Another Round

by Belaire, Nikki

  My cock twitches in the confines of my pants like a damn teenager when she slides her hand around my waist. Resting her palm on my stomach and her cheek on my back.

  “Thank you.”

  So much gratitude for so little effort. So much fucking reaction from so simple of a touch. So much will power so I don’t caress her in return. I focus on the dark-haired lady tapping her long burgundy fingernail on the screen to enter our order. Grateful for the counter between us so she can’t see me shifting my position from the pressure straining my jeans. “I just want you to have a good time.”

  “I am.”

  “Me too.”

  Performing math calculations in my head has never been so difficult. I finally manage to pay the woman and collect Evie’s drink and our numbered card to slide in the gray metal stand at the table she selects on the patio. The strains of a harmonica accompany us as we sit down. Pretty good cover of Blues Traveler for a group that’s supposed to be just background entertainment.

  “They even let you cut down your own Christmas tree here.” She looks up from the flyer taped to the blue laminate. Her exquisite face glowing and gorgeous from the image of a smiling family lugging their spruce through the snow. “I’ve got to show this to my mom. She’d love doing that.”

  Christmas. She’ll be gone for months by then. I’ll be alone again. I already miss her, and she’s sitting inches from me.

  “This place is so great.” She snaps a photo and taps on the screen, her nimble fingers flying across the tiny keyboard in a blur. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you, but how did you end up living here if you’re from England?”

  Such an innocent question. No malice or insinuation implied. Only genuine curiosity. That I hate facing. Or spoiling her enjoyment of the day. “My wife was from here. Her parents requested she be buried here so I wanted to be near their graves.”

  Even though I’m not allowed to fucking visit them. Of course I omit that part. More details she doesn’t need to hear. I’ve caused enough damage to her enthusiasm with the answer. Her face lining with sympathy as she slips into the chair next to me instead of across from me and lays her head on my shoulder. Wordless with her consolation this time. Gentle fingers wrapping around my bicep in a comforting side hug.

  Now we look like one of those cutesy couples who can’t keep their hands to themselves. Too wrapped up in each other to notice the rest of the world. But I don’t really give a damn right now what anyone else thinks or says. I like her touching me. I like me touching her.

  “Do you ever go home to visit sometimes?”

  I never go anywhere anymore. Until you. “It’s been a really long time. I should probably go back sometime.”

  “Take me with you if you do. I’d love to travel abroad.”

  In a heartbeat. But you’re leaving in August and I’ll never see you again. The way it should be. “I’d love to take you, but I’m worried you’d be too much trouble.”

  My teasing works as intended, and she laughs. Shaking me along with herself from her merriment. “You’re just worried you wouldn’t be able to keep up with me.”

  Now I’m the one to chuckle from the absolute accuracy of her statement. “God’s truth to that.”

  “I’d slow down for you.”

  Unable to see her face, I still know she’s sincere. Especially when she squeezes me tighter. Neither one of us wanting her to let go.

  “And I’d haul arse to keep up with you.”

  I guess my earnestness comes through because she lifts up and gives me a tentative smile that I can’t read.

  “You probably think—”

  “Chicken alfredo flat bread pizza and two waters?”

  A blond woman balances a tray with our order in one hand while yanking out the red card with a black 8 imprinted on both sides from the holder.

  “Yes, please.” Evie smiles and nods at the waitress, accepting the rolls of silverware wrapped in white napkins she holds out. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Enjoy your meal.”

  The woman departs but we have to wait to dig in. The steam billowing off the creamy white cheese too dangerous to ignore. “How’s the wine?”

  “Pretty good.” The blush I love heats her face, and she glances toward the petting zoo at the bottom of the hill. “Do you think we can go down and see the animals when we’re done? Those baby goats are just too cute.”

  Yes, to everything and anything you ask. “Sure, if you want to.”

  Total genius whoever came up with this place. All of the perfect food and activities to lure in women and kids while all of it tolerated by the men who love them.

