Chapter 11

thanks for your patience, this one took me a while to get out of my head, I hope the drama is worth the wait

“You keep looking at her,” Tabby replies in answer to my stupefied question or rather stupid attempt at trying to deflect her question which was ‘what’s going on with you and Becky?’ I’m not the only one who’s noticed, by the way. Mel totally has and Vero even asked Flower if you three are…up to something,” she adds in that inquisitive sort of way that says she really does and really doesn’t want to know the answer to that particular question at the same time. 

“He’s in love with her,” Trina says without even looking up from where she’s sliding a bobby pin into Tabby’s hair to hold a tiny purple flower into a curl at the side of her head just in front of where the combs that the veil is attached to are nearly hidden in all of her hair. I open my mouth to object but both women look up at my reflection in the mirror with expressions that clearly say ‘don’t bother, we won’t believe you’. So instead I sink further down in the chair and say nothing. 

“Oh Kris,” Michelle Cooke reaches over and squeezes my hand and gives me a sympathetic look that just makes me feel worse. I’d come into the house to get away from watching Max and Becky and I’m feeling a lot like I’ve jumped out of the frying pan and into the fry vat. 

“So what are you doing? Biding your time until Max inevitably screws it up and then you’re going to sweep in on your white horse and save the day in all your shiny armor and Prince Charming hair?” Tabby asks as she sweeps her thumb beneath her bottom lip, making sure that the glistening lilac coloured lip gloss she’s wearing isn’t escaping her full mouth. Not like it’s not going to be all over Sid’s lips in about half an hour but until then she’ll continue to look like the most beautiful WAG in the room. I’ve always recognized that Sid’s woman is very pretty but I know that when she’s near Becky there’s only one woman I have eyes for. 

“Who says he’ll screw up? Has anyone ever seen him with any girl this long?” I ask, realizing I sound as petulant and miserable as I feel. Having been stuck on a plane with the two of them for hours after having to listen to them have sex every night, and now having to watch her be all excited to be at a wedding like she’s getting ready to do some serious damage to anyone who might try to get in the way of her catching the bouquet…it’s too much. 

“It’s Max,” Michelle says like there’s no more to be said and everyone in the room nods in agreement, as if that’s it, the final answer. No need to phone a friend. 

“He adores her,” I insist, thinking of the way he held her hand on the plane and how they’d had their heads close together, whispering and smiling in that conspiratorial couples kind of a way. 

“Yeah but who adores Max more than Max?” Tabby asks, finally sitting back in the chair as Trina takes her hands away and all of us end up staring at her reflection with the same look on all of our faces. She looks like something off of the cover of one of those Bridal magazines, all strawberries and cream complexion, her hair and make-up perfect, the veil falling softly around her bare shoulders. “And don’t get me wrong,” she adds, breaking the momentary spell we are all under, “that girl, she is damaged goods, believe me.” There must be something she sees in my face because her eyes go all soft, like they do when she looks at her sons and then she turns to look right at me. “I’m not saying I don’t like the girl, I do, but next to Sidney you’re just about the sweetest man in the entire world Kris and a girl like that…,” her voice trails away as she shakes her head and looks up at her friend who rolls her dark eyes and flips her long, ebony hair over her shoulder. 

“What Tabby is trying not to say because it’s her fucking wedding day and she’s trying to be all butterflies and kittens, is that girl is fucked up. We’re not saying it’s her fault and we’re not saying that we hate her because of it, we’re just saying she’s fucked and you’re not and you deserve some vanilla cream puff cotton candy piece of ass not some twisted black licorice crazy ass bitch.” Know I know why Jordan loves Trina as the entire room goes silent for one long, emotionally charged moment before everyone breaks up and we’re all laughing so hard we’re crying and then all hell breaks loose because Tabby’s make up is getting ruined and then it’s all hands on deck which allows me to disappear, unnoticed, into the big empty Victorian house. 

“I love weddings,” I sigh as I drain the last drops from the bottle of ice cold beer in my hand before setting it aside and reaching for another one from the cooler between me and Jordan. 

“I just thought you liked bagging the bridesmaids,” Jordan hisses with a cautious glance towards the windows above us, behind one of which the bride and her entourage are getting ready while Sid paces nervously back and forth on the deck as if there’s an actual chance Tabby won’t come down the stairs.

“Are you kidding? Have you seen my date?” I ask with an appreciative glance over my shoulder to where Becks is helping to entertain the twins. We all watch while she raises one of Sid’s boys over her head and spins the giggling tot around, making the skirt of her red dress rise to give us all a glimpse of her milky white thighs. 

