Our deaths are just one misstep away. No one is immune to the side effects of humanity.
Blue and red flashes draw my attention from the woman who showed me more love than I deserved to the road where two county sheriff’s deputy vehicles pull up against the curb. We don’t live in city limits so this is their jurisdiction.
Mom and Dylan fed them the story. Everyone knows I don’t speak. But I was required to write a statement and sign it. Even I wasn’t exempt from due process. But as my mother predicted, no one questioned a drunk man tripping over a rock and bashing his head on stones. No one suspected I had anything to do with it other than the fight we had before his death. It wastoo easy to walk away from all of this without suffering the consequences.
My father was a bastard, a horrible man who deserved to suffer for his actions. But did he deserve to die? Nothing like being faced with immortality to make you question the past. Even when you know you were the victim in the story.
Six months after the “accident” that killed our father, our mom suffered a heart attack in her sleep and died. It felt like some cruel joke. Like our father dragged her into the afterlife so she would have to suffer with him. Or maybe it was meant to make me suffer for the life I took before his time was up. A life for a life. Either way, I felt responsible and I knew whatever power there was in the world was sending a message. I just wish I’d paid the price of it instead of a woman who deserved more than she got.
Perhaps living is the price I have to pay. If that’s the case, I’ll suffer in silence for my crimes.
That’s the way it’s always been.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jason-Present
You Know You’re Right-Nirvana
It was a long day. The blower on the heater went out so I was crawling around in the attic most of the day trying to fix it with what I have instead of working on orders that need to be ready in a little over a month. I did what I could to keep it going until the snow melted enough for us to get into town and get a new part for it. If we could even find one.
The fireplace in the living room did a great job of heating the downstairs, but since Dylan didn’t have a fireplace in his room, I needed to get the heater working so he didn’t freeze tonight.
After a long day of working on the heater, Dylan made elk chili with the last of the ground elk sausage from our Thanksgiving kill. We’d have to go hunting soon since we were almost out of all our frozen meat. We didn’t stock up enough for three people since we didn’t anticipate our unexpected guest.
After dinner, Dylan went to bed so Mara and I decided to have our nightly routine in our room instead of the living room.
Fire burning warm in the fireplace, Mara tucked under my arm while she read from a book out loud, blankets pulled over us. She wore one of my t-shirts while I lounged comfortably in flannel pajama bottoms. I’d rather we were wearing nothing but we’ll get to that later. For now, I just enjoyed listening to her voice.
She asked me once if my mom ever read aloud to me, like it was some weird oedipus thing. But, much to her relief, my mom didn’t read aloud to us past the age of four. Listening to her read had nothing to do with my mom and everything to do with the woman I found myself addicted to despite my best efforts.
Maybe if I stopped fighting the universe for bringing us together, I could acknowledge that it means something.
Maybe if I could stop punishing myself for the past, I could allow myself to be unabashedly happy.
Easier said than done.
As Mara ends the chapter, she places the ribbon she uses for a bookmark between the pages and shuts it with a satisfyingly soft thud. The sound of a hardback closing was akin to the wings of a bird flying by or snow hitting the windows. Subtle and peaceful.
Mara’s hand slides to my thigh over the comforter and I relish that. Her touch sends shivers up my spine as though she were conducting electricity through her palm directly to my chest. It makes my cock twitch and my breath stutter. You’d think after two months of sleeping together almost daily, I’d be sick of her.
But I’m not. Quite the opposite, I can’t get enough of her. I could spend all day buried between her legs with either my face, my hand, or my dick and it would never be enough. I could hear her come over and over like some people play the same song on repeat and never get tired of hearing it.
I need to be inside her constantly.
I need her.
Lacing my fingers with hers, I lift her hand to my mouth so I can press my lips to the back of her hand. Convey with the lightest touch what I can’t say aloud.
“Jason?” Mara’s voice holds the sound of hesitation instead of lust. Can’t have that.
I lower my lips to her shoulder and kiss a blazing trail from her shoulder socket to her neck to the back of her ear.
“Jason,” she giggles, trying to sound uneffected. “I need to tell yousomething.”
What’s wrong?
I wish I could ask. She has me worried, now.
