#oftm

His arms encircle my waist. Pulls me closer and holds me there. But something in him pauses. Makes him pull away as we float there in the water. I can't tell if the roar in my ears is my own blood or the waterfall nearby. Not sure if I want to know. Because this is something I've only ever dreamed of since we were kids. Something that wasn't tangible. Yet here we are. Mere inches from one another with his cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed with color. 

Zayne looks away almost bashfully, "I-I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Without thinking, I reach for him when he moves to swim away from me. Fingers curling loosely around his wrist and softly tugging him back. His brows furrow with confusion when he looks over his shoulder where my fingers touch his skin. Wrap around his wrist or at least try to. His wrist is big enough—or maybe my fingers are just too small—that my fingers don't full wrap around. Fingertips resting on his pulse point. I can feel how hard his heart beats. How erratic it gets when his eyes travel up my arm to meet mine. My mouth is parted as if I'm trying to speak. But nothing seems adequate enough. Because what was I supposed to say?

But that was all it took.

He pulls his arm just enough that it bring me with it. His arm wrapping around my waist again with his other hand cradling my face. His touch is so tender. So pure it's like I'm some foreign deity he isn't privy to touch. Let alone gaze upon. But I am the furthest thing from holy. Have never been anything remotely close. Yet the way he holds me to him, the way his mouth moves against mine, it makes me question it for just a moment. 

"What about Caleb?" He murmurs against my mouth.

My fingers thread through his hair. "What about him?"

"You're in a relationship aren't you?"

For a second, I'm brought back to reality. Zayne and everyone else think that Caleb and I are dating. And here I am with my mouth pressed against Zayne's like if we separated I  would forget how to breathe. For just one blissful moment, I forgot all about my little deal with one of the Farspace Fleet's colonels. Because that's what this was all for isn't it? To make the Fleet think that Caleb had a life outside the Fleet itself. Make him look more credible. More human and less like a robot they programmed themselves. At least that was part of the deal on my end. Caleb's job was to make Zayne jealous. But this isn't quite jealousy and it isn't quite guilt. This is something primal and needy. And I don't know how to respond to his question without telling him the truth. Which I don't think either of us are ready for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He isn't thinking correctly. Or at all, truthfully. Not for lack of trying. Because he really is trying to do the right thing and think this through. Although, he has to admit that kissing her in the first place was more for his own selfish curiosity than anything else. Just a momentary lapse in judgment. Nothing more. But how can he possibly think right when she clings to him in the water like he's a lifeline. When she tastes just as sweet and dangerous as he imagined she would. He'd be lying if he said he hasn't thought about this since they were teenagers. Because he absolutely has. Zayne had questioned if his protectiveness of Iris stemmed from sharing a childhood or if it was something else entirely. Could it be from knowing Caleb the way he does and knowing that his innate need to hide things from people will only serve to hurt her in the end. Because at the heart of the matter, she had moved away for several years.

Zayne doesn't know her the way he should. Questions why that is and why it took her moving back to Linkon for him to truly know her the way he should have all along. Why it took for their late night ice cream visits or until she ran to him for safety only for him to arrive too late for him to know the depth of her. How far her internal scars ran and how deep they cut. He could write it off as being too busy. Too employee as McKenna would say. But that would be too easy of an out and he owes her more than that.

In the months that followed, he learned much of her inner workings. The way her mind worked and how she feels things too deeply. So deeply that it's often too much for even Iris to handle. She's a candle that never quite burns out. An asteroid that's stuck earth with such a force it's shattered everything he knows or understands. She is fireworks in a world full of sparklers and he will never forgive himself for not seeing it sooner.

Ultimately, he had resolved himself to be content to of known her. While he had thought of reaching out, of trying to mend the gap through whatever means, he never did. Of course, he'd asked after her. Working along side the Fleet every now and then he would see Cash and ask how his sister was. Where she was. If he'd spoken to her as of late. And his answers were always the same—short, sweet and to the point. Careful to never divulge too much information other than that of which he asked. So that was where Zayne had left it.

So, he convinces himself that he's doing her a favor.

Saving her from a life of danger and secrecy with Caleb like she wouldn't be met with the same thing in a life with him instead. Like he didn't offer largely the same thing Caleb does. As if he doesn't push away those he loves in the lie that he's doing them a service by doing so. Zayne knows her know. He knows how much she loathes secrecy and lies. But convinces himself it was worth it—that he's different than Caleb in retrospect—if it meant giving her the kind of love she deserved from the start.

The logical part of his brain knows that this is crossing a dangerous line. One he never should have in the first place. He should put a stop to this before it leads to something neither of them could turn back from. After all, she was in a relationship with Caleb. He had kissed a taken woman for his own selfish desire if only to know what it was like. He'd acknowledged their relationship even after. But she returned the kiss with so much intensity it leaves him with no other choice but to give in and the sound of a rushing waterfall gives him an idea he should let alone. 

But he doesn't.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It happens in a blur. So quickly it's like there was little time left to be had. Like he couldn't wait to get his hands on me. It makes my head spin. In a matter of seconds—a rush—he's pulling me under a waterfall. Murmuring for me to hold my breath as we vanish behind the water. There's no time to take in my surroundings. To marvel at the sheer beauty of the area we found ourselves in. To make sure that Caleb hadn't come looking for us or that we really had been pushed so far from where we were that we were out of eyesight. There is only the weight of his hands and the softness of his skin.

One hand runs down my side to rest on my waist while the other palms my breast. It occurs to me that I can feel the warmth of his hand perfectly. "It would appear that the force of the water pu—"

A quick glance down proves that my swim top had not only been pushed up to expose my breast, but untied as a whole. Saves me the energy of being completely mortified when his mouth quirks up in a smirk. His fingertips glide over my shoulders to pluck the string that ties behind my neck until it unravels. Zayne tosses it aside without so much as a glance as to where it lands. 

