by Whitley Cox
Adam set up the chairs around the card table. “My ex-wife went through something similar after our son was stillborn.”
Mitch’s bottom lip dropped open. “Fuck, man. I’m really sorry.”
“Thanks. Yeah, she, uh … she pushed me away. Pushed everybody away, including Mira. But her parents found this great retreat in Colorado. It’s a facility that specializes in grief and depression, suicide and eating disorders. My wife went there for eight weeks, and she says it really helped her.”
“Did she come back ready to work on your marriage?”
“Well, no. She came back and served me with divorce papers.”
“The counseling didn’t work?”
Adam took a sip of his beer. “It helped her. It didn’t help us. She still has a long road ahead of her, and she’s doing a great job. But it’s a process. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t lost three other babies before we lost Anthony. Losing him sent her over the deep end.”
“Fuck, I bet.”
“I can get you the name and information for the retreat in Colorado if you’re interested? Might help. Or the name of Paige’s therapist here in Seattle.”
The noise of someone on the phone down the hall had both men turning. Liam emerged, his earpiece glued to the side of his head. “Well, what the heck am I supposed to do with them? Just because I’m her lawyer doesn’t mean I have to find a home for these things … A bird? Who the hell wants a bird? A dog, I can probably do. Maybe even a cat. But who the fuck wants a bird?”
Mitch and Adam exchanged looks across the green felt card table. What on earth was Liam talking about?
Liam growled into the phone, his face pinched in a tight scowl. “Give me forty-eight hours, okay? It’s the fucking weekend, and it’s poker night. I’ll find homes for them by Monday, got it? Fuck.” He ran his hand through his hair before dragging it over his face. “Buy some seed and kibble and go over three times a day to feed them and let the dog out. The estate will pay you. I will deal with it by Monday!” Then he hung up.
“What the hell was that?” Adam asked, wandering back into the kitchen to start dumping potato chips and pretzels into bowls.
“A client of mine just died. An older woman. I’m the executor of her will, and her neighbor and pretty much only friend is trying to get me to deal with her bird and dog.” He cracked his neck side to side. “Why did I agree to be her executor? I’m a fucking divorce attorney. I don’t do estates.”
“Because you’re a good guy and a bleeding heart?” Adam offered with a chuckle. Liam was a tremendous guy, once you got past the cynical anti-love exterior.
“And she’s a fucking friend of a friend of the family,” Liam grumbled.
“Whose bird and dog?” Mitch asked.
“My dead client’s.”
Adam returned with full bowls and placed them on the table. “As in find homes for them?”
Liam nodded. “Yeah. You guys want a parakeet that can say over two hundred words?”
Both men shook their heads.
“What about a nine-year-old Pyrenees cross?”
Adam scratched his chin. “A what?”
“A Pyrenees cross.”
“What’s it crossed with?”
Liam made a dismissive face. “I dunno, like Lab or something. I’m not a fucking vet.” Adam handed him a beer from the fridge. Liam thanked him with a nod and let out a sigh as he took a sip, his irritation slowly dissipating. “She’s actually a really beautiful old dog. Relaxed, friendly. I’ve never seen her do more than just lay at her master’s feet. I’d consider taking her if I didn’t work so bloody much or hate dog hair all over my shit.” He picked a piece of lint off his shoulder, and instead of flicking it to the ground like a normal person, he walked into the kitchen and put it in the garbage.
Yeah, Liam was a bit of a neat freak. Just a tad.
“What’s the dog look like?” Adam asked. He couldn’t really put a finger on where his thoughts were going, but for some reason he wanted to know more.
Liam’s finger flew across his phone for half a minute before he handed it to Adam. “Cute, right?”
He was right. She was super cute. Blonde, with long hair, sweet eyes and a kind face.
“She good with kids?”
Liam lifted a shoulder. “I dunno. Probably. My client’s grandchildren live in Australia, so she never really saw them much.”
“Are her kids coming to deal with the estate?” Mitch asked.
“Nope. They came over for Christmas, and in their minds, they said their goodbyes then.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Suddenly Mitch looked like he was ready to explode. “Their mother died and they figure they said their goodbyes in December? Did she have anyone?”
Liam shook his head. “Nobody but her bird and her dog. She was devoted to them like they were her own children. I’d hate to see them go to a shelter.”
“Ah, fuck!” Mitch raked his hand through his hair.
Adam eyed him suspiciously.
“Gimme the bird. I think I can find it a good home.”
Liam’s dark brown eyes flared, his beer bottle paused in midair. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. I’ll give it to my mom. She needs something to care for. I think a dog would be too much. But I think she could handle a bird.”
Liam let out an exhale and slapped his hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “Dude, you are saving me. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We don’t know if this plan is going to work.”
The sound of the other men arriving at the front door had them all turning their attention toward the foyer.
“I should also mention,” Liam said as he passed by Mitch on his way to the bar, his dark eyes glimmering once again with mischief, “my client’s husband who died a few years ago, was a big baseball fan. Swore like a fucking sailor. A lot of what the bird says reflects that. So, good luck!”
