Mr. So Wrong

by R. C. Stephens

  “Sure, man. Whatever. Be careful. We’ll talk soon.”

  “Bye.” I hit the button on my steering wheel to end the call. I check my GPS. Arrival time one hour and ten minutes. Fuck. I’m hungry and tired, but I could rough it through the next hour and make it to the cabin tonight, cozy up to a warm fire. The family cabin was probably stocked with the best of the best. I haven’t been there since I cut off ties with my family ten years ago. I know how my family rolled. My little sister Izzy is nothing like the Walshes. She’s kind, generous, and young. She hates all the material bullshit they represent. She’s also keeping the fact that I’m heading up there a secret, even though my parents have been known to avoid checking in with her for extended periods of time.

  I turn the radio on, hoping to catch a station and find out how long this snow will last, but I’m met with scratching sounds on every channel. I reach a long, narrow road. The snow blows off the fields. Fuck. I flick my hazard lights on, driving about fifteen miles an hour, fearful I can’t even see where the road ends and the ditch begins. My knuckles turn white while I grip the steering wheel, my full concentration on getting to the cabin in one piece. Freezing to death in the middle of bumfuck nowhere is not on my agenda for today. The Porsche shifts from side to side as the harsh winds push against her will. I crank the heat up in the car and check my gas gauge. Half a tank. I should be okay. I want to check my GPS for the nearest inn since the weather is too intense for driving, but I don’t have a death wish. I can’t look down at my phone long enough to check my route since the road on this stretch is icy and narrow. Not having much choice, I continue to drive. The road curves and I pray my wheels don’t lose traction. I slow to a turtle’s pace. My expected arrival time at this speed has now changed to three hours. What the fuck. I’m queasy from the excessive heat in the car. I turn down the heat and open my window a crack. Maybe the cool air will help me stay alert. I’ve been driving too long. My eyes have grown heavy.

  A car approaches in the oncoming traffic lane. The person has their high beams on. With the mix of snow and wind, the light is blinding. I hold my breath as the pickup passes and then exhale quickly when I realize I’ve made it past the lunatic. I continue to drive with a focused stare on the road. The wind howls and I’m fucking tired and exasperated after too many hours of driving. We have winter storms in Chicago; the lake effect snow can be brutal but nothing to the magnitude of this blizzard.

  Another car approaches. The driver seems to stick a little close to my side of the road, even though the lines dividing the road are covered in a sheet of snow. I curse, realizing the fucker is definitely on the wrong side of the road and headed straight for me. He’s either drunk or high because any moron could see we are on a direct path for impact. I swerve to the right. My wheels skid against what must be a patch of black ice. I brace myself, realizing my breaks aren’t going to work. Before I can process what’s happening, I’m veering off the road and down into a ditch. My heart slams in my chest as I wonder how deep the ditch is and what waits for me on the bottom. Maybe death. My car hits a few hard bumps before coming to a complete stop. My heart beats so fast I fear it may give out. I take a few slow breaths, trying to slow the adrenaline pumping through my body. The danger is over. I’m alive. Portia is still running. I don’t suspect any serious damage. I shift the gear to reverse, hoping to make it back up the hill. As I press the gas pedal, the tires spin rapidly beneath me. I shift the gear into drive and gun the gas. No fucking traction. I get out of the car and brace myself against the cruel winter winds blowing snow in every direction. My teeth chatter as I realize how much colder it is out here compared to Chicago. I’m walking on a sheet of ice. There’s no way my car is getting up that hill. I need a tow. I get back in the car and crank the heat since my fingers and toes feel like they will snap off. I forgot to renew my roadside assistance before I left town. I was in Timbukfuckingtu with no help in sight. They probably wouldn’t have covered me out here anyway. I sit in the car and wait for what I don’t know. Maybe the storm will end soon. Maybe someone will drive by and I can hitch a ride. My thoughts aren’t plausible. No one is stopping in this shit storm. I put my chair back, thinking I’ll get a little shut eye. I’ve been driving too long. I haven’t eaten in several hours. I should’ve stopped hours ago when I hit the Colorado border and got a hotel for the night. I’d been anxious to arrive and sick of driving, figuring it was better to push through.

