by Joey W. Hill
"I finally have someone who loves me the way I always dreamed about being loved, and You want to take him away. What did I ever do to You that You hate me so much?"
Her voice echoed through the chamber. Normally she spoke in a low voice in a church, like everyone else. But she wanted to be heard. She demanded to be heard. She glared at the cross. Everything here was supposed to be soothing and comforting, but it all felt like a mockery. She'd debated religion in countless coffee shops with lofty cynicism and academic boredom, but when it came to facing the foxhole, she was like anyone else. She was a child blindly seeking comfort... Or a lost adult realizing all the wishful thinking for an attentive, loving Divine Force was just that.
No. No. It wasn't wishful thinking. Rainbows and flowers, summer storms that electrified the sky, lizards that could look exactly like the plants on which they were resting. All the complexity of the human anatomy and musicals like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Camelot and Man of La Mancha. Those things didn't come out of a void.
She had a great life, she knew she did. She shouldn't feel this way. But it didn't matter. She was going to have it out with Him, Her, It, and she'd do it on Their home turf.
"What kind of sadistic asshole are You?" she demanded. "Sure, Julie, you can have the prince, but just not for long? What is your fucking problem? And why would You do this to Des? This great guy who's just...he's so wonderful..."
"Miss?"
She turned to see a middle-aged black man with a kind face. He wore jeans and an Oxford shirt in a pale lavender color, but he had that air that told her he was one of the pastors here, lack of robes or collar notwithstanding.
"This is between Him and me," she snapped. "It's a private conversation. Did anyone ask you to butt in?"
The minister eyed her. "A conversation conducted at the top of your admirably strong lungs?"
She blinked, realizing the echoes of her last syllables were still vibrating off the walls. She had been yelling. "Oh. Sorry." She wasn't. Her fists were clenched and her throat was tight, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "It's okay. I'm okay. I'm sorry. I just need to sit here for a while. Um, can I still sit here?"
"Would you like someone to sit with you?" he asked.
It was such a compassionate offer, the tears spilled out, but she shook her head. "I think I just have to think it through. I promise I won't scream anymore."
"Well, it's just you, Him, and me." The minister nodded. "If you need to shout a bit, I'll leave you to it. Just don't resort to violence. My office is around the corner there." He pointed. "I'm Jerry. If you need a human counterpoint, come find me."
"Okay. Thanks. I mean it. Really."
He gave her a searching look. "Sometimes, after you get it all out, just sitting here quietly helps. It's been my experience that He offers His best solutions when someone is actually listening."
Jerry retreated on quiet footsteps down the aisle. Julie moved to one of the pews and sank down in it, contemplating the altar again, the bright flowers. She knew Jerry's advice was sound, but right now, she felt like she was going to shatter. If she kept thinking about this, she might just resort to breaking things. She should leave. But something about the quiet of the place made her want to stay. She typed in the name of the church, the street it was on, and two more words.
Please come.
Then she set the phone aside and tried not to think. Her hands were shaking and her heart was pounding, so she focused on calming down, not on trying to make sense of it. She needed to get a grip before she could make sense of what defied comprehension.
He was quick, she'd give him that. She wondered if he'd showed up at the theater after she left to help out Harris as he'd promised, which meant he hadn't been far from here. She had her eyes closed, but she knew his scent, that combination of hair and body products that enhanced every powerful, sexy inch of him. But right now, he wasn't some absurdly handsome man. He was just her friend.
Marcus slid in to the pew, his arm along the edge behind her, pressing against her shoulders. He didn't say anything, waiting her out.
"Do you believe in any of this?" she asked, her voice hoarse from a strain she couldn't define.
"More than I used to."
"Because of Thomas." She didn't need him to confirm the obvious. "What if Thomas got sick and died? Would you still believe? Or would you believe but be really pissed? Sign a deal with the devil to bring it all crashing down on everyone else, because you were hurting so badly you wanted everyone else to suffer, too?"
"Probably," he said truthfully. "Though I might take a minute to at least try to look at it the way Thomas would. That I'd had the opportunity to love someone the way he and I love one another, and too many people never find that."
