Chapter 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

KIRA

Oh suuuuuuuuuuure. He’s fine .

He’s so fine he doesn’t say a single word on the ride home. He’s extra fine. Well, I mean, he is extra fine , but he’s clearly not fine. And no wonder with such a chaotic childhood. I decided that while early childhood health and developmental psychology would be an excellent field to go into, it wasn’t for me.

I’ve never had a knack with kids, maybe because even when I was one, I was always so concerned with getting on to being a grown-up already. All I ever wanted was to hurry and grow up so I could be an adult with power over my own life.

I glance over at Isaak from where I’m doing my lesson planning on the couch. For once since we tore each other’s clothes off last week after the engagement dinner, we haven’t immediately gotten naked and in bed when we stepped into the hotel room. I said I needed to work, and wordlessly, he nodded and has been looking down at his phone all afternoon. He’s got earbuds in, and I can’t tell if he’s playing a game on it or watching TV or what.

I’ve barely been able to concentrate on the student essays I’m supposed to be grading. My thoughts are so consumed with him. Is he icing me out because I made him mad earlier? Or is he just respecting my wishes because I told him I needed to work?

Relationships with men are so frustrating! Not that this is a relationship or anything. Gah! Why am I not a lesbian?

I’m just about to toss the essays to the side and demand to know what’s going on in Isaak’s head when he tugs out his earbuds and says, “Oh, I forgot to ask. Is it okay if we drop by the club tonight? I need to talk to one of the guys about something.”

“Of course.” I blink, surprised at his easy tone. “Is it something urgent?”

“Nah,” is all he says before putting his earbud back in.

And that’s all I get.

I want to march over there, yank the damn things out of his ears, and put them in a lockbox until he tells me what he’s been thinking about all day. But then I remind myself, for the millionth time, that I don’t have any right to do that. We’ve just been fucking to let off steam. Yes, it’s been very, very hot, but once the boiling tea kettle’s finally cooled down, well… that’s the whole point. Steam released.

We’re both more rested and relaxed now, and we can be ourselves again. I can go back to being an uptight, OCD professor who worries too much about too many things all the time constantly, and he can be… I glance in his direction again and sigh. He can be Mr. Cool Guy with no worries in the world, never attached too deeply to anyone or anything.

We were never going to work.

Uh, duh, because you have a fiancé, remember? But even if I didn’t, there’s no world in which Isaak and I work. No matter how many times he growls mine in that rough, needy voice of his as he claims my body one piece at a time.

* * *

“We’ll just drop in for like half an hour then head home,” Isaak tells me as I’m driving us to the club.

“What if I want to stay longer?” I ask. If I’m honest, I’m still pissed he hasn’t been more talkative all day. It’s like he turned into an entirely different person all of a sudden. The teasing, light-hearted guy has disappeared, and Mr. Broody has taken his place.

“Then you should’ve worn more layers.”

I frown in his direction. “What’s that mean?” Is he seriously trying to police what I wear now? Because that’s a big red flag in my book.

“Never mind. We won’t be here long enough for you to find out.”

I turn to him after I park and unclick my seatbelt. “Look, buddy, I don’t know what bit your butthole and crawled up your ass, but when I come to Carnal , I like to stick around and watch. Why waste a visit? These are your friends, right? I haven’t talked to Moira all week, and?—”

“If Moira’s here, she’ll be on the hunt for dick.”

“God, do you always have to be so crude?”

“Crude is who I am. Sorry if that offends your delicate sensibilities, Red.”

Usually, I’d expect a smirking grin with a statement like that, but he’s still just glaring out the front windshield.

“You really are an asshole, you know that? Fine. You can take an Uber home. But I’m staying.”

I shove my door open and activate the lock behind me. I stomp forward, not slowing when Isaak calls out for me to wait. Soon enough, I hear his big, clodhopping footsteps coming after me.

I ignore him even when he easily catches up to me and begins walking alongside me. “You shouldn’t run away from me like that, Red. I’m supposed to be your security but I can’t watch our surroundings if I’m busy chasing after you.”

“Don’t call me Red,” I reply, a little automatically.

“Of course, your Princessness. “

It’d be wrong to turn around and smack my bodyguard in the face, yeah?