His touch is soft. Feather light and hardly even there. If his tongue wasn't tasting every inch of my mouth I would have thought I was imaging it. He tastes of mint mouthwash. But the taste swiftly leaves me when his mouth travels down my neck to pepper my skin with sharp nips of his teeth. This is a far cry from the reserved doctor I have come to know. Never known Zayne to be reckless or anything but calm and collected. But there's heat and passion in the way the pad of his thumb brushes my already peaked nipple. It's in the way his palm cups the underside of my breast with such a gentleness it's just shy of reverent. There's a vast difference in the kind of worship Zayne provides versus Caleb. It's the kind of worship one offers to their god or some kind of divine being. Neither or which I am. Because I have done nothing but sin my entire life. But he touches me like I'm something worthy of devotion and praise.

Until it leaves me all together.

Left with my face heating with embarrassment and something entirely too close to rage. When I bend to retrieve my top from the ground, my breathing is too shallow with barely contained rage. He takes a step away from me and when I look up—he's already walking towards the waterfall to leave me with my rage and the unbearable pounding of my heart.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Li?" My voice rings through the small enclave we're in.

Zayne freezes at the water cascading down in front of him. Head bowed like he's ashamed of himself and shoulders too tense for a moment that was once filled with heat. He turns his head to look at me over his shoulder and his hand rises to freeze the waterfall with his Evol. Had I not been so angry with him I would have commented on how breathtaking it looks frozen in motion. But I am too angry to say much of anything. Too furious to let him know he made a work of art like he used to when we were kids.

Tears well in my eyes and my chest heaves. "You don't get to just walk away. You can't just kiss me like that and walk away like you didn't fucking mean it. That's not fair, Zayne."

"I've misstepped," his voice breaks, "I shouldn't have done that."

"This isn't fair, Zayne."

"I know it's not. It isn't fair to you or to Caleb and for that I'm sorry. You're in a relationship and I crossed a line I shouldn't have."

Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. He would not see me cry—not today. Instead, the distance he put between us is crossed in a few quick steps as I clutch my swim top to my chest. Using my other hand, I grab his shoulder and spin him to face me before shoving him back into the frozen waterfall. His back hits with a dull thud and my eyes narrow at him with all the hurt and confusion he just made me feel when he walked away.

"You're upset." An observation, not a question.

"Brilliant observation, Doctor Li. Do you want an award for that revelation?"

He winces at my tone. It's harsh and biting and unfair. None of that matters right now. Not when everything in me is screaming. Fury burns through me when he turns to examine the frozen wall he created. The truth is on the tip of my tongue and I swallow it.

"What would you have me do, Iris?"

"Let's start with being honest with yourself, maybe? You can't run away and hide every time you do something you might regret, Zayne. It's not fair to anyone. Least of all to yourself. Walking away from it solves nothing."

When he finally turns to look at me again—there's pain in his eyes.

"I can't ask this of you."

"Bullshit," the laugh that comes with it is bitter, "You kissed me, Zayne. It happened. It's time you face yourself and get over it."

"Face myself? What good could come of this? You're in a relationship and it would be incredibly cruel of me to—"

The moment the words come from me— know I might regret it. 

"I'm in fucking love with you, Zayne! I've been in love with you since we were kids!"

His eyes widen before his brows furrow with confusion. "What? But what about—"

"I'm not actually dating Caleb! It a deal we made, okay? It's fake. All of it is fake so that the Fleet thinks he has a life outside of them. We're not in a real relationship."

He closes the distance in an instant. Barely giving me time to breathe when he kisses me again and the intensity of it knocks the air from my lungs. Careful hands now cradle my face. A soft sound leaves him when my fingers grab at the waistband of his swim trunks. Something between a sigh and a moan. The sound replays in my head over and over on a never ending loop. The once careful and controlled surgeon unraveling at my fingertips.

Our kiss borders between frantic and reverence. Shaking hands reach for the swim top still clutched in my hand. Zayne pulls it from my grip, once again tossing it somewhere to the ground at our feet. It hits the rocks we stand on with a soft fluttering sound. His hands shake with small tremors as they trace down from my face to my shoulders until they reach my back. Sparks of ice lick up my spine. Leaving his fingertips involuntarily as they trace the curve of my spine like he was mapping the way it bends. It's worship and wonder at once. He's holding back, I can feel it in the way he holds me to him. Tender and almost scared.

This is it.

It dawns on me then that this is the moment I've always wanted since we were young. I'm not sure what emboldens me, but my teeth nip at his bottom lips without breaking the kiss. Something snaps in him at the contact. Turning the kiss from something he wants to savor into raw heat and want. I taste it on his tongue when it enters my mouth to run along mine. Feel it in the way he tugs at the waistband of my bottoms. Zayne is a string pulled too taut until it frays and breaks. His mouth finally parts from mine, chest heaving with the need to breathe. His hand leaves my back to press his palm to my breast while the other tugs my bottoms down my hips. Finally, they give and fall down my legs to pool at my ankles.

"You're heart is beating irregularly," his voice is soft, labored with the effort of his breathing.

Suddenly, I'm reminded of the day I went to question him in his office. How he had half frozen the door shut and cornered me to make the same observation. How close our faces had been that day and the way he looked at me. Like I was something he wanted to devour and swallow whole. Had he wanted to kiss me then? Was that what that tension was?

It doesn't matter.

"That tends to happen when someone is excited," I counter.

The smirk that lifts the corner of his mouth is sinful. It makes my stomach do a stupid, traitorous flip. His thumb rubs achingly slow over my nipple. Like he was testing how it felt under the pad of his thumb or seeing how my body reacts. A test to see if I really meant everything I had just said. Repeating the process twice before letting his ice flickers over  bare skin. A shiver ripples through me, but not from the cold of his ice. From the fact this is real. That everything I wanted from the time I knew the meaning of the word 'love' was finally in the palm of my hand. This isn't some kind of sick dream I would wake up from alone and aching in the worst of ways.

The way he looks at me is like he discovered god. His touch the closest to worship I have ever been. He kisses me again with a renewed hungry sort of reverence. A mix I didn't know existed until now. Slowly, he lowers me to the ground. His bare foot scatters the small rocks that cover the area out of the way before my back presses into the cool stone beneath us. Back bowing into him and far too eager to feel every part of him that I had only dreamed of until now. But his hands still my movement, spreading my thighs as his emerald eyes drop to where I'm already glistening with want and need. Zayne inhales a sharp breath, taking his time to run a single fingertip along my center. Quickly coating it with my slick as a devastating moan leaves my throat. The corner of his lips curls into a smirk again. 

Devilish and devastating.

