Page 91 of The Chain
“What do you mean? Don’t you find me—”
“It’s not that. That’s not it at all. You’re incredibly hot.”
“I’m skin and bones, I—”
“No, you look amazing. It’s not that.”
“What is it, then?”
“I haven’t…for a long time…” he says. It isn’t really a lie. He’s thinking about the second big secret—the heroin—and wondering whether he will be able to perform.
“I’m sure it will all come roaring back,” Rachel says as she leads him to the bedroom.
She takes off her clothes and lies on the bed.
She doesn’t know it but she’s wildly sexy, Pete thinks. Brown hair, long, long legs.
“Come on,” she says teasingly. “Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just…oh, it is a pistol.”
Pete puts the nine-millimeter on the bedside table and takes off his T-shirt.
When he drops his sweats, he’s somewhat surprised to see that everything is in full working order.
“Well, well, well,” Rachel says.
Pete grins.That’s a relief,he thinks, and climbs into bed next to her.
It’s pure we-survived-the-plane-crash sex.
Frantic, fraught, desperate, hungry.
Twenty minutes later, she climaxes and he climaxes.
A spectacular oasis after months of drought.
“So that was…” Pete says.
“Yeah,” Rachel agrees.
She goes to get the cigarettes and Scotch. “And also, you know, weird,” she says. “Even perverted. I mean, Christ, two brothers, who does that?”
“Just stay away from my father. I don’t think his heart could take it.”
“That is so gross.”
Pete gets up, walks to the living room, and thumbs through her vinyl collection, which is mostly Motown and jazz. Her CDs are all Max Richter and Jóhann Jóhannsson and Philip Glass.
“My God, Rachel, ever hear of a thing called rock and roll?”
He puts on Sam Cooke’sNight Beat.
When he comes back to the bed, she clearly sees the track marks on his arms.
It isn’t a surprise. She suspected something like this. She touches the track lines and then, gently, kisses him.
“If you’re going to stay here, you’ll need to be clean,” she says.
“Yeah,” he agrees.
