Pushing the Boundaries (Picking up the Pieces #3) (9 page)

Son of a bitch. Maybe Mickey was right—not that I’d ever willingly admit that to her. But by the expression on Lizzy’s reddening face and the way she bellowed the question, I was starting to second-guess my genius grand gesture.

“What the fuck is that, Trevor?!” She was doing that scary, high-pitched voice again, and I’m man enough to admit it, I was starting to get a little scared.

“It’s a tattoo,” I said, stating the obvious. It took all of one second to realize that was a mistake.

“AH, shit! Damn! Mother of fuck!” I yelled. My ass stung like a motherfucker where she slapped me as hard as she could…right across the top of the brand new tattoo.

“Why in the world did you think it would be a good idea to tattoo
my
name on
your
ass?!”

“Because you’re my wife?” I didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but seriously, she was starting to scare the shit out of me. Yeah, I’d heard the saying that redheads were temperamental, but that was an understatement if I’d ever heard one. My girl was downright volatile when she was pissed.

“WE’RE GETTING AN ANNULMENT!” She yelled at the top of her lungs, and I instantly became worried that the vein bulging in her forehead was about to pop. But my momentary concern for her wellbeing was instantly overshadowed by my irritation at her bringing up the annulment a-
fucking-
gain.

“What the hell’s so bad about being married to me, Lizzy? Seriously, we know each other better than anyone else on earth. We’ve been best friends since we met, we can practically read each other’s mind. For Christ’s sake, this could work if you’d let it!”

I watched as the hurricane swirled behind her green eyes. Lizzy and I never really fought, but when she was being stubborn about something, there was no swaying her. I watched as she dug her heels in, refusing to budge.

“And how do you figure that, Trev? Because being married means no more sleeping around with random town skanks. You really think that’s something you can pull off?” she asked with a sarcastic laugh.

The accusation stung like a bitch. It felt like I’d just been jabbed in the chest with a red-hot poker. She
still
looked at me that way, even after all this time. And I felt a crushing weight settle on heart.

“When was the last time you saw me with some chick, Liz, huh? When was the last goddamned time you saw me pick someone up just so I could take ‘em home and fuck ‘em? Answer that!”

She hesitated, fidgeting from foot to foot with her eyes trained on the ground. She couldn’t think of anything. That was when I knew I had her. But just as quickly as she’d hesitated, her stubbornness reared its ugly head.

“You don’t do commitment, Trevor. You know that as well as I do. You fuck and bail; it’s what you do best. For God’s sake, it’s why you moved to Cloverleaf in the first place!”

Direct. Fucking. Hit. I felt like the air was being squeezed from my lungs. “So that’s how you see me, huh? You really think I’m not capable of fucking a woman more than once, let alone sticking around for the long haul?”

She looked like she regretted saying that, but she was too goddamn prideful to apologize. She tipped her chin up and hugged herself tighter. “There’s no proof to the contrary, Trev.” Her words were cold, but her voice trembled as she spoke.

Everything inside me deflated as I asked, “If that’s what you really think of me then why were you so set on us having sex?”

She averted her eyes and I immediately knew the answer without her having to say a word. “Wow,” I laughed harshly. “You really think I’m an asshole, don’t you? You’re so fucking desperate to get out of being married to me that you’d fuck me thinking it’d be your ticket out.” I couldn’t stop the cynical laughter that bubbled up from my chest, but there was no humor whatsoever. It actually hurt to stand there looking at her just then.

“Trevor—” It was like she could see how much pain I was in. The pity in her eyes killed. I held my hand up to stop her as she took a step toward me.

I opened my mouth to spit some cutting comment at her but the words just wouldn’t come. I was horny–my dick was throbbing it was so hard–and I couldn’t get that damn pain in my chest to go away. Right then I didn’t want to say something insulting. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there. I needed to get my head on straight.

I tucked my hard-on back in my pants and zipped them up. Bending down, I picked my shirt off the floor and jerked it back over my head then stomped out of the room, slamming the bedroom door behind me. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.

So I headed for the only place I knew I could blow off steam.

I was
such
a bitch!

I’d never felt worse in my life than I did when Trevor walked out the door looking like someone had just kicked his puppy. No, it was even worse than that. And I was the one who put that look on his face. I hated myself for it.

I’d stayed up half the night, pacing the house, just waiting for him to come home. It wasn’t lost on me that since he’d moved in, this was the first time I was well and truly anxious for him to return. I wasn’t even sure when I’d decided that this
was
Trevor’s home; it just felt natural to think that way.

Where’s Trevor? Oh, he’s at home.

When will Trevor get back? He’ll be home soon.

It felt right. And now, because I was a raging hormonal mess that was too damn stubborn for my own good, he was out somewhere doing God knew what and all I wanted was for him to come back to me.

