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He ran. Dad was on his back in their bed, skin the color of wet ash, one fist knotted in the sheet over his chest. Each breath sounded like it cost him a year. "Dad. Dad, I'm here." Jeff grabbed his father's free hand; it was cold, impossibly, colder than the air-conditioned room. John tried to speak, managed only a rasp. Melissa was behind him giving the operator the address, voice shaking but steady enough to get the words out. Sirens rose in the distance like an answer to a prayer Jeff hadn't known how to form. Everything after that blurred: red lights painting the walls, paramedics shouldering past, oxygen mask, Melissa scrambling for shoes, the two of them Dad's pickup chasing the ambulance through empty streets. Hours in a fluorescent waiting room that smelled of bleach and burnt coffee. Melissa sat hunched forward, elbows on knees, silently crying into her own wrists. Jeff stared at the linoleum until the pattern burned into his retinas. At 4:17 a.m. the cardiologist came out, mask dangling from his neck. "We got the blockage. Stent's in. He's stable."Stable. The word felt like a miracle and an insult at the same time. They were allowed in long enough to see John unconscious, tubes in his arm, monitors beeping a tired, steady rhythm. Melissa touched his father's cheek with two fingers, whispering something Jeff couldn't hear.

Then they were ushered out again. Dawn was bruising the sky purple when they climbed back into the truck. Neither spoke. The silence wasn't hostile anymore; it was just empty, the way the world feels after a bomb goes off and you realize you're still breathing. Halfway home Melissa finally broke. A single, sharp sob tore out of her, then another, until her shoulders were shaking so racked she had to pull over on the side of the county road. She pressed her forehead to the steering wheel and cried like someone who'd been holding it together with string for years. Jeff looked at her (really looked) for the first time in forever.

The perfect hair was tangled, mascara streaked down to her jaw, and she was still the most frightened, exhausted, beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He reached across the console and put his hand on her back. She flinched, then leaned into it as if touch were the only thing keeping her from flying apart. "I'm sorry," he said, voice rough. "For everything. I've been a complete asshole to you. "She shook her head against the wheel, unable to answer. "I don't want to do that anymore," he went on. "Life's too damn short.

"She lifted her face, eyes swollen, and gave him the smallest, saddest smile he'd ever seen. "Thank you," she whispered. He nodded, throat thick, and left his hand where it was until they were ready to drive the last few miles home, together this time, into whatever came next.

The ICU waiting room became their second home: hard plastic chairs, burnt-coffee smell, the constant hiss of the automatic doors. John fought pneumonia the way he'd fought everything else in life: teeth gritted, refusing to give an inch even when the ventilator did half the breathing for him. Doctors spoke in careful, measured tones. Melissa translated the jargon for Jeff without ever sounding condescending, and somehow that small mercy chipped away at the last of the wall he'd built. They talked to keep from cracking.

Melissa told him about growing up in a rust-belt town where the gymnastics coach spotted her doing cartwheels in a parking lot and basically dragged her to the ninety miles to the nearest real gym three times a week. How her parents couldn't afford the leotards or the travel meets, so she worked nights at a diner from the age of fourteen, smiling through grease burns and creepy truckers because every tip bought another yard of sequined lycra. How law school felt like a different kind of beam: four inches wide, no mat underneath, and if you wobbled you lost everything."I get it," Jeff said one night, both of them slumped in the corridor at 2 a.m., sharing a bag of vending-machine pretzels. "The scholarship owns you. One bad meet, one bad semester, and it's gone."She looked at him then, really looked, and something electric passed between them: recognition.After that the name slipped out before he could stop it.

"Thanks, Mom."He froze. She blinked. Then she laughed (quiet, startled, the first real laugh he'd ever heard from her)."Oh honey," she whispered, wiping her eyes, "I'm way too young to be Mom to a twenty-one-year-old stud. Just Melissa, okay?" She paused, cheeks pink. "Though... I wouldn't mind being a mom someday. Properly. Little sticky fingers, all that chaos." She nudged his shoulder. "How would you feel about a baby brother or sister running around?"Jeff's brain short-circuited. He barked an awkward laugh that came out too loud in the sterile hallway. "Uh... ask me after Dad's off the ventilator?""Fair," she said, still smiling in a way that made her look nineteen instead of thirty-six.

A few hours later, when the nurses finally kicked them out for the night, she asked, "Got a girlfriend waiting back at school?"He shook his head. "Swimming and code pretty much killed my social life."She made a sympathetic cluck. "Well, that's a tragedy. We're fixing that."He assumed it was one of those throwaway lines adults say to college kids. He was wrong.

