Soak (A Navy SEAL Mormon Taboo Romance) (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

There’d been this one night, en
route to Aleppo, when Ryder’d met up with a former RPA drone pilot. Young guy.
Air Force. Previously based out of Bumblefuck, New Mexico. The kid had been
headed to Pakistan for some kind of obscure, on-the-job training—though Ryder
didn’t press him. He knew everyone in the military had their stories, after a
point. The only business one needed to mind was the business they were given by
a commanding officer.

“It was so weird to feel like I
was fighting, when I was just sitting in a chair,” this kid had said, with a
frantic expression in his eyes. “I put in for a transfer because I couldn’t
take it anymore. Killing people without their even seeing you. Without even
being able to look them in the eye.” Ryder hadn’t pointed out that when he’d
killed people in the line of duty, he’d almost never had to look them in the
eye. He’d nodded, instead. Said something like, “a sneak attack is the coward’s
way.” Then, he’d gotten the kid drunk.

He was reminded of this moment
as he approached Elder Johannes’ doorstep, if, of course, on a much smaller
scale. No one was going to die by explosion today, not in Provo. But there was
music to face. There were eyes to be looked into.

He rang the bell.

Ryder had worried, at points on
their trip, that he’d pushed Chloe into facing her family before she was ready
to see them again. His own excitement at re-connecting with Aunt Tilde and his
new friends had perhaps blinded him to what she really needed and wanted. But
then they’d been driven through the city, and seen all the familiar,
friendly-looking buildings that constituted Brigham Young’s campus. They’d
passed her childhood temple. Her childhood church. He swore he saw something in
her big blue eyes that looked like envy, and had known in that moment they were
right to come. Just like he’d needed to go to New York and face down his
demons, his unfinished business, Chloe needed to be here. And he needed to be
where Chloe needed to be.

For a few breathless seconds, it
seemed like no one was home. He remembered the Christiansen house as a giddy
place. People had been home at all hours of the day, felt like. His eyes
scanned the front door, and then the lawn. The latter was shaggy and un-mowed.
Just like his hair. Oh, fuck, he definitely should have gotten a haircut before
showing up on the stoop like this. He looked like a fucking yoga instructor.

I am a yoga instructor,
Ryder reminded himself. He smiled, thinking about this.
Johnny would ride him something fierce for becoming a “fancy city man.” His old
friend had a pretty limited tolerance for people with less-than-crucial jobs.
Which seemed ironic given the fact that Johnny didn’t even hold a job anymore.

Just then, a familiar van turned
onto the street. It was like he could hear the shouting going on inside, even
before they’d parked and switched off the engine. Celeste would be screeching
about something, Marie would be lecturing her. Martin would be cracking jokes.
Mrs. Christiansen would be humming.

He saw a shadow pass over
Chloe’s face as the car pulled to a slow stop. No one got out. They all stood
there, in a stand-off. Ryder was just about to go knock on the window like a
goddamned idiot when the passenger door eked open, very slowly. Mrs.
Christiansen stepped onto the driveway, her pale hair freshly frosted. He
thought he saw new lines on her face, but maybe this was just his memory
failing.

“Mama,” Chloe said, opening her
arms. Tears were already striping her cheeks. Ryder mentally urged the women to
hug, as if that gesture alone could solve everything, but Mrs. Christiansen
stayed planted. He thought he could see in her eyes that she wanted to go to
her daughter, though.

“Mama,” Chloe repeated, louder
this time. “We’ve come back to talk to you.”

“Chloe...”

“Ryder and I are together now.
And we’re in love.”

“Chloe.” She stayed fixed like a
fire hydrant, immobile on the ground. Then the driver’s door opened, revealing
his worst nightmare (well, almost): Elder Johannes. He looked about as angry as
could be expected, but still—that bunched little face made Ryder nervous. It
was harder to look a man in the eye when you both knew you’d deflowered his
daughter.

“What are you two doing here,”
Mr. Christiansen asked, his eyes darting rapidly between Chloe and Ry.

“We came to talk to you, Daddy.”

“What is this
cretin
doing on my property?”

“Daddy, don’t!”

“Darling!” To his surprise, Mrs.
Christiansen had put a sharp hand on her husband’s forearm. He didn’t think
he’d ever seen the matriarch show that much agency. “Let’s listen to what they
have to say.”

“Thank you, Mama. Thank you,
thank you.”

“Who wants tea?”

“They can’t have tea! They’re
not welcome here, Elyse!”

The back doors peeled open,
revealing the rest of the clan. Celeste and Marie were wide-eyed as ever,
though Ryder thought he could see that they’d grown up a little in even the few
months he’d been away. Teenagers did that, he supposed. Little Martin jumped
out of the bucket seat and grinned like an idiot, which made Ryder grin back.
At least he had one ally behind enemy lines.