Finally, we reach the back door of the club, and Isaak presses his keycard against the little panel for members and club employees. Okay, that actually is cool. I’ve never entered this way.

There’s not much more to see once we’re inside a dark, narrow little hallway with lamp sconces affixed to the walls about every five feet. It’s far cozier than having industrial overhead lighting, and as we pass by, I see open doors into cozy little rooms, each with a wide, comfortable-looking chaise, a wall-mounted TV, several other over-stuffed chairs, and an array of BDSM gear hanging from the wall.

We don’t even make it into the central play area before running into Quinn. She’s barely recognizable striding down the hall without all her black gear and latex. Instead, she’s got on a black scarf, hat, coat, and gloves.

“Oh my god, girl, I barely recognized you!” I say, giving her a little hug.

She laughs as she hugs me back. “I’ve been hearing that ever since I got here.”

“Marcus here?” asks Isaak from behind me as I let go of her.

“In the office.” She points a thumb over her shoulder. “He told me to send you back there if I saw you.”

“Watch after Kira for me, yeah? Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Some kind of look passes between them, and she nods, then Isaak takes off without a backward glance. I frown after him for a second, then decide he’s not my problem and smile at Quinn again.

Of all the women who seem central to Carnal , she’s the one I’ve spent the least amount of time with. She seems so effortlessly cool, though. Everyone wants to be her friend and for the most part, she appears to welcome people into the inner circle if they’re friends with her friends. She seems like good people, and I admit, I’m curious about her.

“He likes you,” she says, observing me with considering eyes.

I’m so surprised by her words, I can only blurt, “How can you tell?”

“I know him better than most. He doesn’t let people in.”

I huff out a breath. “That’s an understatement.” Then I turn curious eyes back to her. “But he let you in? Have you two…” I glance around the hallway, then back at the sumptuously appointed private rooms we just passed.

They’re co-workers and both crazy good-looking. I’d be surprised if all of them haven’t hooked up with one another, given enough time.

But Quinn just snorts. “Me and Isaak? No way. We’d tear each other apart. But I grew up in foster care and group homes like him, so I get it.”

I stop and stare. It feels important that this is the second time this has come up today. “He mentioned just today he grew up in the system. Do you…” I pause, trying to figure out how to word this delicately. “Could you maybe explain a little why that makes him so closed off?”

Her brows furrow a little. “Oh shit. You like him, too.”

“Is that a problem?” I laugh a little at the concern in her eyes.

She sighs a little in a maternal way, even though she can’t be much older than me, if at all. Then she scans me up and down and frowns. “You planning to play tonight?”

I nod and look down at my simple black dress underneath my light jacket.

“Oh honey, didn’t you get the brief? You’re going to need a lot more layers. Come on.” She unwinds the light black silk scarf from around her neck and loops it around mine instead. “The girls and I will let you borrow some of ours. And we can chat a little about why Isaak’s such a closed-off prick even though he’s one of the best men I know. Come on.”

She leads me down the rest of the hallway into the main part of the club. The darkly but intentionally lit décor, all done in sumptuous black leathers and deep red velvets, is as sexy as it is inviting. But tonight, some of the furniture has been moved against the wall in lieu of several big poker tables being set up throughout the large room.

The room is crowded with people, though, far more than I’d expect for a Wednesday night. Most of them are dressed like Quinn, too, wearing all their winter clothes even though it’s probably colder inside with the air-conditioner on than outside, late October or not.

“Caleb’s been watching too much Texas Hold ’Em in his spare time and came up with this latest great idea,” Quinn says, rolling her eyes.

“Isn’t gambling illegal in Texas?”

Quinn looks over at me like she’s amused by me. “Caleb’s always liked to tread the line of what he can get away with. And besides, the house isn’t taking a cut of anything. The stakes here are simple. We aren’t gambling money tonight. Just an article of clothing for every loss. Things should start to get interesting about halfway through.” She winks.

“Great,” I squeak, gratefully clutching the ends of the scarf she put around my neck.

We go say hi to Anna, who’s seated at the nearest table. She donates a black beret to my collection. Anna’s busy giggling at something her partner, Domhn, says in her ear. She’s sitting in his lap—the only place I’ve seen her lately.

