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“At some point in our lives, we make a decision on whether or not to be like our parents.” She glances at me when she says this, and I don’t know why. “But it’s up to those that love us to help us know whether that’s good or bad.” She gently pulls Otter’s hand from her arm, and before I can stop myself, I call out to her.
“His voice,” I say. “He damaged his vocal cords, didn’t he?”
She nods without turning around. “Barring surgery with highly unsuccessful odds, he’s going to sound like that for the rest of his life, like he’s choking on gravel. But I think that’s the least of his worries, don’t you?”
Then she walks out of the room.
We’re quiet for a moment. Then, “The Kid will want to know why.”
Otter nods. “If we tell him he can’t see Dominic anymore, he will.”
“I have to keep him safe,” I say, my voice cracking.
It only takes him two strides of his long legs before he’s wrapped himself around me, crushing me into his chest, protecting me from whatever haunts us both. Whatever we’ve gone through, the Kid and me, it’s nothing to what Dominic has seen. It’s not even fair to compare it. But I don?
??t know if I can allow that kind of darkness in my brother’s life.
Shit.
5.
Where Bear Faces
the Reality of Attraction
YOU know what sucks? Being awake at three o’clock in the morning.
I start school tomorrow. I don’t want to go. Tyson starts school the day after. I don’t want him to go. We go to our first therapy appointment the day after that, and I really don’t want to go. Add on the fact that the Kid’s “best friend” watched his mother die in front of him, that I don’t know what is up with my own mother, that I still don’t understand the jealousy kick I’ve been unable to forget from seeing Otter and David gaze into each other’s eyes (like it meant something), and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep again.
And here I thought things would be easier.
I roll toward Otter, who’s spread out, his arms and legs all akimbo, as he’s prone to do. He told me once that he spreads out like that in his sleep to make sure I know he’s there, that I can’t get away from him. More often than not, I’ll wake in the morning to find some part of myself covered by Otter. I told him he needs to learn to stay over on his side of the bed, that I most certainly did not appreciate being covered by some big oaf every night.
He’d just grinned at me, not fooled in the slightest. He doesn’t fall for my shit, that one.
His breathing is deep and soft, an occasional rumble emanating from his chest. His hair is getting longer, falling down onto his forehead. I reach up and gently brush it off, and he sighs quietly in his sleep, rolling on his side to face me, a massive thigh stretching out on top of my legs, pinning me to the bed. It’s safe, this is. The weight of him pressing against me, like he knows what I’m thinking, even though he’s asleep. Like he knows some part of me still wants to run and he won’t let me, because he’s my tether, my strength.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. But when is that any different?
I learned that it’s almost impossible to shut off my brain, those little voices in my head always chattering, saying this and that, those things I don’t dare think on my own. The only solace in these late nights has been him, the man next to me. I don’t know how I ever slept alone, how I ever thought I could sleep through the night with Anna. It’s different here, with him. He’s bigger than me, so much bigger, and I always know he’s there, his presence, the heat of him always falling on me in gentle waves, like low tide in the dark.
The ocean. The storms. The earthquakes. Sometimes I feel that they remain, just beyond my grasp. Haven’t there been moments when I still feel tremors? Hear the thunder just off in the distance, making itself known, but always keeping its distance. Whenever I think they could return, that a storm could wage over the dry desert and the sea would rise through the cracks, I turn to him. And somehow, he keeps them all at bay. He makes me think that maybe it’ll all be okay, even if it’s not.
I watch him as he sleeps, and somehow he knows, like he always does, like he’s just waiting for me to want him to wake up, that he can hear my thoughts, remembering how it’s magic, it’s magic, it’s so much magic, and I can’t hold it on my own. He takes in a deep breath and cracks open his left eye and finds me staring at him. That crooked grin makes a sleepy appearance, and he drops a heavy arm over me and puts his hand flat against my back, pulling me toward him. I bury myself in my spot in the hollow of his throat. The skin is warm there, faint stubble scratching wonderfully against my cheek as I rub my face against him, wanting his smell on my skin. He makes this sound from the back of his throat, a contended rumble that makes it sound as if everything he could ever want is right within his reach. I shiver a bit, and he squeezes me tighter.
“What time is it?” he asks, his voice rough.
“Three. Why did you wake up?” I ask him as I bite his neck.
“Felt like I should,” he says as he yawns. His hand goes to my hair and starts pulling on it softly. “You sleep yet?”
I shrug.
“Nervous about school tomorrow?”
I shrug again, only because that’s part of it.
“It’s pretty much everything, huh?”
