The Doctor’s Truth: Part 5: Chapter 62

There’s nothing like summer on Hannsett island.

Sunlight shines down, shimmering like tiny glass shards across the clear water. It’s a scorcher of a day, so I’m laid out in a purple two-piece bathing suit and a white, airy sun shirt that keeps my shoulders from completely going red. My face is protected by a wide-brimmed hat, a pair of sunglasses, and a hell of a lot of sunscreen.

There aren’t a lot of places to hide from the sun, after all, not when you’re out in the middle of the bay. Dock Buoy bobs listlessly, attached to a mooring ball.

I’ve spent my Saturday afternoon hard at work at the second half of Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander. Life could be much worse.

I finish my chapter, dog-ear the page, and let my gaze travel. I’m curled up on one of the benches near the steering wheel by the end of the boat, and from my vantage point, I can see Jason pace across the deck. There’s an awning between us, but every now and then, he passes where I can see him. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks, and in my stolen corner, I let myself admire his sculpted body: the outline of his biceps, his rippling abdomen, that perfect V that settles around his hips.

He’s talking intently to someone on the phone. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but he’s got his business voice on, low and serious. I watch as he hangs up the phone and pauses briefly to stare across the water. We’re not far from Hannsett Island—only a mile or two out, maybe—but you still get a good view of the island from here: the towering lighthouse, the medical center, and the boats swaying in the marina beside it.

When Jason comes back to the cockpit, I pull my knees up and rest my book in my lap.

“All good?” I ask him.

“Yeah.” He hangs from the archway that leads down below and tucks his cell phone into one of the hanging storage pockets. “That was one of the producers from The Dr. Mazie Show. They loved the footage. Wanted to offer me a regular segment.”

“And?”

He shrugs. “I turned it down. That was my dad’s vision. Not mine.”

“I’m proud of you.”

He grins then. “They did say that they’d be interested in doing a spin-off reality show about a polyamorous doctor…Paging Dr. Poly. What do you think?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Gag.”

He laughs. “I know. That’s what I said.”

He sits down on the landing beside me. I play my fingers through his hair. “Is it a curse to be so handsome?” I ask him.

“You have no idea.”

I nuzzle my nose against his. He smells like peppermint and sea salt.

“Speaking of big things…”

“I like where this is going…”

He snorts a laugh. “Mind out of the gutter, Trouble. I was thinking about South Africa.”

I knit my eyebrows. “Not where I thought you were going with this.”

“Donovan has things on lock at Lighthouse Medical. So…I’m thinking it’s about time I put my money where my mouth is.”

“And your money is in South Africa?”

He shrugs. “Doctors Without Borders. It’s always been a dream. I can take a couple months. Really help people.”

I open my mouth. Close it. “What about Lighthouse Medical?”

There’s one of his cocky side-grins. “What’re they gonna do—fire me?”

Sometimes, I forget that my boys are at the top of their game. Prime time.

Jason is, after all, the top surgeon in the state—and Donovan took over the post as the director of Lighthouse Medical since the great Leonard King “went into retirement.”

Aka, he’s on house arrest in his mansion on Hannsett Island.

Justice isn’t always cut-and-dry, but I was never interested in revenge—I was interested in freedom. And we have that now. We have the freedom to be the people we want to be. To love the people we want to love—as unconventional as our strange little family might be.

Jason turns back to me, and his blue eyes flicker over me, sizing me up.

“You want to come? We can bring Otto. Introduce him to the elephants.”

I bite my lip. “Can I think about it?”

“You, pretty lady, can do anything you like.”

He tilts his head to kiss me. It’s upside down and our lips mismatch, but it’s ever-so-sweet.

Our public display of affection is followed by a chorus of “Ewwwww!”

Otto and his best friend, Diego, Maria’s son, are at the front of the boat, swinging from a hammock attached to the jib and the mast.

“Hey!” Jason calls out. “Don’t make me come over there!”

