My taste is faint and unusual on his lips and tongue, but so erotic. “God,” I whisper, hugging his shoulders as he slides out and back in a couple more times, slow and silky and languid.
“Yeah.” He eases to the side and I roll with him, staying face to face. “Fuck, yeah. That was so good, the people in the next room are having a cigarette.”
After a surprised beat, I burst out laughing, pressing my face into his neck. He too shakes with laughter, and our arms tighten around each other.
16
Owen
“Do you ever want to do more than busk?”
We’re still in bed. We’ve missed breakfast, but neither of us cares. I run a hand from her shoulder to her elbow, my fingers lingering in the crook of her arm. So soft. So smooth.
“Maybe?” She focuses on my shoulder, her fingers rubbing over it. “I don’t have a Broadway type voice. I could maybe have played in an orchestra, like my dad did, but I love guitar and folk music.”
“You could write songs for other singers.”
She laughs. “Sure.”
“No, really.”
One shoulder lifts. “Maybe. But right now, this is my life. It’s getting easier, but I have to get Cat through school.”
She’s basically given up her own life, her own dreams, to look after her sister. I’m filled with admiration for her, but also…sadness. I don’t know much about music, but I think it’s a waste of her talent to just sing in subway stations.
“You’re an amazing person,” I say, kissing her forehead.
“Aw. Thank you. I’m just doing what needs to be done. Now, tell me about you.”
I huff a laugh. “Like what?”
“Well, I know some stuff from Google.”
“You googled me?”
“Of course.” She grins. “I know you’re Canadian. You’re two years older than me. You’re single.”
I choke. “Uh, yeah.”
“I knew that anyway. But…like…why are you so, um, strict with yourself? Your diet, your sleep, your routine…”
“I always have been.”
“So…that’s just you?”
I’m silent. “I told you about my brother Eric.”
I feel her go very still. “Yes.”
“He was three years older than me,” I say slowly, watching my fingers move over her arm. “We both played hockey. We were both good at it. Eric was really good. When he was seventeen, he hurt his shoulder. He had to have surgery, and they prescribed painkillers for him. Narcotics.” I swallow. “He got addicted to them. He played hockey the next season. He was ranked to be drafted in the NHL. But part way through the season, he started missing games, and when he did show up, he played like shit. Because he was high. The coach talked to Mom and Dad about it. They talked to Eric about it. He said he’d stop using drugs. And for a while he did. Then he started again.”
“Oh.” She presses her lips to my chest.
“He didn’t get drafted. My parents tried everything. He could have still played in the NHL if he’d cleaned himself up. They sent him for expensive rehab. He’d come home and it would seem like he was getting back on track.” I swallow. “He got a job at a gas station. Then he relapsed again. This went on for years. It was a nightmare.”
“God. Oh, Owen. That’s awful.”
“Yeah. He’d steal my parents’ car and disappear for weeks. He’d call in the middle of the night and ask someone to come get him—except he didn’t know where he was.”
She makes a soft, sad sound.
“Mom and Dad were at their wits’ end, trying to help him. Their life was chaos. Everyone tried to baby Eric, treat him with kid gloves. We never knew when he’d disappear or come home totally wasted. Or when the cops would show up at our door. I tried to talk to him. I begged him to get help.” My voice hitches. “It was so fucking hard seeing him like that—all the possibility wasted. All his talent squandered. It was hard seeing Mom and Dad so helpless and heartbroken.” I pause, my throat thick. “I tried to do the best I could. To try to make up for what was happening with him. I wanted to play in the NHL, and I was determined I wasn’t going to waste my chances like he did.”
“Oh.” She strokes my shoulder again. I can feel her sympathy. Her sorrow. Her understanding.
“I felt helpless, too. And…” I stop. I’ve already shared more than I ever have. I don’t want to tell her the rest of my feelings about Eric. She’d hate me. “Unfortunately, it’s not an unusual story. It happens too often. Anyway, you’ve probably figured out he didn’t make it. He died. We don’t know if it was accidental or if he wanted to die.” I stop, fighting the emotion that threatens to break my voice.
She presses her face against me. “I’m sorry I asked.”
“Nah, it’s okay.” I slide a hand down the curve of her back. “So that’s why.”
“That must have been so hard. I can’t even imagine.”
I nod. “It was so fucking hard watching someone you love, love their drugs more than they love you.” My voice is sandpaper-on-asphalt rough.
She snuggles in closer, kissing my jaw, squeezing me. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” I cup the back of her head.
“How are your parents?”
My gut tightens. “They’re okay. I don’t see them much.”
“They still live…where?”
“Sarnia. That’s where I grew up. Yeah, they’re still there.”
“They must be so proud of you.”
“I guess.”
“You don’t talk to them either?” She peers at me with puzzled eyes.
I hitch one shoulder. “Not much.” That’s a whole other issue for dissection. And I don’t want to do that now.
“That’s too bad.” Her voice is velvet soft. “Thank you for telling me about Eric.”
We’re sharing stuff. Not just our bodies. We’re talking about things that have made us who we are.
“This fucking scares the shit out of me,” I say in a low voice to her hair.
She draws back, eyes wide. “What does?”
One corner of my mouth hitches. “You know.”
“This. Us.”
This isn’t pretending anymore. The sex definitely changed that. But more importantly…I really like her. A lot.
“Yeah.”
Her head barely moves in a tiny nod. “I know. Me too.”
Maybe we don’t have to talk about why we’re scared. Maybe it’s enough to just admit it. To each other. To ourselves.
“What happens when we get home?” she whispers.
“What do you want to happen?”
She sucks on her bottom lip and peers up at me, looking adorably, heart-breakingly vulnerable.
“I want to keep seeing you,” I say, saving her from having to say it first.
“I do too.”
Our eyes meet and hold.
“Okay,” I finally say. “Let’s do that, then.”
Her smile breaks free. “It does make things more complicated than they already were.”