Uncut (Unexpected Book 4)

by Burgoa, Claudia

  Jessica Levitz has once again erased everything her husband has done wrong over the years. She believes he is the same loving man she met when she was a teenager. I’ll never know if the man was indeed a caregiver who gave a shit about her at some point. Being the youngest of the Levitz family entitles me to get only scraps of what we once had. They had. A happy family. I never lived in happiness with them. A rich family. We were broke most of the time. They used my hard-earned money to spend it on their own luxuries and vices.

  “You believed him, Jessica?” I dare to ask.

  “I have to, Aggie. He’s my husband.” Her desperate voice breaks my heart, but not my determination.

  “But you’re my mother,” I want to yell at her, but I can’t. In some twisted way I love my mother with all my heart. To this day, I think she once loved me more than the shit she ingests.

  “What did he offer this time, Oxycontin?” I shouldn’t judge, but I bet he lured her back to the old habit. Six weeks ago I was on the verge of searching to buy some myself, downing them with Vodka the way she used to do.

  The silence on the other line confirms my fears. It lasted about a year. All my efforts to help her kick that habit are obviously gone. I wipe the tears that roll down my cheeks. A combination of anger and sadness overtakes my heart. How can she do this to herself? To me?

  “Just count me out of your plans.” I fight to keep my voice steady.

  I look at my bracelets, move them enough to read the number Mattie wrote today. Two thousand eighty-two. We take turns to write them down, because Matt and Tristan want to be a part of everything, just like I want to be a part of them. That reminds me that I can fight Martin Levitz. He has no power over me. I’m not afraid of him. Not anymore.

  “He has a plan. His old friends included.”

  Old friends. I’ve no idea who she’s referring to, and I stop myself from overthinking. The last thing I need are the nightmares. Clearing my mind and lungs, I try to calm my pounding heartbeat.

  “I wish that for once you’d be a mother and not his puppet.” I don’t eat my feelings. Even as I try to protect her from my words, I want her to know that her role shouldn’t be Martin Levitz’s wife. “Something’s gotta give. From this point forward I’m done with you until you get clean—because you want to, not because I make you.”

  “Aggie, please don’t do this. When he calls you, be nice to him.”

  “I swear that’s the last time I’m telling you how to find me. Time after time you do the same. Turn away from your own children. The kids you were supposed to protect from the moment you conceived them until they could defend themselves. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for throwing me to the wolves.”

  As I finish the call, the stream of tears roll down my cheeks, crying for everything that I’ve gone through because of her, because of her fucking husband. I pray to whoever will listen that he doesn’t call. That he never finds me. Because I don’t know what I’d do to him . . . or to myself.

  Mason Bradley decided to fumigate my apartment, which I appreciate. The number of spiders began to creep me out the moment I killed number thirty-seven. For the week I’m staying at Matt’s place. Coincidentally, my two boyfriends are in town. A rare occasion, as both are too busy. For Tristan, October through December is a heavy season filled with events. Matt’s company is filming the pilots for the fall lineup and some movies.

  “Anybody home?” I lift my gaze as Tristan steps into the house. “Hey, my beautiful butterfly, how are you?”

  I look down at my phone screen to check the time. Eleven. I narrow my gaze, waiting for some sort of explanation. This is my working space and time while he and Matt are working. His left arm is behind his back and his silly smile draws me to him.

  “We wanted to share lunch with you.” He grins then shows me his hand. He’s holding a plush owl and a paper bag. “I found this at the store next door and made me think of him and your new obsession with collecting owls.”

  A couple of Sundays ago, when we had dinner at Matt’s parents’ house, I discovered why he’s fixated with owls. His siblings have been calling him an owl for years. A nocturnal man. It’s fitting, perfect. The connection solidified that we were meant to be together. Now I’m buying owls often.

