Morbidly Yours

by Ivy Fairbanks

“I look like I went through the wash on the wrong setting. Every person in the waiting room saw the d-distinct outline of my—” “Nessie?” Lark waggled her brow at the same moment a nurse called out my name.

She consulted the intake form on the clipboard and said to Lark, “You’re the fiancé?” I liked the sound of that far more than I cared to admit.

“Wait. Your shirt will get wet.” He pulled his shirt off and got that shy look again. So endearing, so irresistible. The more he hid, the more I wanted to discover. Muscles bunched, and I recalled his firm thigh nestled between mine.

Hours ago, I nearly straddled him like the mechanical bull I rode on my twenty-first birthday. Best believe I’d hold on longer than eight seconds. Back off, cowgirl.

I ruffled his hair with the towel. He slung his arms around my waist. This didn’t feel friendly. Not at all. “Sorry for going Humpty Dumpty on you. I wanted to make your birthday special.” “It was the absolute best surprise. I’ll never forget it.” “Then it was worth it.” His words vibrated against my heart, in more ways than one. His chin rested against my chest, the towel draped around his serious face as he looked up at me. Stray rivulets of water trickled down along his hairline. Powerful energy crackled between us as he kept me close.

Callum leaned forward and pecked me on the mouth. Just a teasing brush of his lips … but powerful enough to throw the Earth off its axis. He drew back, tentative. My mouth tingled with the contact. Callum’s eyes widened as if realizing the full brunt of the intimacy of the simple action. Frozen in place, his gaze traveled back down to my mouth. Ardent yearning filled his eyes. A reflection of my own. I’d never felt so wanted. I’d never wanted anyone so badly. Screw it.

I surged toward him, cupping a hand at the nape of his neck just below his stitches. He let out a muffled moan. Fire ignited in my blood. Our noses bumped, but we soon negotiated an angle that allowed me to sink into him. Callum sucked my bottom lip, sending a jolt of electricity through every nerve in my body.

Swallowing hard, he stammered, “Happy b-birthday, love.”

Photos of an elderly woman were tacked to a cork bulletin board, no doubt as references for hair and makeup styling. Was that the drawing I’d made at This Tastes Funny, of a little Callum holding a skull-shaped balloon? My sentimental heart swelled. Not only had he saved it, but it was prominently displayed in his workspace. How could I not want to kiss him again? “Wait. You kept my doodle?”

Stifling a guilty grin, Callum lifted a hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?” “Six?” His smile collapsed at my ill-timed stab at humor. “Three. You’re holding three. I’m okay,” I said. “Were we at the hospital for so long this afternoon that you developed a crush on a nurse and need an excuse to return?” Concern still creased Callum’s forehead, but he smiled wanly. “Giving me shite even after I thumped you. Suppose you’re not too hurt.”

My heart bloomed. If only my penis would deflate, but it was an obstinate fecker. “I liked kissing you. I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” Lark shifted her weight, giving me a long, incomprehensible look before ghosting her fingers over my cheek. Without daring to close my eyes, I sucked in a breath at the delicate swipe over my bottom lip. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I was delirious. Lightheaded. Then her fingers fell away. “And I liked kissing you, too. Enjoyment wasn’t the problem.” “I know.”

Everywhere Lark touched me, my nerves burned with a neon afterglow. I wanted to kiss her again. Keep kissing. Grind against her until she panted and begged. I wanted to take my time. The problem was, I was running out of time. We both knew it.

Callum answered the door in those sinister gray joggers the next morning. Because, of course, the gods had decided that my self-control would not go unchallenged. Although rumpled, he looked good for someone with little sleep and a head injury. I couldn’t help but imagine him looking like that as he rolled over in bed beside me. “Mornin’. How are you feeling?” “I’ll survive,” he said. “Come upstairs. I’ll put the kettle on.” Bad idea. Deep groans and raspy stubble replayed in my memory, the protective curl of muscular arms holding me tight against his rigid length. I wanted him. Desperately. That couldn’t happen—not with his future at stake.

The way he focused on the floor suggested he was more saddened than reassured by my answer. “It’s still raining. Let me give you a lift to work.” “I’m a big girl and I came prepared.” I held up my pink umbrella, complete with a wooden handle shaped like a flamingo’s head. “You need rest. Doctor’s orders.” “No rest for the wicked.” “Wicked? You’re as wicked as a puffin,”

Together, the two made their way to the reception desk, and Callum winced as Deirdre flipped a lamp switch. “The light bothers you?” Saoirse angled the shade away. “I’ll bring dinner tonight so you don’t have to cook. I’m making cottage pie and there’s always too much for one person.” What. Jealousy burned through my veins like lightning. I should be the one taking care of him. Though I wasn’t even sure what a cottage pie entailed. “How sweet!” Deirdre said. “His favorite.” Are you freaking kidding me?

