by Kilby Blades
She tossed a pillow at him, and it struck him square in the face. “So what should we do?”
“I don’t know,” Michael said, plucking a tiny feather from his lip. “Why don’t we start by getting a little more sleep?”
Two hours later, they were better-rested, but starving. Neither of them was accustomed to this. Breakfast was the one meal that each of them could usually rely on before their days got too crazy. They debated whether to stay in or go somewhere for brunch, but neither of them wanted to chance being spotted by a co-worker, however unlikely it was.
“What did you used to do on your days off?” she asked. “You know, before you were busy fucking me.”
Michael had whipped up amazing egg white omelets and they ate them at his kitchen bar. Despite almost never being home, he had fresh eggs, green and red bell peppers, onions, and spinach lying around.
“Do you really want to know?”
She gave him a look. Since they’d talked about it, he’d been more forthcoming when it came to sharing parts of himself, but she’d also been more assertive about asking. It felt like progress. Apart from the fact that they were seeing each other less, she felt better than ever in their relationship. It felt as if they had hit their stride.
“Should we take the Tesla?” he asked twenty minutes later as they exited the elevator in his garage.
She smiled widely and took his hand. When they reached his parking spot, he bent to kiss her lips before they parted, as if they wouldn’t be right next to one another ten seconds later, after they had slid into their respective seats.
“Where are we going?” Darby finally asked after the got on the road. She’d been wondering since they had traveled past the end of Lake Shore Drive and exited at the Museum of Science and Industry, slightly south of Hyde Park. They were a few blocks outside the range of the university. It was different from any place he’d ever taken her before. She knew that he had grown up there but had no idea of where they could be headed.
“I’m taking you to my old neighborhood, he explained. ”To a place that’s special to me, a place where I spent a lot of time as a kid.”
Darby just nodded, looking around with trepidation as Michael street-parked the Tesla in a neighborhood that barely had any car nicer than a Toyota. She wasn’t put off by the run-down look of the area. She was simply trying to comprehend what Michael might want to show her. He got out of the car and went around to open her door, smiling down at her as he took her hand and helped her out. He then cast his eyes at a building across the street.
The “Heroes and Villains” sign that announced the name of the store, and the collection of books on display in the window answered her question.
“A comic book store?” she asked, smiling with delight. “I should’ve known,” she said softly, and he could see that she understood. Of course a kid with a creative imagination who loved stories and drawing would have loved comic books.
“My friend Randy owns it,” he explained, leading her across the street. “He’s not old enough to be my real father, but growing up, he was kind of like a dad to me. When I was a kid, I came here every single day. He knew I didn’t have any money, so he let me sit behind the counter and read. When I was old enough, he gave me my first job. I cleaned the store, stocked the shelves, and did other little things. It helped pay for my drawing supplies and he gave me a deep discount on whatever I wanted.”
A wistful smile appeared on her face as they crossed the street. She took a moment to scan over the titles in the window, imaging what a young Michael must have been like. It was something that she’d often wondered, and she was delighted that he was showing her this chapter in his story.
“Will you introduce me?” she asked needlessly.
He held out his hand, inviting her to go in first. She noted that he looked a bit apprehensive.
“Mikey!” Randy’s voice boomed as he followed Darby into the store. “It’s great to see you, kid,” the older man said warmly, lumbering over to pull Michael into a fierce hug.
“It’s good to be home,” he returned, and they pulled back to take in the sight of one another.
Randy was tall—not quite round but definitely not thin—rather sturdy and exactly what you’d picture an aging comic book geek to be. He had long dark hair and a long salt and pepper beard. If he were a few pounds lighter, he would look like a young Gandalf. He had bright green eyes and wore a plain black t-shirt and black jeans. Darby knew immediately that Michael loved this man.
“Don’t be rude,” Randy chided, swinging his eyes to Darby and smiling. “Introduce me to your lady-friend.” For a flash of a moment, something on his face looked like recognition.
“This is Darby,” Michael said. “She’s a good friend, so no stories about what a brat I was as a kid, okay? I want her to like me.”
To her surprise, Randy took Darby’s hand and kissed it.
“It’s a pleasure, Darby,” he said in a softer voice. “I’ve known this kid for more than twenty years and not once has he brought a girl in here. I’ve been waiting to meet you for a very long time.”
Darby blushed deeply. And she thought she caught Michael blushing, too.
“I’ve been saving a few things for you, Mikey.” Randy dashed to the counter and bent down to retrieve something.
“Oh, yeah?” Michael said excitedly, seeming to forget the world for a moment.
“Merry Christmas,” Randy said, handing him a large, heavy-looking bag with the Heroes and Villains logo printed on the side. Inside were stacks of graphic novels.
“You’ve got to let me pay you for these,” Michael protested.
“Alright,” Randy challenged with a meaningful look. “Then you’ve got to let me pay you.”
Michael looked nervously at Darby. He was quick to change the subject.
“Why don’t I show you around? Have you ever been in a comic book store?” he asked, leading her away from the contemporary graphic novels toward a wall of collectibles and memorabilia.