"Yeah. It's hard to understand that scarcity." She bit her lip. "I've met very few people who don't deserve to have love in their life, or who wouldn't be better people if they did. So why is it so hard to find and keep?"
Marcus sighed and twirled a lock of her hair around two of his fingers. "Because we're human, which means we're innately self-destructive morons who refuse to attain the level of enlightenment needed to maximize the miracle of someone just as messed up as ourselves wanting to love us."
She met his serious green eyes. "Oh my God, who put together that string of bullshit?"
"You did. When you were drunk on your thirty-fifth birthday."
"Great. A drunk single woman with a degree in drama queen and too damn much higher education."
He touched her face. "What's going on, Julie?"
"He's sick, Marcus. Seriously sick."
She gave him the highlights she'd gotten from Betty, along with the things she'd learned since meeting Des. "Now he's mad at himself and feeling guilty for dragging me into all this. He told me at the beginning, mostly, but I don't think he expected it to suddenly get this bad, this quick. So he pushed me away, told me to get lost."
Marcus raised a silken brow. "I hope you told him to fuck off, you'll leave when you're damn good and ready."
"Sort of. He left before I could dig the shrapnel out of my chest and get that far." She drew endless circles on the blue denim stretched on Marcus's thigh.
"You have that uber-Dom, large and in charge thing happening. He's different, but the right kind of different for me. He's the quiet fire that's always going to keep the home fires burning. That's what I always wanted..." A hint of a painful smile touched her lips. "Well, with some of that dangerous bad boy thrown in, just enough to make it all fun. He has that, too. I hope you'll stick around long enough to see him do a rope session. It's something else."
Marcus nodded agreeably, though he remained quiet. Just listening.
"I told him I would give him a kidney, and..." She stopped as Marcus winced. "Yeah, that's the same reaction he had. What the fuck?"
"Because he's a man. Because he's a Dom. Because he's in love with you, Julie. Despite how much ground you've covered, you're still just starting on this road together. You say he drew hard lines about his health from the beginning, which means he didn't want it to interfere with the falling in love part. Now this has come along and your first, very well meaning offer to help is to have an organ cut out of your body for him."
"Yeah, I get it. It's pride."
"Don't get a tone." He shook his head. "Pride isn't the surface emotion a lot of people think it is. It can be, but in this case, I think it's connecting to a lot of deeper issues. Control of his own life, his perception of himself, and how others perceive him."
"I love him, Marcus. I know we're just on the front end of it, but I do. I don't doubt it at all, and I think he doesn't, either. Which is maybe why he's acting like this. If we'd just been playing at falling in love, he could convince himself I could just walk away and he could too and he could die without hurting anyone..." She stopped, her voice breaking, and Marcus's arm moved fully around her shoulders, drawing her close so he could kiss the top of her head.
"I know you love him. I can se
e it. You were glowing like a lamp when you introduced him to us. It was in your voice, in the way you touched his arm. And you're right, it's not one-sided. He was measuring us up the same way we were measuring him, making sure we were the good friends you thought we were."
"So Billie was right. Dinner was a sexist testosterone exchange, the 'Let's all make sure the mindless female knows what's best for her.' How charming." She poked him.
Marcus pursed his lips. "We are what we are. I expect Des knows just how intelligent you are, just as we do. Yet when it comes to someone we love, we respond to any threat, not with rational thought or the right words, but with our hearts."
"Yeah." She thought of the kidney offer and winced now, too. "What do I do to make this right?"
"You didn't do anything wrong." Marcus said it firmly, tipping up her chin and giving it a tap of reproof. "Go see him after you've calmed down, and he's had some time to do the same, and talk it out, figure out how to go forward. That simple. No blame on either side."
"No matter how pigheaded and stupid he's being."
Marcus snorted. "Yeah. I'd probably dial that back."
"He's the Dom I've always wanted and didn't know I did," she said softly, looking at her hands in her lap. She gave Marcus a glance from beneath her lashes. "Don't get me wrong, I still wouldn't kick you out of bed or anything."
