One Too Many

by Jade West

  I waited for his answer, still smiling as the boys disappeared from view.

  “I don’t have a family,” he said finally.

  I felt it like a shard of glass in my chest, his words clipped and curt. Dead.

  “Not anyone?”

  He shook his head. “A mother who doesn’t count for much.”

  “No father?” I asked, and he shot me a glare.

  “A string of potentials. Nobody who gave a shit enough to stick around.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it.

  Our moment was disturbed by Brett’s heavy footsteps. The full English in his grip was stacked high today. I couldn’t help but notice the extra rashers of bacon and the double helping of toast.

  “Thought you might be hungry,” my husband announced as he placed it in front of our guest with a thump.

  I could’ve hugged him so hard, thanking my lucky stars that I was blessed with such goodness in my world. Brett caught my expression and matched it with a smile of his own.

  “You two dirty kids having fun plotting the rerun?”

  I laughed, but Thomas didn’t.

  “No,” I said. “We were talking about families.”

  “And you’d better leave our guest to enjoy his food,” Brett told me, and held out his hand.

  I glanced at the other man before I accepted, but his eyes were still on the front outside, staring into nothing. Distant.

  He was still staring into nothing as we stepped away, and again as I poked my head around the kitchen doorway amidst loading the dishwasher with Brett.

  It was only when I stepped out to fetch his breakfast plate that I registered he’d disappeared, no sight of him anywhere in the dining room or reception as I headed back to his table.

  He was gone, but his breakfast wasn’t.

  His food had barely been touched.

  Just like his black-hearted soul.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Thomas

  Family. The word made me retch. I fought back the heaves as I struggled for composure.

  Seeing Grace’s pretty smile as she pondered some beautiful imaginary future was enough to set me reeling, my appetite spoiled for the morning and then some. As I stared down from the wrought iron railings I was becoming so accustomed to, I considered it may well be spoiled for life.

  The boys were down there, digging an ambitious pit of sand in their bid to build a fortress on a mountain. In the face of my pitiful unease, I felt the strangest desire to help them.

  But no man does that. No man can do that. Not in times where everyone fears everyone, with good reason.

  People’s intentions are rarely for the good.

  I could imagine them having children, the Fosters. I could imagine it here, in this quaint little haven on the coast, with their coats buttoned high and their wellington boots slapping along the front in bad weather. I could imagine Brett teaching them to kick a ball on the sand, and Grace spreading out a beach mat big enough for the whole family, dusting down their feet before heading back up for a warming Sunday dinner, should they ever get that nebulous chef vacancy filled by somebody half decent.

  And then, in some fit of absolute idiocy, I imagined myself heading down here for a long weekend to spend time with the bunch of them. Some grotesque excuse for an uncle who’d always bring them generous gifts from the city and spoil them with more ice cream and donuts than would be in any way acceptable.

  It pained. Stabbing like a dagger of broken fucking dreams. Of what I’d told myself was an impossible illusion worth nothing, and yet found here. A beacon of genuine possibility in this beautiful little piece of bliss in the middle of nowhere.

  I pulled my coat collar higher and headed down onto the sand, daring to skirt close enough to those little boys’ antics that I could hear their animated discussion. Higher, higher, make a moat! A moat!

  I’d dug myself a moat so deep it was untraversable. I’d left Polly on the other side, her sad face calling through the years, begging for passage. And now she was gone.

  I walked for hours, through the morning and then through lunch, heading beyond the outcrop at low tide and onto the wide open beach beyond. I stared at the sweet cottages on the clifftops, wondering who lived up there, so precariously high in this glorious space. I stared at the horizon, and the never-ending crashing of the waves. I stared into myself, and the pit of despair I’d compounded for a lifetime. For the quest I’d pursued without fruition, its ultimate goal already buried six foot deep.

  And I wondered how the holy living fuck I was going to escape from this place and be able to breathe back in my old stagnant life.

  I craved Grace’s warm arms around my neck. Brett’s ridiculously grudging smile as he delivered an extra helping of toast on my breakfast plate. I craved the laughter of the offspring the pair of them may be lucky enough to have one day. The sight of Christmas wrapping discarded across the dining room floor as their kids dug into their presents with Christmas carols playing on the TV.

  And Polly.

  I craved Polly.

  I craved her with every drop of blood left in my cold, hard veins.

  Resisting the urge to message her took every scrap of my restraint, my ugly core still bleating loud enough to shy away from the one constant light in my dark sky.

  When my mobile phone buzzed in my hand I caught a breath, but it wasn’t her. It was Grace. A superficial text that would have meant nothing to most men, but to me it meant everything.

  We’re having honeycomb ice cream sundaes after lunch. Do you want one?

  I tipped my head to the clouds above, unable to hold back the smile.

  And then I replied.

  I want your sweet little cunt, Grace. Spread wide and pounded hard. I want to see you squirm as you struggle to take two. I want your gaping asshole weeping cum down your pretty thighs.

  I waited. Puffing on yet another cigar as I contemplated what the fuck her response would be.

  When it came it was every bit as beautiful as her.