  Another gorgeous smile before she puckers her plump lips and blows on her slice. Tentatively taking a small bite, she moans rather than shrieks so I guess the heat is gone. Along with most of my restraint. I’ve never seen a woman enjoy her food as much as this one. Or be so damn sexy about it. Jesus.

  “Okay, we’ve done what I’ve wanted to do yesterday and today so now it’s your turn to pick. What do you want to do tomorrow?”

  “Anything’s fine, love. I’ll do anything you want.”

  “Nope, that’s not how this works.”

  This.

  I want to know what she means by “this” but fuck me if I’m too much of a coward to ask her. Afraid of a tiny woman who wields more power over me than I expect or understand.

  “You get to choose.”

  If she only knew my choice. I rack my brain for a minute trying to think of something since I’m used to doing nothing. “They have a semi-pro baseball team here. If there’s a game scheduled, we could go to that.”

  She sets down her glass and picks up her mobile. Already searching without asking me any questions, she taps for a few seconds before she starts nodding. “They do at 3:05 and it’s ‘Gone to the Dogs Day’ where they’ll have rescue pet adoptions available. Yes, I totally want to do that!”

  All I can do is smile and shake my head as she devours her food again. Her slight body humming with excitement. The anticipation in her voice confirms I’m totally screwed. There’s no coming back from this. I just know it—we’re going to end up with a dog.

  “I’m going to Face Time my mom. Maybe I’ll see you later?”

  The video conference is part of her regular Sunday afternoon routine. Although she’s much later than normal today from our outing. Good for her to keep that date before we talk. “Okay love.”

  She scurries inside, and I’m still grinning like an idiotic arse myself as I stride down the corridor and inside my apartment. Until I rifle through the mail I didn’t get the chance to look through yesterday. Utility bill for a town too small to be able to pay online, a flyer for low-cost health screenings at the hospital, and a small beige envelope. My chest aches from the green Sunset Ridge Cemetery & Mausoleum logo stamped in the top left corner.

  With shaking hands, I shove the pile across the counter. Covering the tiny type addressing the letter to me that I can’t believe I forgot would come. So caught up in the glorious present I didn’t remember to dread the reminder of my horrific past. Mocking me with the annual notice that I’m a terrible husband and father and man with too many mistakes to count. That I can’t fix. That I can’t forget. That I can’t figure out how to overcome.

  Except that instead of grieving like I should have fucking been, instead of mourning my wife and my son stuffed into concrete boxes decorated with flowers that I’m forbidden to put on their graves myself, instead of repenting for the sins that caused the deaths of the only people I failed to protect, I was out having a god damn good time.

  Motherfucker.

  Not even bothering to get a glass, I grab the bottle from my base cabinet and break the seal. Sucking down the smooth liquid until I have to come up for oxygen. Panting as my body strains to absorb the deluge of alcohol I’m desperate to flow through me. I fly to the bedroom and jerk open the bottom drawer of my dresser, yanking out the heavy black box.

  Staggering back
to the living room, I tear off the lid and grab everything out, spreading the proof of my guilt across the table. A fucking plethora of evidence that confirms that instead of shoving pizza in my mouth and enjoying the sunshine warming my face and falling even more in love with a woman I don’t deserve I should have kept my damn bastard arse at home where I belong.

  Yellow and crinkled, the paper cracks as I attempt to smooth the numerous creases. Careful and cautious around the expanding rip, sliced from the rubber band as I tore the note off that day in my panic to read her last message to me. To understand why she left me. The faded ink of her curly handwriting is barely legible, yet I can still make out the cruel words.

  I thought I would always be yours and now I’ll always be his. Every time Aiden cries, I hear him. Every time you touch me, I feel him. I know that every time I see this baby, I’ll see him too. I just can’t do it. I’m sorry. I love you.

  The cap on the end of the blue and white stick won’t stay attached any longer yet I can’t bring myself to throw it away. The last thing she touched. The last emotion she felt. The last reason she had to finally give up.