"Zayne," my voice shakes when I speak, "please."

He gives a short shake of his head before dropping to his knees. His hands run along the back of my thighs to my hips and pulls me to him.  His legs shift from under him before he lays flat on him stomach. Lips brush the sensitive skin of my inner thigh in a ghost of a kiss. My legs shake and there's a near unbearable ache between my legs as my clit begins to pulse with the need for some kind of release.

"Good things come to those who wait," he hums against my skin.

"I hate you," I whine, "This is torture."

The wicked curve of his mouth widens into a smirk against my skin. "Really? I could have sworn just a few minutes ago you said you love me."

A husky laugh leaves him when I try to lift my leg to kick him. His hand comes up to halt my movement before my foot ever leaves the ground. Did he know me so well now that he can predict what I'm about to do? It doesn't matter. Because in the next few seconds his tongue is running along my inner thigh until it moves over. The heat of his mouth on me is searing and the most intoxicating thing I have ever had the pleasure to feel. My eyes roll back as I bring a hand to my mouth to stifle a loud, embarrassing moan. Zayne is quick to grab my wrist, bringing my hand away from my mouth. Then he inserts one long finger into my cunt and my back arches when it curls and begins to pump inside me.

"Don't cover your mouth," he instructs as if giving a medical lecture, "I want to hear every sound you make when I touch you."

What can I do but nod in agreement?

"Eyes on me. Understand, sweet girl?"

You sigh as you read the text. Joel is normally very comfortable in your relationship, unshaken by the various actors and actresses who’ve played your love interests and partners on screen. He shrugs off silly press comments, sits through love scenes remarkably well, and even goes as far as congratulating your costar on a job well done. “Not that it’s hard to pretend to be in love with her,” he said when asked about it in a red carpet interview a few years ago. But, once in a blue moon, he gets jealous and a little insecure. You figure Spencer’s post didn’t help with the little green monster sitting on his shoulder the past few months. 

With all your littles in school now, you’re extremely busy. You’re constantly running around from baseball practices, PTA meetings, recitals, doctor’s appointments, birthday parties, and more. Not to mention making time for all the Miller-Hernandez-Caradonna-Pierce grandkids, Isaac, Cecilia, and JJ. Joel’s working on a new album and getting his record label up and running while you’re not only directing and co-producing a smaller film while acting in a different one and getting ready to go on a (limited) press tour. You and Joel haven’t had the most time to catch up, and it feels like you’re passing ships. It’s temporary. You know it is, but it doesn’t feel good to see your costars more than you get to see your husband. You’re almost positive Joel’s jealousy stems from that. 

“Hey, you ready to get back to it?” Your co-producer, Ava, asks, jolting you out of your thoughts, and you nod. 

“Let’s do it.” You say as you tuck your phone into your back pocket. The day goes relatively smoothly with only one broken prop and an impromptu refresher session with one of your actors and the armorer. You make it a point to end the day early so you can get home and talk to Joel before one of you can fall asleep on the couch (a bad habit you’ve both developed recently), and thank god you did. 

The second you open the door, you can smell the delicious dinner Joel is making in the kitchen and hear the music he’s blasting through the Alexa. “Mom!” Sammy yells as he and the girls run over in a flurry of overlapping stories and demands for hugs and kisses. Even though Sam is nine now and on the cusp of thinking he’s too cool for his parents, he’s still your little love bug. 

“Mommy, will you come draw with me?” Violet asks and you smile as you tuck a curl behind her ear.

“Of course, baby. Can I go say hi to Daddy first?” 

“Fine but hurry!” Violet whines, making you laugh. You hang up your purse by the front door and toe off your shoes, already feeling better with your heels off, and pad into the kitchen. Joel is wearing the apron you got him for Christmas last year that says “Caution: Hot Dad” and made the older girls groan in embarrassment. You laugh when you see it on him, and he quickly turns down the Bee Gees to hear you. 

“You’re home early.” He says as he leans down to peck your lips and wrap an arm around your waist. You chase his lips and kiss him again before pulling away to look at him.

“Wanted to catch you before bedtime,” you say, and he hums. “Plus, we’re making good time on production. We can afford to cut a little early.”

“Well, I‘m glad you did.” He says. You can hear the kids in the other room playing loudly and you know Violet is gonna burst in any moment and order you to draw with her so you savor the semi-private moment with him.

“Are we okay?” You ask quietly and he takes a deep breath. 

“We’re okay.” 

“It’s okay if we’re not.” 

“Baby,” he soothes, slipping a hand in your back pocket. “We’re okay, I promise. I just… had a moment.” 

“It’s fine to have a moment. I don’t want you to keep that from me just because we’re busy,” you say. “You don’t actually think I’d trade you in for someone else or whatever the fuck Tommy said, right?” He sighs and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“Just… please tell me this isn’t like a Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing.” He says. You would laugh if he didn’t seem as upset as he does just because of how bizarre the idea is. How could anyone ever compare to him? How could he even think that you’d leave him like that?

“This isn’t a Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing. Not even close to it. Spencer has been married to his wife longer than we’ve been married and they’re solid. I promise, he just posted that to get people excited about the movie.”

“You’re not wearing your ring in the picture.” He says. You pull the chain hiding under your collar out and show him.

“I was. You just couldn’t see it.” 

“How long have you had that?” 

“Since we got engaged. You’ve definitely seen it before.” You say, laughing a little at the surprised look on his face. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that’s why you wore it. I thought you got it as a wrap gift or somethin’.” He defends. It makes sense why he wouldn’t know. You only take the necklace off when it can’t be hidden under the costume, and even then, it’s normally tucked into your pocket or, at the very least, hidden safely in your trailer. It’s a part of your routine to put your ring back on at the end of a shooting day or between breaks to help you transition back into your real life, which means Joel only sees it after it’s returned to its rightful spot. Even the few times he’s been on set filming something with you, you’ve been so busy that he didn’t have time to notice it. 

“Good to know I can still surprise you all these years later,” you say. He only looks a little embarrassed when he reaches around you to turn off the stove. The kids are, thankfully, still occupied, and you take the opportunity before it can slip away. “Joel, I adore you. I am still as helplessly in love with you as I was when we were in New York for the first time. There isn’t anybody else for me, okay? It’s you. It’s always gonna be you. So you don’t need to worry about costars or living Brangelina or whatever because you are it for me.” He works at his jaw as he processes your words, and you wait. Joel’s mind has always been an elusive one, so you like watching his gears turn. 