“That isn’t the dress I picked out,” Kris mumbles and I can’t help but laugh. 

“Of course it isn’t. She looked like a fucking nun in that. Now that…,” I gaze appreciatively down at the ample amount of cleavage on display, “that is a fucking dress.” 

“Tu es un porc malade.” I turn to where Tanger’s leaning against the railing holding an unopened beer in his hand like he’s afraid it might be a live grenade and shake my head. 

“Fuck, jealous much?” Jordan laughs, poking at Kris with one of his crutches before I can even open my mouth to say something similar. 

“I’m not…,” he begins and then just shakes his head, sending his dark hair over his eyes as he heads for the sliding door to the kitchen. 

“Yeah, that’s why you’re all alone, again, licheux d’anus,” I add, fully intending to just bust his balls, but the next thing I know I’m hearing the sound of shattering glass next to my head and I look over to see beer suds sliding down the glass between the railing and the deck. “Hey, you almost got me with that, esti d’tapette de calisse!” And then it’s on and Kris is flying at me like some kind of crazed half wolf half boy, snarling and spitting and it’s only Crosby’s quick reflexes that allows him to snag Tanger before he gets to me, while Flower and Jordan each grab one of my arms and hold me back. “Tue s juste un salope,” I grin at him while he struggles against the Creature’s death grip.

“Vas te faire foutre,” he snaps back at me and then wrenches free and turns on his heel and heads into the house, slamming the sliding door shut behind him so hard that we all stand there, watching it, fully expecting it to explode into a million pieces of safety glass that’s going to be a bitch to clean up. 

“What was that all about?” Crosby finally asks, brushing out the wrinkles in his tux that his struggle with our moody d-man has caused. 

“He’s fucking crazy,” I reply, finally getting a beer and sliding back into the deck chair I’d just vacated. “That’s what that was."

“Bullshit,” Jordan barks, shaking his head and laughing. “You two have never had a fucking fight in…ever. What the fuck was that? You’re not really …y’know, fags are you? You’re not having like…some kind of…lover’s spat thing are you?” he asks, like it’s an actual fucking possibility. 

“Fuck off!” I laugh, glancing back at Becky who is now looking up at us with concern written all over her face. “I am tapping that full time and nothing and no one else, merci beaucoup,” I reply, opening my beer and immediately draining half of it. “And yeah, I actually like her too,” I add before Jordan can give voice any other crazy idea that’s running around in that blonde brain of his.

“Maybe we should all lay off the…you know, calling him names,” Flower suggests quietly, his gaze still on the door which is still vibrating menacingly like it might still implode. 

“Sure, when he stops acting like a little bitch,” I laugh and then Jordan laughs, but like he’s relieved, but Sid and Flower don’t laugh at all. 

“What the fuck was that about?” I don’t look up. I don’t need to. I know her voice. I know it like it’s my own by now. 

“Nothing,” I mutter, intending to walk by her and down to the lake to be alone and for a minute I think she’s actually going to let me get away with it too. 

“I thought we were friends,” she says quietly and that makes me pause and turn to where she’s standing with one of Sid and Tabby’s twins in her arms, looking like some kind of Italian painting of Mary and the Christ child. I can feel the small hairs on the back of my neck standing up as I wonder what it would be like if that was my child…our child. Giving my head a shake I look up into her eyes and shrug my shoulders. 

“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” I begin and then, before she can argue, which I can clearly see she intends to do as she purses her lips, I add, “why aren’t you upstairs with the rest of the girls?” 

“No one knows me well enough for me to be a bridesmaid,” she replies with a furtive glance towards the house. “And all you boys are having your man cave time,” she adds sarcastically with a playful smile, “so I’m out here doing the only thing I’m good for apparently.” I watch as she lifts the tiny t-shirt and leans down to blow across his stomach, causing him to squirm, kick and make happy motor boat sounds that makes Becky laugh. “And now Kris won’t even tell me what’s going on with him, will he? No he won’t,” she says, using that tone that’s only used to talk to babies, all breathy and full of the kind of smiles that only an innocent little bundle like she’s holding can invoke. 

“I don’t like weddings, okay?” I sigh, trying to keep my voice low and not draw any attention from the guys on the deck above us. “Happy?”

