by Nicole Casey
I moaned and screamed, my breath falling hot on Will’s chest.
“Fuck, I’m going to come,” said Ted.
His cock slipped out from inside me. Two hands grabbed my ass and pulled me forward. I had no sense of balance, but I quickly found myself on a blanket on my side.
Miles was lying beside me, his face close to mine. “Miles,” I said breathlessly.
He smiled, kissed me on the forehead, then lifted my leg, and slid his cock into my yearning pussy. I threw my head back and groaned.
Shaun was behind me, his hard cock pressed against the small of my back then sliding down the crack of my ass. Miles made a game of slipping out of me, then guiding himself back in, deep and quick, teasing me and laughing at the control he had over me. Shaun ran two fingers around the rim of my anus. He put his mouth on my shoulder and bit down gently just as the tip of his finger entered me. Miles pulled out. Shaun pressed the tip of his cock against the rim of my ass.
I gasped.
Miles guided himself back in with a thrust, like a tidal wave that washed over my whole body and threatened to pull me under.
I threw my head back and gulped for air. I saw Ryker standing by the fireplace. His eyes were fixed on me. His hand was around his thick cock, and his smiling lips moved, murmuring something I couldn’t make out.
Miles pulled out, and Shaun’s hard cock entered my ass farther still.
Shaun pulled out, and Miles, with his fingers rubbing my wet labia, entered me again.
Without a word between them, the brothers synchronized their penetration of me—Miles had my pussy then Shaun my ass—faster and deeper with each entry. The time between them—when one was out and the other in—grew shorter and shorter with predictable regularity, announcing the fast-approaching moment when they would both be inside me together.
I moaned and gasped for air. My eyes met Ryker’s. He wet his lips, and I wet mine. And it was as if I could taste him on my mouth. Though he was clear across the room on the other side, I reached out to him. He bit down on his lower lip and shook his head. He could clearly sense I was about to gush.
“Come with me, Ryker,” I called out. But my plea was broken up by moans I couldn’t contain. “Come with me,” I called again.
I hoped he could hear me because I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I gripped the blanket with my outstretched hand, buried my face against Miles’s shoulder, and came and came and came.
Shaun woke me up shortly before noon—still far too early. “It’s all been taken care of,” he said.
I tried to get up, but every inch of my body protested the effort, and I wondered if he was talking about my funeral.
“I just got off the phone with Sasha,” he continued. “I explained everything. She agreed only to grant Wendy an interview with the promise that our story stays private.”
I turned onto my side. Ryker was next to me, snoring lightly. I put my chin on his chest and bobbed up and down with his breathing. After a moment’s reflection, I said, “What’s to keep Wendy from doing the interview, then going ahead and writing her story about us, anyway?”
“Well, if she did, she would lose access to ‘Mirror, Mirror,’” he said. “It’s a big story this ‘Mirror, Mirror’ discovery. She’d be a fool to throw away the opportunity at an inside track we’re giving her.”
“Shaun, that’s the problem: I think Wendy might just be a fool and a mean-spirited selfish one at that.” Despite my aching muscles, I pulled myself up. “What is it that ‘Mirror, Mirror’ discovered exactly?”
Shaun shrugged. “I don’t know. Something in the mountains they claim can be turned into fuel. I’ve heard rumors that it’s some kind of bark. Other rumors say it’s moss. I don’t know.” He smiled at me. “I guess we’ll just have to read Wendy’s article to find out.”
I threw a pillow at him.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I’ve got to head out to work soon. I can drop you guys off at your cabin.” After a moment where I simply stared at him blankly, he added, “Or you guys can stay here. No problem.”
I looked around the room. It was empty and surprisingly clean. “Where is everyone?”
“Jobs,” he said.
I groaned. Oh, yeah. There’s a real-world out there. I vaguely remember that.
It took more than a few nudges to wake up Ryker. “Come on, babe. Shaun’s going to take us home.”
We rode back to our cabin in the mountains; I was in the passenger seat, and Ryker was in the back.
He tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to him, and he was beaming. “Back in the cottage,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Do you know what you said to me?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You called our cabin ‘home’.” His smile widened.
I didn’t want to spoil his smile by pointing out that it was just a figure of speech. “So, I did.” I returned his smile with one of my own, then turned back to the road ahead.
We rode in silence. The mountains came into view, and I felt a bit sad. “Well, so much for me getting back on the trail today,” I said.
“Were you in a hurry?” asked Shaun.
“Not exactly. But people are counting on me to finish the thru-hike. I’ve put it off for about as long as I can.”
“You going to set out tomorrow, then?”
I thought it over a moment. “I suppose there’s nothing else I can do about Wendy, is there?”
“What’s the big deal?” said Shaun. “So, she writes her article. Are you ashamed of us?”
“What’s the big deal?” I gritted my teeth. I had explained myself and how I felt yesterday. His casual tone was comforting then, but now I needed understanding. “That’s not fair,” I said. “You know how I feel, or at least you should know. I’ve expressed myself quite clearly on the matter.”
