Damaged Heart (A San Diegan Novel Book 3)

by S. M. Soto

  Closing my eyes, I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and chew on it nervously.

  “I’m going to ask you again. What did you come here for, Sam?”

  I open my mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. Silence wraps around us and Alex turns his back on me with a heavy sigh.

  “I love you.”

  The words sound foreign on my lips, but they also feel right. Saying those three little words is liberating.

  Alex’s arm shoots out, gripping the edge of the couch for support. The muscles in his back clench and I can feel the anger rolling off him in waves. Suddenly, he whirls on me, forcing me to take an abrupt step back.

  “Why should I listen now? Why should that mean anything to me now, Samantha?” He grinds out the words, pain brewing in his eyes.

  My bottom lip quivers uncontrollably as I say, “Because this time I’m ready. I’m finally ready to accept that I’ve loved you for nine long years and I was too stubborn to acknowledge it. I’m tired of living without you. I can’t go another day, Alex. I don’t want to.” I manage to speak through the torrent of tears trailing down my face. “I’m so sorry, for everything I’ve put you through. I let my past cloud what could’ve been a bright future for us, I see that now. I shouldn’t have allowed your mother to interfere all those years ago. I’m so sorry.”

  “My mother? What do you mean?” He prowls toward me, frustration etched into his features.

  I blow out a sigh and tilt my gaze toward the ceiling. I know if I tell him, he’ll hate her, possibly never even talk to her again, and as much as Victoriana deserves that, I won’t do that to her or Alex.

  “Nothing. I just…I guess I just came here to say I love you.”

  A long moment of silence passes.

  “Again. Say it again,” he demands, closing the distance between us.

  The heat of his body invades my senses and clouds my brain of rational thoughts.

  “I love you, Alex. I always have.” I stare up at him, putting forth all the conviction I can muster, so he can finally understand. His eyes clench shut, and for a moment it looks like he’s in dire pain. So I do the only thing I can think of.

  I kiss him.

  I kiss him with the ferocity of a million men going to war.

  I kiss him like I’m never going to see him again.

  I kiss him like my life depends on it.

  I kiss him like we are two missing puzzle pieces finally coming together.

  I kiss him like I love him. And I do. With all my battered, broken heart, I love Alex.

  From the first moment we met, he left an imprint on my heart, wiggled his way into my life, and I fell for him with no brakes to save me. He was my fictional knight in shining armor who came to slay my demons, no matter how many times I turned him away.

  Fisting his hand in my hair, Alex deepens our kiss. It’s a brutal and passionate kiss that nearly brings me to my knees. Our clothes fall away and scatter somewhere along the floor of the hallway as we tumble into his bedroom, flopping on his bed. His mouth leaves a scorching trail of fire in its wake as he licks a path down my neck, swirling in my navel. His tongue sears my skin, branding me as his for the rest of time.

  It is perfect. It is us. It is everything.

  He slides inside me with ease and I clench around him, squeezing his shaft tightly—afraid to let go. Each thrust of his hips sends me higher and higher, until I am standing on that proverbial ledge, close to falling. His eyes never once stray from mine, almost as if he’s afraid I’m going to disappear at any given second. He places his forehead on my mine, in the most heartwarming way only Alex could pull off. With our mouths parted, little moans slip past our lips. Panting into each other’s mouths, we grapple at each other as the waves of our orgasms crest.

  The skin-on-skin sensations, the contact of his cock hitting my G-spot so perfectly, sends shocks of electricity through my body. It is everything, and more. I am certain a bystander could hear the pounding of our hearts, syncing together as one. It is a beautiful, riveting melody that has us both surrendering our hearts and bodies. I feel myself start to come apart, and Alex, he is right there with me, just like he always is.

  Resting my head on his chest with a contented smile on my face, I listen to the rhythmic beat of his heart. I lightly run my fingers over his pecs, relishing the feel of his smooth, warm skin against mine.

  “I’m sorry. For everything,” I whisper. Alex props himself on his forearm, and cradles my face in his thick hand. His thumb lightly caresses my cheek as those honey brown eyes search mine.

  “You are mine, Samantha Faye Paisley. No more back and forth, or running away. I love you and that means I’m not letting you go. Not this time.”

  His words make my heart skip a happy beat, and a watery smile spreads across my face.

  Alex slides down my body, placing his lips softly on my stomach. The small gesture makes me cry. I sniffle, and Alex darts his warm gaze up to mine.

  “I love you, too,” he says rubbing small circles over my belly, where our child is growing.

  Placing my hand over his, I still his movements, prompting him to look up at me.

  “We love you too, baby.”

  His face breaks out in a wide grin that takes my breath away. Climbing up my body, he kisses me fiercely. I feel his love in every caress of his lips and stroke of his tongue. I feel everything when I’m with Alex. He’s my life, my heart and my soul. I was the disease, and Alex was the proverbial cure. Healing me, fixing me—always loving me. There were never many things in my life I was sure of, but Alex…he’s it for me. He’s everything, and so much more.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Four months later

  Scooping the final golden pancake from the griddle, I place it on the plate waiting in my hand and slide it on the kitchen table. Inhaling a deep breath, I survey the table and the variety of food.