Mitch’s face went white as sheet. “You played me.”
Adam burst out laughing.
Liam was all grins now. “Like a fucking fiddle.”
“Is it too late to back out? I’m not sure my mother will be able to handle a bird with no filter.”
Liam wandered behind the bar and started to pour himself a scotch. “No takesies backsies.”
Having decided to just stop at two beers and give himself time to sober up, Adam chose to drive, rather than take a cab or Uber like a lot of the other guys. Mitch had headed home before him, muttering things about needing to go buy birdseed and wondering what kind of nightmare he’d just committed himself to, all to the cackling laughter of Liam. Adam saw his car in the driveway when he pulled up to the house.
It was close to midnight. He really hoped Violet was still up.
Exhausted, because she had hardly slept at all since Tuesday night, Violet flicked through the DVR, her eyes burning from how tired they were from being open. But no matter how much she tried to sleep, how much she willed herself to stop thinking, stop dwelling, she could not shut off her brain. Between the fiasco with her mother and the disturbing mail, she was a bundle of tightly wound nerves just one twist away from snapping. She’d also eaten way too many cheesecake bites, and imbibed on far too much wine, over the past week. The constant sugar high wasn’t helping either. She felt like she was on speed, jittery and jumpy. The wild butterflies in her belly were tame in comparison to Violet herself. Mitch had placed his hand on her shoulder the other day, and she’d nearly jumped clean through the roof.
She just couldn’t quiet the thoughts.
Was her mother right?
Who was the letter from?
Was she in danger?
Was someone after her?
Was it one of Jean-Phillipe’s many—and there were many—adoring fans who was still struggling with his death and somehow blamed her?
She just had so many questions and no way to answer them.
Mitch had come home grumbling about agreeing to take a bird for L
iam. He had a beer, ate some leftover spaghetti from dinner the night before and then retired to bed, a frown on his face and beer on his breath as he kissed the top of her head goodnight.
With nothing on the DVR to spark her interest, she was about to turn off the television and attempt another night of sleep, which would undoubtedly be another night of tossing and turning, when her phone buzzed.
It was Adam.
It wasn’t a text.
He was calling.
She couldn’t keep avoiding him. She taught his daughter dance. Eventually she would have to see him. She would have to face him.
She slid her finger across the screen. “Hello?”
“I’m outside in your driveway. Please come talk to me. Once you hear what I have to say, you can tell me to fuck off and I’ll leave you alone. But please just come talk to me.”
“Adam.” She shut her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the couch. “It’s late.”
“Did I wake you?”
“No.”
“So then it’s not that late. Besides, last Saturday you had no problem coming to see me this late. And you left a hell of a lot later. I think it was starting to get light out by the time you left.”
Warmth spooled through her at the memory of last weekend. He’d made her body hum. Made her entire being come back to life.
“I will keep my hands to myself. I just want to talk.”
She was already up and off the couch as he continued to negotiate. She slipped into her flip-flops and opened the front door, taking great care to shut it quietly.
She rapped on his car window and had to stifle a laugh as he nearly leapt out of his skin.
He hit the button to bring his window down. “Trying to give me a heart attack, woman? Get in.”
The window closed, and she heard the doors unlock. She was in his SUV in seconds.
Damn, he smelled good.
“Talk to me,” he said, his hands twitching to reach for hers but then pulling back. “What happened between Saturday night and Tuesday night? Mitch told me a bit, but I want to hear it from you.”
His blue eyes pleaded with her to help him understand, to not let her mother’s words win. Mitch told her after Tuesday that he filled Adam in. She was upset at first but then grateful that she didn’t have to. Only now she did—great!
She glanced out the window into the front yard. She’d taken great care when they moved in to plant lots of bulbs that would flower and produce all spring and summer. Digging in the dirt had been therapeutic. She was planting the seeds in the hopes of growth—a rebirth, if you will. Hopeful for the blossoming of a new season, in a new home, where hopefully a new Violet could enjoy a bouquet on her kitchen table each week.
“It was just pointed out to me that I’m moving on very quickly,” she finally said, not bothering to turn back to look at him. It was easier chatting with the tulips outside. “That maybe I should take a step back and focus on the business and leave my personal life for later.”
“That’s not how Mitch said it went. He said your mother compared Jean-Phillipe to the family dog. Compared me to one too, I guess.”
She turned to face him. “She’s never been the most subtle person.”
“Apparently not. Do you agree with her?”
She slumped in her seat. She could practically hear Madame Rousseau scolding her for such a horrid posture. An abomination to art of the dance.
Head up, shoulders back, breasts forward.
Not that she had very much to push forward.
But Madame Rousseau wasn’t in the vehicle, so she’d sit however she damn well wanted to.
“Do you agree with her?” Adam repeated.
“No, I don’t. At least not that you or Jean-Phillipe are … were dogs. But maybe she’s right that I’m moving on too soon. Maybe I’m trying to force something that isn’t ready to happen.”
