Pretty Instinct (29 page)

“N-no,” I somehow answer.

“Fingers, baby, I’m coming in ya, want you with me.”

I don’t need it this time, truly, he’s hitting some mystical “easy button” in me, but Bedroom Cannon brooks no argument.

I’m coming before my hand even gets there, exploding and wrenching around him from such an elicit, vulgar…sexy command. This one’s much different. I can’t get a deep breath, getting dizzy, barely conscious of his single, hoarse wail filling the room.

***

Later, I wake, the heat and light of the afternoon sun fighting through the blinds, in a cocoon of Cannon’s arms and legs, snaring me from every angle, as though clinging for dear life—one false move and I’d disappear. I know the fear all too well. Not wanting to disturb him, I ignore my bladder for as long as possible, gaping in awe at his beauty, quiet and peaceful under the shroud of his sleep.

I could lie here and study him all day, dark hair unruly, a smirk hinting at his mouth even in slumber, but nature calls incessantly, like a telemarketer jacked up on Dew.

“Cannon,” I whisper, trying to rouse him gently.

“Mmm,” he hums sleepily, reaffirming his hold on me.

“I’m sorry, but I need to use the bathroom and you seem to be holding me hostage.” I giggle, peppering his cheeks with soft kisses.

“Come right back,” he groans, easing his bondage clutch.

I climb from the bed, intensely aware of aches and tingles in swollen parts far too long neglected and grin at the reminder.

Surely he fell right back to sleep, which means I can take a bath, desperate to soak away the soreness. I make quick work of lowering myself into the warm, soothing water, certain areas overwhelming grateful.

As soon as I’m nearing sated comfort, the door opens. I flinch. While my aches are gloriously earned and far from regrettable, I refuse to go another round…at least until I’ve been cleared by a holistic hoochie healer. “My vagina is on a twenty-four hour sabbatical, if that’s what you’re huntin’,” I deadpan, not opening my worn out eyes. Every part of me is exhausted; even my hair hurts.

“I wasn’t huntin’, ‘til you dropped the v-bomb. Is this one of those reverse psychology things where you say you don’t want what you’re actually jonesing for?”

I let my head fall his way and pry open one eye. “Not even a little bit. But if that’s for me, I might have a kiss in me somewhere.”

“It’s for you.” He hands me the tall glass of orange juice. “Kiss me hard on de lips and I may have a couple of pain relievers in my other hand.” He bends over, lips puckered adorably.

“Closer,” I whine, refusing to meet him halfway, which would require actual movement.

He destroys the gap, grazing his lips on mine whisper soft, holding his hand out and open with my relief. “Thought you might be sore, and I’m sorry you’re hurting, but—”

My phone ringing from the other room cuts him off and he rises to go grab it, while I swallow the pills, not stopping ‘til the glass is empty.

“Really? That’s awesome, Con.” He walks back in, his whole face beaming at whatever tales Conner’s weaving on the other end of the line.

Now
I move, climbing out and swiping two towels off the rack. I wrap one around me, the other over my hair, and shove my hot little hand toward the phone. “Gimme.”

“Con, your sister’s dying to talk to ya, so I’m gonna give her the phone,” pause, “miss you too,” he answers solemnly, corners of his mouth turning down just a bit.

“Bubs! How are you? I miss you so much!” I practically scream, all in one breath.

“I am very, very good, Bethy, very good. I miss you. How are my fish? There are so many fish here, big ones, but they don’t swim by me.”

I clutch my chest and bite back tears, an actual twinge in my chest. I miss him badly, but more so, I’m overcome by the sheer happiness in his voice. “Your fish are good, Bubs.” I shoot a look at Cannon and he bows his head to veil his laugh—I haven’t checked the dang fish once, and they’re not known for their sturdy, long lives. Shit!

“What have you been doing?”

“Nothing, we just got here, Sister, except swimming one time. My dad wants to talk to you, bye!”

“Conner?” I yell to catch him, unsuccessfully.

“Conner, stay by Laura!” my father pierces my eardrum with his yell. “Sorry about that, Elizabeth, he’s far too excited to be contained. I’ll be sure he calls you back when he’s settled down.”

“I’d appreciate that. So, you guys made it there fine. Everything else all right?”

“Actually, I did wish to discuss with you the phone call I received from my attorney. If now’s a good time?”