  I got up early this morning and decided to make Alex breakfast. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, and definitely not something I’d usually do. One thing’s for sure: he’s in for a treat this morning with a spread full of pancakes, eggs, breakfast potatoes, bacon, and fruit—the works.

  I watched one of those stupid romantic comedies last night and decided to give the whole domestic thing a try. I mean, why not, right? I’m certainly not the wifey type, never was and never will be, but for Alex? I’m trying to be the best me I can be. He deserves more than the norm, and lately, with how well everything has been going in our lives, I thought he deserved a domestic change, for once.

  With my hands resting on my protruding stomach, my gaze falls on the bag of oranges resting on the counter. For a moment, I consider squeezing each and making fresh orange juice to go with his meal, but, who the hell am I kidding? This breakfast is more than enough. What the fuck do I really look like, squeezing fresh goddamn orange juice? I’m eight months pregnant, for Christ’s sake.

  If this isn’t domestic enough for Alex, well, he can fucking suck a fat one.

  With an exasperated roll of my eyes, I stomp toward the fridge and pull out a jug of Tropicana and leave it in the center of the table. I take one last look at the table before heading down the hall to wake my man.

  When I open our bedroom door, only to find the bed and the entire bedroom empty, my face falls.

  Where the hell did he go?

  Almost on cue, a loud bang comes from the room next to ours and I feel my smile tugging at my lips. Turning on my heels, I slowly peek into the other room and my heart flutters at the sight before me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask quietly, even though it’s quite obvious what he’s doing.

  With a Phillips screwdriver in his hand, I find Alex in our son’s room, turning the crib this way and that, tightening each bolt and screw to perfection.

  At the sound of my voice, he perks up and faces me with that crooked grin I love. “Just making sure everything is set,” he says almost bashfully, darting his gaze away.

  A laugh bubbles up
my chest as I walk into the room, noting the furniture in here has been moved, again.

  “C’mon, Mr. Manly-Man. I made breakfast for you,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck. Alex’s brows disappear into his hairline and he stares down at me in disbelief.

  “Did the world end?”

  With a roll of my eyes, I slap at his shoulder. “No, asshole. I just wanted to do something nice for you.” I make a show of pouting my lower lip. Alex rubs one hand up and down my back in a soothing motion while he caresses the column of my neck with the other. Slowly, he dips his head down and captures my mouth with his own. My hands tighten around his neck while I breathe him in, his kiss doing crazy, beautiful things to my body.

  “Thank you,” he whispers over my lips.

  Capturing my hand in his, we walk into the kitchen and I chuckle when he freezes in front of the kitchen table. His eyes widen when he takes in all the different plates of food.

  “Jesus, Samantha. You did all this?” He stares back at me with a twinge of awe on his face that has me blushing profusely.

  “I just thought, you know, since you’re always so good to me that I’d return the favor, and do something nice for you for once,” I mumble. “I just mean, I know you’ve been working your ass off at the Bar and Grille and then selling your pieces of furniture. I wanted you to know I appreciate everything you’ve been doing for us. I’m also trying to be more…domestic, I guess you can say.” I rub at the back of my neck nervously, not really sure what the fuck I was thinking earlier.

  “God damnit, I love you, woman,” he says, pulling me in for a kiss that settles all the nerves that were running rampant through my body. When he backs away, his hands cup my face and he stares down at me with so much love and adoration in his honey eyes, I’m sure I’ve melted into a puddle onto the kitchen floor. “I love that you did this for me, Sam, but I want you to know I don’t need all this; I only need you. I don’t care about all the domestic shit, or you changing who you are just because you think you need to please me or thank me. I admire the sentiment, but you know what?”

  “What?” I whisper.

  “I love you for who you are already, Sammy. You’re my fiery, foul-mouthed beauty who serves me coffee with a kiss on the cheek and a fuck you. Now, I want you to plant your sexy ass in that chair and eat this food with me, woman.”

  My eyes glisten with unshed tears and my bottom lip quivers beneath my smile. “These goddamn fucking hormones,” I say with an exasperated laugh as I sit down with him. I normally don’t get all sappy and teary-eyed over little stuff, but lately? It’s like someone turned on an internal faucet and forgot to turn the fucker off. I swear, these tears just won’t stop.

  Alex and I scoop heapings of food onto our plates and share a look across the table that makes us both laugh. It’s one of those looks that says, “How the hell are we supposed to finish all this?”

  “Honestly, I don’t even think anyone needs to bring over any dishes for Thanksgiving dinner tonight. I think we’re all set with the spread here.”

  “Oh, shut it,” I muse. “It’s not that much.”

  Alex raises his brow in challenge to my statement.