  “I like what you’re wearing.” His fingers trace my naked back. I try to recall what Dr. Biedenstein and I spoke about last session. I’m seeing her twice a week because I’m working hard to break myself from the past. For me. For them. My body is getting hungry for their touch. Frightened about the outcome, each time we hug or touch I want more than what I’m willing to do, but also fearful of taking a step that will make me want to drink. It’s hard not to desire them. Like now, my crochet top only stops at my midriff. The touch of his fingers on my bare skin makes me sizzle with desire.

  I close my eyes, imagining what it would be like if his fingers travel north, and my nipples tighten as my lower part clenches with desire.

  “Coop.” I let the four letters out with a soft breath.

  His forehead leans against mine, and as I open my eyes, his are filled with sadness, desire. I want to replace that look with joy. His hand tightens around my back. The other weaves his fingers through my hair, resting on the nape of my neck. My heartbeat gains momentum, pounding hard. And I dare. I place my mouth on his, parting my lips for him. He doesn’t wait. His tongue takes charge, deepening the kiss, frantically searching for something within me that I want to give him. Our breaths become labored, my skin heats with every second that passes. And I let them. I let my hands explore him—his torso, his face—and I hope this never ends. My head pounds, my heart is about to break through my chest, and nothing else exists at this moment for us. If only Matt was here, I’d be complete.

  Where did that come from? I have kissed them both separately, but as this becomes more heated, it’s as if there is a burning need to have Matt here. With us.

  As I finally come down from the high, I break the kiss. It’s not fear, it’s . . . I want them both before I take another step. Is that how it will always be? Is that how this will work?

  I want to make sure that I want to do it. Our panting is the only sound around the apartment. Telling him that I love him feels insignificant to what my heart is sensing at the moment. My emotions go beyond anything I thought possible.

  I open my eyes, our gazes lock, and I want so much more. “Coop,” is the only word that comes out.

  “Butterfly, we’ll wait, I swear.” He kisses the side of my neck, and envelops me tighter. As if trying to fuse us into one person.

  I’m about to promise him something, anything so he’ll continue to touch me as my skin is desperate for it, but the buzz of the intercom makes me jump. The sound doesn’t startle Coop at all.

  “Why would he ring the bell?” Coop releases me, walking toward the kitchen.

  “He?”

  “Matt said that he’d try to take a break, but couldn’t promise much. I’m hoping it’s him.” When he arrives in the kitchen, he turns on the monitor and checks the lobby camera, but only Joe, the concierge, is there. “Weird, should I call Joe and ask what he wanted?”

  “No, I’m sure he signed for a package or something like that. It happens.”

  Matt: Be there soon, save me some food.

  “You’re right, he’s coming.” I grin, because even though I have to catch up with my jewelry making business on my day off, I’d rather spend it with them. Chris likes to close the office on Wednesdays, and opens half a day on Saturdays. It gives options to those who can't be there on weekdays.

  “Let’s feed you. I brought Thai food—Panang curry for my lady.” The doorbell rings before he can add what else he brought. I just hope he brought Pad Thai and I can steal some of it.

  There’s a knock on the door. “Tristan.” A woman’s voice follows the knock.

  “Fuck!” That growl doesn’t sound good at all. Coop drops my hand and opens the door.

  A couple stands outside the door. The bony w
oman with short dark hair and a condescending sneer studies me. I do the same. With her primp, tailored skirt suit, she could be a taller, brunette version of Hilary Clinton. The distinguished-looking man next to her is clearly an older version of Coop. Grayish hair, hardened eyes. Unlike his son, clean-shaven. The couple could easily pose for a Country Club ad—a Brookstone catalog.

  “Mother, Father, what are you doing here?”

  Fuck. His parents.

  My mother called me several times since Victoria visited, and last week after Fey threatened me. Father only emailed me with a threat: It better not be true. You’re moving back to Connecticut at the end of the year and putting that ring on Victoria’s finger soon.

  I ignored him, the same way I’ve avoided Mother’s calls. At the moment my life is complicated enough. Taking the tightrope to cross to the other side and find happiness is a fucking hard task that I can’t handle when they are constantly breathing down my neck.

  “What are you doing here?” I repeat, as their gazes rest on my girl.

