by Mary Frame
She’s silent again, and this time, her eyes are shut. Is she sleeping? But then she speaks. “I wish I could have a Christmas like that.”
“I’m sure you will. You’re still young. Now you get to find and make your own family. If that’s what you want, I mean.”
“Right,” she says, the word quiet in the dim room.
“What kind of present would you ask for? From Santa.”
“Hmmm. I don’t know. Probably not flowers. Something useful, maybe?”
“Like a survival pack? Full of bandages and Spam?”
She laughs. “Other canned goods might be preferable.”
I run a hand up her arm to her shoulder, tracing the lines of her, memorizing her with my fingertips, and she smiles at me.
“Is this what it’s always like?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you’re with someone. This . . . talking, kissing, laughing, and nothing more. Is it normal?”
I prop my head up on one hand. “I dunno. I never did much of this with Abby. She was more into going out, being seen. And when we had conversations, it was mostly surface stuff. Or she would talk about herself, how she felt about others.” I frown. “It was always about her.”
She mimics my position so we’re eye to eye. “That sounds like her. So instead of talking you . . . just did other stuff?”
I know what she means by “other stuff.” I watch her face. Is she worried I’m not attracted to her?
“Abby and I didn’t have a huge physical relationship. I mean, we did other stuff, but not as much as you might think. She was busy doing other stuff with other people.” I reach out and trail a line down her jaw. “With you, it’s different. It’s not that I don’t want to do the other stuff with you. Clearly.” I gesture to the semi in my lap that won’t quit. “But this is good. This is more than enjoyable. For me.”
“Really?”
“Reese.” I cup her face in my hands, tracing her cheekbones with my thumbs. “I’m all in. Considering our past relationships, or lack thereof, I think it’s probably smart to go slow. And this is . . . nice. This is more than nice.”
Her responding smile is brilliant. “It is. But let’s not take too long on the rest.”
19
If you can’t do it with feeling, don’t.
—Patsy Cline
Reese
“We are stepping things up here, babies. Obstacle course under duress! There’s only two more Bedlam events and the score is three to two with Fitz Moreland in the lead!”
Scattered applause.
“Our audience gets to participate in the fun tonight. As you can see, we have an obstacle course of sorts set up here.”
It’s relatively unchanged from the setup for laser tag—everything has just been rearranged. And now there are two welcome mats set up next to each other. In front of the mats is a path of old tires that leads to a ramp, which leads to some kind of downward zip line through the yard. After that await two kiddie pools—one for each of us—filled with mud and some kind of stepping stones set up inside. Then a climbing wall at the end.
It doesn’t look too hard, actually.
“Not only do you have to get through the course, you have to do it all while keeping your egg safe.” He holds up two eggs. “And to make it even more exciting.” Jude holds up two pairs of shoes.
Not regular shoes. Heels.
I groan and Fitz laughs.
“To make it fun for you babies,” he yells over the crowd, “you all get water balloons to throw at our competitors.”
Beast carries out two giant buckets, which I presume contain the balloons.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask.
Fitz, meanwhile, is rubbing his hands together. “This is gonna be awesome.”
“Reese, Fitz, your goal is to get to the end first without breaking your egg. If you break your egg at any point, you’re out.”
“What if both of our eggs break?” I ask.
“Then you try again until someone finishes with their egg intact.”
He hands us our shoes, and I can’t help but laugh when Fitz does a little jig and then struts by me on the grass like it’s a catwalk.
“How are you so good at that?” I nearly trip over the welcome mat just standing up.
“I’ll never tell you my secrets,” he sasses me, hands on his hips.
Still laughing, we line up on our mats and then Jude gives the countdown. “On your mark. Get set. Go!” He blows the horn.
And we’re off. Fitz is like lightning in heels while I struggle to get through the tires without falling on my face or breaking my egg. Finally, I stick it in my sports bra top and haul ass, running over the ramp. There are water balloons flying everywhere. They break apart at my feet, nearly tripping me, and then one smacks my shoulder with a sharp bite. The water is cold. It’s a good thing the night still carries the heat from the day.
I glance over at Fitz and he’s getting hit way worse.
When I risk a glance at the crowd, I can see why. Annabel has recruited people to hit him harder—I guess it is good having her in my corner.
I make it down the short zip line. One balloon narrowly misses my head, making me laugh with unrestrained mirth. I’ve never had such a great time.
I make it through the kiddie pool without further mishap, but Fitz is on the climbing wall already.
Jumping up after him, I scramble to the top, but he gets there before me with a foot to spare.
But when I get next to him, he opens his hand and reveals his broken, runny egg.
Jude meets us at the top, climbing up a set of stairs in the back of the wall.
He tsks at Fitz’s egg. “Humpty Dumpty’ed it. Too bad. Reese? Your egg?”
I reach into my bra and Fitz’s eyes widen and then heat. Not removing my gaze from his, I hold up my unbroken egg with a smile.
