Paradise by the Dashboard Light Page 12

  Then, it's like she deflates. Her head drops, hair sliding in front of her face. I hate when I can't see her. As she shakes her head slowly she murmurs, "I can't do this again. I can't go through this again." She turns to walk away, and I hobble after her, leaving my crutches behind.

  "No, Rio. You don't understand. Would you stop and listen for just one minute?"

  I manage to grab her arm. Not hard or forceful, but enough to make her pause. I can tell she's waiting, even though she doesn't turn to look at me.

  "Rio, from the moment I saw you dancing on that bar the other night, I was a goner. And I thought the best part would be that we could skip all the bullshit. The trying to be someone else. The getting-to-know-you phase. The part where we spend all the time trading stories, like you're trying to pass some audition where you don't know what they're looking for, and you don't know the rules. We get to skip all that crap and go right to the good stuff. Except, we're not. We're in a quagmire of bullshit right now, and I don't know why. Other than you're telling me it's hard. So what? Good things are always hard, and they're always worth it. And every time I try to say something, or you relax and let your true feelings out, you run away. What the fuck is up with that? All I was trying to say is that I want you, Rio. I want to be with you. But I just had surgery three days ago. I barely have the dressing off my leg, and I still have stitches in it. I'm not up to it yet, because I'm afraid of injuring the knee again, and I can't afford that."

  She turns, shaking my hand off her arm. "Ian, you don't want me. You only think you do. You want me because I look like her. You didn't know me back then, and you don't know me now. You didn't want me then, and if you knew who I really was, you wouldn't want me now. Maybe we should just leave it that way. I'll sleep on the couch tonight. You take the bed so you can get your rest."

  Her posture slouches as she walks away.

  I sink down into the couch, her words crashing into me.

  This can't be it, and certainly not because of Rainne. I'm embarrassed at the control I gave Rainne when I was young and stupid. She will not take this from me too.

  Rio means too much.

  I hear Rio in her room and then the bathroom. She comes out a few minutes later, face scrubbed clean and hair piled up on her head. She's wearing her pajamas and Henley again. "I said for you to take the bed."

  "Rio, we need to talk."

  "Ian, I'm tired and would like to go to sleep now. Please just let it go."

  I stand up in protest. "How am I supposed to let you go? I just found you again."

  Doesn't she see it?

  Doesn't she feel it?

  Why won't she admit it?

  Why is she pushing me away again?

  I can't let her do that one moment more.

  She finally makes eye contact, and I see tears filling her eyes. It's gut wrenching. The last thing I want to do is make her cry. "Ian, I can't. You have no idea how much—but no matter how much I may want it, I can't. So please ..." She tilts her head toward her bedroom.

  Acquiescing, I nod and head off to her room, which doesn't seem right, but I've neither the energy nor the inclination to fight about this much more tonight.

  But as I drift off to sleep, it occurs to me that the best things are worth fighting for.

  Rio is worth fighting for.

  Chapter 17

  Rio

  Ian's not wrong.

  As much as I hate to admit it, he does know me.

  Of course, I dreamed of a happy family. And for longer than I care to admit, Ian was the other half of my household. And now, he's here. A few feet away. I could probably have him, if I wanted.

  What if we could have it all?

  For a moment, in the dark, my mind wanders. Perhaps I drift off into sleep for a bit and dream it. Ian in a white coat. Me in my office attire, having a cup of coffee before a long day's work. Coming home to him. Making dinner for him. Making love with him.

  I see us holding hands and laughing. Tender moments. Sensual touches. But then I wake and realize it's no more reality than the dream of my father returning. He's already said he doesn't have time for anything. Plus he mentioned a fellowship in the near future. Even if he only wants a little fun, he's in no place to offer me more.

  But I know I couldn't accept only that from him. I couldn't have one of those "friends with benefits" relationships or just even a quick fling with Ian. I could probably do that with other guys but never with Ian.

  A fling doesn't need trust. It doesn't require dependence or vulnerability.

