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I was the one to jump headfirst into things and deal with the aftermath later. Well, until Ethan. Until my ex-husband. You can’t have two people unconcerned with consequences when a child is in the mix. I had to figure out how to be responsible for both of us. I used to be fun. I want to be the Jillien he remembers. Coming here tonight was the most spontaneous thing I’ve done in years.

My whole body relaxes as I remember how much fun it was to be Jillybear. I got the nickname because I could be cuddly but also had one hell of a growl as a kid. Ethan has the same thing. I call him Bear. I’ll put Jillien back in her place tomorrow, but tonight, Jilly rides again.

JILLIEN: Ok.

LIAM: Nope. Not sexy at all. Try again. My dick is crawling inward. Don’t make me spank you. Try again.

I giggle because suddenly, I want to be spanked. Damn. I’ll play.

JILLIEN: I have a spot picked out for those commanding fingers if they’re willing to explore and hunt around for it.

LIAM: There’s my dirty girl. I’m going to slide one of those fingers into you as soon as possible. I’m going to make you come so hard you’ll forget how to make toast. Tell me what you feel like. Slide your hand into MY pussy and tell me.

JILLIEN: Slick, swollen, pulsing, and ready. Fuck, I want you. And now I want toast.

Now I’m aching and laughing. I’ll let go in the safety of this man.

JILLIEN: I can’t wait to be fucked raw. I want to watch you come, scream my name, and burst inside me.

LIAM: A skill I didn’t know you had my old friend. You’re fucking amazing at this dirty stuff. Stop touching my pussy and tell her I’ll be right there. Then I’m making you toast.

I grin and pick up the vape pen on his nightstand. I look around his vaguely lonely room. I wonder why he stays in this house by himself. Nostalgia is gnawing at me. I want to scrub the last five days away and focus on tonight. I need to walk in the snow. I write a quick note with a map.

Meet me here. I have to say hello to someone.

Jillybear

10

LIAM

I walk through the thick snow on Pine three blocks west, then two blocks north. I’m not sure why we’re trudging to Old St. Mary’s Church. But my dick will follow her anywhere she wants to go. This could be a strange goth thing or something more significant.

She’s different than what I suspected she’d turn out to be. I see sparks of the girl I knew mixed with her adultness. Tonight I need my funny, impetuous Jillien. She makes me bolder and more confident. I didn’t realize I’d smoothed over the edges of my life into dull rock until she sparked me like a flint earlier.

The snow picks up, and there’s a soft, muffled sound with each step of my huge boots. She’s standing in a graveyard by herself; I step closer. Her hair is falling to her shoulders, and her delicate fingers are twirling one piece of it. She looks more beautiful than I deserve. Her thumbnail is between her luscious lips.

It’s like the kid version of us exists in a different universe. Adult me is standing here, looking at adult her and only sees how stunning she is in the moonlight and snow. She places her hand on a headstone, then on her heart. This isn’t a kinky invitation. It’s an introduction.

“Lost girl in the graveyard!” I bellow across the headstones, my voice not quite as commanding as my old Da’s, but it’s sufficient. I wrap my arms around her from behind as I reach her and we face a headstone emblazoned with “Thompson.”

“Grandma, do you remember Liam Fletcher? Bev and Reid’s son from the club? You knew Lisa, too. Well, this is him. He lives down the street and has been watching over you for years. And over me tonight. He’s a good man who reminds me of who I wanted to be in this world.”

I pull her tighter, melting into her words. “Lovely to meet you again, Mrs. Thompson. Here’s what I remember about you: you carried small packets of tissues in a brightly colored crocheted pouch, wore fuchsia lipstick, always had peppermint LifeSavers, Rolaids, and those Brach’s Royals flavored caramels from the country club’s ladies’ locker room in your purse that always had a complicated clasp.”

She turns around quickly. “Yes! That’s her.”

“To be fair, Jill, it’s kind of every grandmother, but I remember she had bejeweled glasses and tight white curls, and smoked Carlton’s.”

She places her arms around my neck as the snow fills my beard and her hair. She kisses me sweetly, nothing like we’ve been doing tonight. It means something more. I let her dictate this moment. She snuggles into me, and I hear her sniff a bit. I wrap my big arms around her. Jillien turns toward the headstone again, my hands on her shoulders. “He’s not doing well. He’s sick.” Her back is to me. Her voice wavers, and the fragility of it makes me pull her closer.

I ask, “With what?”

“Life.”

“I’m confused, Bella.” She grins so sweetly at me as I reposition that word in our history. She’s so wrapped up in newfound lust and memory for me.

“Lots of medical things, but it turns out he’s too scared or sensitive to really handle life. There are many excuses that could be said about situations, and things not being his fault, but in the end, he chose to drink the world and his health away. Actually, whether it was a choice or not is up for debate. Help was offered, forced on him at times, and always encouraged. But I do know he drank instead of taking the help. And instead of his family. We were never a strong enough pull away from alcohol or at least from whatever dreamlike existence it gave him. The disease is no match for him or us.”