“Reese Jackson has won this round, babies!” Jude lifts my hand in the air and pulls the key from around his neck, sliding it over my head.
The expected groans and cheers emanate from the crowd, but I can’t take my eyes off Fitz. He’s still watching me, eyes dark and intent. He hasn’t so much as glanced away ever since I pulled the egg from my bra. His shirt is wet and molded to his body like a second skin.
Fitz circles round Jude, grabs my hand and then we’re heading down the stairs.
“Where are we going?” I ask him, breathless and shivering from the wet clothes sticking to my skin.
“To get dried off.”
We have to navigate through the crowd and deal with people trying to talk to us, but Fitz cuts through them like a man on a mission. Once we’re at the door to the room, I unlock it with the key and immediately kick off the heels digging into my feet while he grabs dry clothes.
His phone is on the dresser and it lights up with a buzz. He grimaces at it before shutting it off and tossing it back down. Then his eyes are on me again. “Shower?” he asks.
I nod, still shivering. “Yes, please.”
We lock it up and head to the bathroom together, pushing through people and cutting through the line.
He shuts and locks the door behind us and turns to me, his back resting against the door.
He’s still in the heels.
“You’ve got experience wearing high heels?”
“I have an older sister.” He shrugs and steps away from the door, moving closer. “We played dress up.”
I laugh. “Seriously?”
He takes another step toward me. “If you repeat this to anyone, I’ll tell them about your flatulence problem.”
And then we’re laughing and his hand is on my shoulder and we’re still laughing as our lips come together. At first soft and tentative and limned with mirth, but then morphing and coalescing into something harder and faster.
His mouth is hot and insistent but his hands are gentle when they start to tug my wet shirt over my head.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
“Yes.” My voice
is a breathy whisper that I don’t recognize.
Then my shirt is gone and I’m standing in front of him in a wet pink sports bra. “Damn, Reese. You are so . . .” And then I miss the rest of whatever he says because his mouth covers mine again before his lips move, trailing a line down my neck. He stops to nip and lick at my collarbone before descending farther.
Heat sinks its tendrils into my skin everywhere his mouth touches. I grip his shoulders, unsure what to do with my hands, unsure what to do with anything.
Then his finger is pulling down the fabric of my bra and his mouth covers one nipple while his hand covers the other. My mind goes completely blank and I can’t see or think straight through all of the sensations flooding me. I think I’m making strangled sounds, but I can’t be sure until he lifts his head to meet my eyes and I know he’s checking on me.
“Don’t stop,” I say.
His answering grin is slow and satisfied and he yanks his shirt over his head, exposing an acre of golden-tanned male flesh that I devour with my gaze.
“Sweetheart, we’re just getting started.”
His naked skin is so close and so intriguing and I wonder if it will feel as good to him, what he did to me, and before I can second-guess myself, I run my hands down his chest and lean forward to put my mouth on his flat nipple.
A ragged sound emerges from somewhere deep in his chest. He hisses through his teeth, tugging me away, watching me with hooded eyes before our mouths clash together again and our chests meet, skin on skin, lips searching, learning, sucking.
I yank at his pants blindly, struggling with the wet fabric until he pulls back so we can toss the rest of our soaked clothes into a heap on the floor.
Fitz reaches into the shower and turns the handle, his hand cupping the side of my neck, and then his mouth comes back, meeting mine. The room fills with the thrum of water, drowning out the music and voices from outside our little cocoon of slow-moving steam.
Then we’re in the small shower, my back against the cold tile and his under the stream of hot water. Rivets slide down his golden skin, pulled tight over lean muscle. My hands trace the path the water takes until I reach his hips and stare down at his rock-hard member, larger than I expected, both intriguing and slightly terrifying.
I start to wonder what I’m supposed to do with this thing, exactly. I mean, I understand the mechanics but I’ve never—
And then all those thoughts slip away as his hands slide over my curves down and down and down.
His fingers dip between my legs, pressing and luring and coaxing sensation. And then all I can do is feel. His dark eyes flash, intense and focused, while his hand makes me twist and buck and keen. I clutch at him, grabbing his shoulders to keep from forming a puddle of limbs at his feet.
His mouth moves back to my breast, tongue laving at my nipple. His free hand goes to my other breast, and I jerk against his hand between my legs. His fingers falter for a moment and then move again, caressing with the flat of his palm right there where I need it. A finger slides into me and I break, biting my lip to hold back the flood of sound threatening to fly out of my lips.
The water patters against the tile, tugging me back into consciousness. I open my eyes and find Fitz watching me, his eyes hooded, his mouth parted and swollen.
He grasps his erection with the same hand that just pleasured me, sliding it back and forth.
My body is still quivering from the most intense orgasm of my life, and I stare at his movements, watching him pleasure himself in fascination. Up and down. I’d rather like to touch him that way myself. Inexplicably, heat begins to fill my stomach again. I never thought I would find such a sight erotic, but it absolutely is. Or maybe it’s just him.