  I snort when I look at her. They’re going to eat her alive. Her wavy hair is all over the place. Yesterday she colored her tips a deep pink, which is just right for my colorful woman. But not for the Coopersons. Her knitted top barely covers her torso, revealing the inscription of the tattoo on her right side. She’s wearing tiny shorts highlighting her long legs. The ones covered in paint, glitter, and gunk from whatever craft she’s been working with today.

  “To talk some sense into you.” My mother lets out a frustrated sigh, as she shoots daggers at Thea. “The Hudsons are worried that our plans are taking longer than anticipated.”

  “Merge with them, Father. You don’t need me for that. We’re in a different era. Marrying someone for a business is simply stupid.”

  “Tristan Benoit, it’s time for you to grow up.” My mother’s icy voice is directed at me, but her eyes stare at Thea. I step in front of Thea, taking her hand. “First you moved to that place where wannabes live, thinking they’re better than us. But they have no pedigree. Now you’re here among . . . hippies? Your attitude exhausts me. You went out, opened those bars, but now it is time to come home and have a real job.”

  I love my mother. She sounds like a snobbish bitch, but most of the times, when I see her, I remember the woman that raised me. The one who kissed my scrapes when I fell, who clapped and celebrated every milestone I reached. The same that taught me the simplest tasks, and how to laugh. We laughed so much. Until I had to grow up, become a man. Then I was my father’s responsibility. She changed too. Nothing was ever the same between us.

  “He's a successful man.” Thea steps out of my protection and extends her hand. “Thea Dennis.”

  Mother stares at her extended hand. “I see.” She flips her attention toward me, ignoring Thea.

  “Mother,” I warn her, pulling Thea to me, kissing her creamy skin. “I’d appreciate if you’re nice to my girlfriend.” Then glance at both. “Mother, Father, meet Agatha Dennis. My girlfriend. Thea, meet Viviane and Charles Cooperson. My parents.”

  A bright shade of red colors blossoms on Charles Cooperson’s face.

  Mom barely glances at her, her eyes set on me with a menacing warning. “You can’t possibly think that this is all right, Tristan. Look at her. She looks like you dragged her out of a strip club.”

  “Be careful with what you say, Mother,” I growl, as the distaste in her words makes Thea cringe.

  My father growls back at me, and his gaze levels with mine. “I don't care what you do here.” His menacing words make my heart pulsate faster. I once again place Thea behind me, worrying what he might do to her. “But remember that this has to end. You have until the end of the year to take care of your assets and move back home. Leave the hussy behind. She has no place in your life.”

  “Or what?” I want to hear his empty threat. There’s nothing he can do, but my younger self still trembles at the authority my father wields, and the pressure to do something I don’t want to do by snatching something away from me. Someone.

  “Or I’ll make sure that each one of the bars close. You will be homeless by the time I’m done.”

  Why would this man prefer to see me ruined than happy? This isn’t the time to taunt him, nor to give in. It’s clear to me that Father is never going to understand me, or forgive me for not following in his footsteps. My therapist insists I have to air all my issues with my parents before I can move on. If they can’t accept my life or my girlfriend, I doubt they would accept that I also date a man. That we have an unconventional, happy relationship.

  Surely my day can’t get any worse. The elevator opens and Matt and his goofy grin step into the hallway. His brow arches as he approaches the apartment.

  “We had a party and I wasn’t invited?” he asks urging my parents to come inside the house and shutting the door behind him.

  My father turns around to give my boyfriend a thorough inspection too. Tats on his arms, strands of dark blond hair messed as if he had just woken up, raggedy jeans hanging from his hips, and a T-shirt with the Virgin Mary that reads “Abstinence 99.99% effective.” My Catholic mother is going to hate him more than she hates Thea. Great, couldn’t he have chosen a plain shirt to wear today?

  “Matthew Decker.” He nods at them without giving my parents a second glance. “Where is the food? I only have so much time before my video conference. I doubt the execs will appreciate watching me eat while they grill me for the pilot I shut down.”

  Pilot?