“Okay,” he mumbles finally. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You just have to tell me when you’re feeling this way,” you say, kissing his jaw. “Besides, if you’d said something earlier, I would’ve been able to tell you that you’re a much better kisser than Spencer.”

“I was just gettin’ over the post, and now I have to watch y’all kiss?!” He groans dramatically, and you laugh. 

“You’re the one who married an actor.” 

“And I’d do it again.” He says as he kisses you, crowding your space so you’re stuck between him and the counter. It’s broken between giggles and kitchen timers beeping but it isn’t until Violet tugs at your shirt do you fully break away from Joel.

“Mommy, you said you would come draw with me.” She pouts, and you immediately drop down to her level.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I did say that. Daddy just had a hard day so I was trying to cheer him up. I can come draw with you now.” You explain, and she gasps, looking between you and Joel.

“Daddy!” She exclaims, putting her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having a bad day?” 

“Because it’s not your job to fix Daddy’s day.” 

“But I want to! Can I give you a kiss?”

“I wanna give Daddy a kiss!” Sophia runs in, launching herself into Joel’s arms. He scoops both girls up and kiss his cheeks simultaneously, making you both laugh. 

“Thank you, girls. You always make me feel better.” He says, and they giggle.

“What about Mom?” Sam asks. He’s too big and too tall for you to pick him up anymore, but he snuggles perfectly under your arm and squeezes you tight. 

“You’re so sweet, honey. Thank you.” You say, kissing his head. 

“Are you better now?”

“So much better.” 

“Daddy, are you better?” Violet asks. Joel meets your eyes over the heads of the kids and smiles. It’s sweet and just for you, and you can’t help but smile back. 

“I’m perfect.”

Moving back home meant many things. Establishing clientele, getting new furniture into a new apartment, talking to my mother again, but none of those things truly mattered. Not at the heart of it at least. Growing up in Linkon with one of the only broken families around meant gossip. And plenty of it. All of it surrounding me and my brother. It meant knowing nearly everyone within a fifteen-mile radius and I couldn’t have been happier when I finally left it all behind. Moving away was refreshing. It broadened my horizons and opened doors I never knew existed until I left. But it also meant cutting off everyone I ever knew. My mother was a given. To say our relationship was strained was putting it lightly when it was closer to estranged. Keeping contact with my brother was easy. He was the only person in my life to ever truly give a damn about me. Childhood friendships unraveled easier than I thought they would. Growing up was hard enough being the odd man out. Harder when you have a family history that could shock the entire city.

Most of my family's history was under lock and key. Known only by those closest to Cash and I. Those we deemed trustworthy enough to know. For him that meant his entire system of friends that would be joining him at the DAA in Skyhaven. For me, it meant the three friends I had made through our parents’ best friends.

But I was back now, as unfortunate as it be, and in need of something to ground me. I just didn’t expect it to come in the form of a former childhood friend standing behind me in line to get coffee.

“Iris!” A barista with wild, curly hair called from behind the counter, “Iris, your iced caramel macchiato!”

Giving a tight smile, I reach to grab my cup. Mouthing a polite thank you before turning to see a rather stoic-looking man with well-kept black hair, arms folded over his chest. His head tilted slightly, curiosity dancing in his green eyes. There’s a moment of recognition before he speaks.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but did she just say your name was Iris?”

I lean back, take a sip of my coffee, and nod. “Uh, yeah, that would be me. Why?”

“It’s Zayne. From the house next door? Didn’t think I’d ever seen you back here.”

My eyes widen momentarily, what could only be described as shock plastered across my face. Guess he hasn’t met a lot of people with the same name since I’ve been gone.

“Well, that’s because I never intended on coming back.”

“Zayne! Your black green tea!”

Our eyes flash to the counter behind me. Zayne pushes passed me, takes his order, and thanks the same barista before lifting his wrist to his eyes. An expensive silver watch glints in the fluorescent lights. He must be making a nice living to be able to afford something like that.

“I have to get back to work.”

Then he walks towards the door, leaving me no time to suggest we catch up sometime. It was for the best, in all honesty. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to see him again. Too scared that it would reopen old wounds that had long since healed. Because that’s what I was good at; running from my problems and avoidance.

The walk to my apartment building was silent. Save for the occasional phone calls from my brother here and there. All of them relating to our mother and how I needed to help him figure out how to get her into rehab. But my answer was always a firm no. Washing my hands of my life here in Linkon was the best decision I had ever made for myself and I would be damned if I went back on that now. Talking to my mother as little as I did was something I could manage. Keeping her at a distance while still being able to make sure she hadn't drank herself to death. Not that I cared. Why would I possibly care for the woman who got rid of me the second she wanted to drink and consistently compared me to a childhood friend. I had no interest in someone who only served to lower my self-worth and deem me an inconvenience. Besides, I was doing better since keeping myself at a safe distance.

______________________________________________________

Why my apartment building was so bright I would never understand. It was near blinding and I had to keep my head down when I walked up the stairs and tried to manuever the keypad. I thought I had it until---

“Iris? Oh my god, is that you?”

I hadn’t even made it to my apartment door when my name was called again. Still, I turn, still trying to get my code to work. There’s a woman standing adjacent to me, hands clasped over her mouth as if to stifle something. She’s wearing a Hunter’s uniform and the man next to her appears as though he just woke up from what I can only assume is a well-needed nap. By all respect, they were both stunning. A gorgeous couple, really. Her, with long, mocha-colored hair that reaches her waist and big, bright eyes. Complete with the long lashes to match. She’s a good several inches shorter than he is. Dusty gray hair falling into a pair of the most beautiful ocean-blue eyes I had ever seen. Wearing a cream-colored sweater and comfortable fit, light wash jeans.

“Do I know you?” My voice comes out a little harsher than I meant, and I slam the heel of my palm against the number pad on the side of my door. “Why won’t this stupid thing work!”

“Here, let me try!” She’s excited as she steps forward, her index finger poised to start tapping the numbers in, “What’s your code?”

