by Kari Gregg
"What set him off?"
Artie.
He'd come to find Artie. He could always count on Artie to glue him back together, but Liv's arms around him were so sweet. Her hair brushing his chin felt so good. He shuddered and wished to God he could unclamp his hands from the steering wheel because he really, really needed her.
"I don't know. It started with Sam, I think."
"Who in the hell's Sam?"
Oh Christ.
"Never mind. Get him inside first."
Liv pulled at him, trying to get him out of the truck, and the agony exploded inside him—
His eyes sprang open, wet with tears.
Wet?
Mitch didn't know he'd been crying.
Didn't matter.
The hellacious pain eating away at him finally spurred him to rip his hands from the steering wheel so he could reach for her. He pulled her against him. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him so close. She staggered under his weight. He buried his face in her neck and sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
* * * * *
"Are you sure?"
Mitch glared at him. "I said I'm all right."
Liv had already left to take Cheryl's car back to the trailer park. Mitch guessed they all knew about him and Liv now. Her family. His father. They'd all seen Liv grab her sister's keys and take off after him and if they hadn't seen it personally, they'd hear the gossip soon enough. Trailer parks weren't conducive to privacy. When five feet of hard-pack and a couple thin sheets of tin were all that separated neighbors, there was no such thing as secrets.
Except for dirty ones.
The world was too willing to turn a blind eye to dirty little secrets. Mitch's stomach—already sore and hurting from the wild burst of crying that had followed his panic attack—clenched.
"You and Liv should stay the night," Artie said, leaning an arm against the gaping window of Mitch's truck. His breath plumed the arctic air. "Hell, call this Sam person. He can stay the night, too."
Mitch tried for a smile, but if felt stiff. "Barb would love that." Artie sniffed. "I don't like you leaving and neither does she. You should stay where we can look after you." He glanced away. "I don't want you to go back there, with them. Not if they're going to hurt you like—"
"Don't blame Sam for the panic attack. Or Liv. I did that to myself," Mitch said. His eyes felt gritty, still burned, but he could breathe again. His hands had stopped shaking. "I screwed up and I let it eat at me. That's all." Mitch's lips curved to a genuine grin. "Somebody once told me that a real man owns up to his mistakes and tries to make it right. I can't do that while I'm hiding out at your house." Artie grunted. "We just want you to be happy."
The really amazing part was—they did. Mitch could move Liv and Sammy with him into Artie's spare bedroom for the night and neither Artie nor Barb would blink an eye. "Thanks, Dad."
Artie shifted on his feet. "I love you, son."
Mitch's throat tightened. "I know."
Artie snorted, rubbed at his own glistening eyes. "Well, don't start sniveling again. Barb'll skin me alive."
Mitch chuckled. "I love you, too."
Artie squeezed Mitch's arm, released it. "After today, Barb likes your Liv better, but now she wants to meet this Sam. Bring him by. Both of them. Sunday supper." Mitch arched an eyebrow. That would be . . . interesting. "Okay." He picked Liv up in front of the Winslow trailer, drove to the apartment. He stared at their front door for a minute after he parked, shamed by the glow of lights behind the curtains Liv had asked him to hang. "Sam's home." Mitch didn't know why, when he'd acted like such a dick.
Liv held his hand, smiled at him. "He loves you, too." Mitch nodded, but his feet slowed at the apartment door. He knew how bad Sam was hurting. He knew the bite of Gary's cruelty, that lash of hate better than anyone else did. But Mitch had still picked up that hateful whip and turned it on someone else. Someone he loved.
Mitch squared his shoulders.
He was not his father.
He would not be a monster.
Sam hunched over the dining room table, still working on whatever accounts he'd brought home, the sexy glasses on the bridge of his nose. He didn't acknowledge Mitch or Liv when they came through the door. He didn't look at them. His shoulders didn't stiffen. It was as if they weren't even there.
Mitch didn't blame him.
He walked to Sam's chair, knelt on the floor beside him. "Sam?"
"Do you want my fucking company now, Mitch?" he said, glacial blue eyes focused on his paperwork. "Or is it time to toss my candy ass out?" He sniffed in cold disdain. "I'd like to see you try."
Regret churned Mitch's stomach. "Sammy, please."
