who his father is. Colin’s dad is a different man. Mick said he doesn’t think the guy knows that Colin exists.”
“Is there no one else?”
“Mick’s mentioned two older brothers that are back in Canada, but I don’t know if they can or would take them in. I think they’re at sea most of the time.”
Sheila sucked in a deep breath. “We’ll figure something out, Rory. We will.”
*****
Em stroked Mick’s chest while he talked.
“So what happened? It obviously wasn’t happily ever after.”
“No, it wasn’t. Moira got Colin back somehow, and she pressed charges against me for assault and battery. I was sent to juvie for six months, and when I got out, there was no one there to pick me up. Family Services tried to call her, but, of course, we didn’t have a phone.”
Mick covered his eyes with a big hand before continuing. “A social worker took me back to our little shitty apartment, and there was nothing there. They had moved out, no forwarding address. Sheila and Paddy tried to get me placed with them, but the judge wasn’t having it, and my two older brothers were at sea, fishing, so they weren’t suitable.”
“How much older were they?”
