“You talk to them,” I answered firmly. “Do it trying not to bring Rhiannon into it. But Ash is a freshman. High school kids, they do stuff. They party. You could couch it in a warning they have to be smart about that, tell Cillian you’re talking to him at the same time to save time or something, and you do this inflexibly so they get your meaning.”
“They’re not dumb. They’ll get my meaning. My whole meaning, Amy.”
Regrettably, I had a feeling they would.
“Then be certain they know at any time with anyone, if someone wants them to get in a car with a driver who’s inebriated, then they can call you to come and get them and there will be no recriminations.”
“My son doesn’t have a phone,” he told me. “Rule is, they gotta hit fourteen.”
“Maybe you should break your rule, Dad,” I said, giving him a weak grin and a weaker tease.
Mickey stared down at me, a muscle ticking in his cheek, unsurprisingly not ready to lighten the mood.
Then he growled, “Could strangle that bitch.”
I pushed even closer.
“I thought I’d scarred my own kids beyond healing, honey,” I told him. “And tonight my son came over of his own choice just to have dinner with his mom and watch TV. Proves you give them good, they’ll respond. You said it yourself, they’re not dumb. Yes, all this is terrible. But one day they’ll see how hard you worked to give them safe and healthy, and they’ll appreciate it. But you just giving them safe and healthy, you’ll get them through.”
Mickey again stared down at me for a while before he sighed, lifted his free hand, cupped the back of my head and pressed my cheek against his chest.
I wrapped my free arm around him and gave his hand in mine a squeeze.
I allowed us to stay that way for a bit before I pushed my head against his hand and looked up at him.
“Gotta get my guy a beer,” I said softly.
He didn’t respond except to bend his neck, touch his forehead to mine then he went in for a lip brush.
After that, he pulled away but kept hold of my hand.
We went inside. Mickey got a beer. We lazed on the couch while he drank it and we watched Letterman.
Then he closed down the house and silently, he guided me to his bed.
Chapter Nineteen
Flash
I sucked hard at Mickey’s thumb in my mouth and I did this so I wouldn’t pant.
It was very early the next morning.
We were in Mickey’s bed.
We were spooning.
Mickey had his face in my hair.
And I had my hips tilted, Mickey’s finger at my clit, and I was taking his cock.
Suddenly, his thrusts increased in power and velocity, the pressure of his finger magnified, and his mouth was at my ear.
“Fuckin’ get there, Amy,” he growled.
He was close.
But I was too, and his growl shivered down my neck, my shoulder, across my breasts, belly, then gathered between my legs, and with his cock and his finger, I sucked his thumb deep and went soaring.
“Thank fuck,” he gritted, buried his face in my neck, his cock deep and groaned against my skin.
I felt nothing but my orgasm and all that was Mickey, his heat, his strength, the power of his body tensed with his own orgasm.
Then mine glided from me and I relaxed against him and lapped at his thumb.
I knew his had left him too when he slid it out of my mouth and ran it along my lower lip.
His mouth came back to my ear. “You on the Pill?”
“Yes,” I breathed against his thumb.
“You fuckin’ anyone but me?”
I grinned at his ridiculous question.
“No.”
“You trust I’m not takin’ anyone but you?”
I felt my body stiffen because that was huge.
But this was Mickey.
So I whispered, “Yes.”
His fingers at my jaw dug in and I knew he knew what I gave him was huge.
But he didn’t dwell on it.
He asked, “Then you good with ungloved?”
“Yes, Mickey.”
“Thank Christ,” he muttered. “Condoms are history.”
I relaxed into him, sliding a hand up his sinewy forearm and wrapping my fingers around his wrist.
He twisted it, caught my hand and pressed both gently to my throat.
He settled in and I felt his breath stir the top of my hair.
We lay connected for glorious moments before he said, “Thanks for stayin’ the night.”
“You need me, I’m here,” I replied.
I heard the lightness in his tone when he went on, “Thanks for takin’ my cock.”
“You need me, I’m here,” I repeated.
I felt his chuckle and squeezed his hand.
“My heiress wanna loaf in bed while I take a shower?”
I didn’t know what my other choices were, other than get up, get dressed and go home before he had to get his kids up.
Or shower with him.
But truly, a waking-up-being-made-love-to-after-getting-about-five-hours-of-sleep orgasm was maybe the only thing that would encourage me to “loaf” in his bed rather than be naked with him in his shower.
“If I’ve got time, I’m gonna loaf.”
“You got it,” he murmured, kissed my shoulder then slid out of me and the bed.
He pulled the covers up before he walked to the bathroom.
I watched him walk to the bathroom, heard the toilet flush then the shower go on.
I’d been in his room once before, the night I spent there when my kids last left me. I didn’t need to peruse it.
I knew it was nice. Manly. Rhiannon, if she’d ever been there in the decorating scheme, was g-o-n-e gone from there in a way it looked like she’d never existed.