It was fine if she knew the code for now. I was going to change it once I got inside anyway. So, I hand her the crumpled piece of paper from my pocket. The numbers wrinkled in faded black ink almost make me laugh. But then she taps the numbers and the door clicks open with a soft beep. I would thank her if I had the energy. For someone working with an absurd amount of people, one would think I had the temperament of an extrovert. Years of being on my own had successfully beaten that out of me, however. And I liked it that way. 

“You really don’t remember me?” She sounds almost sad, like I had just ran over her beloved pet or something akin to that. Full lips jutting out in a sort of pout.

The man with gorgeous blue eyes steps next to her, pulling on her arm awkwardly. “C’mon MC, she just moved in. Don’t make freak her out.”

Of course.

Couldn’t go one day without my past coming back to haunt me. Thinking otherwise was stupid. McKenna, Caleb, Zayne, and I had all been close growing up. While I was closer to Zayne, since I had lived right next door, I spent a lot of time with the other two. When my dad moved out and out of the city, my mother often dumped me on Josephine when she couldn’t handle me. One of the many reasons I grew up to be what I am today. Who I am today.

“But I know her!” Her temperamental protests were enough and Ocean Eyes slumped his shoulders with a sigh.

“Still haven’t outgrown temper tantrums, I see.”

“You do remember! Oh, I have to tell Caleb you’re back!”

Mckenna pulls out her phone, fingers typing furiously, only to be pulled away by the arm. Ocean Eyes mumbles something under his breath, dragging her into the apartment down the hallway. The door slamming shut behind them. 

I push open my door, kicking off my boots in the process, and breathe. Something akin to a sigh leaves me and for the first time since going to the cafe, I feel the tension leave with the air that leaves my lungs. It wasn’t that I wasn’t happy to see her after nine years. She was just…exhausting now. I wasn’t the same person I was at eight years old. Hell, I wasn’t even the same person I was when I left at sixteen. Years of being isolated from everything familiar does that to a person. Makes them cold and harsh. Brings out the worst in them and finetunes jagged edges that they used to be able to ignore.

It was easier that way. Processing everything that went wrong in my life was easier when I didn’t have anyone around me to halt the process. I wasn’t a lovesick teenager anymore. Just a damaged adult with family issues that never seemed to end.

My feet drag along the hardwood of the floor. My movements are sluggish and unmotivated. I was completely drained. At least my old couch offered a sense of comfort from my old, peaceful existence outside of Linkon. Absently, I take in the decor I had managed to put up. An old fairy collection Zayne had gotten me as a parting gift sits, neatly aligned on a bookshelf. Which was subsequently filled with every book I could get my hands on. A large plasma screen TV mounted above the fireplace in front of the couch. And on either side of that was lined with every horror movie known to man. Paint cans of midnight blue sat next to the front door. Ready for whenever I decided to paint the inside. Something to give me a sense of what had become normal. Paintings of sirens lined each, and every wall from some famous local painter. 

I had only just pulled a fluffy, black blanket over me in an attempt to sleep when my phone vibrated on the coffee table. Loud and relentless on the glass surface. Taunting me. Groaning as obnoxiously as I possibly could, I fling an arm over and grab it. I don’t need check the caller ID to know who it was. There was only one person who had this number and had the audacity to call me when I had just moved in.

“What’d you want Cash?” I don’t bother trying to mask the irritation in my voice as I sit up on the couch. Massaging my temple with my fingertips.

“Well hello to you too, baby sister.”

“If this is about mom again, you already know my answer.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not. Celebratory drinks? My treat.” He sounded just a little too excited at the prospect and there was a mess of muffled voices in the background. Along with loud, booming music.

“There’s nothing to celebrate.”

“Sure there is! Like my baby sister coming back home!” His words slur. My brother was already drinking. Already well on his way to be as plastered as our mother likely was.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope! I’ll send you the location. See you soon!”

The line goes dead and I rise to my feet. Head falling back in defeat. There was never any winning anything when it came to my brother. So, realistically, I should have known I wasn’t going to have a choice in the matter. If I was going to a club, which I soon learned I was when his location flashed across or messages, then I needed to change. My clothes needed to be washed anyway since I had ink splotches on my sleeves from carrying in my supplies to the new shop.

Rummaging through several boxes left my arms feeling like dead weight. Like I had carried something well over my body weight. Each movement made them ache and throb. And after enduring an hour of straining of my muscles, I settled on a pair of fishnets and a black sweater-dress. It was formfitting enough for social outings but comfortable enough without being restricting.  Slipping back on my boots, I decided that I was presentable enough and began the fifteen-minute walk to whatever club my brother had found himself in.

______________________________________________________

It was far too crowded and far too loud. Flashing lights blinded me as soon as I stepped foot inside. My eyes flutter to fight against the brightness and I attempt to push through a sea of people just to try and get to a vantage point where I can scan the room. Looking for Cash was never a problem no matter where we were. He was, undoubtedly, the loudest person in any room he was in. He was tall enough that he could spot me in a crowd and built like a brick wall. These days at least. Something that training in the DAA had granted him. Which was exactly why when I finally do spot him, he’s surrounded by a gaggle of women in clothes that shouldn’t be called clothes at all. As well as several men in the same uniform he wore. But I can’t place what the uniform is for. It’s unfamiliar to me.

“Iris!” His loud, boisterous voice would have echoed through the space if it weren’t for the music, “Over here! I already got you a drink!”

Worship is what he called it.

But the way his mouth travels down my neck to my chest and down my stomach feels more like sin.

Every inch of skin that he touches feels like a wildfire is born from the contact. Leaving my back arching off the floor and my eyes rolling to the back of my head. Feather light and reverent.

Goosebumps rise as his fingertips dig into my thighs . His head dips between my legs. Leaving only his eyes to be seen as I peer down at him.

Then I feel him.

His tongue lapping between flesh and tasting every inch of me as it fans out. Caleb lets out an appreciative hum, and it vibrates through my center into my bones. His eyes close. I feel his tongue slide along my center. Hear the delicious sounds he makes with each lick of his tongue. My head falls back, and eyes flutter shut. There's a coil in my core that tightens every time he flicks his tongue against my clit. Growing tighter and tighter until I have to bite my tongue from moaning the wrong name.

Because we both know what this is.