  “Yeah, a B-rated show that would cost too much. I couldn’t sell the idea . . . You don’t want to hear that now.” He then looks at Thea. “I might need my provisional assistant today.” He winks at Thea who rolls her eyes. Lately he’s been using her as his assistant. A way to drop by his father’s counseling practice and ask for help. “We can create a show, together.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

  Thea serves him with her famous eye-roll but also a sweet smile. “I’ve my own deadlines, Matt, but I’ll try to see what I can do.” No doubt Thea’s promise will end up being an overnight brainstorm session. Which I’ll love to watch. They’re a great creating team. “If I finish soon.”

  Matt hands her a box of food and chopsticks. “I can’t believe that you haven’t eaten yet.” He finally turns around to pay attention to the rest of us. “So, I take it you two are the parents?”

  “Yes,” I confirm. “Viviane and Charles Cooperson.”

  “Matthew Decker.” He extends his hand but they both just stare at it. Dear Lord, they’re going to get the smartass in exchange.

  “Awkward,” he says using a high-pitched voice, then mumbles, “I’m trying to be friendly. What’s with them, Coop?”

  “Who is this brute that just came into your house, Tristan?” Father’s voice echoes in my brain, reverberating like a sharp kick to the shin.

  “Brute? That’s a fucking new word. I have to text the bro. His father-in-law called him hooligan. I bet he’s going to get a laugh out of your tender referral.” Matt gives him a glance and smirks at him. “I’m the owner of this crib.” Then he sets his eyes on Thea, who is in place, waiting for another punch or to punch back. “Butterfly, you okay? Did they provide you with a nickname? ’Cuz if they insulted you, I’ll have Joe remove them from here.”

  Matt doesn’t blink, nor sound bothered about my parents’ presence. But I know he is. Annoyed, hurt. Yes, the words resonate inside me. I sense that. Thea is hurt. Matt is hurt and annoyed by my parents’ judgment.

  “Why are you living with a man?” My mother’s agonizing tone makes my father stand straight. “Tristan, you swore. You promised you’d change. God might not forgive you this time.”

  “Make it one month, Tristan,” my father repeats, his face turning red. “And don’t forget our holiday plans. Don’t plan to include her. Victoria is expecting her ring.”

  “Please, Tristan, don’t become a gay. I’d rather have you with that whore than a man.”

  “Time is up.” Matt
storms to the door while tapping his phone. He opens the door and gives me a stern look. “Say goodbye to your parents, Coop.” His commanding voice doesn’t leave room for anything. To my parents he adds, “Next time you swing by, make sure you’re willing to be civilized.”

  “It’s a Connecticut thing, Matt.” Thea smiles sweetly at him.

  “By the way, Mr. and Mrs. Cooperson. My name is Dr. Agatha Dennis. I’m a Psychiatrist, editor, and jewelry designer. Not a stripper or a whore. But even if I were, you have no right to judge,” she calls out as they step into the elevator.

  After placing the gear into park, I turn off the ignition, helping Thea unclasp her belt and pulling her to my lap. “That little number you were wearing back at the house has me hungry.” Thea sucks in a sharp breath. “I had no idea you could wear so little, Butterfly. You’re always hiding those long legs.”

  To keep my hands from wandering around her body, I tangle them through the loose strands of hair. I start slow, running my lips down her jawline, nibbling her earlobe, her chin, and then taking her lips. It starts as a sweet kiss, but as her lips imitate the motions and speed up with my rhythm, I thrust my tongue past her lips, drowning myself inside her. Devouring her mouth like a starving man. Thea moans into my mouth. Her hands slide under my shirt and skim over my belly, trails of hot current vibrating in their wake.

  “Fuck, baby, stop,” I pant. “I’m about to lose control.”

  “Do we have to?”

  The question sends sparks down my spine. Is she asking because she’s ready for more? I push her slightly, and those clear crystal eyes are filled with desire.

  “What are you talking about?” I don’t want to push anything and then have her freak out because I had no idea when to stop. “Are you ready?”

  “No, I’m . . . Earlier, Coop and I had something similar going on, and I want to, but then the questions swirl around.”