“Where’s Moira?” I ask.

“Said she’s on her way,” Domhn says, coming up for air after kissing Anna again. These two barely breathe, they’re constantly making out like teenagers who’ve just discovered each other. Considering I know Domhn had Anna locked up in his basement dungeon for a week when they first met and she was in the middle of a mental health crisis, it’s still a little shocking to see them so happy together now.

Anna struggles out of Domhn’s lap so she can come sit by me and Quinn, swatting away his hands when he tries to pull her back.

“How’s everything working out with Isaak?” she asks me.

I feel my stupid cheeks flushing, and I look around. “We can order drinks if we aren’t doing a scene, right?”

“Holy shit,” Anna breathes out, leaning in. “You’re sleeping with him?”

“What?” I squeak, swinging back to look at her. “I didn’t say that.”

“It’s written all over your face,” Quinn says. “It was from the moment you two walked in together.”

Dammit. Is Isaak right? Do I really not have any poker face? Shit. I’ve always prided myself on being unreadable.

“Spill,” Anna demands. “All the tea. Now.”

“It’s nothing serious,” I say, feeling my stupid cheeks flaming even hotter. “It was just after my engagement dinner?—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Quinn says. “You’re engaged?”

“It’s an open relationship,” Anna says and waves a hand as if impatient to catch her up. “Plus, the guy can’t even get it up with her. It’s like a childhood arrangement or something. Get back to Isaak.”

“That was a lot of information to just hand-wave away,” Quinn says. “But I agree. I want to hear about Isaak.”

When did I turn into the girl with guy-drama? Usually I’m listening to all my other girlfriends go on and on about their far more interesting love lives. “Um. There’s not that much else to it. Isaak and I had to share a hotel room because of the Cowboys-Eagles game, and one thing led to another…”

“Was it hot?” Anna asks, then she looks over at Quinn, grinning. “I bet it was hot.”

“Of course, it was hot,” Quinn says. “Isaak’s got that brooding-giant thing going on. And Moira said he fucks like a god.” Then she put a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” I laugh, finally feeling at ease for the first time all day. “It’s fine. I know he and Moira used to… you know. And what we’re doing isn’t even that big a deal. Just sweating the stress out together. It’s just fucking, ya know? He’s been giving me a workout all week.”

Anna and Quinn share a look.

“What?” I ask. “What’s that look mean?”

“It’s just not exactly like Isaak,” Quinn says. “He’s usually a one-and-done kind of guy.”

“One and done. What’s that mean?”

“Like just one night,” Anna clarifies. “Barely ever any repeat customers. Except Moira, but only ’cause he knew she wouldn’t get attached.”

“Why wouldn’t she get attached if he’s so wonderful and fucks like a god?” Even as I ask it, I hear myself. But I mean, the way his friends talk about him, you’d have thought one of them would have snapped him up for themselves.

But Anna and Quinn just laugh out loud as if it’s obvious.

“You’ve met Moira,” Anna says, and okay. I guess, having known Moira for a while now, I can see how she might be too sex-obsessed to ever stick to just one guy. Though she has been doing scenes at the club with Bane a lot lately.

“What you asked earlier,” Quinn says, leaning in. “The way Isaak and I grew up… It’s just hard to trust anyone. Or get attached. You kind of just learn to look out for yourself. I had my sister, at least.” Her eyes get a little distant, and I immediately want to ask more. But after my blunders earlier with Isaak, for once in my life, I hold my tongue.

“You’ll find her,” Anna says, rubbing Quinn’s back.

Find her? Now I’m even more curious.

Quinn pulls away, her face losing its sadness before looking back at me. “Anyway, Isaak didn’t have anyone except himself. That shit makes you resilient but…” She shudders and looks away. “Sometimes I think maybe a little too resilient. Like Teflon, you know? Everything just slides right off, no matter what life throws at you. But it also means nothing sticks. Even the good stuff.”

I think in this little metaphor, I might be the good stuff? But it also means she doesn’t think I’ll stick.

Not that I want to stick. I frown. I’m not looking for anything with Isaak. Not anything real , anyway.