Do you think it worked?” Saoirse shoved a Tupperware container at my chest and stepped through the doorway. “What are you on about?” “This,” she said, waving a hand at the dish and then herself, “was deliberate.” “Cottage pie?” “I brought dinner to make Lark jealous, amadán.” Fool.

“Is it really your injury or are you this dense? Lark cares about you. I bet she kissed you back.” She did more than that. I could still feel her breath on my neck as she moaned and ground against me. Still feel her firm ass in my palms. Still taste the faint salt of her skin. “I—” Saoirse held up a hand. “Callum, you don’t have to answer. It’s all over your face. And I could see it written on hers.” She could?

“One day she’s going to leave and you’ll realize you’ve done nothing to make her stay,” Saoirse said. The truth of it landed like a harpoon to my chest. The maelstrom of confusion that had flashed across Lark’s face as she scrambled off my lap. She’d run away without looking back. And she’d probably do it again when her film finished in the summer. Resigned, I crossed my arms. “You’re right. One day soon, she will leave.” I was terrified she’d take my heart with her.

“For educational purposes…” This framing allowed enough detachment for the game to continue. Plausible deniability. “How do you say ‘sex?’ Like, conversationally, not clinically.” Callum’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Ag bualadh craicinn.” “That’s a mouthful. How does it translate?” He smiled shyly. “Slapping skin.”

“And how would you say ‘dick’?” “B-Bod.” Obscene thoughts drifted through my mind. Did he ever think of me as he stroked himself?

“You live to fluster me,” he said. Not quite an admonishment, it was more an acknowledgment of a truth that’s always been there. When we met, Callum was so guarded, I read him as frosty, but really he was a current of heat trapped under an igloo. And I was the only one allowed in his circle of protective warmth. “Only because it distracts you from the game.” I snatched his ...

“Tabhair póg dom.” His tongue darted out to moisten his lips. A shy smile played upon them. “Means kiss me.”

“How do I say that I want you?” He struggled to verbalize, his chest rising for two breaths until he managed, “Santaíonn mé thú.”

My cock sprang free from my boxer briefs. “Who knew the reaper had such a pretty scythe?” “What did you just call my penis?” Banter and corny jokes helped to remind me this was casual, not profound. “I’m a tiny bit afraid you’ll kill me with that thing.”

I'd never lied to Lark before, but I wasn't strictly honest when she'd asked how to say 'I want you.' Santaíonn mé thú also meant 'I love you.' When it came to Lark, want and love were one and the same. Whispering it to her in Irish made the confession safe.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Callum Flannelly?” “Lark, I’m more myself with you than anywhere else.”

“Mo chuisle…”

“You don’t need to pretend. I want to share in your happiness and in your sorrow.”

“I’m here, love.”

“Grá mo chroí. Mo chuisle mo chroí.” Love of my heart. Pulse of my heart.

Eyes closed, Lark shuddered, grinding as she rode shockwaves of pleasure. She loved it when I spoke Irish. But would she feel the same if she knew the translation wasn’t dirty talk, but a confession?

I’d turned off notifications for DemiDate earlier, having learned my lesson about interruptions. The cheerful chime gave me a negative Pavlovian response, anyway.

In the short time we’d known each other, our lives had fused organically. I’d always wanted my own family, but it had been difficult to envision, manifesting as a dull ache rather than a clear mental image. Now the images came easily, when Lark waved at curious toddlers on the street or let out a wistful sigh at babies in prams. Once, we’d noticed an elderly couple at the canal, watching the sailboats alongside us. She’d rested her head on my shoulder as the wind carried the ships across the bay. I could never replace the man she’d loved and lost, but we could build something new together. Belong to one another unequivocally. Not as some clandestine arrangement. If Lark wanted to stay, maybe she felt the same. “When

On the tips of my toes, I leaned forward, tugging Callum down for a peck on the cheek. His fingers cradled my chin and directed me to his lips instead. Sweet and all too short, but professional duties still required his attention. We walked the path between the gravestones, hands entwined.

