Page 56 of Hell Bent (Portland Devils #5)

THIS FRAGILE THING

Sebastian

Alix hugged her mother goodbye at the car, then ran back inside with the laptop and shut the door. The tire noise receded in the rainy night, and Alix set the laptop on the table along with her passport, then turned to me, pasted a smile onto her troubled face, and said, “So.”

I didn’t answer, because I couldn’t think of anything to say.

I took her in my arms instead. I knew it was right, because I could feel her vibrating under the skin, all of her held taut.

I’d have sworn that her teeth were about to chatter, though she wasn’t saying anything, just standing there in her stockinged feet.

I soothed my hand over her back, wished I knew what to say, and came up with nothing.

But my arms were around her tight and she was pressed into me as if that mattered, so I figured I was close enough.

When she stepped back at last, her eyes were bright.

She slid the earring case and passport into her purse and said, “I either feel good about all that, or bad. I don’t know which.

” She passed a hand through her hair and tried to laugh.

“This was supposed to be our birthday-sex night, too. I hate it that Ned’s right. ”

I was suddenly, irrationally, furious. “How is he right? It’s not hot sex if you don’t hurt her?

What the hell? The rest of it is bullshit too.

You’re the last thing from a snob, and your standards aren’t too high.

They’re not high enough, because he was never good enough for you.

There isn’t one kind of job that makes somebody worthwhile.

That isn’t about a job at all. It’s about who you are.

It’s about your effort and your character.

It’s about your … your …” I stopped. “Help me out here. Fill in the blank.”

“I think you were going to say ‘your soul,’” she said, still trying to laugh. “I don’t know that my soul’s up to that much scrutiny.”

“Your soul,” I said, “is just fine.” I kissed her, then, because I needed to, and she leaned into me, her hand on my face, gentle as a breeze.

This time, I didn’t rush to get that leather skirt off.

I took her by the hand, stood in the minimal square feet of her tiny bedroom, removed her sweater carefully and laid it on the bed, then knelt behind her and slowly unzipped her skirt from the bottom, enjoying the sight of her strong thighs appearing as the black leather parted, the feel of that silky skin, the fine-wire tension in her body, before laying the skirt on the bed on top of the sweater.

I rose to my feet behind her, drawing my hands up her thighs along the way, over her waist, and felt her respond.

I unhooked her bra, which was black and strapless, and set it on top of the other items, then ran my hands slowly over her shoulders, down her arms, and she trembled some more and didn’t say anything at all.

I pulled her hair back from her face and kissed her neck, and she sighed.

I turned her in my arms, brushed a thumb over her cheek, and said, “You’re beautiful.

And if it’s all right with you, I want to change our plan, because I need to love you slow and sweet enough tonight that you’ll know I mean it. ”

Her throat worked as she swallowed, and she wasn’t Alix-confident when she whispered, “OK.”

It was chilly back here, but when I pulled her down with me and pulled the covers over us, the nest we made was nothing but warm.

Kisses and sighs and murmured words, and trying to tell her what she meant to me with my voice, with my hands, with my willing body.

The way she rose up into me, and all the vibrating, aching tension in her as I drove her slowly up with every bit of patience I possessed.

The moment when the sighs turned to gasps, and when she was calling out.

Feeling her like I was feeling myself, and loving her that way until we were both lost in it, the pleasure so sharp it was almost pain, then drifting down again and coming to rest, her body tucked into mine like a sea creature curling into its shell. Secure. Held. Safe.

“Happy birthday,” I told her, my hand on her soft hair again, my body trying to fall asleep. “Sorry about the kinky sex.”

“You’re so …” she began, then stopped.

“Mm,” I said, and yawned. “What? We’ll do it another time, I promise.”

“No,” she said, and then did the thing that got me in the heart. She laced her fingers slowly through mine, lifted my hand to her mouth, and kissed it. “I know I’m not really a princess,” she said. “I’m not even a girly girl. But you make me feel … desired. Needed. Female.”

She didn’t say “loved.” Neither did I. Both of us afraid, maybe, to touch this fragile thing unfolding between us. In my case, afraid to name it, because I didn’t want to be wrong. It almost hurt to feel this much. That was why I didn’t do it.

I’d be back on solid ground tomorrow, I reminded myself as I climbed reluctantly out of bed and gathered my clothes, then handed Alix hers, wanting to stay here and fall asleep with her in my arms. But Ben was at home, and so was her car.

She had to work in the morning, and so did I.

And then I had to take Ben to Vancouver to see his mother.

Reality. The place I’d always been grounded. The only thing there was, in the end. Too bad I wanted more.

Alix

I wasn’t counting on this thing. I was trying to enjoy it and not look down the road.

I needed to focus on my job instead, and on figuring out what I wanted to do next.

So why, the next Sunday, when I should be prepping for the week ahead, was I sitting with Ben and about sixty-eight thousand other people in a Pittsburgh football stadium that was open to every one of the elements, including a whistling wind that seemed to come straight from the North Pole?