“Only once,” she admitted. “One of my roommates in college was really into them, and I remember reading a few of hers and really liking them. One time, on a whim, I walked into a store that sold them, hoping to find something else I liked. But I was kind of lost…I didn’t really know what to buy, so I never tried again.”
“Do you remember what you read before?”
She wracked her brain to recall the name.
“There was this one…it had all the characters from fairy tales in it—The Big Bad Wolf, Little Red Riding Hood—characters everyone reads about when they’re kids. But they were living in a modern city, and all their plot lines wove together, like they were all part of the same story.”
Michael smiled, recognizing it immediately. “Fables.”
“Yes!” she laughed. “That’s what it was called. You know it?”
“I know all of them, cupcake. I could recommend some others like it, if you want.” he offered.
“I want,” she said a bit shyly.
They made their way around the store, both of them checking things out as she peppered him with questions.
“This one looks promising,” Darby said as she approached a display. Stacks of the same book were illuminated by a spotlight and had little signs that said “#1 Store Bestseller”, “Nationally Ranked,” and “Staff Pick.” It was called The Architect, and she could tell from its summary description that it was about an architect obsessed with building a palace in the hopes of winning the woman he couldn’t have.
“If it’s a staff pick, I’ll bet you’ve read it. Would I like it? You know I think architects are sexy,” she said in a voice that was low enough for only Michael to hear.
“Look at the author’s name,” he said softly.
“Andrew Dufrain?” He gave her a minute to work it out. But she didn’t.
“What’s the main character’s name in the Shawshank Redemption?” he asked.
“Andy Dufresne,” she said, still not understanding wh
at he was getting at.
“They’re homonyms. It’s a pen name,” he said then. “It’s…my pen name.”
Her eyes whipped up to his. They stared for a long moment before she picked up the book.
Darby held the object in her hand as if it were something precious, drinking in the front cover art fully before turning it slowly to inspect the back. “Randy doesn’t just own this store—he publishes for a handful of artists he likes. I gave him the exclusive rights for distribution, as a thank you for publishing me…”
“But it’s nationally ranked,” she nearly stammered.
“He’s great at marketing,” Michael shrugged. “And the world of graphic novels is small. It’s not like fiction. Randy goes to all the Comic-Cons and sells his authors there—that’s how it got a national following.”
“What’s a Comic-Con?” she asked, which made him grin.
“I’ll take you to one sometime. San Diego’s the big one. It’s a huge convention that’s targeted to media geeks. Comic artists set up shop there, and they have a huge draw around sci-fi and fantasy TV shows and movies. Some people say it’s gotten too Hollywood, but it still has some authentic roots. I think you’d like it.”
She nodded, still thinking it all through.
“So…is that what he was talking about before? When he mentioned paying you?”
Michael nodded.
“He wants me to collect my royalty checks, but I won’t accept them. I don’t need the money and I’d rather he put it back into the store…”
“I want to read it,” she said, half-expecting him to protest in some way.
“I’ll buy you a copy,” he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
Before they left, they spent more time with Randy, who did nothing to heed Michael’s warning about not telling embarrassing stories. She hadn’t felt the least big guilty laughing at Michael’s expense.
Before they left, Michael autographed a stack of his books with a metallic silver sharpie. At one point, a teenage kid who was a fan of the series walked in and talked Michael’s ear off for a good twenty minutes. Darby took that opportunity to keep chatting with Randy, who obviously adored Michael. Beyond meeting his sister and his niece, this was the closest she had been to other people in his life.
When it came time to leave, she excused herself to the restroom, and returned to the showroom to find Michael and Randy in quiet conversation. They both rose when she approached, focusing on her rather than whatever they had been discussing. That only made her more certain they’d been talking about her. She smiled shyly and Randy hugged Darby again, warmly, just before they left.
Michael clicked the remote to the Tesla to unlock his car and surprised Darby by tossing her the keys.
“You drive,” he said simply as he opened her door.
“Thank you,” she said softly after he had shut himself into the passenger seat. She looked at him meaningfully as he said it.
“You’re welcome,” he said in a tone that matched hers. Both of them knew that she wasn’t talking about the car.
THE SHOWER MUST HAVE BEEN loud, because she hadn’t heard him come in, not the opening and closing of the stall door, nor the steps he took toward her before he wrapped strong arms around her waist. He was hard. Morning wood, most likely, though he could have been watching her through the clear glass doors as she washed herself slowly, absently, thinking of him and the night before.
He said nothing, only held onto her, their bodies pressed together. Michael had a way of holding her more tightly, more impossibly close than anyone had ever held her. Moments before the warm water had her body feeling soft and pliant, but now she felt a familiar tightening, her nipples puckering and beginning to ache. Michael ran his nose down her cheek, and his mouth down her jaw, so slowly, until his teeth softly bit that magical spot on her neck.
Feeling faint, she raised a hand to steady herself, touching the tile wall, her mouth slacking as she felt Michael’s tongue on her shoulder. He snaked a hand down between her legs, the slick wetness he found there entirely different from the water that fell around them. His whimpers made it seem as if it was he, and not she, who had been touched in the most sensitive of places.
