Restless Waters

  He pushes my hair back over my shoulder. “It’s late, huh?”

  “Yeah. I should go.” I am exhausted, but I don’t want to break this moment, this tie I have with him.

  “Just stay here. I’ll sleep on the futon.”

  “No,” I whisper. “Don’t leave.” I’m afraid that he’ll leave my hold, and I’ll never get him back.

  He waits a long time before replying, “Okay.” He rubs my back. “We’ll have a sleepover?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will there be sexy pillow fights and hair-braiding and gossiping about the hottest boy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Discussions about celebrity crushes?”

  I yawn. “Okay.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone.

  “Texting Chris?”

  “Yeah. Don’t want him to worry when he wakes up, and I’m not there.”

  “Is he upset that you came here?”

  “Not at all. He asked me to tell you that he loves you. Also, you’re a moron, but he does love you.”

  “Chris is way too forgiving.” Sabin blows out a long breath. “So are you. I’m sorry that I destroyed Christmas for everyone.”

  I send my text and then set my phone next to the bed. “You didn’t destroy anything. We’re all still here. We’re all in one piece.”

  He sets a hand on his forehead. “Sometimes, I feel like…fuck, I don’t know.”

  But I do know. I have been there.

  “Like you were left drowning.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re struggling to breathe.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, do it. Breathe. Just breathe.”

  “There’s no air, Blythe.”

  “Reach for me. I won’t let you drown. I’m right here.”

  He rubs my back some more and then laughs lightly. “You’re already taken.”

  “I have two hands, Sabin. Grab one.”

  He thinks for a while, and I feel him take hold of his own hands to fully encircle me in his embrace. “I’m trying, love. I’m trying.”

  It’s early when my eyes open, and I’m still nestled against Sabin.

  I leave before he wakes.

  I need to run. I need to burn off…something. Anxiety maybe. I’m nervous for some reason.

  Everyone is still asleep at the house when I get there, and I slip in, change into my running gear, and hit the pavement for five miles. I don’t think during this run. I just focus on the strength in my legs, the rhythm I keep, the in and out of my breaths.

  The shower I take when I get back does nothing to quell my edginess. Or maybe it’s an energy. I’m having trouble pinpointing where I am, but the run didn’t calm me.

  It’s when I’m toweling off that I know what I want.

  The noise from the shower in the master bath didn’t wake Chris, so I do. I’m still a little damp as I slide the sheet down and crawl between his legs. My boyfriend likes to sleep naked, for which I’m very grateful for right now because I don’t have the patience to ease boxers off a sleeping guy. My sexual appetite has soared, and I cannot get his cock in my mouth fast enough. Within seconds, he’s hard and starting to move his hips with the pace I’ve set.

  “Blythe,” he murmurs.

  My hand slides under his ass, and I dig in, pushing him deeper into my mouth, making him groan and put both hands in my hair. Because my mouth is moving fast and my tongue is pressing so firmly against him, I get him panting in no time.

  Before he gets too close, I lift up and lay my body over his, rubbing my clit against his wet cock. “I need you, Chris. Now.”

  It just takes a small movement for me to position him, and I rock back to sink his cock inside me.

  He lets out a hard moan, and I immediately lift up and drop back down.

  And then, again.

  I’m starting to feel better.

  I brace my hands on either side of his head and grind against him. “Tell me how good my pussy feels.”

  “Your pussy is so fucking perfect,” he growls, clamping his hands on my ass.

  “Tell me how hard I get you.”

  “You get me hard as steel.”

  “Tell me how I make you come.”

  “You make me fucking detonate.” Chris is having trouble talking, but I don’t stop.

  “Baby, tell me how much you love hearing me come.” I’m rubbing my clit against his body, bringing myself closer and closer.

  “You coming is the hottest sound on earth.”

  “So, make me come,” I pant. “Get me there.”

  He lifts me up and down, working his cock back and forth inside me. His movements are making me more demanding, more desperate.