“Yes, you did,” he said. “I just think you’re making a bigger deal out of it than you need to.”
“Easy for you to say! It’s different for guys. Plus, you don’t have parents who judge you and worry about you.”
I regretted the words as soon as I’d said them. It was true he didn’t have parents who judged him because his parents were dead. That was not something I should have thrown back in his face. Even though that hadn’t been my intent, it could easily have been taken that way. Still, I was too angry with his nonchalance regarding my feelings to apologize.
A moment later, my phone rang. San Diego, my parents, my “home.”
“Hello.”
It was my father, and I could tell immediately from his tone of voice that something was wrong. I said nothing, only listened.
When he was finished, I said, “I understand. I’ll make arrangements. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I ended the call then hung my head.
“Something the matter?” asked Shaun.
“That was my father. My mother’s not well. She’s been rushed to the hospital.”
22
Ryker
I’d expected Holly to return to the trail—and that had been hard enough to accept. But she didn’t return to the trail; she returned to California. And I was devastated, devastated not to have her nearby and devastated knowing that she was suffering, and I couldn’t do anything to alleviate her pain.
The day after Holly had left, the hospital in Blue Ridge offered me a residency. That would mean leaving the cabin in the mountains, but I didn’t care about that. Without Holly, the cabin was empty and sad. More so than leaving the mountains, the residency meant that my life was moving on—without Holly.
It could have been joyous news. We could have celebrated together, everyone together, with Holly and my brothers. But now, I simply told the hospital that I would have to think about it.
I stayed in the cabin and sulked for two days. On the third day, Will and Owen stopped by.
“You can’t stay here all alone,” Will said.
“Why not?”
“Because we’ve already lost you once, and we’re no
t going to let that happen again.”
I had no response, so I simply stared out the window. It was dark out, and I saw nothing—the perfect view for my mood.
“Come stay with me in Franklin,” said Will, “at least until you get yourself sorted in Blue Ridge.”
“I don’t know if I’m going to Blue Ridge.”
“Or wherever you decide to go,” said Will, “stay with me in Franklin until you sort it out.”
As I walked away from the cabin, I looked back at it and was stunned at how small it seemed. I said as much to Will and Owen. “There had been so much life in there, so many memories. I can’t believe how tiny it actually looks now. Strange.”
Owen put a hand on my shoulder. “That’s exactly how I felt about where we grew up.”
I felt slightly better the next day. Will had to work, and I was again on my own, but I had a phone and the internet. I called my parents back in Massachusetts. It had been nearly two weeks since we last spoke, and I had told them nothing about my brothers.
“You must be all the way up to Maryland by now,” said my father.
“No. Actually, I’m still in North Carolina.”
“Really? Where in North Carolina?”
“Franklin.”
There was a long pause that spoke volumes.
“Oh, I see,” my father said. “And what is.… Why did you stop in North Carolina for so long?”
I paused and weighed my words carefully. “Dad, I’m going to stay here.”
“But.…”
“I found a residency nearby in a hospital in Blue Ridge.”
“That’s good.” He cleared his throat. “What else did you find?”
He was setting me up to help me deliver the news he must have surely known I had to give. The name Franklin had been a big clue. Still, I fumbled for the words and couldn’t find them.
“When are you coming.… When do you think you’ll be back in Massachusetts?”
That hurt, his balking at the word “home” and reverting to “back in Massachusetts.” It hit me in the stomach like a lead balloon. I crumpled in my chair and held my head up with my elbow on the table and my hand on my forehead. “I don’t know. Soon, I guess. Maybe Christmas.”
“Christmas would be nice.”
“Dad.…”
“Yes?”
No other words came out. I simply wanted him to hear me call him dad. I wanted to let him know I didn’t feel any differently about him. I hoped that word alone would be enough because no other words were coming out.
“Your mother is playing bridge with the gals. I’ll tell her you called.”
“Yes.”
“She’s going to be awfully upset.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“Dad.…”
“Yes.”
“Did you know?”
“Know about what?”
“Did you know about my brothers?”
There was a long pause, too long. I thought about ending the call, the silence was unbearable.
“No, I didn’t. I don’t know. What—”
“Did you know about my mom? I mean my birth mother?”
“Son, your birth mother was sick. She was in the mountains, on her last breath. We didn’t know how to tell you. We didn’t want to upset you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
The call with my father had been emotionally exhausting, more so than I’d expected. But I was not empty yet. I dialed Holly’s number in San Diego, but I couldn’t bring myself to hit “send.” Instead, I put down the phone, lumbered into the living room where I lay on the couch staring at the blank TV until Will returned.
“How was your day?” he asked me.
“I spent it mostly thinking about Holly.”
“Much like mine, then,” he said.
I sat up on the couch, and he came and sat down next to me. “Is she going to come back?” I asked him, hoping he’d say, Yes. Of course. Everything’s going to be all right.
But instead, he gave me the truth. “How could I know. If it’s meant to be, she’ll come back.”
