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  On the bed she wanted me vocal as she straddled my crotch, grinding our pussies together as her fang pierced my knee. She wanted me to beg and plead, so I did as I gripped her leg with one hand and her breast with the other. She wanted to know exactly how I liked it, how well she was giving it to me. I gave her every truth that came to mind. I told her that I wanted more.

  She collapsed on the sheets, begging for me to take control, to finish what she had started, what I’d started on the roof. I buried my face between her legs with my tongue lapping at her sweet slit and my fingers fucking her tight ass. She came again and again, screamed finally when my fangs latched on to her inner thigh. I didn’t stop until her sweet queen’s blood coated my lips.

  When I woke up, Ginger was across the room in one of our oversized chairs. Her arm was wrapped around her legs again, and her phone was to her ear.

  “It’s Ginger.”

  “My caller ID’s workin’.”

  I could hear the sarcasm in Seamus’s Scottish burr.

  Ginger read it as well and laughed a bit. “Sorry. I—I wanted to talk to you about my mom. About Janet.”

  “You want to know about her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Makes sense. I suppose we should have talked about her first thing, aye?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “What say you give me a little time. You know, give me a little while to figure out what I need to say.”

  “We can do that.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to ya soon.”

  She hung up and tossed her phone to the other chair. I took that as my cue to join her. I crossed the room and scooped Red up and sat her in my lap. Tears laced with a hint of blue shimmered in her eyes. I wiped her cheeks for her and kissed them both.

  “I figured out what I needed and I asked for it,” she said. “Now let’s just hope he comes through with something.”

  “I’m sure he will.”

  *

  The next day a little after dark, Ginger got a call from Seamus. He was out behind the sorority house. She vanished out to see him and when she came back, she had a small bunch of envelopes in her hand. Only one of them was new.

  “This one’s for me, but the others are for him.”

  “Do you want a few minutes alone?” I asked as she tore into the first letter.

  “No.” She plopped down in the chair and patted the seat behind her. “I want you to read this with me.”

  I joined her without hesitation, pulling her tight between my legs with my arms around her waist. We read the letter from Seamus together.

  Dear Ginger,

  I’m glad you called me and made me man up to my shortcomings. You are very dear to me, and I apologize for being such a rotten arse these past few years. Here’s the truth about your mother. You are the exact image of her I have burned in my mind, with the exception of your hair. I hate that my bastard of a brother got to claim you as his own, but I thank God every day that he and I looked so much alike that I get to see bits of me in your face. I love the parts of you that are your mother, and that is to say nearly all of you. You have the McMillan wit about you. Don’t think I missed that crack you made about our waitress the other day, you wee little shit. Her teeth were boxing for the championship belt. But you’ve also got your mother’s charm and her ease. You’ve got her light.

  I blame myself for her death. I blame myself for the abuse she and you suffered at my brother’s hand. I blame myself for the years you had to spend without a family, and even now, I blame myself for the distance between us. I’m right jealous of what you have with your Camila because I know I’ll never find that love for myself again. Your mother was my queen. I know you’re a Carmichael now, but you were born a McMillan and you’ll always be one of ours.

  I hope this helps mend things between us. Or at least starts the process.

  Your Uncle, Seamus

  P.S. I suppose I could have sent this in an email for you to keep electronically, but my da always taught me when you mean to really say something to someone, particularly someone you love, you write it down. These were from your mother. Ignore the X-rated bits.

  We read the letters he sent along, handwritten love notes from her mother from the late ’80s. Her mom and her uncle had been so in love, and Seamus was right, the voice on those pages was so much like Ginger’s, it amazed me. Janet cracked inappropriate jokes. She lusted heavily for her man, and when she got especially emotional, she rambled, just like Ginger. Red had started crying about halfway through Seamus’s letter, and by the time she finished her mother’s words to him, she was a sobbing wreck on my shoulder. But there was happiness in those tears. A small sense of closure and reassurance that Ginger’s mother had died of a broken heart and not the burden of caring for Ginger alone.

  I held her until the tears stopped, until she was ready to talk again. It was everything to me to see a small smile creep across her lips.

  “I forgot how funny she was. When she wasn’t high or passed out, she was always trying to make me laugh, always trying to make it so we had a good time. He’s right. She had this light about her.”

  “It’s here,” I told her, placing my hand over her heart. Then I kissed her forehead. “And here.”

  “Thank you for pushing me to talk to him. You were right.”

  “I don’t care if I’m right when it comes to you,” I told her. “I just care if you’re happy.”

  She kissed me once more as she whispered, I am.

  Erin Dutton lives near Nashville with her amazing partner and often draws inspiration from both her adopted hometown and places she’s traveled. When not working or writing, she enjoys golf, photography and spending time with family and friends. Look for her at www.erindutton.com or at facebook.com/erin.dutton.

  This story features characters from Fully Involved.

  Family First

  Erin Dutton

  “Ms. Webb, you can go in now,” the nurse said as she exited the hospital room and held open the door.

  Reid nodded. “Thank you. I just need a minute.”