The song was right: life was quite absurd. Because as he’d sung, I realized I was in love with Callum Flannelly.

“You look like a siren,” I said. “Or a goddess. Venus de Milo with less shell and more clothes.” She batted her lashes. “A goddess, huh?” “So gorgeous, I could break into song.”

“Is getting married … for me or for you?” “For us. Of course, if we get married, it solves our problems. You can stay, I can keep Willow Haven. We’ll have all the time we need to sort the rest. But I want forever with you, mo chuisle. Starting today.”

“What does it mean? You called me that before.” I blinked. Was she not going to respond to my proposal? Avoiding me was unlike her. “Mo chuisle? It means ‘my pulse.’ I never quite understood it before, what it meant to have another person be the d-driving force behind the pump of your blood, but it’s true. Lark, your smile saved me like an emergency transfusion. Your laugh is the song my every blood cell dances to. Your touch revived me from darkness. You are my pulse. You make me feel alive even when I’m surrounded by death.”

“I’m not asking you to be my wife because I need to get married; I’m asking because I want you. Not the funeral home. You. No one else. I know this is a little mad, but we’ll take it one day at a time, hand in hand. It can’t be any more dangerous than roller skating or riding the scooter.”

“I don’t want you to be anyone else’s husband. For any reason.” Time suspended as her declaration settled between us. I held my breath. Lark’s expression grew gentle as she stepped closer. “Because I love you.” My knees nearly buckled from the shock. “You love me?” “So much, Cal. And I am so sorry for the way I've treated you.” “God, I love you.”

As her eyes filled with what I hoped were happy tears, she laughed. Even in a city brimming with music, her laugh was my favorite sound. Ever. “Can I kiss you?” I asked. Lark rose up on her toes to grab my shirt collar. “You’d better.”

“I only stepped foot in this godforsaken mausoleum to finally wash my hands of it,” Pádraig barked. “You’re telling me I came all the way from Scotland for nothing?” Aidan and I exchanged a quick glance, and a slow smile spread across my face. He really was a damned fine solicitor, and the only estate planner I’d be referring my clients to from here on out. “You didn’t come for nothing. You came to grant Tadhg’s greatest wish: that Willow Haven stays in the family. It’s not personal. Just business,” I said. “Now get the fuck out of my home.”

“Were you not going to show me?” “It was supposed to be a goodbye present.” Her mouth crumpled on the last two words. “But you’re not leaving anymore.” “No. I was worried naming my feelings would make them real, but they were real all along. All this time, I’ve been too wrapped up in my own morbid neurosis, too scared of losing you to properly love you,” Lark said. “Callum … I’m sorry.”

“This whole time, on every feckless date I’ve endured, I’ve been yours. Completely, ridiculously, hopelessly yours.” I crushed her to my chest as she let out a sobbing laugh.

The Magical Adventures of Havarti & Plague Rat. “I can’t b-b-believe you named my character Plague Rat.” “What can I say? You inspire me,”

“You made this place my home. I missed you so much in just a few days. I couldn’t leave you permanently.” Lark hooked a leg over my thigh and her lips grazed my neck. My pulse hammered under her soft kiss.

“Mo chuisle. Sorry I responded so weirdly to it before. It’s beautiful.” “I meant it,” I murmured. Her love was the spark that promised to still ignite my soul long after my body departs. “I know. My heart beats for you, too, Cal.”

“Do you need to go?” “Not yet,” I said. “I’m just … looking for someone.” Rachel gestured to someone in a cluster of moviegoers. “He looks lost.” Beyond the string of photographers and journalists, Callum paced in a tailored suit and bow tie, his dark hair neatly tamed. He scanned the crowd for me. My heart could’ve burst at the sight. I loved this man. And I knew he loved me. There had never been any point in trying to lie to Rachel; she knew me too well for that. And I didn’t want to start now, because I wasn’t ashamed. “Yes. That’s him.”

Wonderment lit Callum’s face as he took in my glamorous appearance. Old Hollywood style waves of hair fell over my bare shoulder, and my long gown’s gossamer tulle shimmered in the light. Unmoving, he drank in the details as I admired his polished look. I couldn’t help but grin back.

“Callum, this is Rachel. My sister-in-law. And Rachel, this is Callum. My … my boyfriend.” A soft look crossed his face. He was touched that I claimed him in front of the person closest to the love I’d lost. He looked to me with concern, a private check-in before he offered her a hand. I answered with a barely perceptible nod and his expression toward her warmed.