I glance around, at or for what I have no idea, but Cannon’s right there, arm around my waist, and he leads me to sit on the bed, climbing up beside me. “Yes, now’s fine,” I finally reply, forcing a stoic tone.

“Wonderful. Well as I said, Damian phoned me regarding a call he received from Mr. Morrison.”

Silence.

“Elizabeth?”

“Yes?”

“Did you hear me?” he asks, irritation obvious. “Well?”

“Well what? Was there a question in there I missed?”

He sighs loudly and then clears his throat. “Elizabeth, I understand Conner had a memory of some sort and you’d like to have him subjected to a monitored psych evaluation?”

“No,” I bite, “no, I would not
like
to do that to him. Honestly, my attorney’s call was premature and without my go ahead. I hadn’t decided anything for sure, yet.” As quickly as my back had gone ramrod straight, Cannon’s hand is there, rubbing it, relaxing me somewhat.

“Calm down,” he leans in and whispers in my free ear, kissing my temple. “In for me,” he waits as I inhale, “out for you, baby.”

I wheeze it out and nod chastely, telling him I’m better…’cause I know without a single doubt, that question was coming next.

“But,” I speak once again to my father, rationally, “yes, I’d like to know more about Conner’s memory and that would be the only way.”

“The only way for him to remember?” he scoffs, brimming with condescension. “Rubbish. You mean it’d be the only way to use it against me. Elizabeth, I know you don’t believe or trust me, I dare say you hate me, but for Conner’s sake, I must implore you to not subject him to such invasiveness. I give you my word, daughter, nothing Conner might remember will reflect badly on me. You will have traumatized him for no reason.”

I grip Cannon’s thigh, flexing my hand repeatedly, like I can milk some strength out of him to seep into me.

“Elizabeth, tell me this, what is it that you want? What’s your ultimate goal with the fact-finding mission?”

“Easy,” Cannon mumbles beside me, touching my hand with his own. Apparently he can hear my father through the cell; not surprising, but shocking how I’m actually going to take his advice.

“I’d like to know how Conner got hurt and make sure the person responsible doesn’t get near him ever again. I’d like to know why my mother checked out and make sure the person responsible dies a slow, painful death.” I turn to Cannon, expecting a smile of approval, instead getting a frown.

What the hell? I said it monotone and calmly!

“Would you consider a compromise, Elizabeth? If you’ll agree to halt exposing Conner to lab rat type examinations, I will agree to telling you a bit about your mother’s condition, and to a sit down with you and your brother so we can speak with him together, upon our return.”

“Why would you do that? What’s in it for you?” I throw out harshly.

“Perhaps some peace, finally. I’m tired, Elizabeth. Tired of fighting with one child to see the other. Tired of knowing you despise me. Tired of bestowing any love I have to give on Laura’s children because my own are never near. But above all else, daughter, I’m tired of the thought of you hurting, going through life angry and bitter. You’re grown up now; you can handle more.”

“Are you dying?”

“Lizzie!” I jerk at Cannon’s reprimand.

“Sorry,” I murmur in the phone. “I just meant, are you, I mean, you’re different, like trying to borrow back time or something.” I peek at Cannon and he winks.

“Like a fine wine, people tend to get better with age. My father,” he sighs, “everyone thinks him the kind, distinguished, level-headed gentleman, which he is,
now
. But when he was younger, when I was younger, he was the meanest son of a bitch you’d never want to meet.” His laugh is facetious. “Elizabeth, I admit I was a horrid father. I was so busy chasing status and wealth that I forfeited my greatest treasures. And I was the worst possible husband a man could be. Your mother—” his voice cuts out and I hear a loud, sharp throat clearing. “Anna was a fine woman, her greatest fault her overly soft heart. The more I was gone, preoccupied, the deeper into depression she fell. I watched her spirit slowly die and I did nothing, hoping she’d get drunk or sedated before I had to hear the nagging and crying. And when she was finally broken, I chose to use it as my justification to seek the company of other women rather than to save her. I was a cheater, a louse, and the sole cause of your mother’s demise. I will forever be sorry, Elizabeth. I robbed you of a happy family, and your mother.”