The next evening, as they walked into the house after another long day at the hospital, she kicked off her shoes and said, oh-so-casually, "My cousin Catherine's coming for dinner tomorrow. I hope you're not planning on going out."Jeff paused in the doorway, hospital smell still clinging to his hoodie. "Catherine?""Twenty-three, just finished her master's in architecture, climbs rocks for fun, and makes a lasagna that will ruin you for all other food." Melissa's smile was pure innocence. "She's dying to meet you."Jeff felt his eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "You're matchmaking while Dad's in ICU?""Please," Melissa snorted, hanging up her keys. "If your father knew I wasn't taking every possible opportunity to embarrass you, he'd climb out of that bed and haunt me. Besides," she added, voice softening, "we could all use something to look forward to. "She disappeared into the kitchen before he could protest. Jeff stood there for a long moment, listening to her humming as she pulled ingredients from the fridge, and realized he was smiling, and didn't even try to stop it.

Melissa kissed them both on the cheek around ten-thirty, exhaustion finally winning. "I'm going to crash," she said, voice soft. "You two finish the movie. Don't stay up too late." She gave Catherine a quick, conspiratorial smile that Jeff pretended not to notice, then padded upstairs. The house settled into that deep country-night quiet broken only by crickets and the low hum of the refrigerator. Catherine topped off their glasses (some smooth red Melissa had opened earlier) and curled back into her corner of the couch. She'd kicked off her shoes hours ago; one bare foot was tucked beneath her, the other stretched toward the coffee table.

The credits of whatever action movie they'd half-watched had long since rolled, replaced by the soft blue glow of the menu screen.Jeff couldn't have told anyone the plot if his life depended on it. He'd spent most of the night trying not to stare at the way her sundress slipped off one shoulder when she laughed, or how the lamplight turned the fine hairs at her temple gold. She smelled like summer: sunscreen, red wine, and something faintly floral he wanted to breathe in forever.

Catherine tilted her head, studying him. "You okay? You've been quiet for, like, twenty minutes."He huffed a laugh. "Trying to figure out how I got set up by my step-mom and I'm not even mad about it."She grinned, slow and mischievous. "She's good, isn't she?" Then, softer, "I'm not mad either."The air shifted, thickened. One heartbeat, two, and suddenly the few feet of couch between them felt ridiculous. Jeff set his glass down. Catherine did the same. Neither looked away.He reached first, just fingertips brushing the inside of her wrist where her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. She turned her hand over, inviting, and he slid his palm against hers. Warm. Real."Jeff," she whispered, and that was all it took.He leaned in; she met him halfway. The kiss started careful (testing, almost) but the second her lips parted on a soft exhale, caution burned away. She tasted like wine and something sweeter, and when her tongue touched his he felt it in his knees.Catherine shifted, rising onto her knees on the couch, and he pulled her closer until she was half in his lap, sundress riding up her thighs. His hands found the smooth skin just above her knees, then higher, tracing the soft curve where thigh met hip.

She made a small, needy sound against his mouth and the sound went straight through him.Somehow they were lying down, the couch too small but perfect, her body stretched along his, one of his thighs sliding between hers. The thin cotton of her dress was no barrier at all; he could feel the heat of her through his jeans, the way she rocked instinctively when his hand cupped her breast. Her nipple was already hard beneath the fabric; he brushed his thumb over it and she arched, breaking the kiss to breathe his name against his neck.

"Tell me to stop," he managed, voice ragged, "and I will.""Don't you dare," she whispered, and tugged his shirt over his head.Skin met skin. Her hands mapped the ridges of muscle along his back, the faint lines of scar-tissue from years of flip turns and starting blocks. He kissed down her throat, tasting salt and summer, and when he pushed the strap of her dress aside to mouth the slope of her breast she moaned softly, fingers threading through his hair.Buttons, zippers, fabric—everything came away in slow, breathless increments until there was no hurry and all the hurry in the world. When he finally slid inside her, both of them shuddered. She was tight and warm and perfect, and the little gasp she gave when he filled her made his vision spark white at the edges.

They moved together like they'd done this a thousand times and never before, finding a rhythm that was unhurried and urgent all at once. The only sounds were their breathing, the soft creak of the couch, the wet slide of bodies learning each other. Catherine's head fell back, throat exposed; Jeff pressed open-mouthed kisses there as her hips rose to meet every slow thrust.

She came first, sudden and quiet, clenching around him with a broken exhale that sounded like his name. The feel of it dragged him over seconds later; he buried his face against her neck and let go, pleasure rolling through him in long, blinding waves. After, they stayed tangled, hearts hammering against each other, the forgotten movie menu looping silently on the screen. Catherine traced lazy circles on his shoulder and smiled against his chest. "So," she murmured, voice husky, "Melissa's definitely getting thanked tomorrow. "Jeff laughed, soft and wrecked, and pulled her closer. "Yeah," he said, pressing a kiss to her damp temple. "She really is."