His room, like mine, took up one whole end of his house. It included a big master bathroom toward the backyard that had a double basin, separate shower and the toilet was in its own little room. There was a walk-in closet, only one, but it was huge. The fixtures weren’t old, it had been renovated and that was done sometime relatively recently. Perhaps not last year but if I had to guess, in the last five. If I didn’t have the bathroom to beat all bathrooms and three trust funds that meant I could create any bathroom I wanted, it would have been amazing.
The walls of the bedroom were painted a slate gray that worked with the wood baseboards and amazing tongue and groove ceiling, the wood so dark it was nearly black. He had a fireplace too, one with a stone hearth like the others in his house. That was situated against the wall across from his king-sized, mission-style bed.
He had slate gray sheets that had a sateen sheen. He also had a duvet with a cover, his in dark gray with a hexagon pattern, the lines making the design burgundy.
Between bed and bathroom, there was a large hunk of floor space that he’d filled with two matching club chairs. They shared an ottoman, a sturdy but attractive end table and a standing lamp made in brass. The chairs were covered with clothes (apparently, Mickey didn’t hit the laundry hamper with his clothes either, it looked like he hadn’t done laundry since I met him).
It was clean, though not tidy, exceptionally masculine…and all Mickey.
I loved it.
So I lay happily tangled in his sheets in that room, still feeling Mickey between legs, loafing, snoozing and floating.
“Babe.”
I wasn’t asleep, exactly.
But my eyes were closed.
I opened them to see Mickey in clean work clothes standing beside the bed.
“Time for me to go?” I asked languidly.
“That, right there,” he stated.
I studied him, unsure of his statement, his tone or the intense look on his face.
I began to push up and Mickey ordered, “Don’t fuckin’ move.”
I stilled but held his gaze and whispered, “What’s going on, Mickey?”
“I walked
out of my bathroom to that every morning for sixteen years, no way in fuck I’d walk away from it.”
I drew in a sharp breath and remained unmoving as that cut through me and I felt the release.
It wasn’t a bleed.
It was like opening an aching blister to get the fetid ooze out.
“He doesn’t know. He might never know,” Mickey carried on. “But do you know how fuckin’ stupid he is?”
“No,” I replied. “But I do know how fucking lucky I am right now.”
I watched his reaction to that flash in his eyes, but he remained distant until he took the last two steps to the bed and leaned over me.
He brushed the bangs out of my eyes and said softly, “Gotta get you up and dressed. I’ll walk you home and come back and take care of my kids.”
I nodded.
He let his fingers trail down my hairline before he straightened and walked away.
I got up, got dressed and Mickey walked me to my house.
He kissed me in my opened door.
And I watched him walk several steps away from me before I closed it behind him.
* * * * *
The text came mid-morning.
Can Polly and I come after school and hang?
Olympia.
I returned, If you hang while doing your homework and getting some of these recorded shows off my DVR, then yes.
She replied, Deal. Pick us up?
I thought of my car and while I did, I decided to buy an SUV.
Then I returned, Sure, if we take turns. Can’t fit you both in my car.
To which I received, You need a new car Mom. I’ll ask Auden to bring us.
I sent, Do that, sweets. Am I making dinner?
And got, Dinner! Yummy!
My kids liked my cooking. Then again, I cooked like a mom and could do that freely now that Conrad wasn’t around.
I replied, Dinner. Check.
A few hours later, I got a text from Auden that said, Drop Polly and Pip off after school. Pick them up at nine.
To which I sent, Thanks, kid. And I’m thinking of a Cayenne.
And got back, Land Rover. White. Totally you.
I grinned.
Then I changed the girls’ plans when they got there (a change of plans they were ecstatic about) and before homework and dinner, we went out and test-drove Land Rovers.
* * * * *
“You buy a fuckin’ car without me, Amy, it’s gonna piss me off,” Mickey said in my ear.
My daughter and her friend were gone. It was late. Now, I was in bed saying goodnight over the phone to Mickey.
I’d also, obviously, shared my plans to purchase a new vehicle.
“Do you want to test-drive it?” I asked.
“I want you not to get fucked over buying it,” he answered.
“Mickey, car salesmen hardly screw over women anymore,” I scoffed. “They freely screw over everybody.”
“You’re wrong, Amy.”
“It’s not 1968, Mickey.”
“Right, you go in, get the best deal you think you can get, then walk away. I’ll go in after and get the best deal I can get, text you, you come in and we’ll see about that shit.”
“You’re on,” I snapped.
“Tomorrow?”
“Perfect.”
“You pissed?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Because you know you’re goin’ down,” he declared.
“Whatever,” I mumbled.
He chuckled.
I changed the subject. “The kids okay?”
“Tonight, we had the drunk driving talk. They got me as in got me. Tomorrow, before I show you car salesmen are still assholes, I’m goin’ in and havin’ all my teeth pulled without Novocain. Figure that’ll be a whole lot more fun.”
“Oh, Mickey,” I said quietly.
“It’s done. They get me. All I can do. Movin’ on,” he stated.
“Okay,” I said and decided it was time to change the subject again. “So, I was thinking, the kids coming over and things going better, this keeps up for a little while, when they both say they’re coming over together, I can tell them about you. Then, the next time they’re over together, you’ll be here. We can see how it goes when they get here. A quick meet and greet or you casually stay for dinner.”
