For A Good Time, Call... (19 page)

“He
wants to see you,” Isaiah tried again.

“To
see how many more insults he can hurl at me before he finally
croaks?”

“For
goodness sakes, Fiona Mary, it is his dying wish,” he said,
getting to his feet. “Would it kill you to take a day our of
your busy little life in this godforsaken place to just... come for
five minutes and say goodbye?”

More
like: I hope you rot in hell you evil fucking bastard.

“He's
at Saint Mary's hospital. Room three-fifteen.”

“Ironic
isn't that?” I asked as he reached for my door.

“What?”
he asked, looking over his shoulder at me.

“For
someone who hates women so much to be put in three-fifteen?” At
his confused look, I smiled. “ 'She is more precious than
rubies, and all the things thou canst desire are not to be compared
to her.' ”

“Proverbs?”
he asked, like maybe he had thought all of those words had just been
cleared from my mind like an etch-a-sketch.

“I'm
sure that didn't escape his notice.”

“No,”
Isaiah said, shaking his head. “I think it might be why he
wanted to see you,” he said, opening the door and jumping back
a step.

Because
there standing in the hallway was my big, scary, hulking, sexy,
dangerous neighbor. He was staring at Isaiah for a long minute, his
eyes landing on Isaiah's with a look of realization on his face. He
glanced over my brother's shoulder at me. “You alright,
Sixteen?” he asked.

“Hunter,”
I said, trying to keep my calm. “this is my brother Isaiah.
Isaiah this is Hunter.” Hunter inclined his head at my brother,
typical macho man type greeting, then looked back over at me. After a
second, Isaiah's eyes followed. Both of them looking at me like I had
all the answers. “Isaiah was just leaving,” I said and
saw a look of relief on my brother's face. Hunter paused for a minute
then moved out of the way and I heard Isaiah shuffle quickly down the
hall.

“What
the fuck, Fee?” Hunter asked, stepping inside my apartment and
closing the door. “I didn't think you were in contact.”

I
walked into the kitchen, suddenly in dire need of some coffee. Or
maybe just something to do to settle my nerves. “We're not,”
I said, moving around the room. “When I got this place, my
grandmother somehow got mail sent to her about it. So I got a letter
from here that pretty much just blackmailed me into calling her every
Sunday.”

“Or
what?” Hunter asked, sounding angrier than I probably ever was
about it.

“Or
she would give my father and brother my address.”

“Well
I guess you aren't making any more Sunday phone calls,” he
said, watching me like I was about to burst into a million pieces.

That
was true. I hadn't even thought of that. No more slinking down dark
alleys. No more paying people to interrupt my call early. No more
nights trying to drown myself into oblivion. That part of my life was
over. My father would be dead soon. My brother wasn't the threat I
had feared he would be. So she had nothing on me.

“My
father is dying,” I said, watching the fist drops of coffee
drip into the pot.

“Good
riddance to bad rubbish,” he said, his tone cold. I actually
felt cold hearing it. I turned to him, my brows drawn low, my arms
crossed under my chest. “I'm sorry. Was that not true?”
he asked, shaking his head. “He's a miserable piece of shit who
should have spent the last thirteen years rotting in a cell for what
he did to you. I'm glad he's dying. And I hope it hurts like hell.”

“Hunter...”
I said, at war with myself. Part of me felt almost offended though I
knew he was right. He was absolutely right. But the other part felt
nothing but warmth. Warmth at the fact that he cared enough to be mad
for me, be spiteful for me. “You don't need to be angry for
me,” I said, walking over to him and wrapping my arms around
his middle, resting my face against his shirt.

There
was a long exhale of breath on the top of my head before his arms
went around me, pulling me close, and crushing me to his chest.
“Okay,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “So
how was the reunion? I think I heard some yelling.”

“Oh
we discussed religion and our mother's suicide and the difference
between discipline and child abuse.”

“I'm
assuming that didn't go over well.”

“You
know... it was weird. He didn't fight me like I expected him to. Like
my father would have done. And he was always my father's little
protege.”

“Maybe
he's just worked up about your father being... sick? I assume he's
sick.”

“Cancer,”
I agreed. “they said he maybe has days.”

Hunter
took a deep breath and I felt him tense, like he was going to say
something and he needed strength to do it. “Fee... maybe you
should go.”

“What?”
I said, pulling against his arms, but they only held me tighter. “You
think it would be what? Kind? To fulfill his final wishes?” I
struggled harder to no avail. His arms were like weights around me.
“Fucking let me go, Hunter.”

“No,
listen,” he said, his tone infuriatingly reasonable. “This
isn't about him. Fuck him. This is about you.”

“What
about me?” I asked, not quite believing that this was the same
guy who had just told me he hopes my father dies in agony a few
minutes ago. I had never met someone so all over the place in my
whole life.

“It's
just... you're doing better, Fee,” he said, letting me go
enough so that I could look up at him. One of his hands reached up
briefly to touch my cheek. “You're doing so much better. You're
not cutting. You haven't been drunk in days. You're sleeping. At
night. Like the rest of the world. You're doing so much better and I
think it's because you are dealing with your past, facing it, sharing
it... instead of bottling it up and taking it out on yourself in
private.”

I
didn't want to tell him that the only reason I was doing better was
because of him. Because he was there to accept all my damage. Because
he was there to keep me safe from myself. Because he was there, when
all other things had failed, to fuck me into an exhausted sleep.

I
couldn't tell him that. It was too much. It was too dependent. It was
too needy. I wasn't going to let myself be that girl. At least not
outwardly.

“So
your answer is to throw me right back into the situations that caused
me to cut and drink and be afraid of the dark...”