I slip one hand down and over his fingers and move with him. Feeling the movement kicks everything up a notch, sending heat swirling into my stomach.
After a minute, he lets go, leaning both arms on either side of my head against the cool tile at my back and we both watch as I imitate his prior movements. Back and forth, experimenting with the flesh in my hand that’s like hard steel under soft skin.
A gentle stroke. Then a little harder. Slower. Then faster. I catalogue his reactions, noting which ones have a higher value and making sure to repeat those with greater frequency. There’s an order of importance—when he bites his lip, when his breathing falters, when his eyes fall shut, and especially when he groans out loud.
“Reese, I can’t . . .” His shoulders shake and his entire body shudders. His eyes squeeze shut, mouth twisted in pleasure, and I watch in fascination as he erupts all over my stomach.
He leans forward, resting his head on my shoulder while his breathing eases and the shower washes away the evidence of our time together.
I trace the muscles in his back. “That was . . .” For the first time, I don’t have any words.
He pulls his head back, meeting my eyes. “I hope you’re about to say something synonymous with good. Or maybe great? Stupendous?”
I laugh. “Something along those lines. And enlightening. Educational.”
“If you need to do any more learning, I’m available to provide instruction.”
“Good to know.”
We share a laugh and then the water temperature drops by ten degrees.
Fitz grimaces and shuts the tap off. “I guess we’ve been in here awhile.”
He steps out of the shower and hands me a clean towel from the rack. “Here.”
A banging on the door makes me jump.
“Fitz! Are you in there?” Annabel’s voice is high and strained.
“Yeah.” His startled eyes meet mine and the toweling ceases. “What’s going on? Is it Dad?”
“No. Not Dad.” She stops and the sound of people laughing and the hum of the crowd fills the space. Then she speaks again. “It’s Abby. She’s in the hospital.”
20
I’m a Texas guy, and the good and bad of that is that I’m always, first and foremost, loyal.
—Jared Padalecki
Fitz
I scramble to cover up, wrapping the towel around my waist. Reese stays hidden behind the door while I crack it open.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. Momma didn’t say much. She’s on her way to the hospital to be with Abby’s parents. All I know is it was some kind of car accident. She said she’s been trying to call you. They’ve all been trying to see if you knew what was going on.”
Abby called me. Right before we showered and I ignored it. How could I have discerned her normal attention-seeking behavior from a real emergency? “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. You gotta come though. Sorry, Reese.”
Reese makes a sound of assent and understanding, still hiding behind the door in nothing but a towel. Though she’s biting her lip, expression worried.
“I’ll be right out,” I tell Annabel.
“I’ll pull my car out front. Hurry.”
I shut the door and immediately turn and take Reese in my arms.
This is not how I pictured the rest of this night going.
“I hope she’s okay,” Reese whispers into my neck.
“Me too.”
“I feel . . . awful. I never liked her.”
“Hey.” I pull back and cup her face in both hands. “It’s going to be okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But, Fitz, why were they trying to reach you for information? Why wouldn’t they try Kevin? That’s probably who she was with.”
I realize suddenly I never told her everything. She has no idea I’ve been hiding the truth from my parents. But there’s no time.
“It’s a long story. I promise to explain everything later.” I let her go and I’m already rushing, pulling on dry pants, yanking a T-shirt on. I don’t know what to think or feel right now. Was this my fault? Would this have happened if I had answered her calls? “I’ll call you when I get there and find out what’s going on.”
She nods and I give her one quick,
gentle kiss, first on the crease between her eyes and then a longer, more lingering one on her lips before leaving the bathroom.
I weave my way quickly through the busy house and out front, where Annabel’s parked her car.
We’re both silent, driving through the darkened, mostly empty streets of Blue Falls, toward the hospital. What if this time, the one time I didn’t respond, Abby actually hurt herself? It would be all my fault. But that can’t be it. She was going to get help. It’s probably exactly what it sounds like—a simple car accident. Accident. Even the word implies no one’s at fault.
It isn’t until we’re halfway there that Annabel speaks.
“What are you going to tell all the parents? They don’t know you aren’t together. Does Reese know they don’t know?”
Guilt, already a razor-sharp companion, stabs through me, pricking at my skin like an aggravated porcupine. I should have told them a long time ago. All this protecting of Abby hasn’t done her any favors. And I should have told Reese the whole story. I will, though, as soon as I can.
But first things first.
“I can’t tell them yet.” Not if what I suspect about this car accident is true, but I shove that thought away.
She sighs. “You have to tell them.”
“I will tell them, eventually. Just not yet. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, sorry your daughter nearly died and is in critical condition. By the way, we’ve been over for months and oh yeah she’s been lying to you’?”
“I know it won’t be a June picnic but don’t you think it’s going to be worse if you keep it a secret and it comes out later?”
“No. I don’t.”
We get to the hospital and Annabel and I head to the emergency department.
The waiting room is mostly empty. An older man is being interviewed at a counter, and over in the corner, a young woman weeps quietly while another holds her hand.
