by R. K. Lilley
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize for him. It’s not your fault. It’s all him. He’s a liar, a hypocrite, and an asshole. I can’t stand anything about him, and I know you think we’ll change our minds, but we won’t. We’re just done with him.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I felt guilty about their disdain for him, though I’d never done anything to actively court it. It just was. They’d seen too many things in their father that they couldn’t make peace with. I thought perhaps in time that might change, but I was starting to accept that it was out of my hands, either way. I thanked God every day that my boys were in my life and remained close to me, and I’d do anything in my power to keep it that way. What my ex-husband did or didn’t do to re-establish or maintain a relationship with his boys was his duty and his business, at this point.
“I promise to try to play nice with your new boyfriend,” Gus said, grudgingly.
I thought it counterproductive to correct him on the boyfriend thing at this stage in the game. “Thank you,” was what I said instead.
“Sorry if I was a jerk tonight. It’s just, I don’t know, it’s hard. You seeing some guy I don’t know is going to be an adjustment.”
“I know. I understand. And you did fine tonight. You tried your best. That’s all I’ve ever asked.”
He swallowed hard, his throat working with the motion. “Love you, Mom.”
I hugged him briefly and kissed his cheek.
“Love you, sweetie.”
I came back inside just in time to see Raf out.
“I think it went well,” I said.
“It could have gone much worse. Gus’ll just need time. You know how he is.”
I did. I knew him well enough to be encouraged by the fact that he’d shown up at all and been as well-behaved as he had.
“He said something odd to me,” I added, “that if your father found out I was seeing somebody, he’d freak.”
Raf grimaced, and it was like watching my own expression on someone else’s face. “He’s not wrong. Every time Dad calls either of us, the first thing he asks is if you’re seeing anybody. I honestly think he’s more interested in learning about that than he is in actually talking to us.”
I found it encouraging that either of them even took his calls, and I told him so, “At least you’re speaking to him. That’s something.”
He gave me a look, a seriously, Mom? look. “I only answer his calls to reiterate to him that he better not be bothering you.”
“Oh.”
“And if that’s why I’m picking up the phone, you can just imagine what Gus has to say to him.”
Nothing good, I knew.
“It’s not your burden, worrying about what we think of our father, but yeah, I think he’d freak if he knew you were seeing somebody.”
“And somebody like Heath.”
He sighed. “Yeah. The age thing . . . and Heath himself. He wouldn’t react well to any of it, but you can bet he won’t hear it from either of us.”
I hugged him, kissed his cheek, and said good night.
Heath was waiting for me, right at the front door, when I came back in.
“It went okay, right?” he asked. He said it like he was worried and that made my heart soften for him all the more. He might be rough around the edges, but I was starting to feel some genuine affection for those edges.
“I think it went brilliantly,” I reassured him.
“I learned something important tonight,” Heath said.
“That my boys are overprotective?”
“That’s true, but not what I was talking about. They’re attached to you, and who can blame them?”
I swear I was blushing. I wasn’t even sure why that one got to me. Likely it was the look on his face, and the affection in his normally affection-less voice.
“Flowers,” Heath continued. “I need to bring flowers when I come to see you.”
“You don’t have to. They learned that from my father who dotes on me to a ridiculous degree.”
“Not ridiculous. You should be doted on. By all of us. He sounds like a wise man.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure you two would like each other.”
“We’ll see. I’m hard to get used to, but I promise to be on my best behavior if I ever do meet him.”
That sounded promising, and I didn’t press the issue about him meeting my father or a future for us in general. Everything was moving fast enough as it was.
Heath had been a perfect gentleman for the duration of my sons’ visit.
He was sure to balance that out, however, by promptly tying me facedown to my bed and pulling my hair while he fucked my brains out.
It was a balance that I thought I could get used to.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
I woke up the next morning to another rather alarming development.
It was becoming a pattern.
A commotion in my house.
What the hell was it today?
Someone was at my front door. Someone loud. They were yelling.
Ah hell.
I knew that yell.
Fuck.
What the ever-loving fuck? Could I not get a break?
And what the hell was he doing at my house?
Once again I came out of my bedroom in only a thin robe having not a clue what to do with the sight in front of me.
The first thing I took in was an agitated Heath at my open front door wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a scowl.
And just outside, looking harried, outraged, like he was trying, and had tried, to charge into the house, was my ex-husband.
Eduard had always been a handsome man, and still was—dark eyes and black curly hair that set off his olive skin. He was tall and lean, but next to the bulky mountain that was Heath, he suddenly looked thin to me. Skinny. Had he lost weight, or was it just that the comparison left him lacking? I really didn’t know.
Eduard saw me and stilled. “What the fuck is this, Lourdes?” he called out, sounding outraged, like he’d caught me at something.