Muffled voices coming from my porch jerked me out of my internal ass-kicking. I’d barely made it to the front door before it was shoved open. Brett and Luke pushed through the front door with a stumbling, disoriented Trevor draped over each of them.

“What happened?” I asked, rushing to them.

“There’s my wife,” Trevor slurred. The minute he opened his mouth I could smell the whiskey on his breath. He was three sheets to the wind. Trevor drank occasionally, mainly in social settings, and there had been times I’d seen him rocking a slight buzz, but I’d never seen him like this. Trevor didn’t get piss-face drunk; it just wasn’t in his character.

“Got a call from the bartender down at Colt’s, said he needed to be picked up before he got locked up for public intoxication. He’d just started singing along to the jukebox when we got there,” Luke told me. Oh, that was bad. Savannah was always known as the one with the horrible singing voice in our group of friends. That was, until one night of some very regrettable karaoke. Bad doesn’t even begin to describe Trevor’s singing voice. I could have sworn every dog within a three-mile radius was howling its ass off that night.

“Shit, that’s not good,” I muttered, twisting my hands together in front of me as Luke and Brett half-walked half-dragged Trevor to the couch. Once he collapsed, I went to work pulling off his boots and socks before covering him up with the blanket draped over the back of the couch. He was already passed out, snoring like a power tool before his head even hit the pillow.

“Did he say anything to y’all?” I asked nervously as I looked over at my friends, just waiting for them to get all judgy on me for being so hateful to Trevor.

“He wasn’t really in any condition to talk when we picked him up. He could barely garble out the words he was singing correctly,” Brett answered.

“Okay, well, thank you for bringing him home.” My heart broke when I turned back to the man on the couch. I hated that I was to blame for the state he was in.

“Lizzy,” Luke spoke, interrupting my thoughts. “Has he ever told you about his family?”

That threw me. I wasn’t quite sure where Luke was going with that, but he was the only other person in Cloverleaf who knew Trevor like I did. Hell, Luke knew him
better
than I did. They’d become best friends when they served together, and that friendship had stayed intact all these years later.

“Uh, no. Not really. I mean, I’ve gotten the impression that he and his dad aren’t close, but he’s never really talked about them. Why?”

“‘Not close’ is a definite understatement. The man is a Grade-A bastard. He’s thrived on making Trevor’s life a living hell.” He stopped there and didn’t continue.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, anxious for more insight into Trevor’s life even though it kind of felt like a personal betrayal to him at the same time. Those were things I should hear from Trevor himself, if or when he ever decided to tell me.

“Because the last time he got like this, it was his old man’s fault.”

“But I’m pretty sure he hasn’t even talked to his dad.”

“I know,” Luke said quietly. “What I’m saying is that he only lets certain people in his life close enough to affect him this way.” Luke’s penetrating gaze bore right through me, sending a chill down my spine. “Important people.” He wasn’t meaning his words to sound harsh, but it was obvious he felt he needed to get his point across.

And he had.

“I’ll take care of him,” I promised softly, giving him a firm nod. I needed Luke to know that his friend was safe with me. I’d hurt him once, and in doing so, disappointed myself. I’d strive to never do that ever again.

Luke gave me a chin lift, understanding shining in his eyes. After exchanging hugs with both of them, I walked them out and locked up after them. When I returned to the living room to check on Trevor, he’d managed to kick the blanket off and had one leg thrown off the couch. Thinking he’d get uncomfortable in that position, I leaned down to lift his leg back up and lay the blanket back over his body so he didn’t get cold.

“Mmm,” he grumbled, muttering something unintelligible in his drunken sleep. Before I could stand up straight, he grabbed hold of me and pulled me down on top of him, trapping me in the strength of his arms.

“Trevor,” I whispered as I tried to push off his chest. He was just too strong. “Trevor, honey, you need to get some sleep,” I coaxed, finally breaking his hold from around me.

He mumbled some more as he twisted around on the couch until he was lying on his stomach.

“Not good enough for anybody,” he muttered quietly, still mostly asleep and completely drunk. But his words were like a knife to my heart. He didn’t think he was good enough. If what Luke said was true, Trevor’s father probably fed him that shit all his life. And tonight, I’d reaffirmed that belief.

I spent the rest of the night lying in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, berating myself for being such a heartless bitch. Sleep didn’t come until just before dawn. And by the time I’d started dozing, I’d resolved myself to make things right between Trevor and me. He deserved that. He deserved to know that he
was
good enough. Hell, he was
more
than good enough. He was more than most people deserved. And after last night, that list included me.

I woke the next morning with an
oof
when something heavy landed on my chest, nearly knocking the wind out of me.

“Dear Lord, Mr. Bojangles,” I groaned, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

He meowed lazily and stared at me, waiting for me to get my ass up and get him some breakfast.

“Trevor was right, you
are
fat,” I grumbled.

I swear, if the cat could have talked he would’ve told me to go fuck myself.