"My feelings are bruised, but I'll recover. As long as you feel the same about Thomas."
"Absolutely. I'd take him down in a heartbeat and eat him with a spoon."
She fended him off when he tried to tug her hair, but that was a distraction. He pinched her side, hard.
"Ow. Meanie." She smacked his arm, but then he captured her hand and tangled it with his, resting the knot of their fingers on his knee. Sobering, she dropped her head on his shoulder. "What if I lose him? I don't need a man to feel safe, but Marcus, he makes me feel so safe and loved. He's so strong and warm. He's this force all around me when he ties me up, when he talks to me a certain way, looks at me a certain way... I know I probably sound stupid."
"Not at all. As a Dom and a man, he'd get a fierce joy out of hearing you say it, so you should say it to him sometime."
"But how could I survive losing that?"
"The way you survive anything with that indomitable personality of yours. Your superpower, Julie, is your ability to overcome any storm to find the sunshine again and share it with others." He sighed. "And failing that, Thomas and I will make the sacrifice, convert to bisexualism and you can become our sex slave."
"That's good to know. I'm going to cry for a little bit now and then I'll be okay."
"All right." Marcus folded his arms around her and held her closer as the sobs surged up. "I'm right here, baby. I'll hold you until you're okay. But from here forward, this is Des's job, so he better get his fucking act together."
Chapter Eighteen
She thought it out. After she left Marcus, she felt better about things and, after she made a few more stops, that good feeling continued to build. When she finally texted Des, she didn't know if he'd answer, but she counted on him having had some time to calm down, as Marcus had said.
Where are you? I want to come see you.
About five minutes later, when she thought maybe she'd been wrong and was struggling with a sinking feeling as a result, her phone pinged with an address. Nothing but an address, but it was enough.
It was out in Huntersville, but she used the forty-five minute drive to listen to some upbeat tunes, pick up a pair of oatmeal cookies from Showmar's and consume them with a Coke Zero, and keep in the right frame of mind. Everything was going to be all right. She remembered Marcus's arms around her, him saying that to her. He wouldn't say it if it wasn't true. Marcus didn't lie to her.
She wasn't typically clingy, but she was glad he and Thomas would be around all week. She grinned, thinking of Thomas painting backgrounds. If they could add to the playbill that the sets were painted by Thomas Wilder, that would draw in even more patrons. Everything about the theater effort so far had seemed blessed by good fortune. It was also how she'd met Des. She wasn't going to let one setback turn it into a Greek tragedy. She wasn't going to let him turn it into a Greek tragedy.
Okay, remember what Marcus said. Dial back shrew mode.
The address wasn't a house, as she'd expected. It was a park. Latta Plantation Park was accessible from a side road that took her past a couple horse farms and the Carolina Raptor Center. She sent him an additional text to locate him, and found him at the picnic area and kayak launch by Mountain Lake.
He was straddling a picnic bench and facing away from her, staring out at the water. Scooting up behind him in the same position, she slid her arms around his waist. She threaded her fingers up under his untucked shirt, stroking his tense abdomen, the fine hair that arrowed down between the layers of muscle, and laid her cheek on his back.
"It's a nice view here. The lake's not bad, either."
It was nowhere near her strongest material, but it was heartfelt. When she'd driven up and seen him sitting there, his hair loose on his shoulders, his long-fingered hand resting spread on the table top, the denim of his jeans stretched over ass and thighs, his T-shirt delineating the set of his resilient shoulders, her heart had been like a rag wrung out of all its blood.
What if I lose him?
What if you spend your time with him worrying about losing him? How pointless would that be?
He didn't move at first, just kept looking out at the water as she stroked him, pressed her body to his. But then his shoulders lifted in a sigh and he closed his fingers over hers.
"I figured you'd said 'fuck that insensitive asshole' and I'd never hear from you again," he said.
"No, you didn't. You knew this was just a bump in the road, just as I did."
"More like a crater."
"Nope. Just a bump." She pressed a kiss to his neck where the stretched T-shirt gave her access to flesh. He sighed again.
