“Hijo, I’m not going to tell you to stay calm—I remember the last time I did that,” he doesn’t call me on my language either, “but you need to think about what you’re going to do. Mr. Stafford only recently came back to the team and Sasha, she’s still got her hands in everything. Not to mention she’s the boss’ daughter. You can’t go around making threats aimed at the boss’ daughter.”
I love that his first thought is about what I’m going to do and not questioning my eagerness to place the blame squarely on the shoulders of the one responsible. I know my part and I’ll have to pay for that, but this was malicious. This was designed to break, to crack the foundation I’ve spent almost a decade reinforcing with Izzy.
“Lito?” I don’t like the desperation in my voice, but I’ve reached my breaking point. A man can only suffer through so much before he himself is begging for a lifeline.
The move to London was easy.
At first.
With Izzy here and the instant good news, we were in newlywed paradise. Even though the memory of her dropping in front of me again like she did freaked me the fuck out. I had never been so fucking scared in my life.
She obliged me my over-protective, paranoid tendencies. Most of the time. I inwardly laugh at the memory of her meeting Mazzy at the airport. She never knew it, but while she walked through the airport “by herself,” I trailed behind her just out of sight. The challenge wasn’t so much in not letting Izzy spot me but in making sure the rest of the travelers don’t recognize who I was.
After Mazzy arrived, it was just busy, busy, busy for me.
With Bean out, Sasha was turning the team into one big ‘look at me running this team’ show. I swear the number of cameras doubled and her face was every-fucking-where.
And then? Sasha fucking Stafford happened…to me. What came next, I could never have predicted. The one thing that got me in this place to begin with—
“Hija de la puta madre!”
After my outburst, the silence settles in around us.
Then, Mazzy was gone. Things got harder with Izzy. Guilt overwhelmed me. Keeping something from her and not being there with her.
There for her.
Like when she lost the baby. We lost our baby and I wasn’t there for her. Nope. I wasn’t. Instead, I was at yet another event playing Sasha’s arm candy. Fuck! Izzy always saw this and because I didn’t...because I was blinded by the idea that the boss’ daughter would be anything but friendly, helpful, and trustworthy, I failed to see the shit storm she was bringing.
“Lito, dígame,” I say looking directly at him, “how did I let this happen?”
He looks contemplative but doesn’t answer right away.
The room of walls adorned with bursts of color remains untouched across the hall from ours. It exists as a constant reminder of what we lost. Of what I let happen. After she came home from the hospital, Izzy thought she was sneaking into the baby’s room in the middle of the night, but I knew. Every time, she shifted in bed or woke from a nightmare I was aware. For some reason, she didn’t want me to know. She’d be back in bed before the sun rose. So, I let her have that secret. It was the least that I could do even though it tore me apart to be so useless, so incapable of fixing it. This. Everything.
“Diego,” Lito breaks through my mental rebashing—rehashing, whatever—of the last few months.
I scrub my hands over my face, the four or five-day growth of my beard makes a scratching sound in the otherwise silent room. I smack my cheeks to jolt the hangover fog from rolling in. I force myself to look at Lito. I know he means business when he uses my name. I know this means he’s going to let me have it, hold no punches, and if I didn’t have fifty pounds on him, he’d probably take me over his knee and whoop my ass.
“I don’t know the details except for what’s on the cover of every tabloid magazine here. Tía Lupe called and said these images are showing up on the covers in México.”
Fuck.
With that new information, my head drops back into my hands.
“I don’t say this to make you feel worse, b—”
“Ever think,” I interrupt his unnecessary justification. I’m aware of the truth. “Ever think you were doing the right thing, but instead, you just make a massive mess that takes a crap all over your life?” I ask Lito. I can hear the plea for him to understand what I’m saying without explaining.
“Diego—”ah, shit, he’s using my name again”—sometimes we’re too close to see that the right thing to do was the harder thing to accomplish.”
I look up from my hands when he pauses. Lito is about to go Yoda on my ass.
“I don’t believe what I’m seeing, Diego,” I sigh a breath of relief, “but for those that don’t know you like I do, seeing is believing.”
And it’s in those words do I feel the weight of this truth. I lean back in my chair and let my head hang, eyes staring at the rafted ceilings of this hotel suite. The truth heavier than the headache I won in last night’s drunken pity party.
Lito lets me sit like this without pushing the issue. I know he’s not done, but he’s waiting for me to say something. He says he doesn’t believe what he sees, but how long will that last if I don’t tell him something?
I let out the most feral growl in frustration.
When I lift my head up, Lito is patiently staring at me. I’ve been here before.
With him.
Because of something with Izzy.
And the truth shall set you free. Visions of a crazed lawyer that can’t lie because his kid wished it so run through my mind.
More like the truth will tighten the noose around my neck. I pound the rest of the water bottle in front of me before I start.
“Remember when Bean had his heart attack?” Lito nods. “That’s the night this fucking mess started!” He raises his eyebrows at me. Yeah, yeah. Language. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I continue my recollection of all the events including that night and since. He doesn’t interrupt my pauses and keeps silent when he’s heard bad decision after bad decision.