  Heat blazes through my muscles when I gulp down more of the scotch I need for the lab results. Ironically the words on this document haven’t faded at all in color or in agony. Ninety-nine percent probability that the baby she carried was mine. Ours. The second child we weren’t planning or expecting but would’ve celebrated as a blessing just the same. Except she mistakenly thought our daughter was a curse. Erroneously believing the infant would be a constant reminder of him raping her on our kitchen table while Aiden sat on the floor sobbing. Unable to comprehend why his mother didn’t pick him up like always when he needed her.

  My fingers fumble opening the thick white envelope embossed with Leitz & Murrow Attorneys at Law on the flap. Stupid lawyers helping her parents sue me. Furious at me for keeping her body so I could have the paternity test performed on our unborn baby. When they really just hated me for the attack. Blaming me for letting the assault happen. Almost as much as I hate and blame myself.

  I slump against the cushion and flick on my laptop, tapping the icon for Evie’s camera. Grateful the booze finally kicks in from the cascade down to my belly. Warming my stomach and blurring my vision and quieting my brain, that wishes Evie was with me, when this is the last place she should be. Next to me on my sofa rather than on the screen holding up our bounty from this morning and her stained shoes from the muddy rows to the two women on her computer. But she’s not mad. No not at all. She laughs along with her mother and grandmother who don’t care about her ruined footwear as long as she’s happy. And she is.

  She tells them she is. Because of the fun time. Because of the fruit and the band and the wine. Not because of me. Never because of me.

  Her small hand waves to them, and Shae and Marta disappear. Then Evie does too. I miss her smile. I miss her beautiful face. I miss her.

  Then she’s back. Glides into view as she yanks her dress over her head. Slides her thong down her toned legs. Releases the clasp between her breasts so her bra slides backward down her slender arms.

  Naked.

  Jesus. I watch like the sick, disgusting arsehole I am because I’m too drunk to move and she’s too breathtakingly gorgeous to turn away from. Torturing myself more with what I can’t have. What I don’t deserve. What I shouldn’t want. Entranced by her beauty until she pulls the shower curtain across the rod and vanishes behind the silver and pink stripes. I squeeze my eyes shut, but still see her gorgeous body behind the lids. Her soft ivory skin unblemished from any marks or brands. Small breasts with nipples as pink as her sun kissed cheeks. Smooth sweet pussy that makes my fingers flex with the need to touch her. To own her and consume her and make her mine.

  Another long drink to drown those ideas. Swimming in the liquor flooding my body. Until my ears buzz with the alarm from her door opening. She’s leaving. Fuck! I push off the pillow and wobble as I get to my feet. I can’t protect her but at least I can stop her.

  The knock sounds before I reach the door. My clenched muscles relax. She wasn’t going out—she was coming here. She’s here. God she’s here. Thank fuck.

  I twist the knob and lean against the frame. Attempting to feign sobriety as well as manage some damn dignity. “Bad day love. Probably should skip dinner.”

  At least I think that’s what I say. Johnnie Walker and I only have this standing date once a year, and he often gets the best of me and my tongue each time we do.

  She frowns yet seems to understand. Glancing behind me before meeting my fuzzy gaze again. Nodding and caressing my arm in empathy.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe we can just hang out. Not talking.”

  I stand here. She stands here too. I guess I’m agreeing to hanging out and not talking because I step back. She steps in. I’m happy.

  Her soft hand takes mine. She’s gentle but bossy. Leading me to the couch and pushing me down when I stare at her. She’s pretty. Too pretty and I have to shut my eyes again. But I still know how pretty she is in my darkness. How good I feel with her fingers tangled with mine.

  “You’re watching me?”

  Fuck. She doesn’t sound mad. More surprised actually than furious. I can barely get my eyes open, but when I do she doesn’t look mad either. At least I don’t think. Hard to tell with her swaying back and forth in my gaze. “I have to know you’re safe.”