"Don't be cheerful like that. The 'rah-rah, it's all going to be okay' floor nurse routine."
"Does Betty do that?"
"No."
"Then why would I?" She nudged him. "And what's wrong with a little optimism when clouds are dark? No one fusses about turning on a light when it's nighttime, right? It's just good common sense."
He chuckled, though his shoulders slumped briefly. She squeezed him, hard. "Turn around and look at me, Des. Please?"
She backed up enough to let him put his legs under the table. His eyes were weary and sad, which concerned her, but she'd made him laugh. She took it as a hopeful sign.
Des ran a hand over his face. "All the stuff Betty said, it's true, and I agree with her, 99% of the time. But I get tired of dealing with it, you know, and I can't always be upbeat and rational about it. Sometimes I need to get selfish, childish and stubborn. I need to be pissed off and frustrated and say dumbass things. I have more times of late when I don't feel good, and it makes me less easy to get along with. That's a lot to dump on a girl you've just met and you're trying to impress, you know?"
Julie recalled her earlier thoughts in the church, when she'd thought about life being so much worse for so many other people, but sometimes something sucked so badly you just had to stomp your feet, be pissed off and childish to deal with it. While it hadn't felt great to be in the debris circle of Des's detonation, she did get it. And she could forgive and love. Reaching out, fighting the fear of rejection, she laid her palm on his chest.
"So you're telling me you're not perfect? You're human? That's a real let down."
"Yeah, isn't it?" His attempt at a smile was so painful it twisted her heart. "Actually, the way I behaved was closer to subhuman. I'm sorry, Julie. You didn't deserve any of my shit. And--"
She shook her head. "Stop right there. That was perfect. You're going to ruin it by saying something like 'this is why I can't be with anyone,' and that's just so wrongheaded thinking, Des. You're a great guy. You're my guy. I love you. After all the cr
ap relationships I've been in, I should be more cautious and shouldn't trust my feelings at all, and the funny thing is, I haven't, not for a long time. But in this scary short time, I crossed a line with you and suddenly I trust them again. I've run the gauntlet. I know what I want and don't want in my life. I don't have to debate endlessly on it anymore."
"So how about if your guy is having to do dialysis five nights a week? Or hey, you're in the mood for some great sex, but I feel like shit?"
She pursed her lips. "How about all the wonderful times I'd miss with you if I only keep score on those times? What about the gift of letting me be part of your life, the person who supports and loves you through that? That is a gift, Des, whether you realize it or not. Don't be such a Dom. Give up some control. Come to the dark side and be like the rest of us mere mortals."
When his expression darkened, she tightened her fingers on his T-shirt. "Because I'll tell you one thing up front. When I get sick, your ass better be at my bedside, putting cold compresses on my feverish brow, massaging my feet, asking me if I need a blanket..." At his amused look she tossed a mock scowl at him. "Oh yeah, you laugh, but ask Marcus and Thomas. I am a clingy, needy sick person, and a total wimp. A cold is full scale, I'm-going-to-die, bubonic plague. I am the biggest baby in the universe. Fortunately, I don't get sick too often, because Marcus said he'd smother me with a pillow and call it an assisted suicide."
"Okay, note to self. Call Marcus and Thomas when you get sick."
"Jerk." She punched his shoulder, pleased when he grabbed her wrist, the hint of a true smile on his face this time. She curled her fingers around his, holding on, and leaned in to touch his face. "We'll get through this, okay? We, you and me, and all our friends. I'm not the only one who loves you, Des." Freeing herself gently, she turned and pulled a small sheaf of folded papers from her bag.
"What is that?"
"Well, while you were off being all broody, I was making rounds and reaching out. I didn't tell anyone anything specific, so don't get that scowly look. I told them you were going through a tough time right now and words of encouragement would be appreciated."
She handed the small bundle over. The one on top was a crayon drawing on construction paper. It showed a male stick figure walking on his hands on a roof line, a big bright sun behind him. Below that, childish scrawl proclaimed, "You are the sun."