He finally focused cold blue eyes on Mitch. Sam's lips thinned. He threaded his fingers into the hair above Mitch's ear. Sam's thumb stroked his cheek, just under his right eye. "You've been crying."
"I'm on my knees. Whatever you want, whatever you need, whatever it takes." His heart in his throat, Mitch stared up at him. "Forgive me." Sam exhaled a long breath. "Why do you make it is so completely impossible to stay mad at you?"
Chapter Twenty-Four
Days later, Liv still spooked like a scared rabbit every time Sam or Mitch said they loved her or each other. Which Sam did, constantly. When they woke in the morning. During dinner. Mitch's heart warmed at Sammy's open affection, the intimate smiles and caresses that invariably accompanied the words. Sam's guilelessness encouraged Mitch to be as unaffected about his feelings, too. Mitch learned to tell Liv and Sammy both that he loved them and he reveled in the satisfaction and joy of—
finally—saying it.
For Sammy, Mitch's love was like a brushfire, burning hot and out of control. Sam drew Mitch to him like a flame, consuming Mitch in his heat. Not just his body, though sex with Sammy never failed to awe Mitch, but his mind, too. Mitch loved making him laugh, Mitch's heart lighting whenever Sam's lips bowed to a sexy grin. Mitch's entire being focused on pleasing the man, in bed and out. And in making Sam happy, Mitch found happiness himself.
Mitch's love for Liv was different, but no less powerful. She was his whole world. She filled the empty places inside him and though Liv gave of herself freely, generously, Mitch knew he would never get enough. Not physically and not emotionally. Never. Liv owned him, body and soul.
Even if she still wouldn't give him the words.
Mitch wanted them, desperately wanted Liv to confess her love to him. More than he'd ever wanted anything in his life, but he told himself to be patient. Livvy didn't need to tell him that she loved him. She proved it to him every day. Mitch was flying high, his heart almost bursting, when he got home a couple of days before Christmas. Work had slacked off so Mitch had spent more and more of the past weeks inspecting fixer-upper's on his rehab list. He'd found a house suitable for flipping right away. Decent location. The kitchen had screamed for an update, but the granite counters were a dream. New appliances and re-facing the cabinets would spruce it up. Beautiful hardwood floors had hidden under hideous puke green carpeting, too. The bones of the house were good, the repairs relatively minor. Mitch could've flipped that house in a few months and earned a tidy profit for his trouble. But it wouldn't have been a home.
Not the home Mitch wanted to build with Liv and Sam.
So he'd kept looking. He'd worked down his list of addresses and finally stumbled on a promising house that day. A foreclosure outside of town, the place needed more work than the other houses he'd looked at, way more work than Mitch usually invested in a rehab. Punks had broken into the place to steal the copper wiring, which would have to be replaced, and had squatted there for a while, judging by the heaped garbage. That had attracted rats and other pests. The roof needed replacing—
not immediately but soon. Structurally, some of the rooms were absurdly small. Mitch would have to knock out a non-load-bearing wall between the living and dining rooms to open up that space and combine one of the smaller bedrooms with the larger master bedroom to en
large it.
The house was a disaster.
But it'd sell cheap.
Dirt cheap.
Which, after his last divorce, was right in Mitch's price range. The location couldn't be beaten, either. Developers had concentrated near the mall and industrial complex on the other side of town so the land was relatively pristine, untouched. Mitch had double-checked the real estate listing—the wreck of a house sat on twelve acres of virgin woodland. Barring the Cape Cod across the road, neighbors were few and far between. Liv would like that almost as much as Mitch did. Nobody craved open spaces more than kids who'd been raised in the sardined aisles of a trailer park did.
Besides, Mitch was a pervert, not a moron. He, Sam, and Livvy shacking up together would outrage the puritanical sensibilities of most people. Here, they'd have privacy.
So Mitch whipped out his cell and made a few calls on the way home. Wouldn't hurt to arrange for the electrician and plumber he and Artie kept on retainer to draw up estimates.
When he got home, Liv lay on the couch, sleeping. Thank God.
"How's she feeling?" Mitch asked on a low murmur when Sam followed him into their bedroom.
"Her fever finally broke late this morning and she's been out like a light since." Sam sprawled on the bed to watch Mitch strip out of his jeans and work shirt. "She kept most of the Sprite down."