Last to extract himself was
Johnny, who rode in the backseat. His old friend did not look good. His face
was haggard and beaten. Standing side by side, you could never have guessed
they were the same age. He seemed savvier with his prosthesis, but there were
dark rings around his eyes and his lips were chapped. Ryder felt a stab of
pity. Once upon a time, he would have looked out for this man like a brother.
He would never have let things come to this.

“Let’s go inside, Dad,” Johnny
told his fuming father, and the whole family seemed to listen to him.
Right,
Ryder recalled.
Because he’s the other man of the house.
In a
funeral-like procession, they all marched inside. He was surprised by how
pleasing he found the house’s familiar smell. Like baked goods and potpourri.

Mrs. Christiansen actually set
to work making tea as Chloe and her sisters held a subtle, sweet reunion.
Celeste and Marie marveled at her new look, touching her jeans, her shirt, the
new way she wore her hair. Ryder felt proud of her. She was standing tall in
this family that had always seemed to suppress her. Maybe everything would be
okay after all…

...or not. It felt like years
had passed in the silent family kitchen, between Mrs. Christiansen’s monk-like
pouring of the tea and her father’s penetrative stare into space.  Everyone was
waiting for the other to speak. Ryder seemed inclined to break the stalemate,
but Chloe motioned to him (via eye contact) that it was best he take a back
seat. After all, this was her family’s turf. Like it or no, they needed to meet
the Christiansens on their own silly terms.

Miraculously, it was Johnny who
finally broke, setting his mug down with a clang. Chloe watched the rim of the
saucer spin angrily.

“This isn’t fair,” her brother
said, directing his column of fury at the table. It was so quiet they could all
hear her father swallow before he spoke the next words.

“What’s not fair, son?” Oh, boy.
They were in it now, for better or worse. She could tell by the shaky quality
in that typically un-shakeable voice. “You yourself told us about... the
basement. And the drugs.”

“Those were mine, father.”

“What?” The grey helmet of hair
would have trembled, had the hairspray permitted it. “What do you mean?”

Johnny flinched even more under
the microscopic gaze of his whole family. Even Martin’s eyes were like
headlights.

“I’ve been on painkillers, on
and off, since the hospital,” her brother said, in a broken voice. “I’m weak. I
gave into temptation, too. And I blamed it on Ryder because...” Johnny looked
at his friend for the first time in weeks.

“...because I was afraid. I
didn’t want to be the source of our family’s shame.”

“But is it still true?” The
voice that piped up now was her mother’s. “Is it still true? About the
fornication?”

“Jiminy Christmas, Elyse...”

“It’s a large sin, Johannes! We
deserve to know!”

“We’re talking about the
boy
now.”

“Dad...”

“Mr. C...”

“SHUT UP!” Seven heads pivoted
as one toward Marie, who now stood on her chair in the corner. “One thing at a
time, you guys! I want to know about Ryder and Chloe. I want to know if I get
my sister back.”

Ryder swirled the contents of
his tea-cup, as if he could read the leaves at the bottom and predict the next
moment. Chloe tried not to let herself get lost in the fantasy that remained
parceled like a candy bar in the furthest corner of her mind.
Imagine seeing
the world with this man
, she told herself, taking an illicit bite. With his
new rock-star hair and military bod, with that snake on his shoulder. With his
human love, his human kindness, his endearing flaws. Ryder’s grey eyes found
her blue ones. Preposterously, he winked.

“I love him, Mama,” she said.
“He’s my person. The way Daddy is your person. And I’m sorry if it hurts you,
but I know I can be a decent human being and even a Christian without living
exactly like you do.”

“But it’s wrong, baby!” Her
mother was crying. “Certain kinds of lust are just wrong. I think about your
friend Gwen’s father and his...
friend
...and I feel in my heart that it’s
wrong.”

“No,” Ryder snapped. “That’s not
wrong, it’s ignorant. You know, I actually learned this in your house, Mrs.
Christiansen: just because you don’t understand something, it doesn’t make it
wrong.”

The sunlight was ebbing. Her
Constant Comment was growing cold. Chloe wished it was a week ago. That dizzy
evening when they’d gone skating on a crowded pond in Central Park. That night,
for the first time in their whole courtship, Ryder had opened up about his
family, speaking of his mother’s abrupt illness and death. He’d talked about
how his Aunt Tilde was the only one to open her arms to him when she passed,
though she’d proved a flaky parent, not quite up to the task. After this
soul-bearing talk, Chloe had dragged Ryder back to Hampden House and kissed his
cold cheeks until they’d started a private fire. What an exhausting
conversation
this
was, compared to that.
Right, wrong, who cared,
she thought.
Be kind. Hold on to your family. Love as often as you can.
That’s it, right?

“If they’re not welcome here,
I’m not welcome here,” John said. This time, her brother took pains to meet
everyone’s eyes across the table. When he glanced her way, she tolerated the
emotions that came up. He looked so defeated. What had been taken from
him...she could no longer blame him for outing her and Ryder in the basement,
especially now that she knew the truth about his condition. John was in pain.
She loved him anyway.