He bit her ear as his other hand found her nipple, deft fingers tugging at it in a firm pinch. She gasped, throwing her other hand in front of herself for balance. With her facing the wall, he positioned himself to slip into her. She waited for it, yearned for it—but before she could process what was happening, he was turning her around. In a fluid motion, he hoisted her legs up with ease, had her back against the wall, and pushed inside her. Forearm to forearm, he laced his fingers in hers and breathed heavily as he began to move.
His motions were small, less like the acrobatic fucking she knew that his strong back was capable of. Instead, he ground into her in a way that kept him in constant contact with her clit. His motions were slow, and hard, and oh so deep. She loved it best like this, when she felt he was trying to climb inside her. It was this version of him that owned her fantasies.
His mouth found hers and somehow he kept perfect rhythm below as he kissed her from above. Though he had her pinned in a way that made it nearly impossible to move on her own, the intensity compelled her to pull her lips away to take a much-needed breath. Her heart pounded as if she were running a marathon and she drank in the humid air greedily. Her senses were overloaded. He took that opportunity to bend his mouth and suck her nipple, grinding into her all the while.
“God, you fuck me so good,” she nearly moaned, not loudly and certainly not intentionally, but in moments like this she had no filter. Her words must have sparked something in him because he bit down on her nipple and seconds later, she felt him pulsing inside her, a needful moan escaping him as they both came.
He lowered her gently to her feet, pressing their foreheads together for a long moment before he captured her mouth in another long, deep kiss.
“You’re killing me, Darby…” he said, and she didn’t dare to think about what it meant.
Twenty minutes later, he was kissing her again in the morning light as they walked through the front door together. He was off to Sydney again and she was headed to the hospital. Thoughts of what they had just done would keep her warm.
Darby was late for work. It rarely happened, but she had overslept and she was rushing to get dressed, get something in her stomach, and get to work on time. In her fatigue the night before, she’d left her phone in her coat pocket and hadn’t heard the daily alarm.
Her mouth was full of a bite of sausage and an Eggo waffle as she flipped through news channels, catching up on whatever had happened overnight. Finding her father’s face on each one, Darby gave up altogether and clicked off the TV.
The doorbell ringing gave her a start. She peeped through the keyhole, praying she wouldn’t see paparazzi outside. The media frenzy had already started, and was already becoming difficult to avoid. She’d taken to driving to work every day—sneaking out her back door and escaping through her garage. When she saw that it was Andrew, she relaxed, and opened the door find him looking more hurried and disorganized than she felt.
“Thank God you’re still here. I thought I wouldn’t catch you,” he said, breathing a dramatic sigh of relief. Everything about Andrew was dramatic.
“Michael wanted me to deliver this to you,” he explained, thrusting a small bag into her hands.
The keys. She’d completely forgotten.
“There’s been so much to do,” Andrew rambled, “with Michael’s move and all. I had planned on being here much earlier but I lost track of time,” he continued to explain.
Michael’s move?
“I’m going to miss him. He’s the best boss I’ve ever had, to tell you the truth. They’re going to let me keep managing his Chicago business, but it won’t be the same…”
“No…it won’t,” Darby agreed dumbly, as if she had known.
“Sorry to have to run, honey…” Andrew waved sadly. “My list i
s a mile long. Take care of yourself, okay? I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” He retreated down the steps. It took a full minute for Darby to close the door.
Michael’s move?
She was an hour late to work. Had she been able to maintain any sense of time, she’d have known that beyond the fifteen minutes she would have been late anyway, she’d spent another twenty minutes standing dumbly in her rotunda, ten minutes backtracking after making wrong turns in her car on the way to work, ten minutes in the parking lot trying not to cry in her car and five minutes touching up her makeup given that her attempts not to shed tears had failed.
Whereas she had been looking forward to their plans that weekend—it had been nearly three weeks since they had seen each other—she now dreaded what he would tell her at their rendezvous.
The meaning behind random details she hadn’t thought much about as they had happened snapped into focus and she wondered why she hadn’t suspected anything before.
The frequent trips to Sydney that got longer every time. The heightened intensity of his touch, and the sadness in his eyes. The way he wanted to see her at every opportunity when he was in town. This weekend wasn’t about releasing their bodies’ tension after having been apart for so long, or about giving themselves respite from their crazy jobs. This was it. He was being transferred. He’d planned something different because these may be the last days they spent together. And, unbeknownst to Darby, he’d been slowly saying goodbye.
Every hour brought a new realization as she replayed recent conversations. She now saw them—and their overnight retreat, through a new lens. She’d figured he’d booked them a suite at the Drake so that they could pamper themselves at the spa in between lounging—or doing other things—in bed. But she’d only ever heard Michael talk about liking the spa at the Peninsula, and she knew that his favorite hotel brunch was at the St. Regis. The Drake had a different significance—it was the place where they’d gone on their first date.
She’d never called it that before, even in her own mind, when she thought back to the Frigg Foundation Gala. It was hard to believe that nearly a year had passed; she never thought of it in those terms. As she did, she admitted to herself that it had been one of the best times in her life. She had refused to let herself dwell on what had blossomed between them. Whatever it was, it had thrived in a delicate ecosystem. As long as everything between them was good, that had been good enough for her.