From what they’re saying, it’s probably why Isaak was down for hooking up with me in the first place—I’m his type.

Completely unavailable.

Which is perfect, really. ‘Cause while yeah this is a fun fling, I’m in my box .

All I have to do is stay in the box and my whole life is mapped out before me. If I become uncomfortable or panicky, I can look at any square wall and do my deep breathing. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. But the bottom will never drop out from under me because I’ll always have a place in my little box, supported and buoyed by my family and community.

People always talk about thinking outside the box, but what if I like being inside the box? It’s cozy and safe here. I’ve got stuffed animals and my favorite blanket. My family is inside the box, fucked up as they are, and I have a place with them that makes me feel solid in the world.

I’ve never cared if that sounds boring or like I’m weak to anyone else. When Drew proposed a year ago, I was so happy, thinking it was all finally coming together. Like a Christmas scene they have you make in grade school out of an old shoe box, I’d have a beautiful life. I’d have my strong foundation of belonging, and then I’d be strong enough to do all the things I dreamed of.

My parents were finally happy. Dad even said he was proud of me, words I’d never heard out of his mouth before. I finally fit .

As for what I’m doing here tonight, and with Isaak… Well, I never said my box doesn’t have a little back door for side quests.

Everything is still on track. Drew and I established clear boundaries the night we got engaged—we are non-monogamous, to be renegotiated after the wedding. It only made sense since I knew Drew’s libido and it wasn’t exactly like we were?—

Yeah, some part of me knows it’s weird that I haven’t really had sex with my own fiancé. I mean, there was graduation, but I don’t think that really counts. I frown and cross my arms.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Quinn says, suddenly putting a hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m glad you and Isaak are connecting. God knows I’m all for fucking out your stress. It’s literally my side gig.”

“And there’s no one we trust more than Isaak,” Anna interjects, smiling. “He’s the best. Even Mads likes him and she hates everybody.”

I laugh at that, always a little awed at how well Anna’s managed to deal with her dissociative identity disorder. She and I have spent a lot of time hanging out together since she got back from Chicago and I’ve even met her alter, Mads—who definitely did not like me. Unsurprising since Mads generally feels some type of way about anyone even therapy-adjacent.

Quinn nods quickly. “We’re happy for you. We just care about both of you. We don’t want either of you to get hurt.” She throws an arm across my shoulders and tugs me in close again. She’s so free with affection now that she’s not in her domme persona, it’s startling and lovely all at the same time.

“Exactly! You’re both family!” Anna chimes in.

Family. Huh. Wouldn’t that be something? To have family like this, and a solid place without having to… squeeze myself into box-shape all the time?

“Stop it.” I wave a hand. “Y’all are gonna make me tear up.” I pretend to swipe away a tear and they laugh. But seriously. I haven’t had friends to just hang out like this with in… well, maybe ever. The closest thing to it was grad school, but even there, I still never felt like I quite fit because I was on such an accelerated track.

My phone buzzes several times, and I almost don’t check it. I’m having too much fun to be bummed out by psycho-stalker texts right now.

But it could be the caterer. Or Carol freaking out about the caterer. They were having some problems sourcing the particular kind of fish Carol wants.

I pull out my phone as Anna and Quinn start chatting about other club gossip.

But it’s not the caterer. Or Carol. It’s Drew.

DREW: Hey babe

DREW: Im sorry if things got weird at the dinner Fri.

DREW: I should have apologized for becca.

DREW: Ive always been a fuk up.

DREW: You know that

DREW: Dad sure took it out on me

DREW: I swear I’ll be a better husband than fiancé

DREW: Please forgive me?

I look down at my lap, feeling too many conflicting emotions.

Here I am, thinking about wanting to stick to Isaak when, if anything, I’m supposed to be stuck to Drew. Ya know, the guy who’s gonna be my husband a little over six weeks from now?

My stomach feels hollow.

I thumb in:

ME: Of course I forgive you.

And then,

ME: I hope your dad didn’t take it too hard on you.

DREW: At least I’m still in one piece.

DREW: Mostly.

I stare down at the screen, not knowing what to text in return. There’s a script we usually play out.