  “Get rough,” I beg. “Show me how much you want it. Make me feel it.”

  He moves one hand to knot in my hair, pulling firmly, and he smacks the other hand against my ass once and then again.

  “You need me to prove how much I want you, huh?” In one slick move, he flips me onto my back and pins my hands above my head.

  Chris pushes his cock so far up inside me that I can hardly breathe. He stays closely pressed against me while he curls his waist back and forth in just the slightest movement. “You feel that?”

  I look at him and smile. “No.”

  He pulls out almost fully and slams back into me so that I cry out. “Better?”

  “Getting there.”

  So, he spreads my legs open wider with his, and he starts to fuck me hard, long strokes with no pause in between. His weight keeps me locked against the bed, and my hands are immobilized under his. All I can do now is feel how my orgasm is building, how he’s going to get me there.

  “Look at me, Blythe. You see now how much I want you?” He keeps driving himself inside me. “You feel that?”

  “Yes.” I nod almost imperceptibly. “Don’t stop, Chris. Don’t stop…” I’m in such a haze now, and it’s heaven.

  “Now, Blythe. Come for me.” His breathing has escalated, his groaning deep and ragged. “Give me that sound. Let me feel that pussy.”

  Balancing on the edge of coming, I am raw and in my own world with him. “Tell me…we’re unbreakable. Tell me, we’re forever.” I’m gasping for air. “Tell me, tell me…”

  He releases my hands and cups my head, and then he lowers his mouth to my ear. “We are unbreakable. We are forever.” He moans against me. “Don’t you ever forget that. So, come for me. Come with me.”

  My orgasm pounds through, causing Chris to release his own. With his lips grazing over my neck now, I can hear every nuance in the sound of his pleasure.

  He stays inside me until our breathing evens out, until we can see straight. “Good morning, beautiful. I don’t know what brought that on, but holy shit.” He kisses my shoulder, and his smile rubs against my skin.

  “Good morning to you.”

  “I think you fucked away the hangover I would have had.”

  I laugh. “A surprising added bonus, huh?”

  “Indeed.” Chris lifts up. “Hi.”

  “Hi, baby.”

  “Things all right with you and Sabin?” he asks. “You stayed there? Up late talking?”

  I nod. “Yeah. We’re good. He still feels totally crummy about everything though.”

  Chris touches the unicorn charm on my necklace. “This from him?”

  It takes me a second to reply, “Yes.”

  “I like it.” But there’s a hint of melancholy when he smiles. “Shitting rainbows, huh?”

  “Is it okay that I put it on your chain?”

  He almost seems confused that I asked this. “Of course, Blythe.”

  He traces his fingers over my eyebrows, my cheekbones, down to my jaw. I know how he looks when he’s thinking hard, so I wait until he figures out what he wants to say.

  “You get to have both of us, you know. You do.”

  “Chris, it’s not like that—”

  He stops me. “It is a little bit. It’s not what we have, but it’s something
strong. And you get to have us both.”

  I start to protest, but he stops me.

  “And another thing? I smell like scotch sweat, and I’m starving. How about I shower and then take you out to lunch?”

  “How about I shower with you and then you take me out to lunch?”

  “Almost the best offer I’ve had today.” He winks and stands next to the bed. Then, he grabs my hand and pulls me to follow him to the shower.

  As much as I could happily spend every moment of this vacation sitting on the deck and staring out at the California seashore, I take Zach’s arrival as impetus to get us all into downtown San Diego to explore. One night, we explore the Gaslamp Quarter and grab dinner at Searsucker, and on another night, we feast in Little Italy.

  Yesterday, I insisted that we all go on a whale watch. Yes, we have similar tours that leave from Bar Harbor.

  “But these are California whales!” I said enthusiastically.