“What’s not to like?” She actually manages to look at me like I must be some kind of freak and I know I’m not going to get away with that particular excuse. “Free booze, pretty girls, pretty boys,” she adds with a meaningful glance towards where Gronk’s two ginger haired brothers are hanging out with their suit pants rolled up and their feet in the water. 

‘Tell her’ I tell myself. She’s opened the door and the subject is lying right there like a big pink elephant, this is the perfect time to put her straight about my being…well straight, but I can’t do it. It’s not her fault that she thinks I’m gay. She’d be embarrassed and maybe even a little ashamed and I don’t want to be the one who makes her feel like that. Later, maybe, I’ll make Max tell her….Or maybe it’s just better this way. Maybe it’s better if she keeps thinking I’m gay and then I have at least one reason not to tell her how I really feel. 

“Oh…oh my god, I’m so sorry.” I look up to see her only a pace away from me, looking stricken, as if something horrible has just occurred to her. “Of course, I should have…I’m such a loooser,” she mumbles, reaching to put on hand briefly on my arm before withdrawing it, but not before I feel the effect of her touch, like a jolt of electricity running wild through my veins. 

Calisse de tabernack! She still thinks it’s because I’m fucking gay!

Okay, so…so I go along with it. 

“I’m just…I’m jealous, okay?” I grumble, sticking my hands in the pockets of my jacket and stare at my shoes, knowing I’m not that good a liar and that if she looks at my face, she’ll see right through me even though it’s as close to the truth as I dare come. “Of Tabby and Sid, you and Max, Trin and Jordy….”

“Aww, Kristopher.” I tense as her finger close around my wrist and I keep my eyes glued on the ground. I hate this. Hate it. “I am so sorry. It must be awful for you to have to…,” she stops and I know she’s waiting for me to look up at her, but I won’t. I can’t. If I do, I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her who I’m really jealous of and exactly what I’d do about it if I had some balls. “I’m sorry,” she says finally and lets me go and I walk away as quickly as I can, feeling her pity trailing behind me like a foul stench.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” Max hollers into my ear, and I, laughing, shake my head. 

“You should know the answer to that,” I reply, raising my eyebrow as he shakes his head and laughs, sweat pouring down his face as if he’s going into overtime and not just dancing the night away on the deck of a big old Victorian house on the shore of a lake by the light of what seems like a million fairy lights and a few hundred old fashioned tacky plastic patio lanterns. It’s hard to believe the deck can actually hold the weight of all the wedding guests and harder to believe that the cops haven’t shown up to shut the whole thing down considering how loud Great Big Sea is playing and how their energetic Celtic music is causing everyone to stomp and yell. Still, I guess it’s one of those benefits of being a Canadian treasure….

“I have to get a drink,” Max mouths as I’s the B’y comes to a close and we collapse into each other’s arms, spent from reeling in what seems like endless circles. 

“You don’t need any more to drink,” I insist, even as he tugs me towards the very well stocked free bar from which both wine and the truly hard stuff has been flowing all night and Max has been making several trips back to it.

“Trust me,” he growls, pressing his forehead to mine so that his sweat mixes with my own,” I need a damn drink.” Rolling my eyes I allow myself to be dragged behind him all the way to the bar where one wave of his hand lines up three shots of the local screech which he downs quickly one after the hour in succession, holding the last shot glass towards me, knowing full well I won’t take it before he downs it and slams it back on the bar. “Un autre!”

“Max!” I snap, trying to tug him away from the bar, but he only laughs and makes himself immobile, holding onto the bar and downing another shot before he allows himself to be dragged back to the dance floor, right next to where Trina is grinding against a mostly inert Jordan whose dancing is mostly made up of shaking his crutches around and grinning like an idiot.

Max grabs my hips and pulls me back against him, his lips brushing the spot behind my ear that makes me shiver despite the summer heat, even in the late hours of the night and the close press of literally a hundred bodies. As if I wasn’t hot enough already, even in a barely there little red dress with spaghetti straps and slits up to there, the feel of solid chest pressed against my back, I can feel my temperature ramp up even higher. 

“I want you,” he hisses in my ear, his hands sliding up my rib cage until he’s cupping my breasts. 

“Sid and Tabby are still dancing,” I point out the pair near the front of the stage, dancing close and slow despite the fast pace of ‘Run Runaway’ and the fact that almost everyone around them is swinging their partners or jigging in place. “We can’t take off for the hotel until they leave for their honeymoon, that would be rude” I add, arching my neck to offer my lips to him. One of his hands slides up over my breasts as his lips press down over mine and I feel his thumb rotate in tiny circles over my nipple until it rises and hardens for him. 