We both know that we're not thinking of each other.

He's imagining it's McKenna he's tasting.

And I'm imagining it's Zayne between my legs.

"Look at me." His voice breaks through my conscientiousness, coaxing my eyes to open and head to raise.

His face lifts from its place between my legs. Chin dripping with my essence. And there's a painful surge of jealousy that rips through me. Because it's not me that he thinks he's licking off his chin.

But I'm just as guilty.

Emerald eyes flash to violet.

"Let go." His voice was pleading, desperate.

His head dips back down—to where it belongs—and his tongue hits my senses again.

My release hits me hard and fast.

Zayne Caleb grips my hips, yanking my core so close to him it's as if he's trying to devour my soul from me. Hungry growls of pleasure hum through my skin. None of them my own. They were his. And he's feasting on my release. His mouth wide open, and inhaling all of my pleasure like a man starved. My hand shoots forward, fingers gripping his hair as my back arches.

"Sing for me. I want to hear you."

It wasn't a request.

A demand.

And I obey.

Screaming through the waves of my climax like a siren calling her sailors to their watery grave. His name echoes from my lungs. My nails scrape against his scalp. I sing for him. Do as I'm told. Because it's so much easier to listen and obey than it was listen to my inner thoughts. Reminding myself that this isn't Zayne so I don't scream the wrong name. So eager to please. Eager to beg for a drop of the love I never received as a kid or an adult. And his next words were sweeter than any half-hearted 'I love you' I've ever heard.

"Good girl. Such a good girl for me."

I feel the absence of his mouth like a loss. The heat of his breath leaving me to feel cold. The lack of his tongue leaving me to feel empty. But not for long, because moments later his mouth peppers my skin from my hips to my collarbones with kisses between the bites. Barely feeling the sting of his teeth marking me. Barely registering the sensation from the tip of his cock brushing against my entrance.

Caleb positions his hands on either side of me. My chest heaves from the force of my orgasm. I've hardly recovered when I feel his breath against my ear.

"You ready?" His voice is a ghost trickling through the fog of my high.

"Y-Yeah, I'm ready."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His skin is sticky from sweat. Brain in a heavy fog from the taste of her on his tongue. Her release was the sweetest nectar he's ever tasted. An ambrosia he was lucky enough to have been graced with. The moonshine's starting to wear off. Caleb is ashamed to admit he doesn't have the resolve to put a stop to his. He knows this is wrong. Because she isn't her. And he isn't who she truly wants. He knows that.

But god did he want this.

She stares up at him with heavy, half-lidded eyes. Her lips kiss swollen and perfect. Skin covered in the afterglow of her release. Fuck, she looked so god damned good lying under him like this. Blissed out and at his mercy. Like she was a present sent from the heavens just for him. And maybe somewhere in his sick brain Caleb thinks she is. But none of that really matters right now. All that matters is the fact that she was still so soaked it was sinful. And he's so hard it's painful.

He pushes forward.

Taking a moment to pause. Letting her adjust to his size before beginning to pump his hips in a steady rhythm. Driving himself deeper inside her as her walls flutter around his length. Every movement forward has him swearing under his breath. His head drops, pressing his forehead to hers. The moment her nails find purchase on his back, his composure fractures.

Caleb moans.

He can feel her nails breaking skin as he pumps deeper inside her. Feels her breasts push against his chest when her back arches against the floor. A hand slips underneath her. Pressing his palm into the small of her back to keep her held in place. And he growls. A deep, guttural sound from within his chest. Careful not to say a name. Or the wrong one. Careful not to slip too far into a delusion he wasn't sure he was fully submerged into in the first place.

His Evol slips from his grasp. Wrapping around the two of them and pinning her underneath him. Not that he needed the help. Caleb was twice her size and could easily keep her where he wants her with one hand. But he didn't want be that guy. Not when he was already something of a monster.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is wrong.

Should have never happened int he first place. We both knew that. And with the mix of sex and body heat the moonshine is slowly losing its effect. But we're both too far gone to do anything about it. Too caught up in the way it feels when his cock fills me completely. And even then I'm not entirely sure all of it fits inside me and I'm too overwhelmed with pleasure to even begin to check. Not sure if I want to anyways.

We're both too far gone to care. And we both clearly want this—albeit not with each other. But it's better than nothing and all we have. Too painfully aware of the fact that none of this is for each other. It's easy to pretend we're who we wanted. So what if it's gravity pinning me down instead of ice? So what if he keeps begging me to resonate with him only to be met with: "I don't know how."

Because none of this is real.

No breathy moan or reverent sigh between us is for each other. We knew that, right?

So what if every now and then the lines blur a little too well. Who cares if sometimes it's my name instead of hers that slips from his lips. Did it matter if I like the gravity instead?

Both of us chasing a high we know we'll regret in the morning. It feels like a dream. Like the trip on ecstasy I should have had at the first party I went to in high school. When some asshole spiked my drink—and Zayne came to my rescue. Rushing me to urgent care to have my levels checked and system flushed. But when the memory surfaces—it's not a shock of black hair that comes into my vision. And it's not green eyes when I blink.

I push the thought away.

Teeth sink into my shoulder. Sharp. Deep. Enough to tear skin. He moans against me, low and rough, and the sound pulses through me like another high. Fueling something I shouldn’t feel.

I’m overstimulated, too sensitive to be doing this again. Still crashing from the last release, but every slow, deliberate thrust drags me back under. I shouldn’t be able to focus on the way he feels inside me.

But it’s all I can focus on.

Caleb's hips roll into mine. Slow and deep. Like he's trying to memorize the way I feel. Maybe I'm doing the same thing. Every thrust inside me sending shock waves through me until I forget why this shouldn't be happening. Until I rake my nails down his back in angry, red lines like I need to hurt him just to stay grounded. He groans when I do. A low and broken sound stemming from somewhere deep within him. Like he likes the pain.

The burn of the stretch as he fills me is addictive. A sharp kind of pleasure that drags across nerve endings that are still coming to life. Dragging me deeper into whatever the fuck this is. I'm trembling beneath him. Thighs shaking with every movement and thrust. Too sensitive but still chasing the high of the next orgasm as the coil in the pit of my stomach pulls tighter. Desperate for more—more friction, more pleasure, more something to make this into something we both know it isn't.