  The eye-rolling and grumbling about “stupid tourist activities” quickly quieted down though when we were treated to a dramatic display of breaching by gray whales migrating to Mexico. Not to mention, we saw plenty of dolphins and sea lions.

  This morning, there’s a winter festival downtown, so the seven of us have been strolling through parades, eating at food carts, and stopping at tables displaying local businesses with plenty of handmade crafts.

  “Arts and craps,” Sabin keeps muttering under his breath.

  The air is a bit chilly, but the sky is a stunning bright blue. I zip up my jacket and stand near Zach while he gets a giant pretzel from a vendor.

  “I think this is five meals in one,” he says happily as he slathers it in mustard.

  Steam rises off the hot pretzel, and the salty smell makes me salivate.

  I’ve already eaten plenty, but I go ahead and get one, too. “Oh my God, this is amazing,” I manage to say through mouthfuls.

  “Right?”

  We walk together and stop when Estelle and James pull our group over to watch a street performer hurling bowling pins up in the air while somehow juggling and riding a unicycle at the same time.

  “I’m glad you could come out here for a bit,” I say.

  He nods. “So am I.”

  “Eric seems to be doing really well, huh?”

  “He is,” Zach agrees. “Estelle and James are totally back together, too, I see. They have a nice feel this time around—more settled, less extreme.”

  “I agree.”

  “And you and Chris—you guys are in good shape, too. I like being around you both.”

  There’s a roar of applause that we use as a good excuse not to say anything for a minute. There is one person he has not mentioned.

  So, I do. “How do you think Sabin is doing?”

  Zach takes another bite and delays answering. “Well,” he says, “something seems to be going on.”

  Sometimes, Zach is the only person I can talk to about certain things. He has a similar perspective, and we are bonded because we each love a Shepherd boy, and therefore, we love a boy with damage. As much as we are enmeshed in this family, we are also outsiders, observers of what they cannot always see. There is a code of silence that Zach and I have learned to follow, and only when we talk alone are we able to break that.

  “What do you see?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “He’s a little distant. A little angry. Snarky one minute, charming the next.”

  “He’s not predictable right now.”

  “He’s not. Sabin watches you a lot, you know,” Zach says. “And you and Chris.”

  “Yet,” I say as we start to walk to watch a drummer pounding out a rhythm on steel drums, “he won’t look at me today, not directly. I don’t know if he’s pissed at me.”

  “Blythe, I think it’s quite the opposite.”

  Before I can ask what he’s talking about, Estelle appears and excitedly waves a flyer in front of my face. “Come on, we have to head up a few blocks. We have to see this break-dancing harpist magician!”

  I don’t have any idea what this means, and it sounds idiotic, but she looks enthralled with the idea, so we scurry to keep up with her. Zach drifts back to hold hands with Eric, and I’m pleased to see how comfortable Eric has gotten with being affectionate in public. He’s always been okay with touching Zach in front of his family and me and James, but this is one of the first times I’ve seen him like this out in the big, scary world.

  Sabin has been a little quiet today, so I seek him out to walk next to him. Because he’s always loud and bubbly, his demeanor is noticeable and concerning.

  “Hi.” I put a hand on his lower back, and I’m surprised that he doesn’t move his arm over my shoulder. It’s what he normally does. So, today, I realize it’s decidedly not normal. “You having fun?”

  “Of course, love. Fried dough?” He offers me the paper-wrapped dough.

  I hold up my pretzel. “Already stuffing my face.”

  He taps his food against mine. “Then, cheers to us both.”

  He smiles, but that doesn’t make me feel much better. Sabin is, after all, an actor at heart.

  “You okay today? You don’t seem quite like yourself.”

  “Just kind of mellow. That’s all.”

  We stop by Estelle’s coveted street performer, and I squint in disbelief while a man indeed makes a few dance moves that are followed by strumming a harp and pulling two baby bunnies from the strings. Estelle’s shrieks of delight carry over the crowd, and I laugh.