“Let me know, I gotta rearrange some shit, I’ll do it.”
He’d rearrange some shit for a chance to meet my kids.
And again I was floating.
“Thanks, honey,” I whispered.
“No problem, Amy. Now hate to cut this short, but wanna check on Ash. She’s been quieter than her normal lately and has been in her room all night. Gotta check on my girl.”
That didn’t sound good at all.
But it wasn’t surprising.
“Okay, I’ll let you go.”
“Sleep tight, babe.”
“I will, Mickey. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. And plan to be over for dinner. We’ll get your car, come back and hang out.”
I couldn’t wait.
“Sounds good. ’Night, honey.”
“’Night, baby.”
We hung up. I read a bit.
Then I went to sleep.
* * * * *
Mickey was right.
Car salesmen still screwed over women more than men. He got my Land Rover (I got black, Auden would just have to deal) for several thousand less than I could negotiate the deal.
Cillian and Aisling came with us and hung with me while I tried my hand at the negotiations. I asked for their company because I thought this was added incentive—kids in the mix—that would make the salesmen less inclined to screw me.
I was wrong.
Cillian gloated with his dad.
Through this and all the time I spent with her that day, I found Mickey was right, but it was more.
Aisling was quieter than normal to the point that she was unusually sullen.
It also looked like she wasn’t washing her hair.
This alarmed me.
But I didn’t have a chance to say anything about it until after we had dinner, Ash had retreated to her room and closed the door, and Cill had commandeered the TV to play some game on Xbox.
This forced Mickey and me to lounge on the loveseat on the deck in our jackets.
“She’s not good,” I noted.
“Nope,” Mickey replied, rocking the loveseat with me beside him, curled into him, legs up under me, one of his arms around me, the other hand around the neck of a bottle of a beer he took a tug from after he answered.
“Does she open up to you?” I asked.
“Got no clue how to talk to an almost fifteen-year-old girl with a drunk for a mom,” he replied.
“Is she…does she have moods?” I pressed carefully.
“If you mean, has she started her period? Then yes,” he told me. “That happened last summer. Her mom took care of that. She comes home with boxes of shit Rhiannon gets her. I saw Midol on her dresser, made sure there was more in the bathroom. Didn’t have any sisters but did have a wife for fourteen years, so I got a clue when those kinds of moods strike. Ash gets ’em. This is not one of those.”
“I’m not sure I’m at that place where it’s okay for me to talk to her,” I noted.
“I hear you,” he muttered.
“But we can keep an eye on the situation and if she doesn’t open up to you, regardless if I’m at that place, if you want me to, I’ll go in.”
His arm tightened around me, tucking me closer. “That’d be good.”
He wanted me to.
That made me snuggle even closer.
I did that and took a sip of my wine before I asked, “Do you think they know what’s happening with you and me?”
“On the deck havin’ a drink with you and you’re over a lot. Close with the Gettys that live next door because they moved in when I was eight and never left. They’re welcome here any time. The kids love ’em. But I don’t wal
k them home, sit close to them on the couch or out on my deck at night, havin’ a beer.”
“Do you think that’s what’s troubling her?” I went on, even though, in the early stages, she seemed to hope her dad and I would get together.
“Again, no clue,” he said.
“You want to meet my kids, Mickey, perhaps you should think on sharing what’s happening with Cill and Ash in an official way,” I suggested. “If it’s out in the open, you can discuss it with her.”
“Great. My Sunday plans look only slightly better than my Friday night plans did.”
I grinned, lifted my head from his shoulder and looked to his jaw. “It’s not like we’re not used to this road being rocky.”
He didn’t look down at me.
He said to the dark night, “You’re right. The fuck of it is, you grow up thinkin’ things are gonna be a certain way and then they end up mostly fucked with moments of decent and flashes of really fuckin’ good.”
I snuggled my cheek to his shoulder, hating that.
Mickey had a boss he did not respect, a job he didn’t like doing that bought him taking a lot of complaints from angry people about decisions he did not make.
He’d had a wife he loved who’d become an alcoholic right before his eyes. He lost her and now she was making him live in fear for his kids not only when they were with her but what her effect was on them when they weren’t.
He needed to become fire chief.
He needed to get his business off the ground.
And Rhiannon needed to sort herself out.
As for me, I needed to do what I could to give Mickey as many flashes of really fucking good as I could.
Mickey read my mood but he read it wrong.
“Sorry, baby, you don’t need my bitching.”
“Actually, I do,” I returned. “Because if you don’t lay it on me, it’ll eat you up inside and your kids need you whole, standing and fighting. So I’ll take whatever you got. It isn’t hard. So you have that and you have what you need to take care of your babies.”
Mickey was silent and the night was still. This lasted so long it made me tense.
“Mickey?”
“Sixteen years. Fuck, that asshole blew it.”
I relaxed against him.
“I spoiled our kids,” I admitted. “Gave them everything they wanted.”
“Yeah, got a dose of that,” he returned.
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