“Or what?” Diego taunts. He’s a brave little boy, petulant at times, but I think his boldness rubs off on Otto, who is normally such a wallflower of a boy, in a good way.

“Or it’s overboard with yah!” Jason leaps into action, and in two long-legged strides he’s on the other side of the boat. He grabs Diego, hoists him out of the hammock, and dangles him over the edge of the boat.

Diego screams with laughter. “Otto! Help!”

Otto clambers out of the hammock and goes to rescue his friend. In only the past couple of months, he’s shot up. It’s like the new kidney packed a wallop of growth hormones. If he keeps this growth spurt up, he’ll be as tall as Jason by the time he hits high school.

As it is, he’s tall enough to “rescue” Diego. The two boys then proceed to “defeat” Jason by pushing him overboard. He pulls a perfect dive. When he hits the water, they cheer, and I roll my eyes.

Boys. I’m surrounded by boys.

“Diego! Play nice!”

Well, not entirely surrounded—Maria is my lone female compadre. Like me, she’s taken the precious downtime to read and sunbathe. She does it from her rental sailboat, Cisne, which is latched onto ours with a series on complex knots and ties. When she catches me looking at her, she rolls her eyes and huffs, “Boys!”

Yes. Boys.

Donovan appears, popping up from below deck. He comes carrying a paper plate with two halves of a sandwich on it. He sits down on the landing between the cockpit and the stairs and holds out the plate for me. “Sandwich?”

“What’s in it?”

“Good stuff.”

I take a half and take a bite. He’s not wrong. Turkey, tomato, lettuce, Havarti cheese, red onion, mayo, mustard, avocado…good stuff.

I hum contently and dig into my half. “You know me well.”

Donovan gets comfortable in the small nook, pulling up his legs. He’s wearing jeans and a soft dark T-shirt—far be it from Donovan to wear anything lightly colored, even if it is ninety-something degrees out. “What’d I miss?”

“Jason’s talking about going to South Africa for a month or two.”

“Did he try to recruit you?”

“Sure did.”

“Sounds fun. New places. New people. You did say you wanted to travel.”

“I did.” I shrug. “But…believe it or not…I think I’m staying.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve gotten kinda used to this place.”

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Donovan work hard to try to hide his pleased smile. “Huh” is all he says.

I hear the sudden rush of water as Jason emerges. He climbs up the short ladder on the back of the boat and into the cockpit. He’s soaking wet, his hair matted to the back of his neck, his trunks clinging in ways that make it hard not to stare.

“Oh! Lunch!” Jason exclaims, as excited as a kid. He steps beside Donovan and helps himself to Donovan’s half, taking a bite.

Donovan narrows his eyes, edging away. “Watch it. You’re dripping. Everywhere.”

“Fuck, that’s so good.” Jason returns Donovan’s sandwich and sucks mayo off his thumb. “Can you make me one?”

“I did, and it’s downstairs—argh!” Donovan attempts to scramble back as Jason steps over him to go below deck, dripping as he goes.

I can’t help but laugh. They might be at each other’s throats more often than not, but they’re also an endless source of entertainment.

Before too long Jason pops back up, a little drier than he left, and says, “Hey, you guys wanna see something cool?”

“Always,” I tell him.

He climbs over Donovan (again) and sits down on the bench opposite me. There’s a small console between us, with wings that can be propped up to form a table. Jason puts his sandwich plate in his lap, and in his other hand, he extends a picture frame toward me.

“Happy thirteen-year anniversary,” he says.

Donovan and I exchanged confused looks. “Anniversary of what?”

“You know. The first time. The time that produced…that kid.” He tilts his head toward Otto.

“How the fuck do you remember these things?” Donovan counters.

“It was a week after they released Batman Begins in Hannsett Theatre.”

Donovan groans. “I hate that you know that fact.”

I sidle up next to Donovan and hold the frame out for him to see. “Check it out.”

