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Chuck and the kids were still with his mom in Utah. She had been lonely. She had been bored. She had been mad enough to let Ivan scratch his rough beard across the back of her neck and from that moment on she had been caught in a cascade of carnality.
“Of course we can,” Ivan growled, his rough voice sending thrills through her. She’d only just showered and dressed, which he always seemed to take as some kind of a challenge to both destroy her clothing and cover her in sweat, semen, and saliva.
“We have to stop. I’m married.”
She said that at least twice a day. She didn’t know why. It only served to excite him. When Maddox freed him, Ivan’s first action was to come to her and beg her to help heal his wounds. One thing had led to another and now she was not so much cheating on her husband as basking in infidelity. The world was ending as far as anybody could tell, and Candy was getting railed.
“Yes,” Ivan growled down at her. “That married pussy is mine, though, isn’t it? Has been from the beginning.” He lowered his head and put his teeth on her neck, and…
There was a rattling at the front door. A sound of keys being fumbled, and then dropped.
Candy’s eyes widened. She shoved Ivan off her, for real this time. Her adrenaline was flowing. Was it Chuck? Had he come home to claim her? Was she delusional for believing in a world where that was going to happen? The blandness of their lives had become a catalyst for separation once the sickness struck. Having him at a distance made it almost impossible to consider a world where they would ever be together again. Change was in the air, deep transformation that would not be denied.
The front door unlocked itself. Candy launched herself toward it, buttoning her shirt up again. Ivan sat on the couch unconcerned. Candy threw a blanket over him in a vain attempt to make him blend in.
“… Hi,” Carter grunted as he came through the door, hair in his eyes, a general air of annoyed disinterest about his person. He was almost sixteen years old, skinny, blond, and largely non-verbal at the moment. He was wearing a mask dangling from one ear and a near perpetual scowl.
“What are you doing here, sweetie?” Candy tried not to sound shocked or unwelcoming. She was thrilled to see her son. Of course. Naturally. She wasn’t a monster.
“Utah’s boring. I got on a bus.”
“Your father didn’t see fit to tell me you were coming,” Candy noted.
“I didn’t tell him. I just left.”
“Okay. Well. It’s good to see you,” Candy said, opening her arms. Carter ignored the hug.
“Hungry,” he said, heading for the kitchen. Candy followed after him, glad he didn’t seem to have noticed Ivan. She hoped Ivan would have the sense to tidy himself up a bit, or even better, take refuge in the garden shed outside.
Carter had stopped just inside the kitchen door. It didn’t look like it used to. There had been some damage, from various activities. Candy swept past him and began running water and wiping down counters. There was a butt-print next to the sink, outlined in a hedonic mixture of strawberries and cream.
“What happened to the cabinets?”
Candy could hardly say she’d been swinging from them, so she didn’t. “Oh, well, honey, I’ve been thinking about doing some renovations…”
“Why does it smell like a wet dog? And why is there fur everywhere?”
Carter was the son of a detective. He missed nothing.
“Fuck,” he said. “Give me the fucking toaster and the strudel. I’ll take it to my room.”
It was Candy’s house rule that there was no eating in the bedrooms, but Carter’s room was probably one of them only two places in the house that didn’t currently look like the inside of a feral wolf den. She’d let herself go. She’d let everything go.
“Toaster pastry? Sounds good.” Ivan appeared in the doorway, leaning against it with one arm up by his head. He hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on. The thick pelt of his chest hair was very nearly a shirt, Candy supposed desperately.
“Who are you?” Carter asked the obvious question.
“I’m your uncle,” Ivan said.
“On whose side?”
“Your mom’s,” Ivan said.
“So you’re my mom’s brother?”
“Sure.”
Carter rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Dad’s banging some chick anyway.”