His cock hits that spot inside me. The one that makes me see stars and my back arch without permission. Caleb presses his palm firmly against the small of my back. Like he was keeping me locked against him. Like if he let go I would realize this is a mistake and run away.

"Fuck," he breathes, burying his face into the crook of my neck, "you feel unreal."

And that's the fucking problem.

That this isn't real.

Not the way it should be.

One hand grips my hip, forceful at first before softening and sliding down my thigh. His touch turning into something full of worship once again. Like he was mapping out every curve of my body with his skin. It pulls a whimper from my throat. So loud it's embarrassing. A little too authentic to call it a lie.

"That's it," he murmurs against my throat, like he owns the sounds that come from me. "Just let me—"

Don't say it.

Whatever he says, I block it out. Unwilling to hear what it is he wants me to do. Because whatever it is—I already know I would do it without hesitation.

I'm close again.

I can tell by the way tension coils tight in my lower abdomen. Pulling so tight it's about to snap. My legs wrap around his waist without meaning to. Pulling him impossibly closer. Pushing him so deep inside me it's hard to tell where I end and he begins. Caleb pulls from me then, nearly all the way, before plunging back inside to the hilt. Burying himself so fully I hate how perfect it feels.

How perfect he feels.

Because it shouldn't be Caleb.

It should be Zayne.

Or at least I wanted it to be.

Our eyes lock. His pupils blown wide and jaw set like he was holding something back. Biting his tongue to keep from calling out her name.

It's only when he gasps out my name instead—like a prayer, like a mistake—that I come to my senses.

But it's too late now.

Because my release crashes through me so intense it's almost painful. My pussy squeezing around his cock so tight it's causes his to follow suit. Caleb shudders with one final low moan as he sinks into me. Our chests pressed against each other and his nose buried in my hair. I feel him drive into me one final time before the heat of his release spills into me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sweat collects along Caleb's face as she drifts off to sleep. A searing pain shooting along every nerve ending so intensely he can't push it away. His pupils dilate and after he carefully lays her—he falls to his knees outside her bedroom. Hands clutching the hardwood floor until his knuckles turn white and tears pool in his eyes.

He can feel it.

Can feel the Toring Chip searing away every memory associated with the feeling of euphoria. Before he had been able to will it away. But this time it had been too intense to shrug off. A euphoria like no other. So strong that the Chip was stronger than his will to remember.

For a moment, his mind is a blur of the night. Running over everything that had happened in the last few hours. From Iris drunkenly falling to the floor and telling him how her mother had made her learn how to make moonshine. Throwing it in some absent direction when she got it wrong. To the seven times his phone vibrated with the tell rhythm of McKenna trying to get a hold of him. And for the first time he had ignored every single one of them. Because Iris was more important tonight. His protective nature overtaking his hatred for her in all the years they've known each other.

At least that's what he told himself.

But when his eyes opened again—his memory was blank.

He couldn't remember why he in nothing but his boxers at her apartment. What they were just doing. What was said moments ago. If anything.

It didn't matter.

That's what he told himself as he installed the tiny surveillance cameras throughout her apartment.

Because this was for her safety wasn't it?

X: it was nice talking 2 u

X: maybe movie nite sometime?

It's been an hour, maybe more, since I read his messages. How was I supposed to respond to that? Genuine friendship. Something I hadn't had in possibly my entire life. But here was Xavier holding out an olive branch of something sacred and pure. No hidden agenda, and ulterior motives. Just something to bring comfort and companionship. 

And then there was me. Something akin to a skittish cat he might have seen in an alleyway. Too scared to lean into a friendly hand and take a chance. 

What was I supposed to do with this?

It feels like suffocating if I think about it too long. Like that moment when you take off on your bike down a steep  hill as a kid. A rush of adrenaline at first before the fact that you're going to inevitably crash sinks in. When all you can do is grab the breaks and hope for the best. That maybe you won't get thrown over your handlebars and go face-first into something that would hurt worse than the impact from a crash.

Nights like these were the worst. When I'm left alone with my thoughts and the reality of my life kicks in. How fitting it was that I carried the grief of my dad's absence while Cash carried the weight of our mother's gradual decline. Tried to tell myself that it was his turn. I had carried it my entire childhood, after all. Shielding him from the reality that our mother was something else. Anything but a mother. 

Forcing myself to my feet, I go to the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of 151 out of the cabinet and taking a drink straight from the source. There's a knock at the door before I hear the sound of a key unlocking it.

Cash enters with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He runs a hand through his hair, tossing the bag on the couch. 

"You're drinking?" There's an undercurrent to his tone that I ignore. Something like concern or worry that came with the crease in his brow. The way he watched me like I was a wild animal he was scared to approach if he wasn't cautious enough. "Iris, it's three in the afternoon. Don't you think it's a bit early to be picking up the bottle?"

I raise the bottle of 151, tilting it when it touches my lips as if to initiate a cheers. "It's five 'o' clock somewhere, right?"

"God, at least pour it in a glass. And is that—"

"Rum? Why yes it is, big brother. Join me won't you?"

"Isn't that—"

"What mom was drinking the day dad left?"

"I was going to say bottom shelf."

He meets me at the island between the living room and the kitchen. Fingers curling around the marble. His mouth pressing into a thin line. Cash was studying me like he would someone he wasn't sure he could trust. The way he did when we were kids and he didn't know what to make of Zayne just yet. When our mother first started dropping me off on Josephine's doorstep so she could drink herself into a stupor. Or when I would beg to spend the night at Zayne's to have a night of peace.

"Don't look at me like that, Cash."

"Like what? I'm just looking at yo-"

"Like you don't trust me. It's just rum. I'm not going to-"

"Get pissed drunk and not remember anything the next day? Don't lie to me, Iris. I know you better than that."

"I'm not mom, Cash." There's a dangerous undercurrent to my voice. Something dark and ancient. Something long since buried that was threatening to surface.

Rage.

Denial.

Panic.

It has many forms.

It carries many names.

"But you will be if you keep doing this to yourself." His voice is softer now, but still holds the edge it did before.

My eyes narrow. A sob burning its way up my throat. 

"Don't. Don't you dare say that like you know a fucking thing about mom."