"She's still throwing up?" Mitch's cock jutted when he shoved his bikini briefs down his hips and off his legs. "Maybe we should we call a doctor." Sam shook his head. "It's just the flu. She's got it bad, but the doctor will just tell us to keep her hydrated, let her rest. How're you feeling?" Mitch grimaced.
Liv hadn't been the only one with the flu. Sam had come down with it first. Puking. Fever. Chills, head and body aches. Mitch knew because the bug had flattened him the next day, but they'd kicked it within twenty-four hours.
"I'm fine," Mitch said. A lot finer than Liv was. Liv, who'd coddled and nursed both of them, had been sick for three days straight. "It's Liv I'm worried about."
"She's still shaky and a little nauseated, but better than this morning." Sam trailed Mitch into the bathroom.
He leaned against the doorjamb while Mitch adjusted the water for his shower.
"I'll stay home with her tomorrow," Mitch said, stepping under the steaming spray. Ye Gods. Heaven. Searing water sluiced over his body, scalding the dirt of too many decrepit houses away. "I can scout houses any time."
"I'll nurse her."
Mitch had left the final twelve inches of the shower curtain gaping so he squinted through the water's spray to shoot a questioning glance at Sam. He shrugged an awkward shoulder. "I think she's starting to love me a little." He grinned. "I mean, for more than my dick."
Mitch reached for his bar of Zest. "Liv loves you. She just has trouble saying it." But Sam was right. Liv was fond of Sammy. Mitch had been a total asshole to Sam more than he cared to think about and every time, Liv had stood up for Sam, protected and defended him. But her heart wasn't invested. She didn't love Sam with the same fire and passion.
"She loved me like a friend." Sam rolled his eyes. "But now? I think . . . I think taking care of her showed her how much I love her. Walking the talk is finally getting through to her. When she looks at me, she sees me now. Not her buddy. Me."
"I've always seen you, Sammy." Liv's soft voice drifted behind the closed end of the shower curtain.
Mitch soaped his body, smiling when Sam's gaze whipped toward the doorway, where Livvy no doubt stood.
"The last few days, I've just seen you more clearly," she said. When she walked to Sam, he twined his arms around her, leaned his head close.
"There's room enough in your heart for us both."
Mitch leapt a happy beat as he ducked under the spray, giving them a small measure of privacy. Liv hadn't loved Sam before, no, but the warm sparkle in her eye when she'd gone into his arms, the soft yield of her body against Sam's . . . Mitch recognized that sparkle. Liv stared at him the same way, all the love she wouldn't—
couldn't—say shining like diamonds in her beautiful dark eyes.
When he glanced at them again, Sam kissed her cheek. "How are you feeling?" Liv's lips curved to a gentle smile. "Better."
She looked it. Well, okay, she hadn't showered in three days. Her hair had knotted into a nest of tangles around the tank filched from Sam's clothes and her wan face was paler than Mitch liked. But her skin didn't tinge green or glow rosy with fever. Though he knew Sam would stay home with her tomorrow, Liv wouldn't need the extra care and attention. Not physically.
She was finally on the mend.
Mitch shut off the water, ripped the curtain wide. Dripping, he climbed from the tub and loped his arms around them both. "I love you," he said and rejoiced that it didn't matter which one of them he meant.
Sam grinned.
"Mitch!" Liv cried out, laughing. "You're getting us all wet." Mitch pressed his cock to Sammy's hip, but his amused glance shot to Liv. "You like me getting you wet." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Sam chuckled. "Don't be such an inconsiderate slut. She needs to rest," he told Mitch. "No fucking her until tomorrow." But the hand Sam lowered to stroke Mitch's ass cheek told Mitch that there'd still be fucking aplenty tonight. Liv's mouth thinned. "That's something we need to discuss." Sam's lips had lowered to lick droplets from Mitch's shoulder. "So greedy," he said on a low rumble, sipping water from Mitch's skin. "But no sex, Liv. You feel better, but your body isn't up to it yet."
Liv gave the both of them a playful shove. "Oh, will you stop fornicating for a minute. I'm not worried about getting laid tonight. I'm worried about getting laid tomorrow."
Mitch's attention focused on her. "What about it?"