  I stare out the window and my mind travels back in time as I think of my estranged family. My need to prove myself always entangled with their treatment of me growing up. Now my failures are public for them to see. I close my eyes and remember my father. My first year of high school I came barreling home one day, excited about career day. I would get to spend my day with the CEO of Walsh Industries. I went to private school so my friends’ parents were all rich and some even famous, but my dad made Forbes list of the richest in America. I was proud to be a Walsh. I ran to my father’s office and opened the door without knocking. I should have knocked. My dad had my mom’s friend lying on his desk, and he was fucking her from behind. When his eyes met mine, he didn’t stop. Her eyes were closed, and she didn’t notice me. He waved me off and I ran away, feeling sick to my stomach. I thought of telling my mom. Dad got to me before I had the chance. Told me about the birds and the bees. At least his version. He said, Son, it isn’t right for a man to be tied to one woman his whole life. Having fun on the side is important for the longevity of a relationship. I remember his words made me want to retch. He continued, If you tell your mom, you will only upset her. She’s happy. Let’s keep her that way. And so, I kept his secret. Never told a soul—even as the years passed, and I found out about more women. His secretary at work, another of my mom’s friends. When my brother, Derek, was old enough, he learned the truth about Dad—only it didn’t bother him. I never spent career day with my dad in his office. He sent me to the family’s tractor development plant instead. Derek sat in the office of the CEO for his career day. Thinking back, I should’ve seen his preferential treatment of Derek. Only I didn’t. I did well in school. Played lacrosse. Had too many girlfriends and life was good. By the time I got to junior year my parents thought a year abroad at a boarding school in Switzerland would be a good idea. I went no questions asked. That’s where I met Brie …

  I’m too worked up to sleep as I think of my past. I reach over to a carry bag resting on the seat and take out the bottle of sleeping pills my doctor prescribed a couple months back. Things will be clearer once I got some shut eye. I pop a pill and I’m out like a light.

  Chapter Two

  Sam

  “Where the hell you been?” my father’s voice booms as I walk through the front door. A gust of wind follows me inside, along with the blowing snow, as I brace myself and close the door. I’m a grown ass woman. He doesn’t have a right to take that tone with me.

  “Went to Moe’s for a drink. Then came home,” I reply, my voice dry and flat. My father eyes me like he doesn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth. He’s sitting in the old recliner in the middle of the family room, a bottle of Jim Beam and an empty glass on the side table beside him. Papa is right to look at me the way he does. I’m not telling him the truth. I’d been over at Austin’s house the last couple hours, then I ran into some trouble coming home and got delayed. That trouble is currently hunched over in the front seat of my pickup. I was hoping to sneak him in here while papa was sleeping, but I see that isn’t happening now. “Shouldn’t you be in bed or somethin’?” I head to the fridge and pull out the Brita water canister and pour a glass.

  Papa looks at me like he doesn’t understand me at all. At least there’s truth in his stare. He turns around and trudges up the stairs. I wait a few beats until I hear his bedroom door close before I head back outside to the pickup. The snow isn’t letting up, blowing directly into my eyes, as I open the passenger door. The man is shivering like crazy, looking at me with a blank stare.

  “Come on, mi
ster. I don’t need us both freezing to death out here.” I take his hand and it feels as cold as an icicle.

  Normal people don’t drive in this kind of weather. News said the storm could go on for days. Normal people also don’t fall asleep behind the wheel in a snow storm that’s the worst we’ve had in fifty years. This guy isn’t dressed properly for this weather either, and he’s a big husky man which makes him hard to lift.

  “Buddy, come on. I’m fucking freezing.” Snow, my husky, comes up behind me to sniff what’s going on. “Go back inside, girl.” I shoo her away. She doesn’t listen. She loves this weather. Four years ago, I’d found her out here on a night similar to tonight. She was freezing and had no collar on. I placed a few ads around town about a missing dog, but no one ever claimed her. She’s been mine ever since. She’s a beauty with breathtaking arctic blue eyes. The man on the seat begins to shift toward me, so I grab the collar of his jacket, hauling his frozen ass over to me. He tumbles out of the driver’s seat. I catch him and help him to his feet.