  Only half a lie. She seems to accept my reason with a slow head bob as she turns back to me from studying my laptop. Tickling my wrist from her long hair. That I want to fist and never let go with her lips on mine.

  My fingers almost itch from need, and I grab my bottle instead of her. She shakes her head from my offer to share so I take a long gulp. Embarrassed but not too proud to drink alone. Too late for me to think less of myself. Pretty sure her impression of me is even worse.

  A rattle of plastic bouncing against wood clatters next to her on the coffee table, and she glances at the vibrating mobile, but doesn’t answer. Bringing her face back to my view with a sad smile.

  “It’s Theo. I can call him back.”

  “You can talk now if you want. I know you miss him.”

  “I do. A lot. But I feel like being here with you right now.”

  “I miss my son.”

  Fuck. I meant to say I like her being here right now. I really am drunk.

  “How old was he when he died?”

  When she killed him. “Eight months.”

  “So young.”

  So innocent. An angel on Earth and now in heaven.

  “She must have really been hurting not to realize you would help her and take care of her no matter what.”

  I nod from her broken tone. Just as confused as she is. But I’m sad and angry and stupid too. “Fuck yes I would have. Why didn’t she see it? Why didn’t she know?”

  “I don’t know because it’s totally obvious that’s the kind of man you are.”

  Something that sounds like admiration strains in her voice. That first day she admitted she knows who I am and what I do—did—and still thinks I’m a nice guy. A good guy. A decent guy. Crazy. “No trouble. I’m not.”

  “Yes you are. You’re always—”

  “I’m mad at her. It’s wrong and terrible and shitty but I am so fucking mad at her. And a good man wouldn’t be mad. A good man would know she was sick and out of her head and forgive her. A good man wouldn’t hate her for killing my son. For murdering her own damn son.”

  Suddenly, she’s in my lap. Her legs on my thigh and her arms around my torso. Her face tucked into my neck. Hugging me. Holding me so tight. “Thanks love but I don’t think…This isn’t… You shouldn’t…”

  I can’t get the words out. Not only because I’m wasted but because I don’t believe them. This is a good idea. She is what I want. She should stay tonight and forever. I give up the battle with my demons and wrap my arms around her too.

 
“I don’t want to be by myself tonight.”

  The whispered admission blows against my throat. I’m just as honest with her. “Me neither.”

  Another nod before she cuddles back in. I hold her. Breathing in her sultry scent. Welcoming her hands stroking my hair. Relishing her small body warming mine.

  I want to explore her skin. Trace her delicate bones. Feel her heartbeat under my hands. I do none of those things. I just am with her. Silent. Still. Serene.

  Until I succumb to the darkness I can’t fight anymore.

  Fuck.

  I slowly lift my pounding head from the back of the couch. Swearing from the agony shooting up my spine all the way to my scalp. Hangovers and neck cramps are a hell of a welcome to wake up to. While a slew of shitty texts from Nick is even worse.

  Nick: Why haven’t I heard from you?

  Nick: Why did I have to call my daughter last night to confirm she’s okay?

  Nick: I fucking expect an update from you at least twice a day like we agreed. What the fuck’s going on?

  Andy: Overslept. Won’t happen again.

  Nick: You know what will happen if it does.

  He’s going to fucking kill me anyway. Missing a few messages is the least of my crimes when it comes to his daughter. I toss my mobile back on the table and blink through the blurriness. My bottle is gone. My box is gone. Any semblance of my integrity is gone. Worst of all, she’s gone. So I ignore the nausea spinning in my stomach and grab my laptop, pulling her up on the screen again because I’m desperate to see the only good thing in my life.

  I relax a little when she comes into view.

  She’s so damn beautiful.

  And luckily for me obedient.

  With her face toward the floor, her slender body stretches out as she planks. Silent and steady above her purple yoga mat. For as much as she wants to be independent and free, she appeases me and my rules by staying at home to work out since we missed our morning run. A good heart in her adventurous spirit not to push me while I was incapacitated. As well as when I’m an arsehole. I need to apologize.