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I shoot Zak a knowing glance before he disappears again, and promise Dad we’ll have a fire, power, and a whole lot more in just a few minutes. I feel my heart trill against my ribs again as I skip carefully through the storm out to the outhouse down by the lake, where the generator is.
Zak has a flashlight and some tools out, but it’s him I’m interested in.
I wrap myself around him, biting at his lips almost as I draw the kisses I need, the kisses I crave from him now.
“We can’t Misty, not here. Not now!” Zak whispers.
I feel a little hurt, but I know he’s right. Once he puts a hand or his mouth on me, I know there’ll be no stopping him and he does too.
“What are we gonna do?” I ask pleadingly, trying and failing not to clutch at his huge chest which twitches under my tiny fingers.
“We can start by getting this generator going,” Zak says, tactfully changing the subject.
I cock a brow, resigning myself to him playing hard to get for now, and cast the same eye over his tools.
“Did you check the gas?” I ask, chuckling silently as I tap the gauge on the side with my finger.
“We don’t usually leave it full when we’re not up here,” I add, noting Zak’s disappointment in his own mechanical skills.
“Alright, smartypants,” he grins, pulling me over to him by my belt loops on my jeans, spoiling me with a swift but deep kiss and a firm hand on my chest before he tears himself away.
“You’re welcome,” I gasp, wishing I’d brought a dozen more pairs of underwear with me as I plan my first load of laundry in my mind.
I let Zak fill the generator and start it up, grateful for the flickering light, knowing we’ll have both power and a Thanksgiving dinner after all.
I fish around for the umbrella I remember should be by the door, giving us some cover once we walk back to the house.
Zak holds me close to him, pulling the door shut bend us, and taking hold of the umbrella he says what we’re both thinking.
“I don’t want to lie to your Dad, Misty. But I don’t want to hurt him either, not when he’s like this.”
I nod in agreement, noticing how slowly we’re both taking our steps back to the house even though it’s raining buckets.
Zak leans in close, his mouth over my ear so I can hear him over the rain, but I also know it’s so he can be just that little bit closer to me for a few moments.
Once we’re back inside, I flick on some lights and we both blink a little before Dad’s gasps and groans draw us back to the living room.
“I don’t like this, Mark,” Zak says, helping Dad back to the couch and handing him his phone which he was trying to plug in and recharge.
“And you think I’m loving it?” my Dad snaps, before easing himself back down onto his back.
“I mean,” Zak explains patiently, “I don’t like it that you’re here instead of somewhere like a doctor or hospital. What if the lake floods… what if the storm gets so bad that-”
But my Dad has his hand up, his eyes full of apology.
“I’m sorry, Zak. I shouldn’t have snapped at you just now… The pain… I know, I know. But it’s Thanksgiving! How can I get my chiropractor or a regular doctor up here? And you’re right, it looks like we might have some more bad weather. We could even get snowed in before I can be moved again,” he adds.
Zak’s eyes dart to mine, and we both feel the horrible reality of either being stuck in the house with Dad in agony or having to come clean about how we both feel about each other.
I chew my nail out of habit as I try to think what the best thing to do is.
Zak quietly exits the room, and I know he’s getting the food from the SUV and putting it into the icebox so we at least have something to eat.
My Dad ushers me over, patting the small space of couch beside him.
“I’m sorry honey,” he says, his hand over mine. “I wanted this to be a special week, for all of us. I didn’t want to say it in front of him but maybe Zak’s right. Maybe I should-”
His face contorts in pain again and he stifles a cry, I can see tears in his eyes.
It’s unbearable.
“What about the Foskin’s. Down the way?” I ask, “Isn’t he a doctor? Or at least his wife is, I think.”
Dad puffs his cheeks and winces again. “His sister’s the doctor,” he muses. “But on Thanksgiving Eve? I doubt it, plus they might not even be up here this year. Look at the weather, Misty,” he says, sounding deflated again.