Liv sighed. "I threw up one of my birth control pills." Sammy looked up. His blue eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?" She nodded, her nose wrinkling. "I saw it."
Mitch's stomach did a nervous flip, but not enough to distract him from the problem at hand. "Just the one?"
Liv bit her lip.
God, he loved it when she did that.
"I . . . don't know. I think so, but I was pretty sick. I could've thrown up more and didn't notice because I felt so horrible."
Sam frowned. "Honey, I was with you twenty-four-seven. You puked a lot, but you managed to keep some stuff down. I was worried so I paid attention. I didn't see anything."
Her teeth gnawed at her lush, bottom lip. "All the same, maybe we should . . . be careful. Just for a little while."
Liv could get pregnant.
Granted, one missed pill wasn't the end of the world. Mitch's second wife had always forgotten to take her pills. She'd once skipped four entire days. No baby. And they'd fucked like crazy. "I vote no. No condom."
She glared at him. "Jesus. Will you stop with the voting thing?" Mitch shook his head. "I've never worn a rubber with you and I don't want to start now. You're being paranoid."
Sam nodded in agreement. "You only threw up one pill."
"That we know of," she pointed out.
"I appreciate your concern. I do," Sam argued, "but you're blowing this way out of proportion."
She rolled her eyes. "Is screwing without a condom that freaking important?" Oh yeah.
Oh hell yeah.
There was nothing like filling her, shooting thick and wet inside her, no feeling in the world. Except maybe sucking the cum from her well-used snatch. That had become one of Mitch's favorite pastimes. Hell, Liv didn't even have to clean herself up before going to sleep anymore; he licked and slurped at her pussy so much, and if he didn't, Sam ate at her. The both of them had developed a voracious appetite for her sloppy cunt.
"It's a risk," Mitch said and brushed a kiss over her pale cheek. "But one I'm willing to take."
"Me, too." Sam's lips curved to a wicked, skeptical bow. "So you're outvoted."
"It'll be okay," Mitch said, taking her mouth in a slow, drugging kiss. If she ended up pregnant . . . . Would that really be the end of the world? Mitch didn't think
so. She'd marry him if she were pregnant. Artie would shit bricks if he knew Mitch had considered marriage, no matter how briefly, but . . . marrying Liv wouldn't be so bad. Marrying a knocked-up Liv would be even better.
Marriages ended.
Kids were forever.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Liv moved in.
Oh, she still had her apartment on Euclid, but after she recovered from the flu, she never spent another night in it. Finding space for the extra clothes and crap she brought to their apartment became an increasingly difficult challenge, though. As the days stretched, he and Sam made room for her. Sharing a bed was easy. The three of them living in what amounted to a one-bedroom closet was hard.
And neither he nor Sam wore a rubber.
The first time, Mitch honestly hadn't expected Liv to give in to them so readily. He and Sammy had made a game of it. Which of them could turn her on that much?
Which lover could wind her body so tight that she didn't care if he fucked her bare as long as she got fucked and fucked hard?
Mitch was not at all disappointed that Sammy won that battle. Liv had begged the younger man. Begged, then demanded. Her eyes glittering stark arousal and fierce love, she'd taken Sam's naked cock between her legs and Mitch had rarely felt so humbled and awed.
She still wouldn't give either one of them the words.
But Liv loved them. She loved them from the depths of her soul and taking Sam's cum, pumping deep into her pussy, first? That rock bottom trust, her generosity proved her feelings for Sam ran stronger and truer than friendship.
The three of them, their relationship, steadied. Solidified. Until each of them was a vital part of the other.
Except for the bitching and sniping because their apartment was too fucking cramped for three people. Aggressive sex and lots of it helped relieve the tension, but by the end of the second month, even Mitch's nerves had worn ragged. When he walked through his front door at the end of January, Sam had pinned Liv to the coffee table, both of her wrists handcuffed in Sam's hand at the base of her spine. Sammy fucked himself into her, made liberal use of her cunt. Her tits mashed into the wood and glass of his coffee table, but Liv didn't seem to mind Sam's domination. Whatever argument had triggered Sam's ferocious, controlled fucking seemed to have slipped her mind. Liv gasped and moaned against the hard wood of the coffee table, like she never wanted her plowing to end.