  “You aren’t making this easy.” I huff and Snow walks up to him and begins to sniff him. He must have passed her test because she walks back inside the house. I don’t know how long he was sitting out in his car, but I know a good portion of it was covered in snow. What kind of idiot drives a fancy Porsche on these roads when the news clearly warned drivers to stay off the roads? For Colorado, that was saying something. I duck under his shoulder and fling his arm around my neck as we slowly make our way into the house. As I drag him toward my bedroom, I think about the few things I know about this stranger: he definitely isn’t homeless because he smells of some expensive cologne and his face is freshly shaven; his clothes and fancy car scream money too. I wonder why a rich guy like him is suicidal. I guide him back to my room in the dark with Snow hot on our trail. I can navigate this house in complete darkness, so instead of looking in front of me, I analyze the features of his gorgeous face instead. He looks as if an artist carved him from stone: high chiseled cheekbones, a slightly pointed nose, and his jaw wide and manly. He must be about thirty to thirty-five years old, which is kind of old in my books but this guy’s age makes him look refined … and hotter.

  Hopefully Papa won’t come back down the stairs right now. I’ve never brought home any men, even though I’m a grown woman. Papa would shoot them dead. It’s a mere fact. Lord knows I still manage to get around—not that I’m proud of it. If anything, sex has always been a feel-good distraction for me.

  We finally make it inside my room. He walks like his legs are spaghetti and they’re going to give out on him. Shit! I curse under my breath. He looks up to me briefly. His clear blue eyes stare back at me. They’re so clear it’s startling. “Come on, buddy.” I urge him toward my bed. He mutters something incoherent. I know its fucking crazy to bring a stranger to my room, but I’m pretty sure this guy might be suffering from hypothermia and he looks harmless. Not that looks are an indicator of anything. It’s always the good-looking boy next door that ends up being a mass murderer on the six o’clock news. I guess that’s why I don’t watch the news, and I’m not letting this guy die on my watch. Right now, I’m grateful my room is on the main floor of the house because I may be strong, but there is no way I’m hauling this beast of a man upstairs.

  He collapses as he falls out of my arms, curling into a ball like a little boy—even though there is nothing small about him—and he begins to shiver. Shit! I need to get him warm. It had crossed my mind to call an ambulance and get him some medical attention, but I don’t think that Rob, our town paramedic, would appreciate a call in this storm. Besides, I have it under control. I flip the big guy on his back and began to shimmy off his jacket. It’s a fine wool jacket, but it’s not warm enough for the weather out here.

  “Come on, darling, help me out here,” I coo as I straddle the guy and try to undress him. I pray he’s not dangerous, but I figure Papa has enough guns around here that I’ll just have to shoot his dick off if he tries anything. I know he’s not armed. I also know his license plate is from Illinois. I finally get his jacket off. It’s soaked right through. The button down shirt he wears doesn’t look comfortable either, so I take that off him too. I leave on the white T-shirt he was wearing underneath. I hiss a little as I take in his broad chest and wide shoulders. This guy clearly works out. The bottom of his pants are wet and soak my bed. If I’m going to get him warm, I have to get rid of these wet clothes. I work his belt and unzip his fly then shimmy his pants slowly off him.

  “Geez, darling. What were you thinking driving out there in that mess? You could’ve got yourself killed. You’re clearly a city guy. You had no business being on those roads. You’re too young to have a death wish and definitely too young to die.” I leave him with his boxers on and pull a blanket over him.

  Snow is sitting on the floor by the bed. “Bark if he wakes.” I nod to her before turning out of the room.

  I make a quick run to the laundry room. I just did a wash and have one of Papa’s old flannel pajamas in the dryer. I take them out and dash back to my room. He’s still shivering like crazy. I look down at Snow, who has a sympathetic look on her face. Maybe she remembers being cold and lonely like the stranger. I pat her head and give her nose a kiss. She jumps on the bed and onto him. He makes a humph sound but doesn’t open his eyes. She remains lying on his legs. It makes my heart flutter that she wants to help him and eases my worry about him being a stranger since she has good instincts when it comes to people.