He’d always had a nerve. When we’d been young I’d called it pluck and found it charming.
That was a very long time ago.
I almost laughed.
Instead I shook my head at him. “What in the world are you doing here, Eduard?”
“What’s he doing here?” he shot back as though he had some right to question who should be at my house.
“What are you doing here?” I repeated.
“He spent the night?” Eduard cried out like he was honestly shocked.
“What gave it away?” Heath asked him dryly.
“What do you want, Eduard?” I asked him. “This is not a good time. If you have something to say to me, you need to call, not just show up at my house.”
“I can’t believe you! How long has this been going on?”
It was strange. The divorce had had opposite effects on us. The longer we were apart, the more indifferent I became to him and the more bitter he grew toward me.
It was a refreshing change from our marriage where I’d cared too much and he too little.
I looked at Heath, who was calm as could be, just watching me while he kept my ex easily out of the house. “Just shut the door on him,” I told him. “If he has something important to tell me, he can call and leave a message that I may or may not listen to.”
“I’m telling the boys about this!” Eduard shouted as the door started to close on him.
“They already know!” I shouted back.
“We all had dinner together last night,” Heath added and shut the door in his face.
“Does he show up here often?” Heath asked me, the doorbell ringing enthusiastically to punctuate his words.
“No. Hardly ever. Did he say what he wanted?”
“No. I think the sight of me changed his focus, but I’m pretty sure I can guess what he came here for.”
“What?”
“You. He wants you back.”
I couldn’t help it. I made a face. “God, I hope not. That’s never happening. Not in a million years.”
“Good. I’ll have a word with him sometime; make sure he gets the message loud and clear.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can handle him. He’s harmless. Just an annoyance these days. Honestly.”
He didn’t say another word about it, which should have worried me more, but I was distracted just then, as he took me back to bed.
We didn’t get a day in bed, but we did get a morning, so I couldn’t exactly complain.
Heath left for a few hours in the afternoon, for work, he said, but told me he’d be back in time for dinner.
I thought it was him at the door sometime later, and so was doubly surprised when I opened it to find a young blonde girl standing there.
“Is Heath here?” she asked me.
I was caught off guard, for obvious reasons. “Um, no, no he’s not. He stepped out for a bit. Can I help you?”
“Could I wait inside for him? I’m supposed to meet him here.”
I let her in. What else could I do?
I went back into the kitchen. I’d just been about to open a bottle of wine, so I offered her a glass.
“Oh, no, thank you. I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant, so I definitely shouldn’t.”
“Excuse me?” I asked her. I just didn’t know how to place her in my mind. Who was she, and why had she come here to find Heath?
“Also, I’m not actually old enough to drink,” she added.
That had me studying her. She was a young thing. She had white-blonde hair and was drop dead gorgeous. She looked like something you’d see in a Victoria’s Secret catalogue come to life wearing sweats and nerdy glasses.
She studied me right back.
“I’m Iris,” she said, breaking a long silence. “And you must be Lourdes. So nice to finally meet you.”
“Nice to meet you,” I mumbled back.
Iris beamed at me. “So you and Heath, huh?”
She sounded so happy about it that I found myself studying her face some more. And then it hit me. Of course. Aside from their different, striking eye colors, they even looked alike. “You’re his sister.”
She laughed. And laughed. I didn’t get the joke, but her laughter was contagious and so I found myself smiling.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “You are so much more observant than Dair. It took him forever to figure that out.”
I blinked at her. “Dair . . . Alasdair Masters? You know him?”
For that, she started studying me again, her eyes intense in a way that made me think I’d underestimated her. Greatly.
“Yes, I know him,” she said quietly. “He’s a friend of yours, right?”
“Well, yes, we’ve worked together a few times, and we’re friendly. How do you know him?”
She shook her head sharply. “Long, long story. How are things going with you and Heath?”
I didn’t know how to answer that.
And she didn’t seem to need an answer.
“I didn’t really come here to find Heath,” she said. “In fact, he’ll be upset when he finds me here, but I actually wanted to talk to you.”
Saying unexpected things clearly ran in the family. “Oh?” was the only response I could come up with for her.
“I just wanted to give you some background on him, on why he doesn’t let anyone get close. It’s not because he doesn’t care. He—he’d do anything for me, I know this, he’s proven it, but even me he won’t open up to. He can’t. It breaks my heart the things he’s been through. I can see the burdens he carries . . . I carry some of my own, but his, I’m sure you’ve noticed some of his issues, if you’ve spent any time with him.”
I just nodded that I had.
“He’s been hurt bad. Tortured. Well, I don’t have to tell you. You’ve undoubtedly seen all of the scarring. And he’s had to do some things that people just don’t come all the way back from. But his stint with the CIA is just one piece of the puzzle. The dysfunction runs deep in our family. We were raised as feral things. We come from a family of pathological liars. We’re packaged to sell, though. We learned to hide it. Learned to hide everything. We were taught to lie so consistently that it still comes more natural than the truth. It’s not malicious, the way we lie. It’s protective, if that makes any sense.”