  Whether intentional or not, Ian makes me vulnerable. Ripped wide open.

  Raw.

  Sex with him wouldn't be about instant gratification, just as his light touches and kisses aren't merely physical contact for pleasure.

  Each caress, touch, kiss, is a connection, linking me to him. Strengthening a bond I've been denying for years. I feel him in the depths of my soul. Ian wrapping himself around my cells, coursing through my veins, his taste in my mouth.

  The thought of being without him causes a pain that I suspect might be worse than death.

  If I want to be with him, the first thing I need to do is to stop acting like an idiot around Ian. Yes, he's attractive. Even more so than when we were kids. He's still smart and funny and caring. He's got the patience of a saint, at least where I'm concerned.

  And he's still that magical unicorn that I can never ride.

  Well, that may not be the best analogy because then my mind starts thinking about other things I could ride and now I'm not only lying here wide awake and heartbroken, but I'm sexually frustrated too.

  I'm in for another long night.

  Because no matter how many times I tell myself I can't have him, or that I shouldn't have him, it doesn't change how I feel. My head is screaming one thing while my heart is sticking its fingers in its ears saying, "Na-na-na-na. I can't hear you."

  And I know which one I'm probably going to go with, against my better judgment.

  I will do whatever it takes to be with him, even if it destroys me.

  I'd rather have Ian one more time than to lose him forever.

  Then I hear his phone ringing from behind my closed door. The volume must be set pretty loud for me to hear all the way out in the living room. I sit up and listen, unashamed at my attempts to eavesdrop. I wonder who could be calling at this hour. One a.m. is hardly time for a social call, unless it's the booty type. I doubt with the vitriol Trisha was spewing in Ian's general direction the other night that it would be her. The pit in my stomach grows, wondering what bad news Ian is probably getting. I move a bit closer to the room. At first, I can't make out anything, but after a minute or two, his voice grows louder until I finally hear him yell a rather loud curse word. Without thinking, I push open the door.

  The soft light of the bedside lamp reveals Ian sitting at the edge of my bed, his head in his hands. I can see his bad leg stretched out a bit more than his good one. There's a square white bandage on the inside of his knee. It's swollen in comparison to the other side, and parts of his lower leg are mottled with purple bruises.

  "Are you okay?"

  "No."

  This was no booty call. I almost wish it was, since Ian obviously just received bad news. "What's wrong?"

  He doesn't say anything. As I move closer, I can see his hands balled into tight fists, pressing into his eyes that are squeezed tightly shut. Lines etch his face. I repeat my question.

  "Evan."

  I feel the color drain from my face and my stomach drop to my toes. "What's wrong? Is he okay?" From the tone of his voice and how Ian looks, I know he's not, but my brain cannot figure out what else to say. I start praying, begging God that Evan's okay.

  "He's sick. In the hospital. They think the flu."

  Gingerly, I sit down next to him and wrap my arm around his shoulders. I don't know what else to do so I lay my head down on him. "He's being taken care of. What did your mom say?"

  "It was Dad. Mom's with Ev so she
can't talk." I can feel him shaking his head. "I don't know how they let it get this far."

  "Maybe your Mom didn't know? I know the flu can hit fast, right?"

  Ian looks up. "No, that's the thing. Mom would know. Evan lives in a group home now. Lord knows what kind of care he's getting there and what he's exposed to. I knew this was going to happen."

  "Wait, Evan doesn't live at home? When did—"

  Ian cuts me off. "He's only been there few weeks. I'm so pissed. I told Mom and Dad it wasn't a good idea."

  Ian's virtually shaking with anger. I try to keep him talking to calm him down. "So what's the deal with the house? Why did he move out?"

  Ian takes a deep breath, followed by another. "Well, you know Evan. He requires a fair amount of supervision. Mom and Dad sort of felt like they needed to make arrangements for him before something happens to them."

  "That makes sense."

  "And he gets a lot more social opportunities and gets to be with people who are on his level."

