Page 70 of Bend
I dished out the four pills for her morning dosage and handed them to her along with some water. Her face scrunched up.
“Jared, I don’t think…”
“Mom, don’t fight me on this. Not again.”
“I’m nauseous.”
“And one of these will help with that, but you have to get it and that oatmeal in you.” I handed her the bowl and stared at her as she took a tentative bite.
She’d lost her appetite with all the treatments and drugs. The biggest fear I had was of her giving up. I wasn’t about to let that happen, especially not with my sister pregnant.
“I have some clients at one, but I’ll be home by five. Cassie’s off today. She has a doctor’s appointment this morning, and then she’ll be by.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m fine by myself, you know. I’m not an invalid.”
I stood up and grabbed the phone, setting it on the table next to her. “No, you’re not, but this is always the rough day. I’ll be back soon.”
Her expression dropped—a contrast to her words. She didn’t really want to be alone, no matter what she said. “Where are you going? I thought you didn’t have to work until this afternoon.”
“Just running an errand. I’ll be back soon.” I picked up her Kindle from across the room and set it next to the phone. “Read something today. TV will rot your brain.” I winked at her.
She rolled her eyes and swatted at me. “Get out of here, stinker.”
I beamed at her and headed out the door and onto the street. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and a warm breeze blew—
About fucking time. It’d been the longest winter in my thirty-one years.
It was a great day for a walk down to St. Joan of Arc, a Catholic church a few blocks from the 1920s cottage, in a historic neighborhood of Indianapolis, my parents purchased over thirty years ago. My parents were raised in two different religions, so we didn’t go to church that often—about once a month—but Joan of Arc was one of the more steady locations. I believed in God. Period. So, what did it matter what church I visited to talk to Him?
Stepping into the church felt a little odd—it’d been years since I’d been within its walls. The cumbersome weight of my head and heart slowed my walk down the aisle. I slipped into a pew about halfway down and folded my hands together. The place was empty.
“Hey, big man.” I sighed and fidgeted with my hands. “I know I’m not good at visiting, and I should come more often. People stare when I do, always assuming, but you know the truth.” I leaned forward, resting my arms on
the back of the pew in front of me. “I have to ask—are you testing me? Because if you are, did you have to throw so much at me at once?”
I stared up at the altar, lit up by the sun shining through the stained glass windows all over the stone structure. No response to my question came—not that I expected one.
“I can deal with all of it, but Mom…” I took a deep breath, trying not to let her condition get to me. “Cassie was a wreck when she found out about the cancer. You took Dad three years ago, and I’m not sure Mom has the strength to fight this. She’s still heartbroken.”
I leaned back, my gaze tracing over Jesus on the cross, and got lost in my own head. In the time I sat there, still as a statue, a few people came and went. I didn’t look at them, but I felt their eyes on me as they passed. Most thought I worshiped the Devil or some shit like that because of the way I looked. Tattoos covered a lot of my skin, and my jet black hair, often in a short mohawk, gave off a taboo vibe to most of the church-going folk.
I could admit it—I had a nice body. Being a personal trainer meant I had to be able to do everything I put my clients through.
The nerves on my neck lit up, tingling down my side. It woke me from my trance, and I turned to find innocent eyes looking at me from one row up on the other side of the aisle. When our gazes connected, she didn’t flinch, her eyes didn’t widen, but a slight blush did appear on her cheeks.
The strange current continued to move through me.
I was caught, roped in, staring at her.
She seemed young—early twenties maybe. I went from studying Jesus to studying the woman who called to me. That was the only way I could explain the firing off of every nerve ending in my body.
She had large, blue doe eyes that bored into my soul. Dark brown, wavy hair curled around her smooth, pale skin and full cheeks. She nabbed her full bottom lip with her teeth before looking away, hiding from me.
It didn’t stop me from staring at her. I tilted my head to the side, forehead scrunched as I tried to figure out what the hell had just happened—and why my cock was so hard. It was just a look, but at the same time, it felt like so much more. A connection, and not that love-at-first-sight bullshit.
Base level between a man and a woman—a need that populated the earth.
Our strange interaction caused images of fucking her on the altar to course through my mind. Was she as untouched as her innocent face suggested? She looked soft, inviting, and corruptible. How would her full hips feel beneath my hands as I thrust my cock into her?