My gut still clenches like it always does when I know his father has hurt him. Back in high school, I’d reach across the gear shift and grab his hand. We’ll run away from here. As soon as we’re old enough, we’ll run away from here, and you’ll never have to see that man again .

But then we got older and neither of us ran.

Well, I ran as far as the other side of Dallas, but I still came home at night to the apartment my mommy was paying for. Drew lived in the dorms, sure, but after he graduated, he went right back to work with his father. The house he bought after graduation is only a five-minute drive from his father’s Dallas district office.

I know the pressure he was under the entire time. I know he felt like he had no choice. I know because I felt the same way.

But just when I felt like I was going to buckle under the pressure, I did make a choice. Or I tried to, anyway.

And now it feels like there’s this vacuum pressure trying to suck me back in to that old suffocating life.

The phone in my hand buzzes.

DREW: Hey U still there

ME: I’m here

DREW: I never asked where you’re living now

DREW: Can I come by

DREW: I wanna talk

DREW: Like we used 2

I breathe out hard. My whole life, all I wanted was Drew Underwood to pay attention to me. The day he proposed, I told myself it was a dream come true. Even when he immediately followed it up by making sure I understood it wouldn’t be a monogamous arrangement.

That’s just so nineteenth-century , he said at the time. It’s just not realistic. I think it’s better if we don’t lie to each other or have to sneak around. You know, like high school. I always loved being able to come home to you at the end of the night .

I hadn’t thought he was capable of breaking my heart anymore after graduation, but there it was. He wanted it to go back to how it was in high school. When I was a shell of a person. When he was my world, and I was… barely alive.

Then he slid the ring on my finger, gave me a perfunctory kiss on the lips, and ran off to whatever or whoever was next in his packed, exciting life.

ME: Sorry. Not at home

DREW: Oh. Where is now?

DREW: Maybe I can come by tomorrow?

I take several short breaths, feeling trapped. I don’t want him coming by the hotel with Isaak around. What am I going to do? Tell my lover I need to go down to the lobby to chat with my fiancé?

Good god, how is this my life? I’m supposed to be boring. I’m supposed to be the professor who was old before she was ever young.

“Hey. Everything okay?” Anna asks.

Jesus, do I really have that bad of a poker face? I’ve got to work on that. There’s too much going on in my life for my emotions to be showing so transparently.

“Fine,” I say quickly. “Just texting a friend.”

ME: Hey, can I text you back later?

ME: really crowded here.

ME: Talk soon.

I send the message and then turn off my phone, breathing out hard as soon as I do.

And consumed with guilt. I never shut Drew out. He knows I always make space for him. Whenever his dad is cruel or violent, he always has me to turn to.

No wonder he wants to marry you. Who wouldn’t want their own personal therapist and comfort object on call?

It’s a cruel thought.

But also not wrong.

I frown. Is that what I really think I am to Drew? Or is it just an intrusive thought I can’t trust? Everyone says to trust your gut, but what do you do when you’ve got OCD and occasionally have intrusive thoughts like: Stab your hand with a fork ? or Jump out of the moving car ?

My mind feels like a minefield sometimes. I don’t know which thoughts to trust.

“Hey, everyone!” Moira says, breezing in and taking off her coat as she sits down in the chair beside Anna, furthest away from her brother. “Hope I’m not too late.”

She pulls off her shades and tucks them in her purse.

“Just in time,” Quinn starts to say before pausing and leaning over the table. “Holy shit, M. Is that a shiner?”

Domhnall shoots up from where he’s sitting across the table. He’s got his sister’s chin in his hand a second later, tilting her face toward the light.

Moira yanks back from him. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Domhnall says, jaw flexing. “You clearly put on more makeup to try and hide it from us.”

Moira rolls her eyes. “I knew I shouldn’t have come out tonight.”

“Just tell us what happened,” Quinn demands, no-nonsense.

I can’t help but be moved by how obviously everyone in the group cares for each other. Even if Moira’s clearly annoyed by it.

“It was no big deal. It was just some consensual slapping with a dom I know. He went harder than he should have. That’s all.”

“Which dom?” The vein in her brother’s forehead looks all but ready to burst. “Was it Bane? And there’s another bruise on your arm. Fuck, Moira.