  I process what Ian's telling me. It makes sense, yet Ian's obviously opposed to the idea. I'm not sure why. "Okay, so why are you upset about it? I mean other than he's sick."

  "He doesn't belong there."

  "Why not?"

  "We should be taking care of him, not strangers."

  "By we you mean …?" Ian's always been fiercely protective of Evan, but this seems a little … unreasonable maybe.

  "Us. Mom, Dad, and me."

  His concern touches me, but I'm confused at how he doesn't see the error in his thinking. "But you're not there, Ian. You're here, working like crazy. You don't have time to take care of him. So when you say 'we,' you mean your mom and dad." I know it's a harsh thing to say, but it's the truth. "And it's not like they would stick him somewhere just so they can go to the casino or on wild trips. He—and you—are their whole world. I'm sure they are doing what they feel best for him. Not for them, but for him."

  Ian's quiet, and I don't know if he's mad at what I just said.

  "But now he's sick. And this could be bad for him."

  "Why? I mean the flu sucks. I had it once and it was terrible. I felt like I was dying. Does his condition make it worse for him? And couldn't this have happened even if he was still at home?"

  "Yeah, I guess. He has asthma, so his breathing is not great to begin with. His lungs sustained damage at birth. The flu can turn into pneumonia quickly."

  "Is that's what's going on? Is he that sick?" Without thinking, I pull Ian into a full embrace. I can't even begin to imagine what he would do if something happened to Evan.

  Ian buries his head into the base of my neck. "I don't know. I need to be there, and I can't."

  "I'm sure he's in good hands. You know your mom will make sure of that."

  "I know but—"

  "But nothing. They are taking care of him. What would you do differently other than be up everyone's asses and making them hate you?"

  I feel his smile against my skin. It sends tingles down my spine and without thinking, I pull him tighter, needing to feel his body against mine.

  He holds on to me as tightly as I'm holding onto him. I know his mind is racing, thinking about how he would survive in a world where Evan doesn't exist. Despite the geographical distance between them, they are still two parts of the same circle. I know what it's like to only be half-complete too. We're each twins, lost without our complementary other half. But together, somehow, we're whole again.

  

  Ian

  An alarm beeps, pulling me out of a fitful slumber. An arm stretches across my torso, and I'm aware of the weight of another body on my left arm. Rio's hair spills onto the pillow, my arm, my chest. I close my arm around her and pull her into my body. She lets out a little groan and wraps her leg around my pelvis. Her heel hits my thigh, and I try not to wince as she presses onto the upper incision. My right leg is stiff and hurts.

  "Rio, your alarm is going off." I wish I could silence it and keep her here forever. Her warmth makes me feel like nothing bad could possibly happen.

  "Mmmmh," she mumbles, reaching across me to hit the snooze button. I can't control my flinching as she presses into my leg. It's enough to finally wake her up.

  "Oh my God, Ian. I'm so sorry!" She flies off of me and out of the other side of the bed. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

  I try unsuccessfully to wipe the grimace off my face. "I'm fine. Just stiff and sore." I pull myself up to sitting and start the arduous process of moving my foot up and down, and then sliding my heel up and down to bend and straighten my knee. It takes a minute or two, but I can feel the leg loosening up. The motion is better than yesterday, so that's a good sign.

  I mean, healing is a bad sign because then I won't have to stay here with Rio.

  I can't imagine going one single day without seeing her now.

  "Any word on Evan?" she asks, still on the other side of the bed, her hands knotted at her chest as if she's praying.

  My phone reveals a text message from Mom. "Evan is stable. Antivirals started. Monitoring for pneumonia."

  "Okay, so what does that mean?" she asks hesitantly.

  I pat the bed and she moves to sit down next to me. "About as good as can be expected. If it goes into his lungs, they'll know and can hopefully fight it before it takes over his system."

  "When will they know if he's going to be okay?"