When I’m done, Lito speaks, “Hijo, have you told Izzy?”
After regurgitating that vile shit, I lack the strength to answer, so I shake my head buried in my hands.
“And why not?” he prods.
“Proof,” I blurt. My hands muffle the answer, but there’s no mistaking what I said.
It’s the one word I can say because it’s the one word that gives me hope. It’s the one word that can make this mess disappear. “Proof, Lito. She needs proof. After the first mess I made of our relationship, I know she’s not believing shit if I can’t prove it.”
“And what are you doing to prove it?” When I make eye contact with him, I see he’s not really asking to get an answer.
“Everything,” I answer anyway.
My eyes must plead with him to say more. He must sense my frustration because he continues with no prompting from me. “When you commit to until death do you part, you commit to all that that entails. You commit to being there. Those rings,” I follow his pointed finger to my tattooed wedding band, “are symbols of your marriage, not each other.
“You commit to keeping her secret. Not keeping secrets from her.” I resist the urge to snarl at him. It’s not Lito that makes me that angry. It’s what I did. Or rather what I didn’t do.
“You commit to your marriage,” he pauses looking lost in thought. “Marriage is about love and respect. It’s about knowing your wife and giving her the room to grow. It’s about being present, for the good, the bad, and the ugly—”
“Fuck if we haven’t already seen the ugly.”
“It’s about showing up and pitching in,” he continues as if I didn’t just interrupt him. “It’s making room to remember the little things because the big things
are too important to be forgotten.”
He knows I’m about to argue that I know this. He halts me with the shake of his head and proceeds. “It’s about holding her hand or holding her up. But hand holding isn’t always the answer, hijo,” he levels a pointed look at me. “Sometimes, that easy way really is just too good to be true. Sometimes, you’re going to have to be the reason she needs holding up. But you always,” he says emphatically, “always,” he repeats, “have to be the man worthy of her trust. When you’re not,” he taps the nearly empty bottle of Patron Silver Tequila and gets up, “you’re finding yourself in a hotel room with an empty bottle while your wife sleeps alone.”
“What the hell, Lito?” I can’t hold my rage in after that truth bomb. I track him with my eyes to the kitchen. He’s making a ruckus.
“I’m only pointing out the obvious, hijo. Truth hurts.” He slams a cupboard. He taps the spoon against the cup to get my attention. “But I’m here to hold you up.” I smell the coffee brewing. Izzy. I never really cared for coffee before Izzy came into my life, but now, and to this day, it reminds me of her.
Lito breaks through my Izzy daydream, “You live in a life cataloged by the media.” He places what looks like jet engine oil in a cup in front of me. Dumping in the last of the tequila, he slides the concoction closer to my clasped hands. “Drink,” he says before continuing. “You put yourself, your family, and everything you do in the limelight. We all signed up without a second thought because we trust you. You have to trust us. Especially Izzy. You’re here, in London, living your dream. I don’t want you forgetting how you’re here.”
Izzy.
“Marriage is about reminding her how much your world is intertwined with hers. So much so, that a moment without her hurts.”
He nods when I meet his eyes with mine. I can feel them swimming beneath the unshed tears.
“It’s about saying sorry even when you’re not wrong, but especially when you are. It’s about protecting her, yourself, and your love from those that want to take what you have for no other reason than they can.”
Yeah, right? I hmmpf with a nod.
“This isn’t the first time nor will it be the last, but,” he holds up one of the many rags scattered across this table, “from the looks of it, it’s the first time you’ve got your work cut out for you. And,” he tosses the magazine back on the table, “if you let them win, you’re not just losing your reputation, you could be losing your wife.”
There he goes again with the verbal punches. They’re a left-right combo of hook shots straight to the body. If he had the physical strength his words carry, he could go toe to toe with Sebastian and win.
“Okay. Finish the coffee, take some ibuprofen, and go get some sleep,” he orders me. “Mazzy had to make a trip to Switzerland. I’m going back to the house to stay with mi bella preciosa.” It stings a little hearing him call her that. He must catch the pain in my expression. I’m not so practiced at hiding what I’m feeling. “She’ll always be that no matter what mess you make of your marriage, hijo.” There’s that one-two again.
Wait. What? “Is Izzy alone, Lito?”
“She is and she’s perfectly fine.”
“Says the guy that gets to rescue her,” I grumble.
“I wouldn’t have to, if only…” he trails off and never finishes. I know the rest.
“Tell her I love her.”
“Claro.”
I muster up the energy to walk Lito to the suite door, but I’m instantly drained the moment I shut it. I rest my head on the door willing my body to get up, to finish Lito’s hangover coffee, to find the Advil, and to crawl into my bed. Tomorrow is a travel day, so I can sleep for nearly eighteen hours if I wanted.
My subconscious had different ideas as images of memories flickered into focus.
Chapter Eighteen: Mister Love
June 1999
“WHAT THE FUCK, MAZZ?”