Honestly, I didn’t think there was any photographic evidence of the summer the three of us spent together—this was a time before Instagram and selfies, after all.

But there we are. The three of us. Teenagers. We’re at the marina’s pool. I’m in a bathing suit with a plaid shirt thrown over top. Jason sits beside me, arm looped over my shoulders, posing for the camera in that obnoxious way boys do—he’s either throwing up the peace sign or a gang sign, it’s hard to tell. Donovan, dressed in black, black hair, black nails, black glare, looks moodily at the camera as though he’s prepared for it to take his soul.

More than anything, I’m struck by how young we look. We thought we knew everything then. But we were children. Innocent in our own way. Young, dumb, and in love with ourselves in that self-absorbed way all young adults get to be.

“Holy shit,” Donovan says, “We look like puppies.”

“Where’d you get this?” I ask.

Jason shrugs. “I’ve had it. I just thought it was time to put a nice frame on it.”

I hear twin feet patter across the boat. “Whatcha looking at?” Otto asks, hanging behind me. The two boys seemed to have smelled something more interesting going on this side of the boat. They’re both in their swim shorts, and I can see the crescent of Otto’s scar that goes down his side. It’s healing well, but to my boy’s credit, he’s never been ashamed of it—instead, he seems to have no problem showing it off. His badge of courage.

I shift to the side to make room and hold out the picture frame. “It’s me, Jason, and Donovan…a very long time ago.”

“Whoa, cool,” Otto says, holding the picture so he can get a better look.

“That’s Dr. Donovan?” Diego asks, and his mouth drops open dramatically.

“It was…a phase.” Donovan slips his hand to the back of his neck self-consciously.

Otto examines the picture. “Mum, can I get a lip ring?”

Simultaneously, Donovan and I answer, “No.”

“This is very special, Jason,” I tell him, and I prop the photo up on the center console so the teenage versions of ourselves are staring down at the adult versions of ourselves. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well,” Jason says, wide smile threatening to crack across his mouth, “muskrats for life.”

I link my fingers with Donovan’s and echo, “Muskrats for life.”

We have dinner together—our family and Maria’s. We make hand-rolled pizza and burn it on the grill attached to the back of the boat. Personally, I’m a fan of the crispy bottom and the places where the cheese melts and hardens around the crust. Donovan tosses up a salad as well, and for dessert, the boys put marshmallows on sticks and make s’mores over the open flame.

Otto and Diego have pulled out their sleeping bags across the deck of Maria’s boat, and it’s not even 10:00 p.m. before Otto is drifting off, curled up in his sleeping bag. The salt air really takes it out of you. I slip my fingers through his hair and says, “Hey, buddy, I think it’s time to head to bed.”

He pulls the covers up over his chin. “I want to sleep out here,” he complains.

Maria glances over at me and smiles. “It’s fine. They can come inside if they get cold.”

Out here, on the water, the stars are brighter than ever. Tiny pinpricks scattered across the sky. I don’t know what kind of a life I expected for Otto, but for a while there, I wasn’t sure he would see much of anything beyond the four walls of his hospital room. My heart feels so impossibly big knowing that he gets to experience this—rocked to sleep by the sway of the boat, under the stars beside his best friend.

“Thank you,” I whisper to Maria, and she shrugs as if to say no problem.

We clean up our places and say good night. I kiss the top of Otto’s head, and he’s so tuckered out, he barely is able to murmur a “love you.”

It’s a bit of a balancing act to go between the two boats—Jason goes first, lifting his leg over one railing and then climbing over the other. He extends his hand toward me and helps me over, and then does the same to Donovan until we’re all back aboard Dock Buoy.

Downstairs, there are dishes in the sink, the radio still going. Jason goes to the sink and rolls up his sleeves. “I’ll wash, you dry?” he asks me.

“Done.”

Donovan fiddles with the music until he finds a station he likes—a nice, groovy ambiance. I can’t help but smile as I stack plates in the drying rack.