“Let’s just go down by the lake, s’il vous plaît bébé,” he purrs, nipping at my earlobe hard enough that it sends a shiver of painful pleasure all the way down to my toes. “No one will miss us pour un peu de tout,” he promises, pressing what is obviously the increasingly painful reason for his eagerness to escape. “C’mon Becks, don’t you want to be with the best man?” he adds with that grin that is unmistakably Max. It’s also very hard to say no to, especially with him looking edibly handsome in what’s left of his tux, namely what had started the day as a crisp white shirt, his bow tie hanging loose around his neck and a pair of snug fitting black pants. 

“Not until she throws the bouquet,” I insist, but my body betrays me as his other hand slides up over my breast and up to the top of my dress and then down beneath it until his warm fingers are stroking my nipple to life like he’s strumming a guitar. I open my mouth to protest but all that comes out is a pathetic mewling sound. 

“Please ma biche,” he purrs into my ear and I’m about to give in, scanning the crowd for the quickest exit route and instead find my gaze locked with a pair of teddy bear brown eyes. 

“I don’t think we should leave Kris here.” I wriggle out of Max’s grasp and turn around to face him. “You’re teammates, neighbors. We’re his friends. Look how miserable he is.” I let my bottom lip jut out and I give Max my very best puppy dog eyes, blinking them like I’m threatening to cry. “Please Max?” 

“And do what with him, ma petite colombe? What would you like him to do, watch? Do you think that would make him feel better?” He laughs uproariously at his own joke, but as soon as he says it, I can’t help but wonder if Max might just be drunk enough to do…well just about anything. 

“And if I said yes?” I whisper against his lips, feeling the scrape of his whiskers on my cheek, tasting the burn of screech on his tongue as he kisses me, his fingers digging into my shoulders. “Would you do that, for me?” 

I’d have thought they were making fun of me, that someone was going to jump out of the bushes and yell ‘you’re on candid camera’ if it hadn’t been for the look in Rebecca’s eyes. There was still pity, sure, but there was something else too, something that made me swallow the angry and immediately dismissive reply that sprang to my lips when she asked me to leave with them. It wasn’t just the look in her eyes either. It was also the confused and more than a little unfocussed look on Max’s face that told me that this was definitely not his idea. 

I still have expected to be left at the door of my own hotel room, but instead Rebecca towed me behind her like a child pulling a little red wagon and I felt like I was powerless to do anything but trip along behind her as we both watched Max fight with the pass card as he swiped it over and over again, getting more and more frustrated by the moment. 

“This is not a good idea,” I whisper, though I can barely hear the sound of my own voice past the sound of my blood pulsing through my veins like I’m about to have a damn heart attack.

“He’s drunk,” she says quietly, like that makes everything okay. 

“And when he’s not drunk later or in the morning?” I hiss at her, trying to pull her back from following him into the darkened room. 

“Then you and I will have an amazing night to remember,” she replies softly, turning to me and reaching up to brush her fingertips along my jaw, “and he won’t remember a thing.” 

“What did you do? Slip him something in his drink?” I growl at her, yarding her backwards, away from the door. 

“No,” she snaps back, looking appalled that I would even suggest it. “We’re just…taking advantage of a situation,” she explains like whatever she has planned, if she has actually planned anything, is completely innocent, which it can’t be. Or maybe that’s just all of the x-rated visions that have been playing in my head since she started to drag me away from the reception. 

‘No. No, I can’t do this.” I want to do this. Shit I soo want to do this but he’ll kill me when he sobers up. He’ll fucking kill me. 

“Don’t you want to be with him?” she asks quietly and that’s when I know that I can’t do this. I want to do this but I can’t do this. 

“No,” I whisper, aching to tell her that it’s her that I want but when she gives me that sympathetic smile, like she thinks that I’m lying, I can’t…I just can’t. 

Still I follow her into the room, letting her lead me like a puppy on a leash, telling myself the whole way that as soon as she lets go of my hand I’m going to turn and leave and then, as I watch Max offering pulling her down onto the bed, as I watch her kneel over him while he runs his hands up her legs, I find myself rooted to the spot, unable to move, and then I tell myself that all I’m going to do is watch. 

