Page 58 of Left of Forever

“Ah, fuckin’ hell, mate. You touched your eyes, I take it?” says Bob.

Ellis pivots toward me. “Wren,” he says, a deep, broken growl. Oh, I’ve got to get him out of here.

“Mate, you didn’t touch your doodle, did you?” Bob adds.

“The gloves were for the peppers! You don’t want those touching your skin!” Bernie cries.

“No shit,” Ellis says through his teeth.

The maid of honor lets out a loud sob from her chair, the bride and another bridesmaid crouched in front of her and deep in conversation. One of the groomsmen is peeing off the balcony. I keep hold of Ellis’s elbow so he knows I’ve got him. He keeps stretching a palm in front of his crotch like he’s dying to grab it. The skin around his eyes is an angry red.

The wine guy comes bounding into the kitchen, bottles held aloft in his hands. “Found it! I’ve got the Riesling and the perfect chardonnay!” he declares.

I turn back when I hear the unmistakable sound of vomiting. Maid of honor has finally begun to purge her demons, directly down the front of the bride’s dress. Bride stands up on shaky legs, then runs to the edge of the balcony and retches next.

Some of the samosas start to smoke, and Bob runs over to the fryer. I grab ahold of Bernie with my free hand and hold her in place before she can flee.

“What do I do about him?” I ask urgently, nodding up at Ellis.

“Ice cream!” calls Bob over the smoke detector that starts going off. For a second, I think he’s saidasscream and I am about to rip into him about his ass not being the issue. “Gotta flush his eyes out with water, but ice cream will break it down off the skin!” This time, I hear it through the accent.

Bernie scuttles over to the freezer and flings it open, grabs a carton, and lobs it at me.

“Let’s go,” I say to Ellis, tucking his hand in mine.

“No!” He rears back. “What if it’s still on my hands?” he says. And right then and there, it’s as if whatever piece of my heart I was trying to reserve is slingshot straight from my chest. The fact that he can stand there with his dick and eyeballs on fire, liquid streaking down his face from the corners of his eyes and his nostrils over his mustache, andstillthink of me…

He can have whatever he wants from me again. Everything is his.

“Here, honey, hold on to my shirt, then.” I put it in his hand and lead him away.

We make it safely out of the house and down the stair pathway we came in that leads into the vineyards. We make it about a quarter of the way before he has to stop.

“Holyhell, this fucking hurts, Wren,” he says dizzily. He tries to open his eyes and hisses, more tears spilling free. He briefly braces his hands on his knees before straightening again, shaking out his legs one at a time and squatting like he’s trying to get air up his jeans. The condensation from the ice cream is streaming down my arm.

“Come on, honey,” I say gently. “Let’s get back to the room as quick as we can.”

He lets out an awful whimper. “I can’t believe thatthisis the reason you’re saying those words to me right now,” he says.

I put the end of my shirt in his hand again and march on, determination lengthening my stride. We cut over a hill straight to the enclosed back patio of our cottage. I have to rifle through his pockets for the key to unlock it, then shut the slatted wooden door behind us. When I turn on the water for the outdoor bath, he flinches.

“It’s just water so you can flush out your eyes,” I explain. I guide him to his knees and slowly push his head beneath therunning faucet, rubbing circles on his back while he tries to blink into the water. After a few rounds, I ask, “Any better?”

He blinks rapidly, shaking his head. “Not really. I gotta do something about my dick, though,” he pants.

My entire chest aches at seeing him this vulnerable, knowing it’s killing him. “Here, stand up. No, don’t touch anything. Let me,” I say.

His hands hover out at his sides, his jaw working. I peel off his shirt first. Feel my entire body flush at the sight of his naked torso. His nostrils flare. “I can’t believe this shit,” he whispers. “I cannot believe I don’t get to watch you undress me right now.”

Because he’s said it so mulishly, and because there’s nothing to be done for it, I aim for humor. “There were easier ways to get out of the class early, you know. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

A soft snort is his only response.

“Are you okay if I take your pants off?”

He tries to open his eyes and winces again. “I don’t think I’ve ever been less okay, Wren,” he says miserably. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck, it’s worse.”

I make fast work of undoing his belt. “It’s getting worse because you’re getting hard.” Very, very quickly. Impressively quickly. The metal of his belt clangs against the wooden deck at our feet.