“I didn’t call her,” I said. “Couldn’t bring myself to.”
“That’s a shame. She’d love to hear from you.”
I knew what he was saying was true, but I also knew that I could not talk to her without imploring her to come back. And while I knew she would love to, I also knew she was more consumed, just as I was, with what she needed to do or felt she needed to do than with what she wanted to do. Her life was in San Diego. Her friends, her patients, they needed her. And we had no right or claim to take her from them.
“I came here to find a family,” I said. “Never did I imagine I’d find nine brothers. Now, I have. And yet, I want more. How selfish does that make me?”
He put a hand on my shoulder, chuckled, and gave me a shake. “You’re not selfish. You want more because Holly made you see that more is possible. That’s a good thing.”
“But it hurts.”
“That, too, is good. Imagine if it didn’t.” He stood and walked to the kitchen. “Have you eaten?”
I shook my head. “I’m not hungry.”
“I’m going to make some stir-fry. Maybe you’ll get hungry later.”
“Maybe.”
He stopped at the doorway and turned to me. “You should call her.” He slipped out of the room and into the kitchen.
I made the call outside in the backyard with the sounds of the country: the breeze blowing through an empty field, a smattering of crickets, a couple of dogs barking in the far distance.
“Hello, Ryker.”
“Holly.” She sounded so clear to me on the phone, so close as if she were standing beside me, admiring the same view, breathing in the same clean air. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you. How are you?”
“I miss you,” I said, my voice cracking.
“I miss you, too.”
The nearness of her voice was mocking my pain. She was far, far away from me, in distance and in spirit.
“I’m heading back to the hospital now,” she said. “Can I call you later?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Give your brothers a big hug for me, okay?”
“Holly.”
“Yes.”
“I… I think I love you.”
The silence was so long I began to wonder if I’d actually said anything at all or if I’d thought about my proclamation so hard that I had mistakenly believed it had come out of my mouth.
“I’ll call you back in a few hours. Okay, Ryker?”
“Okay, Holly.”
“Bye, Ryker.”
“Bye.”
23
Holly
As soon as I was on the plane heading back to San Diego, I began to feel sick. My heart felt like it had sunk into my stomach, and my insides were all confused and in revolt. I had a number of conflicting emotions stirring in me, from anger toward Wendy and, in part, toward the Chandlers for not seeing how the invasion of my privacy could upset me, to sadness at leaving the mountains and leaving my lovers, to extreme sadness and worry over my mother. My father told me the situation was bad, that I should get home quickly, and he’d explain in more detail once I was back.
All of those emotions, the sadness, and anxiety mixed with anger and fear, were wreaking havoc on my insides. I was sure that I was going to get sick on the plane. Fortunately, I made it to San Diego without incident.
Once I had landed in San Diego, the dizziness and nausea I was fighting subsided somewhat. But the next day, they came back with a vengeance. I spent the morning feeling as if I were about to vomit.
If I’d missed my period, I would think I’m experiencing morning sickness.
As soon as the thought flashed in my mind, it was immediately followed by a wave of panic.
Wait. When did I last have my period?
Life in the mountains had taken on such a different speed than what I’d
been used to. Without a nine to five job and weekends off, the notion of days and weeks going by had been blurred. I hadn’t noticed it then, but now, lying on my bed with morning sickness symptoms, I counted back the days till my last period and realized that I was late—very late.
Driving to the pharmacy to get a home pregnancy test only aggravated my anxiety and worsened the nausea. My forehead felt hot, and my hands were clammy. I checked myself in the mirror: I was white as a ghost. And even though I’d been putting up a heroic effort to keep the tears back, my eyes were red and puffy from crying.
I entered the pharmacy slowly, my steps unsure and labored. I found a home pregnancy test and took it to the check-out counter. There was nobody in line, but I had to stand to the side, take in deep breaths and collect myself a minute before stepping up to the register.
I hung my head, closed my eyes, and concentrated on not vomiting, concentrated on not keeling over.
“Miss, are you all right?” the pharmacist asked.
I wanted to shout, No, I’m not all right, that’s why I’m at a pharmacy! But I had more manners than to be rude to someone’s simply expressing concern for me—plus, I doubted I had the physical strength to speak coherently, much less to shout. So, instead, I nodded—with difficulty—and mumbled, “I just need a minute.”
I took in a deep breath, exhaled, and opened my eyes. Above the crosswords and above the fashion magazines, there in the magazine rack, among all the celebrity gossip rags with big, bold headlines and brightly colored photos that competed for the shoppers’ impulses, was the rag Wendy wrote for. And on the cover, the headline, standing out from all the others, read: “Appalachian Orgy, Ten Brothers Share More Than A Family Bond.”
I clutched the counter for fear I’d fall. The room started to spin. The headline whipped around my head faster and faster, cut intermittently by the worried face of the pharmacist.
“Miss, can I help you? Do you need to sit down?”
I slapped the pregnancy test onto the counter, shook my head, and managed to mumble, “Credit card, please.”