  I look around for Chris and finally locate him. He’s on the other side of the closed-off street, standing by an open tent that houses an art gallery’s display. I weave my way through the dense crowd. Before I am even within talking distance, I feel the tension radiating from him. His body language is as familiar to me as my own, and something in his stance sets off alarm bells.

  Chris stands, unmoving, midway down the long aisle with some framed paintings and photographs on easels and others secured to temporary walls.

  “Chris.” I keep my voice quiet as I slowly approach him.

  His eyes are riveted on the painting in front of him, and I turn to look at the large canvas. I might not be an art expert, but it’s a stunning piece. Vivid colors streak and swirl in front of me, creating an abstract work filled with electric reds and oranges and greens. Swipes of textured black and gray give the painting a three-dimensional edge. It should be beautiful, I can see that, but I find it markedly unsettling.

  I glance at Christopher, who remains transfixed.

  “Chris?” I say again.

  He steps forward and touches the painting, his fingers tracing over the nubby black marks.

  From behind me, I hear Sabin say, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  Sabin steps to my left and goes to the painting next to the one that has Christopher’s attention. Then, he moves to another one. Finally, he stops next to Chris. “He just won’t go away, will he? He just won’t fucking go away.”

  “He’s dead,” Chris says flatly.

  “But he’s still goddamn here, isn’t he?” Sabin sounds shaky, anxious, desperate. “There’s no outrunning him, is there? There’s just no fucking outrunning him.”

  My stomach drops when I scan the painting again and then the ones nearby. Sabin’s disbelief and fear become my own.

  Their father painted these.

  Chris has his hand on the painting still when a woman approaches us.

  “Excuse me, but you can’t touch the artwork,” she says tersely.

  We all ignore her, and I move closer to the boys. “Your father’s?”

  Chris drops his hand and numbly backs up. “Yes,” he confirms.

  Sabin is ashen, stepping in closer to the painting with the black smudges. He studies it, his expression one of curiosity that turns darker the longer he looks. That turns fearful.

  “This is your father’s work?” the woman asks. “I’m the gallery owner, and we’re tremendous fans of his. What a thrill to meet you.” She
extends a hand that no one accepts, yet she continues to gush, “He donated a significant number of pieces to us, and we have a showing dedicated to his work coming up. I had no idea he had children, or we would have invited you to attend. Do you live in the area? It’s this coming Saturday, and you must be there. What an incredibly talented artist he was, and I was terribly sorry to hear of his passing.”

  Christopher and Sabin both look as afraid as I’ve ever seen them, both unmoving and in shock.

  “Each painting alone is worth a substantial amount, and the number of pieces that he arranged to leave to us was so generous.” She steps in closer to them, but both are frozen. “Do you know how many he left to be sold for charities as well? Such a humanitarian, your father—”

  Quickly, I insert myself between her and the boys. “Back up,” I direct her.

  She leans to the side, insistent that she be heard. “What? I’m just explaining how much they’re worth—”

  “They’re not worth a goddamn thing!” I am nearly spitting out my words. “Destroy them. Destroy every single one.”

  The gallery owner’s shocked expression means nothing to me. I turn and put my hands on Sabin and Chris, pushing them away, trying to lead them from this cruel reminder of their past. Both stumble back, both lost in whatever memories these paintings have triggered.

  The woman’s hand lands on my shoulder. “I don’t understand. If you’ll give me your numbers, we’d love to have—”

  I whip around, shoving her hand away, and step in so that my face is just inches from her. I speak slowly and clearly because I will only say this once, “Shut the fuck up. Do you hear me?” There is so much venom and threat in my voice that she finally clamps her mouth. “You have no idea what you’re doing, so just shut the fuck up. We are leaving. Do not talk to them. Do not ever contact them. They are no longer that man’s sons. They do not exist to you. Clear?”

  She nods.

  Chris and Sabin are in the same spot where I left them, and I ignore the few onlookers who witnessed the scene.