The weather report said it was blowing at fourteen miles an hour. It felt more like forty.

What had happened was that the Devils were playing the Steelers in the divisional championship, and when Sebastian and Ben had come home from Vancouver on Tuesday night, both white, silent, and strained, and I’d been eating jackfruit tacos and black beans with them—I was getting too used to this food delivery thing—Sebastian had said abruptly, “Want to come to the game on Sunday, Ben?”

Ben had looked up from his plate for the first time and said, “I guess.”

I was just thinking that this was mighty tricky, and that no matter how much I’d wanted to be here for both of them, I shouldn’t have come over tonight—what was I, their mother?—when Sebastian asked, “Want to bring him, Alix? It’s in Pittsburgh. ”

“I know that,” I said. “I’ve followed that much, anyway.” And looked between them. “Uh …” Well, this was awkward.

Sebastian sighed and laid down his fork. “Do you need me to tell you that I want you to come?”

“Well, yes,” I said. “If you really do.”

“Right.” He stood up from the table. “Come talk to me.”

Ben said, “You guys sure have a lot of serious talks. I thought going out with somebody was, like, going out and having fun, not being in a French movie.”

“What do you know about French movies?” I asked. “You secret sophisticate, Ben.”

He smiled, which was a first for tonight. “French class. It’s Canada. French movies are never anything interesting with action, just a bunch of talking.”

“Talking would make sense,” I said, “if they’re trying to teach you the language.”

He shrugged. “I guess. Does anybody want the last two tacos?”

“Go for it,” Sebastian said. “Come talk to me, Alix.”

I followed him into the bedroom and said, “This is getting to be a habit.”

He didn’t answer, just frowned at me. The lines around his mouth were deeper, showing the strain. I stepped forward, put a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Hey. It was hard, huh.”

He looked away, ran a hand through his hair, and said, “Yeah. It was a better day for her, the aide said. She was more aware, not as out of it. But—” He stopped.

“But?” I asked.

“But the aide said that can happen toward the end,” he said. “A burst of energy, clarity, like that. Maybe to give them the chance to say goodbye.” He sat on the bed as if his own energy had given out. “I felt bad, leaving. Taking Ben away. ”

I sat beside him, took his hand, wished for something brilliant to say, and came up with, “You had no choice.”

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

“And you want Ben to come see your game,” I said, treading carefully. “For him, or for you?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just do. It doesn’t feel right to leave him here.” He looked at me at last. “Or to leave you. But you’d have to take time off. I mean, obviously I’ll pay for the flights and the hotel room, but?—”

I said, “So you want me to bring Ben, and you want me to come.”

He was frowning hard now. “What have I just been saying?”

“I thought you might be being nice,” I said. “What about Lexi?”

“Seriously?” he said. “That’s your objection? I get a dogsitter, that’s what.”

“Thomas, maybe,” I said. “That would be easy on you, and staying here and taking care of the world’s friendliest dog isn’t exactly a hardship post.”

“There you go,” he said. “So do you want to come?”

“Sebastian.” I had to laugh. He looked startled, but at least he wasn’t frowning anymore. “Of course I want to come. And you don’t have to buy my ticket or pay for my hotel room. Don’t be ridiculous. I may not be making millions of dollars, but I can buy a plane ticket.”

“A first-class one?” he asked. “And a decent hotel? It’s going to take you a good seven or eight hours minimum to get there, and it’s the divisional playoffs. It won’t be cheap.”

“I’ll eat your food deliveries,” I said.

“I’ll wear your jewelry, and I’ll thank you for all of it.

But I won’t let you buy my plane tickets.

Why should you? I have a good job, I’m not six feet tall, and I don’t need to sit in a slightly wider seat and eat airplane food for four times the money.

I’m not here because you pay for things.

I’m here for you, and I’ll be in Pittsburgh for you, too.

So will Ben. He doesn’t want to live in the lap of luxury while his mom’s dying. ”

“So he wants to suffer in an Economy seat,” Sebastian said.

“I doubt it. All right, if you won’t go First, you won’t.

But I’m getting the hotel rooms.” He held up a hand when I would have said something.

“The team has a block of them, and before you ask, they have a block of game tickets, too. Those things are mine.”

Which was why I was sitting between Ben and Harlan’s wife Jennifer right now on the coldest plastic seats in the world, wearing my work boots and a puffer jacket under my insulated foul-weather gear, because those were the warmest clothes I owned.

Unfortunately, that high-vis gear was the same bright yellow as the towels the Steelers fans waved over their heads, because the Steelers wore black and gold.

I hadn’t even been able to figure out the dirty looks until Jennifer explained it.

Well, somebody has to bring down the class level of the wives-and-girlfriends section, right, so nobody else feels bad?

So I sat there and clapped my gloved hands while that Arctic wind swirled cold, dry pellets of snow in eddies around us, and tried not to worry.

Football players could handle losing in the playoffs, right?