  “You aren’t cold and lonely anymore.” I wave her off him.

  I turn my attention back to the stranger. “Come on, honey. Let’s warm you up,” I say as I slide the flannel pajama shirt under his back. He’s deadweight. Once I button all the buttons, I work on the pants. I stand from the bed and head out to the main closet in the hallway. Mama had a thing for quilts, so we have a lot in the closet. I take as many quilts as I can carry and head back to my room to wrap the poor man up. If his chills don’t ease up soon, I’ll call Rob and tell him he has no choice but to take this poor man to the hospital. After turning him into what looks like a human marshmallow with all the blankets, I notice his teeth still chattering. I figure this is my last ditch effort to reverse his hypothermia before a trip to the hospital … I unbutton my plaid flannel shirt, take off the thermal top I have on underneath because I know how to dress for this weather. I work off my jeans and shimmy under the blankets with him wrapping as much of my body as I can around him. It dawns on me that I’m risking my safety to help a stranger, but no one ever accused me of being normal anyway.

  As I envelop my body around his, I slowly feel his shakes subside and his breathing evening out. It gives me some reassurance that whatever I’m doing is working. It feels weird to wrap my half-naked body around a stranger, but it seems to be helping, so I don’t think too deeply about it.

  “Good, I think you’re doing better now,” I whisper in his ear while I caress his forehead, hoping to put his mind at ease while wondering if he can hear me at all. From this angle, I take in the contours of his face. Everything about this man is heart-stoppingly handsome. His inhales and exhales take on the rhythm of my own and before I know it my eyes drift shut.

  Chapter Three

  Al

  There’s a loud clacking noise that won’t stop. Fuck! Why won’t it stop? I lift my hand from beneath the covers and hold my throbbing head. Clack. Clack. Clack. I feel woozy, but I force my eyes open. Only when I turn my head to the side do I realize I’m not alone in bed. Great, another woman I don’t remember in the morning. A sour taste fills my mouth and when I try to swallow it away with my own saliva, I realize how swollen and achy my throat is. My vision clears further. I don’t know where the fuck I am. My instinct is to look under the covers. Yup, the lady is naked except for a bra and panties, which is weird because I tend to get rid of those articles of clothing before my cock enters her body.

  My gaze drifts from her naked form to me. I’m in a pair of old man pajamas; I�
�m not naked like her. As my confusion registers, I toss off the pile of blankets that smother me and swing my legs over the bed. Besides the throb in my head and the ache in my throat, my whole body feels weak. At least that annoying clacking sound has stopped.

  My memory slowly returns to me. I was run off the snowy road last night. My anxiety was overwhelming me, and I needed to get some shut eye. I popped one of the sleeping pills Dr. Scott gave me since I’ve had problems sleeping ever since Colton stepped down from his role of governor. I figured a few good hours of shut eye wouldn’t hurt and I’d have a better solution to my problem. I had the warmth of Portia, my car, and I didn’t see a living thing anywhere in sight. I thought it was a good idea. How the hell did I end up in bed with this blonde? I stare at her a moment and take her in. She’s young, which gets my heart hammering in a bad way because she looks too young. I hope she’s legal. Negative thoughts roll through my mind. I do everything wrong. I can’t even drive to a fucking cabin in Colorado to see my baby sister without fucking up.

  “Sam, dammit! It’s already five-thirty,” an old, deep, crackly voice echoes through the house. At least I think it’s a house. This room has a large window. I spot a barn in the distance.

  The woman begins to shift a little before opening her eyes. I watch her, taking in her features: short blond hair and kind eyes that are the type of blue you’d see on a ship in the middle of the Mediterranean sea—dark blue with swirls of a lighter blue running through them closer to her irises.

  Her gaze lands on me and she startles and shoots up to a sitting position. “Shit! I must have slept in,” she says to the air in front of her.

  She rubs her eyes and looks at me without startling, like she was expecting me here. “Oh thank goodness you aren’t dead.” She blows out a cleansing breath and holds her heart.