“No, of course it wasn’t Bane. I just saw him that one night.” Moira looks down in dismay at where he’s pointing, then glares up at her brother as she yanks her coat back on.

Domhn just stares at her. “What’s going on with you?”

“It’s none of your business if I want to play a little rough.”

“It is if you’re playing outside the club again. Jaysus, how could ya? After what happened last time?”

Anna gasps at his words, a haunted look coming into her eyes. Moira’s face crumples with horrified guilt, and she shoots up from the table, yanking her purse over her shoulder and shoving her shades back on.

As she does, I get a better look at her. She looks a lot skinnier than the last time I saw her. Her badly applied makeup doesn’t hide her gauntness.

I don’t know everything that happened last year when Anna had her mental breakdown after coming out of the amnesia, but there have been clues here and there that Domhnall blames Moira for some part in it.

Which obviously doesn’t help, because Moira clearly already blames herself, as well. Whatever problems she had before are only exacerbated by this additional layer of shame.

“Fuck you,” Moira spits at Domhnall, then she turns and stalks out of the club. Anna starts to stand up, but Domhnall catches her forearm.

“Don’t,” he says. “She doesn’t deserve it after what she did to you.”

“That’s not fair,” Anna says. “She didn’t know.”

“She knew there were rules and that it was dangerous to break them,” Domhn snaps. “But here she is, doing it again, with no care how it affects anyone else. She’s just as selfish as our mother.”

Anna looks desperately at Quinn, who nods and jogs after Moira.

Anna just wraps her arms around Domhnall’s waist. “She’ll be okay.”

Domhn draws her close to his chest, back into his lap. “I just don’t know what to do with her. She had it so easy compared to all we went through, and I just can’t put up with her bullshit anymore.”

My chest clenches in sympathy for both him and Moira. It’s always like this when it comes to her. Anna and I have both suggested therapy to Moira, but she won’t hear of it. I guess she had some bad experiences when she was younger with in-patient treatment, and now she won’t even consider it.

But it’s so clear she’s spinning out. I know enough from my studies that her behaviour won’t change without intervention.

It’s the curse of studying psychology. You learn about the way human brains actually work. Like, my whole life, I swore I’d be nothing like my mother. But me saying that and knowing in my head that I want to be different don’t mean shit.

I was born a na?ve little animal in a confusing world, and the only way I could learn was by mirroring what I saw. Her .

My mother swore she would be nothing like her mother. She’d tell me. She thought she could accomplish that if, once she had a baby, she told it she loved it once a day. Granted, she never picked it up, held it, cradled it, or showed it any affection. It was like this for me and my older brother, who might as well be a stranger to me. But she told us once a day that she loved us when we were babies. Of course, that was just incomprehensible gibberish to us little animals that only needed to be picked up and held.

But she thought it meant she was doing everything differently from her own cold, indifferent, unaffectionate mother.

We’re all such fools.

It was only halfway through my degree that I realized if I didn’t start going to therapy myself, I’d end up the same way. I have difficulty maintaining close friendships, just like my mother. My mother has a thousand acquaintances, and everyone loves her, but she has no best friends. I can be the charming life of the party if I want to, but it’s so difficult to fight through the OCD drowning my head with questions about what everyone thinks about me, I usually choose to just sit quietly in the corner.

And just like my mother, I choose men to love who can never love me back.

So, really, I’m choosing to stay alone forever. Just like the untouched baby in the cradle always was.

“All right, my sexy little gamblers,” says Caleb, the club’s owner, as he walks to the center of the room in a full tux, including a vest coat, cummerbund, bowtie, and top hat. “Welcome! We’re playing Texas Hold ’Em. Best of all, there are no losers tonight! Under your chair, you’ll find a discrete bag for discarded clothing. Anything left on the floor at the end of the night will be available in the lost and found. Let the games begin!”

I tug the beret down on my head as a dealer sits at the head of the table with a fresh deck of cards and begins to deal.

But I’m here, aren’t I, being vulnerable and making friends? Real friends? I believe what I tell my students. I believe conditioning and old patterns can be broken.

New neural pathways can be paved. There’s still hope for Moira if she asks for help one day, and there’s hope for me.

I can still change from who I have been into who I might become.

If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.