It takes me a minute to realize he’s stopped talking, or that Cannon is cradling my head to his chest as the tears pour freely. I’ve just had the longest conversation with my father ever, and it’s more of a glimpse into my past than what I got actually living it. I almost don’t know what to say, how I feel, anything…but my spirit finds a voice.

“T-thank you, for the um, talk. Have Conner call me. And,” I sit up, needing my own support, “I would be agreeable to the three of us having dinner, or whatever, when you get back.”

“Elizabeth, I—”

If he says “I love you,” this phone and the wall are gonna make fast friends
.

“I’ll see you soon.”

Tonight’s show, wrapping up our stay in Lincoln, went great; everyone in sync and seemingly high spirits…until we were all once again packed together on the bus.

The current tension in the circulated air couldn’t be penetrated with a chainsaw wielded by Mike Myers even if today
was
the 13
^th
! Problem is, I know precisely what’s eating at each of them and can’t do a damn thing about any of it.

Silly me
misplaced my magic freakin’ wand again and can’t make Vanessa suddenly materialize to appease Jarrett. Nor can I simply walk over to Rhett and politely ask for my V card back, vanquishing the jealous, pensive vibes radiating off Cannon. And Rhett? Huh, rewind, ‘cause there’s no telling what crawled up Rhett’s ass, if anything at all. He quite literally could be farting happy bubbles ten seconds from now; there’s a questionably large gamut of mood swings all trapped in one great guy.

No wonder Bruce blazes a hasty trail between driver’s seat, venue, hotel, and back to driver’s seat without fail. You wander one inch off your path around here, and you’re liable to get chewed up and…swallowed. Case in point: the clueless hiker who stumbled into this foreboding den of angry bears.

“As much fun as this is,” I slam both hands flat on the table and rise, “I’m gonna take a shower. If you actually kill each other while I’m gone, clean up your mess!” I chirp sardonically and walk away, not daring to glance back.

I listen against the closed bathroom door for any sounds of an ensuing blood bath. After a few minutes of hearing only absolute silence, I turn on the hot spray, stripping and immersing myself in a steamy jet of blessed sanctity.

Maybe it’s time for a real break off this merry-go-round.
I never did like those things
. The initial rush of adrenaline is enticingly deceptive, ‘cause after a while you’re disoriented, nauseated, and can no longer decipher anything specific, everything around you just one big blur.

And this traveling tin can of dysfunction is starting to feel a lot closer to that nightmarish ride than fun, or its original purpose, escapism.

“Fearing change is a sign of ignorance, Elizabeth. It shows one’s lack of confidence in their ability to decipher and maneuver any situation by using their intellect.”

One conversation, even remotely of substance, and I’m recalling his idealistic “lessons,” with which I don’t agree, in my head?

Talk about a change I don’t like…

But it’s already blowing and strengthening in gale force, a new wind sweeping through my life a smidgen more every day.

The big questions I need answered will ultimately be what decides if this is fleeting pessimism or the path I should travel. But I won’t ask or beg. No, these answers must
come
to me, willingly and blatant.

***

“It’s bad enough we’re sleeping together in Conner’s bed, so don’t get any big ideas, Mr. Perky Penis,” I warn him and the obvious erection poking at my back.

“Can we fake some moaning at least? Or, just scream my name a couple times and I’ll be happy.” He laughs, tickling my sides.

“That to inflate your ego or
deflate
Rhett’s?” Yeah, I called him out. “Don’t be a dick. Rhett’s no threat to you. No sense in fucking with him for no reason.”

“You’re right.” He sighs, pushing aside my hair to nuzzle his face in my neck, his arms circling my waist and firming their hold. “I just need him to know you’re mine now. I’ll be the one seeing to
all
your needs. No more ‘Rhett’s my rock’ missions. I’m who takes care of anything you crave, want, or require. You cry,
my
shirt gets wet. You scream, my eardrums bleed. You come,
my
dick’s squeezed. All of it, everything.”

I have to snort in laughter. He goes from sweet and poetic to crudely sexy in one breath. I love it. “He knows that
and
supports it, so be nice. I’m serious. I care about him and won’t play mean mind games. Just like I know you care about Ruthie, at least fundamentally, which is why I didn’t shoot her back a nasty text. By the way,” my tone dips shamefully, “I really am sorry for creeping your phone. I
did
grab it by mistake, but once my eye caught her name, I was hooked. I’m sorry.”