  Honeycomb ice cream first though, yes? I’m not sure my gaping asshole is up to another pounding without a sugary warm up. x

  A kiss.

  She ended with a kiss.

  And that ended me.

  I stubbed my cigar out on the rocks, and decided to face my future.

  Fuck knows how hard a road lay ahead, but I’d never once shied away from a challenge in my life.

  I wasn’t about to start now.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Brett

  “He isn’t going to want honeycomb ice cream, Grace. He barely touched his breakfast this morning.” I was trying not to smile as I said it, but she was making it impossible.

  Her efforts to please the sack of shit who’d come smashing through our life were sweet enough to tickle me deep, though they fucking shouldn’t. They should’ve been enough to set my blood boiling and kick that sonofabitch out on his posh boy ass.

  “He will,” she insisted, digging in the fridge for the honey topping.

  I folded my arms as I watched her, leaning in the doorway as my cock twitched at the sight. Her pretty ass tight in jeans, her thighs straining as she reached a high shelf.

  “This is why we need a chef,” she told me. “They’d make a much more impressive sundae than I ever will.”

  “We should run them through the task at the next interview. Fuck lobster and crayfish, show us your ice cream skills.”

  “Joke all you like,” she said. “Dessert is everything.”

  I shook my head and turned away, staring back out at the empty dining room and trying to imagine it filled to bursting one day. Ice cream wouldn’t bring the crowds, but a decent menu really might. I was being convinced, slowly but surely. Enough to consider opening up our vacancy to potential live-in staff, should we need to.

  But that wasn’t for today.

  Today was about Heath and ice cream and this naively cute little mission Grace was on to warm up his cold blood.

&nb
sp; “Heard back from Sarah?” I called over my shoulder.

  “Not yet. Soon, hopefully.”

  I checked my watch. Lunch had been and gone, and in theory so had the donut run back in Gloucestershire.

  “You really think Polly Piper knows a man like Heath?”

  She approached with an arm full of ridiculous ice cream toppings. “So social media claims.”

  “Claimed.”

  “I hardly think it can have been that much of a mistake,” she insisted. “It was bold as brass, you saw it too.”

  I still found it hard to imagine. I found it hard to imagine anyone being friends with that cunt, let alone some small town bakery girl from back at our school.

  What I was able to imagine was watching him drive my Grace wild all over again. Teamwork came in the most unlikely of places sometimes, I’d learned that well enough on the sports field, but its results this time around were worth the uneasy truce. I’d shake his hand in a heartbeat for the sake of watching my wife lose her shit between us just once more this week.

  The memories would last a lifetime.

  She assembled the array of toppings on the breakfast counter and dug out some sundae bowls from underneath.

  “Do you think he likes honeycomb?”

  “I think he likes you,” I told her, and the flash of a smile on her face told me she appreciated the compliment. “I’m sure you could feed him honeycomb sundae from your pussy if he refuses it with a spoon.”

  “Too cold.” Her giggle was divine. “I’ll consider it as a last resort. Maybe it will dull yesterday’s ache as a side benefit.”

  She stepped back to view her display, nodding to herself that she was onto a good thing with the arrangement. It was sweet enough to burst.

  My beautiful wife squeaked as I stormed up behind her and swept her off her feet. Her legs dangled loose, her laughter ringing out as I swayed her from side to side and landed a kiss on the first sliver of bare neck I could find under her hair.

  “I’ll eat your dessert,” I said. “All night long, every night of the week, forever more.”

  She spun to face me as soon as I dropped her to her feet, and her eyes were warm enough to melt my guts to a puddle.

  “Not when we have little Fosters running around the place, you won’t,” she said. “We’ll be exhausted.”

  I couldn’t hide the shock at her line of conversation, and she nodded silently as I tipped my head.

  “Soon,” she continued. “Here if we can save the place, or back home if we can’t. I don’t care, Brett, just as long as we’re together.”

  Her easiness perplexed me. The idea of losing this place so alien I couldn’t stomach it.

  “We’ll save it,” I told her, but she shrugged.

  “I hope so, but it’s not everything. We’re everything, you and me. Anything else on top is a bonus.”

  This wasn’t her. Not the woman I’d seen destroying herself over the potential loss these past few months. Her stance was calm and easy, eyes twinkling as they stared up at mine.

  It was me who felt the twist of failure. Me who shook my head and gritted my teeth and jabbed a finger toward reception.

  “We’ll do it,” I insisted. “You and me. This is our place. Our legacy.”

  “Or your dad’s,” she whispered, softening the blow with a brush of her fingertips down my cheek. “This place was my choice, Brett, but it was his money. I wonder sometimes whether your drive to save this place is more about us or him.”

  “That’s absurd,” I snapped, but it was with too much venom.

  Her eyes said it all. Her words didn’t need to.

  “Heath brought more into our lives than fifty grand in the bank,” she whispered. “He brought a whole pile of shitty insight along with him. I’ve been wondering if that’s actually been worth more than the money.”

  “Insight into how not to be a total cunt all your life.”