  The nurse gave her an understanding look and let the door swing closed. She wheeled her cart into the next room, leaving Reid alone in the hallway.

  Reid stared through the window at the man lying in the bed, uncertain if she could force herself inside or if she would flee. She didn’t want to be here. But even she couldn’t ignore the phone call informing her that her estranged father had been admitted to the hospital.

  “How long have you been standing out here?” Isabel pressed against her back and slid her arms around her waist.

  “He had a visitor and then the nurse went in.” Reid’s excuse covered the last thirty minutes but didn’t explain why she’d avoided the inside of that room for the last several hours. After getting the call, she’d left work and come to the hospital, thinking of her mother. Despite divorcing her father many years ago, her mother would no doubt be at his side now. But Reid had avoided his room, instead busying herself with speaking to his doctors and updating family members by phone.

  “Are you ever going in?”

  She shrugged. “I talked to his buddy when he came out. Apparently, he’s also my father’s sponsor.”

  “Am I supposed to ignore the fact that you didn’t answer my question?”

  “Yep. He’s got four months sober.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, well, liver disease will do that to you.” The diagnosis wasn’t unexpected, but the fact that it had been enough to stop her father’s drinking surprised her. She hadn’t talked to him in over a year, and the last time had been as contentious as always. She had dodged a handful of phone calls several months ago, which she now figured probably coincided with his diagnosis.

  “Oh, honey.” Isabel held her tighter and rested her chin on her shoulder.

  “He said Pop talked about me at their meetings. When I asked what he said, he suggested I ask him.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “I don’
t know if I can. It’s like he’s two different men. The father I grew up with, and then the drunk who abandoned us. I’d come to terms with that in my mind. And now—now I’m supposed to forget all of that because he’s sick?”

  “Despite his faults, you became a firefighter at least partly because of him. I know he hasn’t told you in a long time, but he’s proud of you. I only wish he hadn’t thrown away the chance to know the woman you turned out to be, because you are pretty damn amazing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes. You’re strong and faithful. And you take care of your family.”

  “I hope you can always say that.” Reid covered Isabel’s hands and squeezed. As a firefighter, she was accustomed to being strong for her crew and, at home, for Chase and Isabel. Since they were children, she’d wanted to protect Isabel. She’d loved her for as long as she could remember, but in the past four years, Isabel had returned that love in ways Reid had never dreamed possible. “I would never want you and Chase to feel as if I wasn’t there for you.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. And maybe your dad will get the opportunity to see it, too.”

  Reid nodded, but she wasn’t as hopeful as Isabel sounded. The liver specialist had gathered them in a conference room and laid out her father’s slim chances for recovery from that point. After that meeting, Reid could see why her father had chosen him as his doctor. He delivered the news bluntly with little regard for emotions. His bedside manner sucked, but that’s what her father would have needed to stop drinking—a cold, harsh wake-up call.

  Apparently, her father had been seeing him for several months, since his symptoms had become too severe to ignore any longer. His sobriety had sparked some improvement, but this latest bad turn didn’t bode well.

  “You should talk to him.” Isabel released her and took a step away, but kept hold of her hand.

  “So I have to be the bigger person because he’s dying?”

  “Won’t you regret it if you don’t at least try? I think you need this more than you want to admit.”

  “What will I say?”

  “Everything you’re afraid to say—even the bits that will hurt you both.” Isabel stroked Reid’s jaw. “Then tell him how you love him anyway. Leave no regrets.”

  Could she do that? Could she tell her father how disappointed she’d been these past years, then let go of it and forgive him? Certainly their relationship hadn’t turned out the way she wanted, maybe not the way he’d wanted either. But neither of them could change the past. And once she stopped trying to do that, she was left only with the simple fact that he was her father and she loved him. He tended to be even more emotionally closed off than she was, so just the thought of slogging through all of this touchy-feely stuff with him exhausted her.

  “You don’t have to do it all this minute. Just start the dialogue.” Isabel rubbed Reid’s shoulder, then pulled her in and hugged her.

  “Will you stay?” Reid whispered next to her ear.

  “I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

  She touched Isabel’s cheek and kissed her, letting her lips linger. She cupped the back of Isabel’s neck and held her close for a moment, breathing deeply as if she could draw strength from Isabel’s nearness.

  When she turned and put her hand on the hospital room door, that first step away from Isabel was one of the hardest she’d ever taken.

  *

  “Hi, Pop,” Reid rasped as she stepped inside, surprised by the rush of emotion that choked her voice when she saw him lying there.

  Over the years, she’d seen his body change as a result of his drinking. But the transformation since she’d last seen him was devastating. Her father had always been a blue-collar man, but his normally weathered, ruddy face now looked pale and waxy. The hollows of his cheeks sagged, pulling the corners of his mouth down. Just above the line of the sheet over his body, his bony shoulders poked out under the thin hospital gown.

  “Reid?” He opened his eyes, but didn’t quite seem able to focus on her in the dim light of the room.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” She moved close to the bed, grasping the back of a chair to steady herself against the onslaught of feelings. Suddenly her chest ached and tears stung her eyes.