He reached for her hand. God, it felt good to feel his long, warm fingers wrapped around hers. “Is that what you truly believe? That we’re forcing the attraction that we have? The connection? Because to me it feels like the most natural thing in the world. The way you fit in my arms as we dance around the room. The way I fit inside you … ”
A shiver raced the length of her spine, making her nipples pebble. Heat pooled elsewhere, and she squeezed her thighs together. He had fit inside her perfectly. She fought the urge to shut her eyes and relive the memories.
“You believe it too, Vi. I can tell by the way you’re reacting right now. You feel the pull, the attraction. It’s not forced. If anything, we’re being pushed together by forces unknown, unable to stay away from each other. Like magnets.” His other hand cupped the side of her head, and he gently turned her to face him. “If you truly believe that we’re forcing what we have, what we feel, then I will leave you alone. But if even a small part of you wants this, wants to explore what we have, dance together and see if it’s more than just two people who love to dance with each other and have wild sex in front of a bunch of mirrors—”
She laughed. His fingers around the back of her head began to thread their way into her hair and knead her scalp. She wanted to close her eyes and lean into his touch.
“Then please, give us a shot.”
She shoved down the riot of emotions inside her that clamored for attention and finally let her eyes close and her cheek tilt into his big, warm palm. Her brain was telling her it was too soon, but her heart was telling her that it was open and wanted the possibility of love again.
“It this a yes?” he asked, leaning over the center console to be closer to her. “Are you going to give us a shot? Are we going to dance together?” Hope filled his voice, which, in turn, filled her heart.
She opened her eyes to look at him and nodded. “We can.”
He lowered his head and plundered her mouth with his. Open, wet heat she could willingly drown in. His kisses were hard and hungry, and she responded with an aching need of her own.
A little whimper trembled at the back of her throat when he pulled away, abruptly ending the kiss but staying close enough that their breaths mingled, his forehead pressed against hers. She put her hand on his chest and felt the accelerated beat of his heart in tandem with hers. The desire, fostered by how good it felt to be with him, warmed her from the inside out, chasing away any hints of reluctance or unsureness.
“I don’t want to push, Vi. I don’t. But I can’t stay away from you. And I don’t think you want to stay away from me either. Wouldn’t he want you to be happy? To find joy in life again? To find love in life again?”
Hot tears pricked the back of her eyes. She did want to love again. Wanted to feel whole again. Jean-Phillipe had never once made her feel like he would want her to become a miserable old woman with nobody to love besides a house full of cats. And if the roles were reversed, she would want him to move on, find someone who made him feel whole again, made him feel loved and find joy in the world.
With her hand still on his chest, she pushed him away and back against his seat. Confusion and worry filled his eyes. But she smiled coyly and followed him, climbing over the center console, all five-foot-ten inches of her, straddling his lap.
He reached beneath the seat and slid it all the way back, giving them more room between her back and the steering wheel. At that moment, she was grateful he drove a big SUV and not some petite sports car or something small like her Fiat. It was still cramped, but it would work for what she had in mind.
His hands settled on her hips, and his eyelids fell to half-mast. “I didn’t come here for this,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard in his throat. “I came here to talk. We don’t have to do anything. I really don’t want to push.” The hard-on in his shorts said otherwise.
She wedged her hands between them and unzipped his cargo shorts. She was in pajama shorts that could easily be pushed to the side. “I’ve felt like shit since Tuesday,” she said, pressing her lips to his neck. “Make me feel good.”
Growling, he
grabbed her ponytail and pulled out the elastic hair band, letting her hair tumble down around her shoulders. Then he took control, just like he always did, fishing his cock out of his shorts. He pushed her pajama shorts and panties to the side and was inside her in seconds. Proving to her once again just how perfectly they fit together.
16
“Who’s this?” Violet asked Sunday afternoon as Mira came loping up the pathway, Adam and a beautiful blonde dog hot on her heels.
“This is Tulip!” Mira cheered.
Violet, a dog lover for as long as she could remember, fell to her knees and thrust her hands behind the dog’s soft, fluffy ears, scratching. “Hello, gorgeous,” she cooed. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?”
Tulip’s silky tail began to wag, which set her whole body to a wobble. Her mouth broke into a giant dog smile with a big pink tongue lolling out the side.
“She’s beautiful,” Violet said, having to shield her eyes from the sun as she glanced up at Adam. “Whose is she?”
Adam’s face twisted into a bizarre smile and he lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Yours if you want?”
Violet stood up, her brows pinched in confusion. “What?”
“Just hear me out. Liam’s client passed away. She had this dog, Tulip, and a bird, Rhodo.”
“Wait, is that the bird Mitch is going to give to my mother?”
Adam nodded. “Yes. The potty-mouthed bird your mother should be receiving by tomorrow.”
Her eyes went wide. “Potty-mouthed bird?”
Adam shook his head, his smile kind but dismissive. “Off topic. But yes. But Tulip here”—he bent down and pet the dog, scratching behind her until the dog sat down on her behind, looked up at him lovingly and began to pant—“she doesn’t have a potty-mouth at all. She does however, need a good home. She’s lost the love of her life and needs a new person to take care of and take care of her.”