The call came while Jeff was in the driveway shooting free throws against the garage, trying to burn off the restless energy that had been humming under his skin for two days.Catherine's name lit up the screen and his stomach flipped in the good way (until he answered).

"Hey," he said, grinning like an idiot, basketball still spinning on one finger.There was a beat of silence long enough to make the grin falter."Jeff." Her voice was small, careful. "I... I need to tell you something."Everything after that felt like it happened under water.I really like you... the other night was wonderful... but I have a boyfriend... we'd been fighting... I thought it was over... we're back together now... I'm so sorry... it should never have happened... I can't see you again.

He stood there with the phone pressed to his ear long after she hung up, the basketball rolling to a stop against the grass. The sun was brutal overhead, but he felt cold, like someone had cracked him open and let all the warmth out.

He walked inside on autopilot.Melissa was at the kitchen island slicing tomatoes, humming along to whatever was on the radio. She took one look at his face and the knife stilled."Sweetheart? What's wrong?""Not hungry," he muttered, the words scraping his throat raw. "Think I'm coming down with something."He was already halfway up the stairs before she could answer."Jeff—"He didn't stop. Just shut the bedroom door behind him, soft, the way you close a coffin lid, and leaned back against it.

Jeff could still smell Catherine's perfume on the pillowcase he hadn't let Melissa wash yet. He didn't cry (not really). Just sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands while the afternoon light crawled across the floor and the house stayed quiet around him like nothing had changed. Everything had.

The house was asleep, the kind of thick, humid quiet that only Florida nights can press against the windows. Jeff lay on top of the sheets, skin damp, the ceiling fan doing almost nothing. He hadn't bothered with clothes; the heat made anything more than air feel impossible. The door opened without a knock. Soft footsteps, then the mattress dipped beside him.He knew it was Melissa before she spoke. Her perfume (something light and expensive) drifted over him, followed by the warmer, unmistakable scent of her skin. He kept his eyes closed, pretending sleep, heart already thudding too hard.

Fingertips brushed the hair back from his forehead, gentle, almost maternal. Then lingered. He turned toward the touch without thinking, hand sliding across the sheet until his palm found the soft weight of her breast through thin silk. The nipple was already hard; he felt it tighten further under his thumb. Melissa inhaled sharply and pulled back (an instinctive flinch). For one suspended second neither of them moved.

Then she leaned in again, closer this time, and the flinch became something else entirely. Their mouths crashed together like they'd both been starving for it. No tentative first kiss, no hesitation; just raw, open hunger. She tasted like toothpaste and the faint sweetness of the wine she'd had earlier. Her tongue slid against his and he groaned into her mouth. Hands were everywhere at once. His up under the hem of her nightgown, tracing the satin skin of her thighs until he found her already slick, swollen. She whimpered when he circled her clit, hips rocking into his touch like she couldn't help herself. When she wrapped her fingers around his cock, her breath stuttered."Oh my God," she rasped, voice wrecked. "You're... Jesus, Jeff."She rose over him in one fluid motion, nightgown rucked up to her waist, and guided him inside her. The heat of her stole his breath. She sank down slowly, eyes locked on his, mouth open in a silent cry as he filled her. Then there was no more thinking. Just the slap of skin, the creak of the bed, her nails digging into his chest as she rode him hard. He gripped her hips, meeting every downward thrust until the room spun and pleasure coiled white-hot at the base of his spine. Melissa loved being on top she could controlthe angle of his large penis for maximum clitoral pleasure. She came first, clenching around him with a broken sob muffled against his shoulder. Her wet hungry married pussy sucked and spasm'd on his rigid rod willing him, no demanding that he fill her with his young virile seed. He followed seconds later, hips jerking as he spilled deep inside her, the release so intense he saw stars. After, the silence was deafening.Melissa collapsed beside him, chest heaving. He could feel her trembling.

The glow faded fast, replaced by a sick, heavy dread."Oh God," she whispered into the dark. "What did we just do?" Jeff stared at the ceiling, throat raw. "Melissa—"

Her voice cracked. "This never happened. It can't ever happen again. Your father... Catherine... I'm—" She pressed a hand over her mouth like she might be sick. He nodded, numb. "I know. "She sat up, pulling the nightgown down with shaking hands. For a moment she just looked at him (hair wild, lips swollen, eyes shining with tears she refused to let fall).

"I'm sorry," she said, so quietly he almost missed it. Then she was gone, door closing softly behind her. Jeff lay there until the fan's lazy circles blurred, the smell of sex and her perfume thick in the air, the taste of regret bitter on his tongue. Some lines, once crossed, don't let you step back over them clean.

To be continued?

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