Chapter 9: A Fleeting Dream

Words : 1770 Updated : Sep 18th, 2025

Nixon Walker strode over and brushed his fingers against her cheek. It was swollen. "Mr. Walker…" Her voice didn't make it out before her tears did. Two silvery tracks already streaked down Briana Lyson's face. That stubborn, brave front of hers struck Nixon straight in the heart, and something in him softened, unexpectedly. He pulled her into his arms. "What happened, Dr. Lyson?" "Pablo, that old bastard, hit me…" "He found out about us?" Nixon's chest tightened. He let her go just long enough to tug her into his yard and shut the gate behind them. Briana said nothing. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself to him as if she could disappear into his warmth. "Hold me… hold me." "Okay," he murmured. He bent and lifted her easily, cradling her against him. He kicked the door open and carried her into his one-room house. They'd already been together that morning, so being alone together didn't feel awkward. If anything, there was a charge between them, a warm, secret current. Sniffling, she peered at his face by the dim glow of his phone. Something shifted in her gaze. She surged up, and their mouths met-teeth, tongue, need colliding. When the kiss broke, both of them were breathing hard. Briana fumbled at his shirt, eager to continue. Nixon caught her hands. "Tell me what happened to your face." "Pablo hit me. Today, when he was pawing at me, he saw the bruises on my body. He lost his temper and struck me." "Just because he was angry?" Nixon froze. If a man saw marks on his wife left by another man, would he just be "angry" and nothing more? If that was all, then Pablo's tolerance was more than most men could manage. "Pablo has known what I'm like for a long time. If it weren't for what happened back then, I would never have married that useless man." "Pablo is… impotent?" The day was full of surprises. First, Nixon had learned the village head was sleeping with the principal's wife. Then Nixon himself slept with the principal's wife. And now, Pablo turned out to be impotent. Seen from that angle, Briana seemed rather pitiful, saddled with a husband who couldn't meet her needs and left to find other ways to take care of her needs herself. The thought softened Nixon's gaze, shading it with pity and a fierce wish to protect her. He touched her bruised cheek and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Moonlight poured through the window, thin and cool. At this distance, they could see each other's faces clearly. In that light, Briana's face was like a single lotus rising from a dark pond, slender and upright. The night breeze might sway her, but it couldn't make her bend. It only made her look stronger. "Mr. Walker," she said quietly, "life out here is tough. I know you came here unwillingly, but it's only for a year. After that, you'll go back to your big city, and I'll stay here with these kids. For this year, I'll take care of you. Please take care of me too. Even if, in the end, our year together is nothing but a dream that vanishes with the morning light, I won't complain." Briana had a bachelor's degree, and it showed; her words were more polished than Mckenzie Looske's ever were. She spoke this way only to Nixon. She believed that when two educated people spoke, they could put each other at ease. Put simply, she was asking for something steady and lasting, an arrangement that included both the body and the heart. Nixon was no child. He understood. In his most heated moments, he'd even fantasized about exactly this: an older, take-charge woman inviting him into a long, steady affair. Yet now that the moment was here, a strange lightheadedness swept over him. It felt unreal. He wasn't afraid-he just couldn't figure out what it was about him that made two women care so much at once. Was it only that one thing? If so, the thought left him strangely hollow. Then again, maybe that was for the best. In a year, he would leave this place for good. The people here and everything that had happened would be boxed up with the past, carried away in memory, seldom opened again. "Mr. Walker?" Briana waited for an answer. Anxiety chipped away at her composure. Had she said too much, too bluntly? From how he'd been that morning, he wasn't the shy or easily flustered type. Did he not want her? He'd just stopped her hands… The thought stung with disappointment. "Then… I should go. Sorry to bother you." She got up. She'd only taken a step when a strong pull drew her back. Her back pressed against Nixon's broad chest. His warmth enveloped her. She trembled, unable to help it. "Dr. Lyson, I'm sorry for what you've been through," he said. "I don't see it that way. When I graduated from college, I chose to come back to this village and be a doctor. I couldn't stop thinking about the kids. I want to give them the best I can and help them get out of the mountains." As she spoke, something unwavering lit her eyes. A calm smile touched her lips, as if she were describing something both simple and great. Looking at her like that, Nixon couldn't hold back any longer. He lowered his head and kissed her. When they parted, her blouse was somehow already unbuttoned. Her black bra cupped the full curve of her breasts, rising and falling with her breath. Mckenzie Looske had always carried a faint orchid scent. Briana's fragrance, though, defied any easy description. It wasn't floral, not anything he could name. It was clean, like the first breath you take when you open the door on a winter morning after a night of snow, cold and clear enough to snap you awake. Nixon's body had already responded to hers. Briana felt it. She reached down and undid his belt, her fingers moving quickly.

Chapter 9: A Fleeting Dream

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