“No,”
he said, letting me go finally. “Because this is different.
You're not ten years old anymore, Fee. You're not a helpless,
brainwashed kid. And he's not your father. He's just a man. A deeply
disturbed, worthless pile of flesh. You're everything. You're the
fucking sun and stars and moon. So you should go there. And you
should face him. And you should tell him that no matter how hard he
tried, he couldn't break you. Because I think you need that. I think
you need him to know that you're not his whipping boy anymore. That
he didn't win.”

He
was right. As much as I wouldn't let myself think that before, he was
right. I did need that. I needed that closure. I needed to give him a
none-too-subtle “fuck you” before I wouldn't have the
chance to again. He didn't deserve peace. He didn't deserve to leave
this life thinking he did good, that he was a man of God, that he
lived a righteous life. He needed to know he was wrong. That he had
sinned against the God he had devoted his life to by abusing me and
our mother and, in a lot of ways, Isaiah as well. And then, if he
felt the need, he could repent.

It
wouldn't do him any good. Not in my eyes. There are some things that
you do in life that can never be forgiven. There are some cuts that
are too deep to heal. And I wasn't going to tell him I forgave him.
I wasn't going to brush it under the rug.

God
could forgive him. Not me.

“What's
up, Fee?” he asked, watching me as I leaned against the
counter.

“I
know I need to go,” I said, shaking my head. “but I
really, really don't want to.”

“I
could go...”

“No,”
I said immediately. Hell to the no. I was not dragging perfect,
amazing Hunter into my fucked up past. I wasn't going to let him be
there in case I lost my shit and started beating on someone trapped
in a hospital bed. Or, worse yet, falling into a puddle of
nothingness on the floor. I couldn't... wouldn't let him see me like
that. The me I might be around my family might be nothing like the me
he knew and cared about. I couldn't risk losing the way he looked at
me. It mattered too much. “No,” I said again, less
urgently. “Thank you, but I think this is something I should do
alone.”

“I
get that,” he said, pulling me to him. “So when are you
leaving?”

That
was a good question. From what Isaiah said, I didn't exactly have a
lot of time. If I dawdled, I might miss my chance. I would need to
get on a bus as soon as possible. “The first bus out I guess.”

I
felt him sigh against my hair. “I think I might miss you,”
he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh
yeah?” I asked, breathing him in.

“Yeah,
but you know...” he said, his voice trailing off, sounding way
too amused given the circumstances.

“I
know what?”

“Well
you seem to have this particular line of work that makes a situation
like this much more tolerable.”

“Oh,”
I said, trying to hide the smile in my voice. “You need a pair
of panties to hold you over, huh?”

He
chuckled, reaching town and swatting my ass. “No, I'm good on
that front. But keep that phone of yours charged. And be prepared for
a big bill.”

“You
know phones don't really work that way anymore,” I teased.

“Shut
up, you're ruining the moment,” he said, his hands squeezing my
ass before sliding up toward the waistband of my pants and slowly
pulling them down.

“What
moment is that?” I asked, stepping obediently out of the legs.

“The
one where I give you something to remember me by,” he said,
reaching for my shirt and pulling it up. He dropped my shirt to the
floor, standing back and looking at me for a long time. Long enough
to make me shift uncomfortably, to want to cover myself. Then he
reached to pull his own shirt off, followed by his pants. “Alright,”
he said, nodding, clapping his hands once.

“Alright?”
I asked, my brows drawing down. “Alright what?” I asked,
expecting him to reach for me.

He
stepped back, waving toward his body. “You'll remember this,”
he said, looking pleased with himself.

“Oh,
gee,” I smiled. “I don't know. I may have seen better,”
I said, shrugging and started to walk away.

His
arm reached out and grabbed me, pushing me forward against the
counter. I felt his cock slide between my legs, stroking my slick
heat. “Have you... felt better too?” he asked, sounding
hoarse.

My
hands slapped down on the counter top, the cold shocking against my
overheated skin. A million times no. Nothing. No one could ever feel
as good as he did.

“I
don't know,” I said, biting my lip to keep from groaning.

I
expected him to pull back and slam deep inside me. I was bracing for
that. For that powerful surge of lust. That was what I had come to
expect from Hunter. Wild abandon. But he pulled slowly away and
stroked forward again, the tip of his cock brushing over my clit.
Soft, gentle. Over and over. “You don't know?” he asked.

All
I wanted was for the teasing to end, to feel him inside. To feel us
both lose control. But I balled my hands into fists and shook my
head. “It's hard to tell,” I said.

“Hmm,”
he said, pulling away from me and I had to fight not to beg him to
come back. “Well,” he said a long couple of seconds
later, grabbing my shoulder and turning me around. His hands brushed
down over my breasts then slid around my back, grabbing my ass and
pulling me up off my feet.

I
wrapped my arms around his neck, my legs going to the sides of his
hips as he walked, finally pressing me back against the wall. “Has
anything felt better than this?” He asked, reaching between us
and bringing his cock to my entrance, pushing against it for a second
before pressing in, but only slightly.

My
head fell backward and I let out the groan I had been holding in for
what felt like ages. “I'm not sure yet,” I whimpered,
trying to push further down on him, but his hands were on my hips,
holding my hard against the wall.

“Well
I guess it's always wise to gather all the evidence before making a
decision,” he said, leaning down and kissing me until I forgot
all about him inside me, until all I could focus on was his lips and
tongue and the strange lightness in my chest.

And
then he pushed forward, quickly but achingly gently and I cried out
against his lips. Once fully inside, he stilled and continued his
exploration of my lips. Like he was trying to press the memory into
my skin. As if I could ever forget.

Every
inch of me was clinging to him as if I wanted him to sink into my
skin, as if I wanted to sink inside his. Like I would never be
satisfied until I did.