“What’s that smile?” Jason asks.

“Just…memories. I was just thinking about that summer. When we were kids. The first time I had dinner with your family, and you and I came downstairs and cleaned up.”

“I remember,” Jason says.

“I wanted you to kiss me. So badly.”

“What, like this?”

Jason pulls me against him suddenly, and I don’t even care that his hand is wet at the small of my back because his lips are on mine now. I feel the graze of stubble against my cheek, and I melt under the heat of his kiss.

“Yeah…” I murmur. I can feel my heart beating between my legs already.

Jason’s hand slides down my back and cups my ass, giving it a squeeze. I wind my leg around his invitingly.

It’s not always easy for the three of us to find stolen moments. Now that I have my two men all to myself, I’m feeling ravenous. And, by the change in Jason’s breath and his hard length against my hip, I can tell he is, too.

“This,” Donovan says, “is why the dishes never get done.”

He stands behind Jason and draws his hand up the back of Jason’s neck, into his thick head of hair. It’s a weak spot for Jason, and a small groan leaves him. “Fuck the dishes,” Jason mutters.

He’s too tall, and when Donovan tugs lightly on his hair, his lips are officially out of my reach, but I lift to nuzzle underneath his chin. I graze my lips down his throat and slide my tongue over the bump of his Adam’s apple, which bobs in response.

Is there anything more fun than getting Jason wound up? I don’t think so. The hitch in his breath makes me drench my panties, and I feel the soft fabric cling to me as I draw my fingers underneath his shirt, tracing the V of his abdomen, the rippling muscles there.

“Should we uh…” Jason swallows, barely able to form words. “Bedroom?”

“Yes, please,” I agree.

The three of us abandon the sink and move into the main cabin instead. I start to pull off my shirt, but then I feel Donovan behind me. He draws his fingers down my arms, catches my wrists, and locks them behind me.

Jason sits down on the edge of the bed in front of me. He smirks. “C’mon, Trouble. Don’t you know a girl shouldn’t have to take off her own clothes?”

I give a little struggle—not looking to escape, just to test the strength of my bonds. Donovan grips my wrists tighter, and I feel his lips and teeth graze my throat. “I wouldn’t,” he purrs darkly, and the sound goes straight between my thighs.

“Or what?” I breathe.

“Or we’re going to keep teasing you until you break,” Jason tells me.

And, oh—Jason reads the room well. Because my heart pounds in my chest as he slowly unbuttons my blouse. The two sides of my shirt fall open. My bra unclasps at the front, so he undoes that, too, so that my breasts are on full display in front of him.

Those blue eyes drink me in. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says, and my nipples tighten into small, hard peaks under his gaze.

He crooks his finger and draws a knuckle down my stomach, then loops his fingers at my pants. He undoes my shorts, sliding those off my legs as well. He examines me, his hands running up my thighs, coaxing them apart, and a bizarre thought pops into my head: I wonder how his patients keep from soaking themselves anytime he puts his hands on them. I know I wouldn’t be able to. Something about the thought of Jason clinically examining me while I throb and try not to moan makes my cheeks flush hot.

His thumbs stroke the very edges of my panties between my thighs, teasing. “You’re soaking wet,” he observes.

“Is that your professional diagnosis?” I ask.

“It’s a symptom,” he plays along. “My diagnosis is that you’re a horny girl in need of two men to claim you.”

He kneads his knuckle against my slit, and even with the fabric between us, I feel the burn of pleasure. My knees start to buckle, my hips rocking forward to meet his touch, but Donovan’s strong grip on my arms keeps me upright.

“Second opinion?” Jason asks.

“I’d say you’re on the money,” Donovan confirms as he ghosts his lips up my throat and nibbles my earlobe.

