Untimely You (26 page)

S
omething’s not right.

We’ve finished up the room and even managed to pack away most of my bedroom. It’s official. The house will be ready to go up on the market by this weekend. Together, Nees and I can move on.

So why is she on edge?

“I need a shower. My body is so sore,” she groans as she walks past me, shedding clothes along the way. My cock reacts, and I watch her nice ass until she disappears. “You coming?”

“Yep,” I holler.

She starts the shower and soon I can hear her curse as she drops the shampoo bottle. My gaze flits over to her purse. I’m dying to know what she put in there. Neesy isn’t a thief, so it has me incredibly curious. Knowing her, she found a book of Chrissy’s she wanted. All she had to do was ask and it would be hers. She knows this.

I peel off my shirt and kick out of my shoes and jeans. I’m still in my boxers when I decide I’ll have a quick peek. When I open her bag, I do smile. It was a book. But my smile vanishes the moment I realize it’s a journal. Written in a female’s neat handwriting.

And not just any female. Certainly not Neesy’s which I’ve come to recognize since seeing her. I know this handwriting from my past. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen it but I will remember it until the day I die. Those fancy flourishes used to be written on love notes, honey-do lists, and Valentine’s Day cards. My dead wife.

Why the fuck would she steal Chrissy’s journal?

Rage, the old familiar emotion, makes an appearance. With a frustrated growl, I open the book and start reading. At first, I’m angry with Neesy for taking it. Then, I’m pissed at myself for being greedy to read Chrissy’s most private thoughts. But as I read, I become enraged.

Black.

Black.

Black.

There have been times since Chrissy died that I’ve completely lost my mind. One of those times, I destroyed her room. Another time, I drank until I couldn’t move. This time, I’m dying to lash out at
someone
.

It’s not Neesy’s fault.

Clutching the book, I stalk out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. I locate a bottle of Jack from the cabinet and down several gulps. The fire in my throat does nothing to match the raging blaze in my betrayed heart. Page after page. Drink after drink. I read the last few months before the accident. By the end of it, Neesy is done drying her hair. I’m shitfaced and furious.

“You never came to shower…” She trails off when she sees me.

My eyes flit over to hers and I growl. “You were going to hide this from me?” I throw the book—not at her—but in her direction and she flinches. Her mouth parts open but she has no words.

“Were you protecting her?” I hiss.

Tears well in her eyes and I become angrier. “Don’t cry your way out of this, Neesy!”

She stumbles backward but regains her footing. “Adrian, listen—”

Stalking her, I seethe, “SHE FUCKED MY NEIGHBOR!”

If the bastard still lived next door, I’d go over there right now and slit his goddamned throat.

“Calm down, Adrian,” she says in a soothing tone.

“I CAN’T FUCKNG CALM DOWN!”

And this is one of those black moments. The edge of my vision darkens. Destruction is my goal. Rage is my fuel. Anger is my sustenance.

I’m vaguely aware of a slamming door in the back of the house. She ran from me. Fucking ran from me!

“CRAZY!”

I can hear her crying in my bedroom, and it only infuriates me more. She was going to hide this vile shit from me. So I’d live worshipping my cunt, whore dead wife!

“OPEN THE GODDAMNED DOOR!”

“C-Calm down,” she begs.

I growl and it sounds like a cat from hell. “Open it or I’ll kick it down!”

“No!”

“Move away from the door or you’ll get hurt!”

When her crying sounds seem to soften, I raise my foot and slam it against the door. It splinters the hinges. Then, I’m inside. She cowers on the bed, her towel wrapped around her. Around our baby.

“Are you trying to defend her?”

“No!”

“Are all bitches the same? They need an asshole in bed, huh?”

“No!”

“You want to be fucked and whipped and bitten like a whore?”

“Adrian please…”

And then I’m on her. Pinning her to the bed. Biting at her neck. At her ears. At her huge tits. When I rip her towel open, she sobs.

The room spins and I almost think I may be sick.
Fuckin’ Jack Daniels.

“Stay still,” I complain.

Her hand comes loose from my grip and she slaps at me. She’s pissed and so am I. Grabbing her wrist, I press it back down onto the bed. Her body squirms beneath me. I want to fuck her so badly. To show her it’s not better when the man is a goddamned selfish prick in bed. That she would prefer my gentle touches and kisses and the way I make her come all over my tongue.

But my dick is limp.

And my heart is hollow.

I semi-collapse over her, burying my nose in her hair.

She cries while everything goes black.

I wake with my hard cock pressed into her thigh and a massive headache. The thundering in my head makes me want to find a shotgun and blow the fucking thing off. My fingers slide over her bare tit under the blanket, caressing her soft flesh. This headache needs to stop so I can make love to her.

When I suckle her neck, her body tenses. But then her fingers are in my hair, stroking and massaging and soothing me. I’m trying to recall what the fuck happened last night when someone clears their throat in the room.

A male voice.

Strong.

Angry

I jerk up in bed, ignoring the way the room spins, and glare at Eric sitting in the chair across from the bed.

“Wh-What the fuck are you doing here?” I demand.

Neesy tugs the sheet to her chin, hiding her perfect tits from my best friend. “I texted him.”

“When?”

“When you were beating the door down. He showed up not long after you passed out,” she says softly. Her hand slips out from under the blanket and her fingertips dance down my spine.

“Did I hurt you?” I hiss out in horror.

Eric stands, his jaw clenching, and stalks over to the bed. “I love you, brother, but you better be glad your ass was passed out last night. Because I was going to kick it.”