“Alright,” Elder Johannes said,
in the voice he usually reserved for his most solemn lectures. “Alright, enough
melodrama. We’re Christiansens. You are my oldest daughter, and you are my
oldest son. Let them stay, for now.” Her father’s magnanimous glance considered
his family, inviting no further discussion. Chloe tried to swallow her
surprise. She didn’t think she’d ever seen her father waver in his faith. Not
so much as a glass of wine had tempted him, as far as she knew. Yet here he
was, distributing tacit blessings like he’d gone Unitarian on everybody.

Marie started clapping, which
lead to Martin laughing, which lead to more tea. Ryder smirked across the
table, and Chloe felt the lightbulb switch in her personality grow bright
again. “See?” He mouthed to her, when no one was looking. “All happy families
are
alike. They forgive.”

Epilogue

“So it’s not the worst thing in
the world?” Gwen asked. Chloe laughed. It was still so bizarre, how her coolest
BFF was now soliciting sex advice from a former Miss Prude 2015. Every time
Gwen asked a naughty question, Chloe felt the tectonic plates of the earth
shift underfoot.

“The first time hurts. But if
he’s slow and sweet, it gets awesome
really
fast.” The two descended
into whispery, childish giggles until a tailor’s assistant shot them a judge-y
look.
Not in front of the gowns,
the bitch seemed to say.

They were allowed to be a little
silly, Chloe figured. A girl only got a few shots at the whole perfect wedding
dress thing. She pictured Ryder’s sleepy grin in the hotel that morning and
reconsidered her word choice.
One shot,
she smiled at her reflection.
I
get one shot. I only need one.

Miss Patricia’s Dress Shoppe
(and yup, that was ‘shop’ with the extra ‘P’) was Lexi’s recommendation. “Legit
the best place in the city for vintage wedding dresses,” she’d told her giddy,
enfianced friend. So far, the place had lived up to the hype. Chloe and Gwen
currently frolicked in a steampunk-y set of high-collared gowns, complete with
bustles and lacy sleeves. Though she figured Ryder might prefer to see a little
more of his bride’s body on their wedding day, ‘vintage’ clothing presented a
happy medium between her own newfound tastes and her mother’s more fuddy-duddy
wedding plans.

“Well look out, groomsmen,” Gwen
said, arranging a huge veil over her face.

“So much for maid of
honor,
huh?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve only ever
been to a Mormon wedding and a gay wedding. If I have a shot in hell of
fulfilling my doing-it-in-a-tacky-dress fantasy, this will be the day.”

“I hate to break it to you, but
there’s a lot of gay people in our wedding.” Chloe laughed, before inspiration
struck. “Except for Wally. Yeah, wait, you might like Wally. He’s another
military guy.”

“Ooh la la. Mama like.” Then the
giggles rained down again.

The date had been set. For March
10th, a year to the day after hers and Ryder’s first meeting. “You crazy kids,”
Gwen had hooted, shocked at the speed of it all. But if you were crazy-in-love,
consenting adults with religious parentals to please, the day to end ‘living in
sin’ just couldn’t come fast enough. Ry and Chloe were getting hitched at a
sweet, non-denominational church on Hudson Street, near the hospital where
Wally and Ryder met weekly. Elder Johannes would lead portions of their
tailored ceremony to accommodate members of her former faith, as well as anyone
else who wanted to share in the joy. Her friend Therese would be the officiant
who married them. And best of all, she’d get to kiss the man she loved in front
of friends new and old, plus her entire family. It was getting hard not to
smile. Chloe felt a whole new understanding for the obnoxious bride-to-bes from
her college days, perky Barbie girls who were prone to crying at commercials. 

Only that morning, after a
rigorous few hours spent tangled in one another, Chloe had fully affirmed her life’s
trajectory for the umpteenth time. Ryder had been moving inside her with slow
strokes, the crook of his arm cradling her head. They’d gazed into one
another’s eyes like the daffy lovebirds they were, and come simultaneously and
slowly, their mutual cries co-mingling. “I love you,” he’d said, quite plainly.
She’d kissed him and kissed him, from his forehead to his chest to the tip of
his member. Naughtiness had brought them together, and it continued to feed the
flames. “I love you too, Ryder Strong.”

“Looking forward to becoming
Mrs. Chloe Strong?”

“Umm, did we discuss the
name-switching thing? Because at least one of us is
not
a comic book
character.” He’d slapped her ass playfully, and it had started again like
clockwork. It felt so amazing to laugh with someone who could also fuck your
brains out. No, she had not a single doubt.

“Hey, Chloe,” Gwen asked,
primping in the old mirror. “You never told us. How did Ryder propose?”

She opened her mouth, about to
spill. But something stopped her breath. Some things, she figured, were better
off sacred.

Chloe Christiansen smiled like
the Mona Lisa and twirled in her gown, feeling free.

THE END

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