I fight back a whimper and let my body relax against Donovan. I’m helpless to move my arms, but when I reach back with my palms, I can feel the denim of his pants and the swell of his need underneath. I cup his groin, massaging, and he grows harder under my touch. He lets out a low growl in my ear, and the sound sends a shudder through me.

I’m at their mercy, and Jason teases me. He pulls my nipple between his fingers until I gasp and then does the same to the other. When he finally puts his mouth on my breast, my nipples are sore and sensitive, and the gentle wet heat of his tongue makes me burn. I moan, squirming under his caresses, and my thighs clutch together, aching for any friction.

“Please,” I beg, “I want it so bad.” I give Donovan a squeeze, hoping he’ll give me what I need.

I watch hungrily as Jason undresses and sits back on the edge of the bed.

“Do you want him?” Donovan asks me.

“Yes,” I breathe. Jason’s body is perfect, and my eyes follow the swoop of his dove, down to the tone of his belly and his gorgeous, thick cock.

“Do you want his cock inside of you?” Donovan presses, and my thighs squeeze once more.

“More than anything.”

Jason peels off my panties, and Donovan releases me, pulling off my clothes the rest of the way. I immediately climb into Jason’s lap, starved for him, and I crush my mouth against his and wrap my legs around him. I nestle in close and reach down so I can grind my naked pussy against the hard length of him, rubbing him between my slippery lips. He sighs into my mouth, and we tangle up in bed, touching, humping, ravishing each other.

I can hear Donovan’s clothes rustle as he undresses. His cold rings kiss my bare back as he leans down to kiss my shoulders.

Jason rolls us over so I’m trapped underneath him—this huge mountain of a man. I feel so safe here, though, so adored as he takes both my wrists in one hand and pins them above my head. He reaches down between us, and I hold my breath in anticipation, releasing it in a sharp gasp when he presses inside of me, filling me.

“Oh, God…” I whisper as he mounts me, rolling his hips against mine.

Donovan climbs over Jason, the three of us stacked like dominos, and I hear Jason grunt and feel his fingers tighten in mine. “Fuck,” Jason moans between his teeth.

“Do you need me to slow down?” Donovan asks.

“No,” Jason pants, “keep going.”

Now the three of us are moving as one—a single wave, flowing and ebbing, in and out.

Donovan is steady and controlled above us, precision and steel.

I’m an ocean of need and want, spilling out.

And Jason is between us—Jason, our beating heart.

I link my fingers in his, holding his hand, and cry out when my orgasm takes me, exploding around him. He covers me in sweet kisses—my lips, my cheeks, the backs of my eyelids—as I come down. They spill over with me, the three of us moaning, throbbing. I feel Jason hot inside of me, and I squeeze my thighs around him, encouraging.

“I love you,” I murmur at his lips—words that used to be so impossible now tumble from me so easily. I free a wrist and reach up, sliding over Jason and then Donovan, feeling Donovan’s hair, digging my nails into Donovan’s back. “I love you, I love you…”

We fall apart finally. We’re panting, slick with sweat, and I’m cuddled between them.

“Fuck, I love the both of you so much,” Jason says.

“Love you, too,” Donovan adds. I lay my head on his chest and hear his heart pound at me. I draw my hand down his body and feel the raised skin of his half-moon scar along his abdomen.

“It’s always going to be like this,” I say, “isn’t it? No matter where we go. Or what we do. We always come back to each other.”

“Always,” Jason says, winding an arm around me and kissing my shoulder.

He rests his hand over my stomach—over the small bump that’s four months in the making. That was conceived in a hospital bed, in the middle of winter, at the peak of our insane roller coaster of a relationship.

A hint of life that I don’t have to keep as a secret. There are no more secrets between us now.

Donovan pushes my hair back from my forehead, and his leather band brushes against my skin. “Muskrats forever,” he murmurs against my hair.

I link my fingers in his and reach my other hand over my stomach, winding my fingers with Jason’s.

I belong here, between the two of them. And now we get to expand our family…together.

THE END