I scowl at him. “So you watched us sleep all night instead?”

“I had to make sure you didn’t hurt, Nees.”

She sits up on her elbows, and I hate the way I can see her nipples through the sheet. If I can see them, so can he. “He and I talked about the notebook. I told him about you getting drunk and upset. We just want to help you.”

My head aches and I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Did. I. Hurt. You?”

She shakes her head. “My heart hurt
for
you.”

Eric inspects the door and then glares at me. “I’m going to run up to Starbucks. When I get back, we’re discussing this over coffee.”

When he leaves, I drag my gaze to my crazy, beautiful woman. Bruises darken her flesh on her neck and chest. Bruises I gave her.

“What have I done?” My whispered words are said in horror.

She swallows and smiles. Gorgeous, forgiving Neesy. A bright ray of sunshine in this bleak fucking world. “I’m okay,” she says.

Those words.

Those goddamned words.

She guts me with them.

“Oh God,” I groan and start kissing all the dark parts of her skin. “I love you. What have I done?”

Her fingernails are scratching my scalp. Soothing ME. Holding ME. Comforting ME. Goddammit! This is all wrong.

“No, baby, please. I’m so sorry.” I hate crying but here I am fighting tears. I can’t lose Nees and our daughter. Not over this.

But for some odd reason, she’s not going anywhere. Her fingers are digging into my head and pulling me toward her. She’s kissing my mouth. Warm fingers are gripping my hard cock. Urging me into her warm, receptive body. This is all wrong. But so right.

“I—I—”

She silences me with a kiss. I fuck all of the hate and grief and self-loathing out of my body and into hers. Her body begs for it. Sucks it all from me like it’s deadly poison from a venomous sting.

And before I know it, we’re coming. Her fingernails are stabbing me—punishing me for hurting her last night. She cries out—a warrior’s cry. My groans are ones of relief. Of letting go. Moving the fuck on.

With this woman.

My love.

After my dick softens inside of her, I slide out. My palm goes to her belly as it always does, and I kiss the side of her tit. We don’t speak but the air is charged with apologies and forgiveness. This is our way. It’s always been our way. Our bodies follow our heart’s desires. We’re just marionettes in their little love show.

Something thumps at my palm.

I jerk my gaze to hers and she smiles.

“Someone’s up early this morning. Did you feel her move?”

My heart is galloping away from me. Hurt and hate and darkness are shoved to the side as pure joy fills me up.

“That was her?”

At the sound of my voice, I feel the thump again. A daughter. Soon, this old man will be bouncing another beautiful child on his knee. Except this go around, I hope the baby looks like my beautiful Bernice Noble instead of my ugly mug. Poor Damien.

“I love her,” I blurt out.

Neesy chuckles and rubs her hand over mine. “I love her too.”

After we’re showered and dressed, we walk hand in hand through the empty house. The barstools still remain so Nees and I each take a seat. Eric paces around the kitchen, only pausing to sip his coffee before he’s back on his mission to wear a hole to the concrete slab under the house.

I slip my palm over Neesy’s thigh and shoot her another apologetic smile. She’s beautiful this morning but she looks exhausted. I did this to her.

“Look,” I say to both of them, “I’m sorry. The notebook…” I swallow down the emotion. Last night I was enraged. Today, without the Jack Daniels fueling me on, I’m heartbroken. Chrissy was my wife. I thought she loved me. Even in those last moments of our crumbling marriage. And then I discover she’d moved on.

“Does your therapist know about these rages?” Eric asks pointedly, a slight growl to his voice. His protectiveness over Neesy is heartwarming. I know he’d do anything to keep my woman safe. Even if that meant doing something to keep me from her. He truly is a brother to me.

“No. We mostly talk about my guilt over what I’ve done to Chrissy.”

His face softens and he sips his coffee. “I think you need to bring the notebook with you to your next session. Your therapist needs to know about it and how it affected you. If you need anger management sessions, so be it. Whatever it is, you need to get yourself some help because we can’t keep doing this. Your girlfriend is pregnant. This type of stress isn’t good for her or the baby.”

Clenching my teeth, I nod and risk a shame-filled glance her way. I’m met with a brilliant smile. Like always with that beautiful clumsy girl.

“And no more alcohol…” she says in a whisper. “Please.”

I’ll throw it all out and never touch a drop again. Anything for her. “Of course, baby.”

Her smile brightens even more. “Thank you.”

Eric lets out a sigh, and I meet his frustrated gaze. “Now that we have that out of the way,” he says with a groan. “I’m sorry you had to read that, man. That was fucked up.”

Anger flares in my chest, but when Neesy leans in and pecks my cheek, it fizzles out like a hard rain on a lit match. “Yeah, it was beyond fucked up. If I knew where to find Carson, I’d kick his ass into next week.”

Eric chuckles. “Nees and I would hold him down for you.”

We all share a laugh, but when it grows silent, I regard both of them with a serious expression. “This stays between us and my therapist. Damien remembers his mom in a good way. I don’t want to tarnish his memories with her infidelity. Hell, I don’t even want to remember her that way. But it’s done on my end. Yet, as his father, I can protect him from this.”

They both nod in agreement.

“I don’t know about you, man,” I say to Eric as I stand. “But Crazy and Loony Lucy here are probably starved. I’m going to feed my girls a big breakfast. You coming with?”

Neesy’s pretty face lights up, and a slow grin spreads across her face. “I guess you’re warming up to the name Lucy. Damien will love that.”