“Protective of what?”
Her pretty mouth twisted. “I can’t say. I’m sorry for being so vague. And I’m telling you all of this because I know he’ll be just as vague. More so. I think he cares about you, and I just hope that, in spite of all of that and all of his other issues, you’ll give him a shot.”
I opened my mouth, to say what, I haven’t a clue, when the doorbell rang.
Iris cursed. “He figured it out faster than I thought he would.”
“Figured out what?”
“That I came here. You see, he left you earlier to look for me.”
“He told me he left for work.”
“That’s actually not a lie.”
I was more confused than ever. I moved to answer the door.
“Don’t tell Heath about the pregnancy thing I mentioned earlier,” she said quietly behind me. “He’d freak.”
No way would I ever be telling the volatile Heath that his too young to drink sister might be pregnant.
Not a chance in hell.
When I opened the door, Heath didn’t even address me, instead headed straight for his sister, who was hovering in the doorway to the kitchen.
“I’ve been out looking for you,” he barked at her. “I can’t believe you pulled this again, and for what?”
“I wanted to meet Lourdes.”
His hand went up to pinch the bridge of his nose, as though relieving pressure.
His other hand was clutching a bouquet of roses.
He’d brought me flowers.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” he asked, addressing Iris.
“No, Heath,” she said, clearly distressed. “No. Please. I’m sorry. No. No one followed me, I swear. Nothing’s been compromised here.”
He looked back and forth between the two of us. “She’s scared of me,” he told me. “My own sister is frightened of me.”
“Not of you,” she said, voice thick with tears. “For you. And I’m worried more than scared.”
“Mason is coming to pick you up now.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll go back and I won’t do this again, but promise me this didn’t ruin things for you.”
“How can I promise that?” His tone was biting. “It was bad enough that I couldn’t stop coming here. Now, well, you know what happens now.”
Iris was openly crying at this point. She gave me an imploring look. “I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t followed. I swear. I was so careful.”
I was baffled by it all, but I could tell something bad had just happened.
“What’s going on, Heath?” I asked him.
He shut his eyes tight, taking a deep breath. “I wish I could tell you. Iris needs to go.”
“She could stay for dinner,” I offered. I didn’t know her well at all, but it was distressing to me to see her crying like that. To watch her go from so joyful to so genuinely despairing. I wanted to help.
“She can’t,” he said dully. “I can’t now, either.”
“I’m sorry,” Iris said again, but I couldn’t tell which one of us she was talking to.
“Oh,” I said, wanting to do something batty like wring my hands I was so damned confused. “You aren’t staying for dinner, either?” I asked him. I thought for certain he was planning to come back for the night.
“Not now, I can’t. Excuse me. Mason’s here. I’m just going to walk Iris out.”
That’s when he handed me the flowers he’d brought me. I murmured a thank you.
I didn’t ask who Mason was or even walk them out. I just stared at the door, my mind racing, trying to make sense of their interacti
on. It was clear I was in the dark about whatever was going on.
I was still staring at the door when Heath came striding back in. He slammed it shut and came directly to me.
He set the flowers I was clutching on a table, pulled me into his chest, his arms like steel around me, offering hard comfort. For a moment, I felt like everything was going to be okay. He lulled me into thinking that, his lips tender at my temple.
And still comforting me, still giving me false hope with his strong body, he murmured, “I have to leave. Not for a little while, but for a very long time. We have only minutes left together.”
“How long is a very long time?” I murmured into his chest.
“I wish I knew.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to explain that scene back there with your sister to me.”
“I wish I could. If I had a choice, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t be leaving, I promise you that.”
For what it was worth, I believed him.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
And then he was gone, and I had no idea if I’d ever see him again.
The first day after he left time passed like it was rolling through tar.
The second day was worse.
The third the same.
There was no word. Not a note. Not a phone call. Nothing.
He was gone, had been gone for days, then weeks, but he’d left his mark in every single inch he’d occupied.
But even with that mark of his ever present, the man himself—gone.
I longed. For his touch. For just the sight of him. For the sound of his voice.
It was such a strange thing, longing. It felt so necessary. Like the very urge created the problem. Because somehow it felt so right.
All because you needed a thing you didn’t have.
Such a vicious cycle, longing.
And then, all because of him there was my reawakened sex drive.
It was the sweetest agony.
I found myself suddenly fixated on sex. So aware of my own body that I couldn’t concentrate on much else.
I was showing more skin, enjoying the attention. I worked hard to keep my figure, and I was proud to show it off and add thinking constantly about sex to that equation—I was like walking man catnip.