"I'm not the one who ran away now am I? I'm the one who stayed behind to-"

"You and I had entirely different childhoods, Cash! Look at us! Yeah, you stayed behind to sweep everything mom burned to the ground under the rug. Congratulations! You want a trophy for that?"

"Yeah? If we grew up so different then why don't you tell me what it was like. Since I'm clearly so wrong here. Enlighten me, baby sister."

Tears stream down my cheeks as I throw back another drink. Already almost emptying the bottle at this point. "You grew up playing basketball with Caleb. Played games with McKenna and went off to Aerospace Academy. You were the golden boy. Doted on. Meanwhile I-"

"You chose to stay in the house! That was your choice! Why am I being crucified for being a kid?"

"So you didn't see mom passed out in the kitchen! I stayed inside as long as it took for the paramedics to get to the house. I woke up seeing mom on the kitchen floor and had to call 911 so she wouldn't choke on her own vomit, Cash! I was protecting you from seeing her at her worst so you didn't-"

"Run off like dad did?"

I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. "Look at me and see mom. Because we both know that's why dad never looked back."

"Iris….you know that's not-"

"True? Yes, it is. Even I can see her when I look in the mirror, Cash. It's just easier for us both if we accept the truth for what it is."

He turns to grab his bag from the couch. Slinging it over his shoulder again before turning over his shoulder to give me the look of a puppy who had been kicked. I hated that look. It was the same one everyone gave me when I tell them how I grew up. I guess some things never change. Even when we grew up under the same roof. Connected by blood.

"For what it's worth, sis… I'm sorry you were the one who did that. It should have been me."

Then he leaves with the click of the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't late by any means.

Not when he was so used to getting home at well past midnight. Streetlights were just starting to turn on all throughout Skyhaven. Even from his penthouse tucked away from the rest of the floating island, he could hear the laughter and banter of would-be lovers down below.

While he scrolled through his picture gallery on his phone. Back pressed against the mattress of his bed. Legs hanging off the side and a bottle of Jack in one hand. Every picture had her in it one way or another. Her face lit up with a smile that could bring any man to his knees. Chocolate hair done in curls floating down her back. 

Caleb felt sick.

Like he was watching their childhood through eyes that didn't deserve to see her anymore. And maybe she had been right. Maybe she didn't need him anymore. The thought left him with a sharp pain in his chest. Or maybe it was the burn from the alcohol. He wasn't really sure anymore. Didn't want to know the reason why he felt sick to his stomach at the very idea of another man making her light up the same way he used to be able to.

His phone vibrated in his hand. Just as his thumb swiped to a picture of her in his Aerospace jacket. He blinks.

Once.

Twice.

And there was a picture of Iris on his phone instead of her. Hair still pink but considerably lighter than it is now. Falling down to her waist in soft waves. She was on her knees, facing a window and the soft glow of the sun accented the freckles that danced across her shoulders. Made the pink in her hair just a little brighter than what it was faded to. It was an old picture. One she had sent him and told him to set as her ID in his phone.

Her name flashed across the screen; Pixie.

"Isn't it a little late for you to be calling, Pix?" He tried to sound irritated. But it was hard when his cock twitched at the sound of her voice.

"C'me over." Her words slur together.

"What? You sound drunk."

"Did I sutter? I 'aid; c'me oooover, 'Leb."

"Have you been drinking?" He pauses as he checks the time on the alarm clock on his nightstand. "It's only seven."

There's an even longer pause on her end of the phone. Like she's thinking or trying to process what he said.

Then a loud crash. Glass shattering.

"Shhhhit!"

"You alright there, Pix?"

"Rum. My rum, 'Leb! It broke." Her voice breaks when she answers. It sounds like she's about to cry.

"You're drunk. And you called me to come over. Listen, why don't you-"

"No, no, no, no! Just…c'me over, yeah?"

It was a bad idea.

Caleb knew it was.

But it didn't stop him from grabbing his keys from the nightstand.

"Fine. But only to make sure you don't kill yourself."

Then—silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he gets there, the door is already unlocked. All he had to do was push it open. Music could be heard all the way in the breezeway. 

And she's in nothing but an oversized black shirt and panties. Dancing in her kitchen like she had an audience to impress and using a bottle half full of some kind of alcohol as a microphone. Bright pink hair pulled half-up and feet bare. She looked carefree. Like she hadn't just called him not even an hour ago practically begging him to come over.

Albeit drunk.

She's singing. Quite loud. Lost in her own world.

And it takes him a moment to stop staring. Caleb moves forward, putting himself in line of Iris and the kitchen island. Deftly taking the bottle from her hand and taking a drink of it for himself. It tastes sweet. Like apple pie. But burns on the way down his throat.

"Is this moonshine?" He tries to call over the music.

"Wha-?"

"I said—for the love of fucking god, can you turn this down? My eardrums are bleeding!"

Iris giggles with a shake of her head. "No can do, buckaroo!"

He runs a hand through his hair, leaning in so his mouth is next to her ear. "Is this moonshine?"

She nods. "Sure is! You want some?"

Caleb doesn't give her an answer. Glancing down at her phone before grabbing it to turn down the music that was bluetoothed to it.

"Hey!" Her lower lip juts out in a pout.

"I can't even hear you with that blaring in my ears."

"Mood killer."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm not sure how much time has passed between the decision to call him and when I begin to slowly sober. There's still a fair amount of moonshine in my system. But I'm a little more coherent now at least. The room still fuzzy from the sheer amount of alcohol I drank and my skin feels warm. Like I had a fever. 

I wasn't even sure why I called him instead of Zayne.

But it was too late now.

Caleb sits at the island. Elbows propped up and his knuckles under his chin. There was something in the way his tank top clung to him that hummed to me. Has his arms always been this massive? Surely, this was the making of the Fleet's training. Even my brother seems sulkier now than when he was in the DAA with him.

"So, are you going to tell me why you wanted me to come over? Or are you just going to stand there and stare at my arms all night?" His tone is smug and I want to shove him off the stool he sits on.

"'m not staring." I sound pathetic.

"Sure you're not."

Instead of dignifying that with a proper response or rebuttal—I shove the bottle of moonshine in his face. "You need my level."

He quirks a brow at my drunken statement. "You mean I need to be on your level?"