I stumble, like a drunk, to that uncomfortable chair you find in all the rooms of budget hotels, which is the only kind they have in the small town Sid lives in, and sink down into it, my eyes glued on Rebecca as she straddles Max, his hands on her ass as they share a kiss, long and deep. I watch her hair fall around him like a chocolate waterfall, her shoulders looking even more pale and smooth in the almost pitch black of the room and the next thing I know, I’m there, sitting on the bed, tugging down the zipper on the back of her dress, my hand shaking where it brushes against her cool skin. Next, my mouth follows where my hand has touched and I feel her shiver as I press my lips to her shoulder blades as I slide my fingers beneath the spaghetti straps of her dress and slide them slowly and gently over her shoulder. 

“Elle goûts etonnants, non?” Max grins up at me as his hands sweep beneath the cups of her bra, scooping her breasts free. All I can do is nod, feeling suddenly intoxicated by the sweet taste of her skin, the fresh scent of her hair, the very nearness of the promise of all of my darkest desires coming true. “Tu devres goûter sa chatte, il a un goût encore meilleur.” 

Laying her head back on my shoulder, Becky offers me her neck and I hungrily bite down on it, my gaze still fastened on Max’s hands and fingers as he twists and pulls at her blush pink nipples, making her eyes flutter shut so that her eyelashes rest softly on her cheeks like butterflies. She sighs and I feel her hand stroking through my hair and just that, that soft, tender touch alone makes me hard and I press against the back of her thigh and she presses back, grinding her ass against me until I’m moaning into her neck. 

Her hand leads mine to her breast and I pull back, expecting to find his hand still there but then she lets out a gasp and I look down to find his hands busy elsewhere and I end up watching him slide up into her, as if it’s a car crash at the side of the road and even though I don’t want to look, I can’t help myself.

She leans back against me and offers me her mouth. I kiss her, softly at first, hesitantly, wanting to enjoy our first kiss despite the fact that I can feel her body lifting off of the bed as he pushes up into her, reminding me that we are not alone. I feel her heart hammering under my hand as I gently squeeze her breast and I don’t know if it’s that or the way Max pulls her down over him that makes her cry out, her lips breaking away from mine, but the sound…that sound reminds me of all the nights I’ve spent alone in my bed listening to them make love and I pull away, the spell broken, but only for a moment. 

Her fingers dig, almost painfully, into my ass and she pulls me against her and pushes back against me at the same time, grinding against my now very painful erection as her other hand pulls mine around her waist. 

“Stay,” she hisses, her dark hair brushing against my face, filling my nose with the mingled scents of strawberries and mangos. 

I want to ask her if she knows. If this is her way of saying that she knows. I want to pull her away from him and put her down on the bed and take her in front of him. I want to take her somewhere we can be alone.

But I don’t do any of those things. Instead, I bend her forward, pressing her down gently over him with one hand on her shoulder while my other hand fumbles with my belt and the zipper on my pants and then I enter her in the only place available to me. 

I wake, aching in every single nerve and sinew in my body but with a contented, even happy smile on my face. At first, I just lay there feeling boneless and cozy with the blanket pulled up to my chin and a warm, solid body pressed against my back. Nestling further under the blankets, I pull the arm that’s lying across my hip further up until his hand is tucked up under my chin. Looking down, I trace what are the by now familiar lines of Max’s tattoo with my gaze and wonder, with a sly smile, how his head is feeling this morning.

As if to answer my unspoken question, Max groans and presses his cheek against the back of my head. 

“Why don’t they have black out curtains in this flea bitten motel?” he grumbles and pulls me tighter against him so I can feel his morning wood rise against the small of my back. Grinning, I pull his hand up to my mouth and slowly suck his thumb in between my lips, wrapping my tongue around its tip until he moans into my neck. “What is with you in the morning woman? Haven’t you had enough?” 

Shaking my head I reach across the bed with my free hand, but find only plump pillows and flat, cool sheets. Opening my eyes, I search the room but find no dark haired Prince watching me. I listen for the sounds of water running, but the only sound I hear is Max’s deep, even breaths. 

“Where’s Kris?” I ask, rolling over and searching Max’s face, only to find him looking back at me, obviously confused. 

“Sainte-bénite, you mean I wasn’t dreaming?” he grins, like he’s in utter disbelief. “We really did…that?”  He adds in a whisper like it’s something bad. 

“Yeah,” I sigh, rolling back over so that he won’t see the disappointment in my face. “Yeah, we really did.”

“Ha! Wait ‘til I tell Jordo. He’s gonna freak!”

“Yeah, yeah I bet,” I mumble, thinking about someone else that’s probably alone, probably freaking out right now and how much I wish he wasn’t.