I know. I’m shouting at Izzy’s best friend, not the best way to get answers, but she’s not giving me anything and I’m frustrated.
“Tweedle D,” What the fuck did she call me? “I’m not the person you have to talk to and certainly not the person you want to yell at. You were a man hanging by a thread from the moment she agreed to go on a date with you.” I adjust the phone in my hand.
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” I growl out.
She just chuckles and I swear if I could reach through the phone and shake her I would. “I’ll tell you one thing, Diego.” My name sounds like a curse word coming from her mouth. “Izzy wants to be worth it. She’s got it in her head somewhere that she’s not worth it and that’s why her bio dad bailed before she was born and why her parents were taken from her.” I can hear her take a drag from her cigarette. “Good luck,” she says just before she hangs up.
I spent most of that phone conversation with Mazzy with my head resting on my arm over the edge of my desk. I have seventy-eight cents in coins on the floor. I counted as Mazzy chastised and tormented me with no answers and chuckles. Until the end. She gave me something there.
I look up to see Sebastian just staring at me. “So, that’s your idea of a good idea? Calling your ex’s best friend and yelling at her to give you answers?” When I don’t answer, he continues. “Did you get the answers you were looking for? Maybe you should call back, I think if you yelled just a little bit more it might work.”
“Fuck you, Baz.” I give him the finger to match my words. “And if you must know, she did give me something.”
“We don’t need the dramatic pauses. Just spit it out.”
“She said, ‘Izzy wants to be worth it.’”
He looks at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “How the fuck you gonna show her that?”
“Fuck if I know,” I shake my head.
Chapter Nineteen: Bad Moon Rising
January 2007
“Oh, Diego.”
The soft moan of my name past her lips causes my cock to twitch. She grinds her hips, fucking my face as if she can’t get enough. She grabs the rumpled sheets and twists her hands. Arching up her back and thrusting her dripping pussy into my face, my scruff catches on her bare skin.
Fuck if her bare pussy isn’t the sweetest thing ever.
“Diego,” she cries out breathlessly. She’s freed her hands from the tangled sheets and is clawing at my back. Her body is trembling. She’s almost there.
“I need more. Now!” The last word is a combination of a command and a plea. The vibration of my amused chuckle tips her over the edge. She cries out and before I can react, she’s taking charge of giving herself the release she was demanding.
I watch.
I’m mesmerized by her fingers rubbing her clit. They’re quickly moving lower. Spreading her lips while the heel of her palm keeps up the grinding pressure on her trigger. “Ah,” she gasps as she slips a finger slightly past the opening. My eyes are drawn to her face by the purr that follows. Her eyes are shut, head thrown back. I follow the curve of her face landing at her jawline. She’s so beautiful even when she’s so tightly wound. No longer gasping and purring, her jaw tightens. The moan that slips through her clenched teeth reminds me that she’s about to reach the finish without me.
Grabbing both of her wrists, I suck her sweetness from her arousal covered fingers. She lets out an exasperated moan when I pin her hands to the bed and lightly blow on her clit. She’s not groaning in frustration for long. I plunge my tongue into her pussy, sucking on her nub, and sending her trembling over the edge. She rides out her orgasm on my tongue and against my face.
“My turn,” I tell her, flipping us over. She monopolizes on the opportunity to grind her pretty little cunt on my face, causing my dick to twitch. She slides down the length of my body, leaving a trail of her arousal from chest to cock, a hap
py trail if ever there was one.
She teases me, sliding her moist seam over the head of my cock. Looking at me, a smirk graces the corners of her mouth as she continues to bedevil me.
I see the moment she decides to sheath my cock with her warm, wet pussy. In one swift downward thrust, I’m buried in her from tip to root.
She stills, allowing herself to adjust to the invasion of my cock. I can feel the walls of her pussy pulsating around me, the proof of her titillation dripping out of her onto my balls. I hone in on where our two bodies become one, blazing a trail with my stare from the junction at the V of her thighs to her slitted eyes, her lids heavy with lust, her draping hair framing her face.
When I thrust up my hips, encouraging her to continue, her eyes meet mine.
“Fuck. Me,” I command. “Ride my cock. Take what’s yours.”
Her pussy clenches around my cock with every word of my commands. She starts slow, rocking back and forth, setting a slow, steady, torturous pace. Her rhythm an assault on my resolve to let her score, bringing us both the game-winning goal…with my assist, of course.
My mind is a lust-filled haze when she adds a swirl to her hips. The circular motion and the rhythmic rocking are a heady combination. She picks up the pace and I’m a goner. My hands clench down on her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, increasing her pace to bring an end to this match.
“Diego,” she pants. “I can’t…” she falters. Her words a breathless whisper. Her rhythm becomes frantic. She’s no longer in control. I can feel her desperation for her next orgasm. It’s evident in the tightening of her pussy milking my cock.
And then I feel it.
Her tethered reign on her composure is snapped. She throws her head back and her body shakes from the orgasm. Her motions and movements involuntary, she’s chasing the dragon that is her climax.
Love Needs Another Chance (Truth About Love #3) Page 10