  “Don’t do that.”

  She braced for a lecture about how tears were a waste—about how she should buck up.

  “I don’t deserve your tears.” He met her eyes. “I’m sorry, Reid.”

  She stared at him, taken aback by both the quick apology and his pained expression. Suddenly she couldn’t find a single word to express her feelings and she struggled to recall enough of her conversation with Isabel to borrow some of hers.

  “Sit down—please.”

  Stubbornly, she crossed to the window instead, turning her back to him. Outside in the parking lot, a man helped an old woman from a car, then handed her a cane.

  He sighed deeply. “I’m supposed to make amends—as part of the steps.”

  Reid watched the man’s halted steps as he walked beside the woman, practically feeling his impatience with her slow gait.

  “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Her father’s stern tone felt familiar.

  She turned.

  “I keep thinking about how I used to take you to the station with me. No matter how many frilly dresses your mother tried to put you in, I couldn’t keep you from climbing on the engines. I finally had to tell her that for the sake of your decency, she’d better let you wear the little pants you preferred.”

  “I never thanked you for that, did I?”

  “You loved going down there with me, and the guys loved having you there.”

  The guys loved it. He didn’t say that he’d enjoyed it.

  “I bet you have similar memories with Chase.”

  “You might too if you’d been around,” she snapped before she could stop herself. She bit her lower lip to keep from saying anything else.

  “Hell, I’m no good at this stuff.” The stubble of his buzz cut rasped against his palm as he rubbed his hand over his thinning hair.

  She returned to his bedside and dropped into the chair. This would have been easier if he wasn’t obviously trying so damn hard. “Neither am I.”

  “Yeah, well, you get that from me. Your mother can talk about feelings until you’d think your ears might bleed.”

  “She’s not that bad.”

  “My point is, you and I, we don’t do that.”

  She shrugged, thinking of how Isabel had opened up her world. She glanced at the closed door, imagining Isabel waiting for her on the other side. “I’m getting better at it.”

  He looked at the door, too. “Your mother told me. Isabel Grant, huh?”

  She nodded, sitting up straighter and pushing her shoulders back.

  “Good for you. She’s a good girl.” He reached through the rail of the bed and picked up a shiny blue coin from the nightstand. “I want you to have this.”

  She took the coin in her hand and flipped it over. “What is it?”

  “It’s my ninety-day coin.”

  “I can’t take this.”

  “Keep it. God willing, I’ll live long enough to get my six-month coin. I know I’m about a decade too late. But I don’t know how much time I have left—”

  “Pop—”

  “Let me get this out while I can. I did a lot of things wrong with you, kid. But it was my failure, not yours. What you’ve done—taking in Chase and making a family with Isabel. I’m proud of you. Don’t ever put anything in front of them.”

  “I don’t. If there’s one thing you’ve taught me, it’s that.” Guilt stabbed through her at his stricken expression. “Shit,” she hissed, propelling herself out of her chair. “I guess I’ve got a lot of anger that I have to figure out how to let go of. You let me down.”

  “I know.”

  She couldn’t handle the resignation in his tone. Was that supposed to be enough? She couldn’t dissolve years of pain simply because he apologized. She needed
to blow up—to rant about what he’d cheated them out of and how much easier losing Jimmy might have been for all of them if he’d been around and been the kind of father she needed.

  She paced the length of the room, then turned back toward him. He looked tired, more so than when she came in here. “I’ll try, okay? That’s all I can promise.”

  “That’s all I’m asking for. We’ll work on it. You’re my only daughter. I’ve missed you.”

  She nodded and swallowed hard. That was the closest he’d come to saying he loved her in a long time. She hated that she still wanted so badly to hear it. “You need to rest.”

  “You look like you do, too. Will you come back?”

  “Yeah.” She strode across the room, suddenly feeling suffocated.

  She stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut without looking back. Immediately, Isabel embraced her. But the stifling sense of not being able to catch her breath didn’t ease. She pulled away, meeting Isabel’s confused gaze.

  “I need to get out of here.”

  “I’ll take you home.”

  “No. I’ll drive myself.”

  “Are you okay? What happened in there?” Isabel reached for her, but Reid backed away.

  “Can we talk about it later? I’ll meet you at home.”

  Isabel nodded. Reid couldn’t get down the hall and into the elevator fast enough. Outside, she climbed into her truck and rolled the windows down, then sped away. She hadn’t run away from Isabel in a long time, but spending time with her father brought back some long-buried fears and pain. And she needed to face them herself before she was ready to bare them to Isabel.

  *

  Reid stood at the railing on her back porch, staring into the yard. She clung to the familiar sights around her—the swing set where Chase played and the hammock where she and Isabel liked to lie on clear evenings. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself in that hammock with Isabel’s warmth against her body. The hammock would swing gently in a breeze that stirred the scent of dried, fallen leaves. Whenever Isabel would sneak her hand under the hem of her shirt and rest it against her stomach, she felt protected—which was rare for her.