  Her smirk was the opposite of the one he wore on his face every fucking opportunity, it was humble and kind. Everything I’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

  “Insight into the important things,” she countered. “Insight into how lucky we are to have the essentials. I’d never swap our love for his lifestyle. I don’t think he’d be able to say the same.”

  “So, what now? You want to friend the guy? Get him coming down here for weekend breaks and ice cream sundaes? Maybe he can watch the kids while I slam the hell out of your sweet pussy in the room next door?”

  She laughed, and so did I.

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re crazy,” I told her, and I meant it in the very best of ways. “Last week he wanted to destroy us. This week you want him to turn into a childminder.”

  “My horizons are broadening,” she whispered. “Like the other parts of me.”

  “And how about this evening? Do you think you’ll be up to broadening them all over again?”

  A wink and another smirk, and if she’d have asked for my heart on a steel platter right then I’d have carved it out gladly.

  “Ice cream first,” she said. “And then we’ll see.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Grace

  He could have ignored my stupid text messages, far away on the sand somewhere. He could have put it down to an idiot hostess attempt and shrugged it off as nothing.

  But he didn’t.

  I couldn’t hold back the grin as Thomas Heath appeared in reception with his coat collar high, shrugging off his outer layers without a word as I fought the urge to leap up and down on the spot.

  I didn’t know what was coming over me. It was bizarre. A seemingly mindless attempt to forge a human relationship with someone inhuman. Yet still, I couldn’t stop.

  “You couldn’t resist the honeycomb temptation,” I goaded with a laugh.

  He didn’t laugh back, but he did manage a flash of a smile.

  “I couldn’t resist the lure of a pretty little pussy, regardless of whether its owner insists on spooning ice cream down my throat.”

  His words zipped right through me, my pride blooming bright, even though it was little more than a joke.

  It didn’t feel like a joke.

  He couldn’t resist. Couldn’t resist me.

  I was still grinning like a fool when Brett stepped on through with a pile of receipts in his hand. He started when he saw our returning guest, raising an eyebrow but offering a nod without any outward sign of bristling.

  “You came back for sprinkles, then? Just as well, or she’d have sent a search party down the beach.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind next time I get an invitation,” Thomas said back, and it kept my grin at full throttle.

  Next time.

  I couldn’t stop myself wondering how many next times there would be. This week, or maybe another. If there was another.

  If we’d ever see him once he checked out this second time round.

  If he’d run back to the city and never come back.

  If he knew us at all. If he ever had.

  “I’m not much of a fan of desserts,” he told me. “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

  I didn’t recognise my own filthy mouth as it took on a life of its own. “I’m not much of a fan of taking two dicks in an already wrecked body, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

  Brett was silent for a long moment, and so was Thomas. Both of them staring like I was an alien minx beamed down from the stars.

  It was me who laughed first, long and loud, with tears pricking my eyes at the absurdity of this whole situation and how it had changed us all.

  “She’s quite the siren, your wife,” Thomas said, and it set me off all the more.

  “She is this week,” he replied, and I caught sight of the glint in his eyes.

  Their low laughter was the world. Their lust for me was the moon in my sky, pushing and pulling my tides, my whole body reeling with crazy sensations.

  Confidence.

  It was confidence.

 
Relief.

  Priorities reordered.

  Love.

  Life.

  The excitement of two hot bodies pressed to mine.

  It was everything.

  And nothing.

  The whole universe laughing at itself in my belly.

  “I’m sorry,” I wheezed, but they didn’t make a move to stop me. They were steady, smiling back at me with a hint of puzzlement that tickled me that little bit harder.

  And then there were more people there. Guests returning from the beach and finding us hovering there in reception, me lost to words as Brett stepped behind the counter and handled their enquiries about a dinner venue.

  I met Thomas Heath’s eyes as I swallowed my laughter, and his were bright. Hard. Burning.

  His were enough to set me spinning, wanting more of him along with my gorgeous husband.

  Not later, but then.

  Right then and there.

  I forced myself to look away from him and wave away our guests to the pub in the village with a decent semblance of a professional smile. One day I wouldn’t be doing that, sending them away to eat elsewhere. They’d be staying right here, no matter if I had to scour the whole world to find someone for our kitchen.

  I couldn’t risk looking back at Heath, so I didn’t. I slipped out from behind the counter and led the way into the dining room, gesturing to my array of pudding supplies with a flourish.

  “You really did go all out, didn’t you?” our blonde guest said, and I nodded.

  “Always.”

  A look passed between the two men that set my heart on fire. It wasn’t bitter, nor competitive, simply two men sharing their humour at the zany woman in front of them.

  It was perfect.

  My fingers were shaking as I dug the honeycomb ice cream from the freezer and attempted the three desserts. I felt like a fool, a total idiot as I slavered on the honey topping, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was keeping the mood right between the three of us as I handed over my creations and pointed to the window seat Thomas chose every morning.

  I watched him eat, my knee pressed to my husband’s under the table, foot tapping as I weighed up the potential of him casting this off as nothing. Saying my ice cream was shit. Provoking an argument out of nowhere.