  I hear the word “if" and it all hits me again. I could lose Evan. It's never been an unrealistic possibility. Right from the beginning in utero when I got all the blood and he was left with my cast-offs. He had less nutrition, less oxygen. Now he has less movement, less brain function, less lung capacity. And maybe less years in his life.

  "It's not fair." I say it aloud, as it runs on repeat in my head.

  "No, it's not." Rio knows what I mean. I don't have to explain it to her. "Do you want me to stay with you today?"

  I turn and look at her face. Her absolutely beautiful face. A face I have known my whole life. "I want you to stay with me always." It comes out thick and raw, betraying my true feelings. She is the only thing keeping me together at this moment. Knowing Evan needs me. Knowing I can't be there for him.

  A breath hitches in her chest. "I'm here."

  I take her hand in mine and bring it to my mouth, kissing it softly. "I need you."

  She rests her head on my shoulder and that familiar scent of cake drifts up toward me. "What is that smell?" I ask.

  Her hand flies to cover her mouth and she pulls away. "I'm sorry."

  I reach over and grab her, pulling her back. "No, silly. Not that. Your bed smells like cake. Why? Do you have a secret stash under the pillow or something?"

  "It's my lotion. Vanilla bean something." She laughs. "I try to use it so that I don't want to eat the cake as well, but somehow it always seems to make me more hungry. If I put it on before bed, I dream of frosting. Lots of frosting."

  The mention of her and dreams and frosting starts putting wicked ideas in my head. My mouth waters at the thought of her body and my tongue and the sweet sugary goodness.

  "Rio—" I start, somehow unable to finish.

  She leans her forehead into mine, our noses pressed together. Her hair falls into my face. I can't see her clearly, but she's everywhere and all consuming. "Do you want me?" Her voice is low and husky. Without breaking contact, she swings her leg over mine and gently lowers herself onto my lap. "Is this okay?"

  I nod, her head coming along with mine. She rests her hands on my shoulders. "Evan will be fine. You know that, just like you know your mom and dad made the right decision with the group home. But do you need me to stay?"

  "No, because if you do …" I trail off, not wanting to scare her with my true feelings. My hands find her waist and then slide a little bit up, under her shirt. The skin on her back is warm and smooth. Her breath catches at my touch and her eyes close, her lashes fluttering against mine.

  "Okay, then I'm going to go to work. You text me or call me
if there's any sort of news."

  "Don't go." My grip on her back tightens a bit.

  "Because you're upset about your brother or because of something else?" Her voice is breathy now, as if she's just run a mile. She's finally pulled her head back enough so I can see her clearly.

  "Because I don't want you to leave. I want to stay in this bed for days and explore every single inch of your body. And I know you don't want me to admit that I do, but when you put yourself this close to me, the world could end, and all I'd be doing is thinking about making love to you."

  A wide grin spreads across her lips. "A. That was probably the corniest thing anyone has ever said to try to get into my pants. B. Do you know how long I've been waiting for you to want to get into my pants? C. I need to go to work so that my pants stay in place."

  She gingerly lifts herself off me, and I quickly adjust my shorts to make the bulge seem less obvious. My gaze follows her as she sets about getting clothes out of her closet and dresser, still chatting away like nothing happened.

  As I watch her go off to the bathroom, I take stock of what's just happened. Or at least try to. Things are still about as clear as mud with the exception of one thing.

  I can't have a life without Rio in it.

  She returns, saving me from myself, her hair dripping. She combs the long mane out and then braids it in a thick, heavy plait. She's dressed in pants that hug her ass and a prissy librarian-type shirt. A myriad of inappropriate thoughts run through my mind. She might as well be wearing a leather corset. It seems that absolutely nothing she wears is safe from inspiring my sexual fantasies.

  Rio chats away, talking about this and that. Nothing that matters and certainly nothing to do with us. She's driving me mad. I get up and limp over to where she's standing in front of her bureau, putting on her earrings. "Rio."

  She continues talking about something at her office, although I have no idea what. She's absolutely talking over me in an attempt not to listen.