  We eat in a comfortable silence until Alex places his fork down and stares at me from his position across the table.

  “So I was wondering, does this big, elaborate breakfast have anything to do with your nerves and you seeing your mother tonight for dinner?”

  A large gust of breath expels from my lungs at his question. He hit the nail right on the head with that one. This man knew me well, almost too well for my own good.

  For the last week and a half, I’ve been driving myself insane just thinking about dinner tonight with Margaret. I haven’t seen her since our reconnection in Boston. We’ve kept in touch over the phone, but that’s about it. Having a conversation on the phone and one in person were two totally different things. Even I knew that.

  Alex and I decided to have Thanksgiving dinner at our house this year with our friends, and he suggested I invite my mother. I refused at first, saying that I wasn’t ready, that it was still too soon. But that wasn’t necessarily true, and I think Alex knew that. I was just scared. I was scared of bringing Margaret back into my life. She was the cause and root for so much of my pain, I just didn’t see how inviting her for Thanksgiving would work out, especially since things here have been going so well lately.

  After a long talk with Alex, then the girls, I decided to invite her. I couldn’t rewrite my past, but I could build a brighter future for me and my child. And having my son know his grandmother? Well, I wanted that for him, more than anything.

  At least it wouldn’t just be the three of us. I bribed the girls into coming and staying the entire dinner. I needed all the help I could get when it came to Margaret. Everyone agreed to bring their own dishes. Aliza and Chase were on stuffing and turkey duty, Natalia and Luke were taking care of the ham, and Margaret had promised to take care of the sweets. Alex and I planned on handling the sides. At first, everyone refused to let me in the kitchen on Thanksgiving. They didn’t want me standing on my feet for too long, but I said to hell with it. Since we were hosting, we had to contribute something, right?

  “I’m nervous. I mean, what if it doesn’t go well?” I ask, finally expressing my fears to Alex.

  He smiles at me softly and reaches across the table for my hand, squeezing firmly. “You don’t need to be nervous, Sam. Everything will be fine. Just be yourself, enjoy Thanksgiving with your family and friends before we welcome our little guy. I know things with you and Margaret are still strained. It’s completely understandable, but I think you both deserve this dinner. You need this dinner, not just random conversations on the phone.”

  I exhale a shaky breath and nod my head, even though my body wants to take off at a sprint and never look back.

  ***

  When the doorbell rings at two o’clock, I swear I almost shit myself. I spin in a quick circle, doing inventory, making sure everything looks good before I answer the door. With shaking hands, I smooth random, stray locks of hair away from my face and inhale a deep breath, forcing my body to do anything other than stand there.

  Just as I’m turning the corner from the kitchen toward the front door, I hear the door open and the sound of Alex’s deep voice.

  “Breathe, Samantha, breathe,” I chant under my breath as I walk toward the sound of Alex’s voice. I stop short when I find him and Margaret in the living room. My feet falter as I stare at her, completely taken back to my childhood and back to a few months ago when I last saw her. Their conversation suddenly stops and they both look at me, as if waiting to see what I’ll do.

  Dressed in a knit maroon sweater, black pants, and boots, my mother looks healthy. With her red hair pulled back into a tight bun, you can clearly see the wear on her face from the drugs over the years, but you can also see the brightness in her skin that tells me she’s been telling the truth about staying clean.

  With an unsure smile, Margaret lifts her hand toward me in an awkward wave. I swallow thickly, forcing my feet to move and stop next to Alex. Like two magnets, my hand gravitates toward his and I squeeze tightly for the support I’ll surely need. Alex squeezes back and takes over for me, sensing I’m suddenly incapable of speech. I force a smile on my face for her sake and wave back, trying to ignore how hard my heart is pounding.

  “Here, Margaret, let me take those bags from you and I’ll put them in the kitchen as we wait for everyone else to show up. Would you like something to drink?”

  “No. No thank you, Alex,” my mother says, smiling nervously. Her gaze darts to mine again, before flitting across our living room.

  Alex walks off with the bags, leaving us in silence. Margaret surveys the room slowly, soaking everything in. When she turns back to me, she looks me up and down, her gaze pausing on my swollen belly before she smiles.

  “You’re glowing.”

  Nervously, I tuck hair behind my ears and thank her. I shift awkwardl
y on my slippered feet, hoping Alex will come back soon and save us. Discreetly, I look down and study my outfit. I dressed casually in a pair of black tights, a maternity turtleneck, and my slippers because I didn’t want to psych myself out over this dinner. I figured if I dressed casually, I’d feel more comfortable, but in all honesty, it’s not working. I just look like a dork.

  “How do you feel?” she asks. “You’re only a month away, right?”

  “I have some good days and some bad days, but for the most part, I feel fine. Besides all the crying and shit. I can’t seem to stop that,” I mumble and Margaret chuckles, some of the nervous tension leaving her shoulders. “Do you want to sit?” I ask awkwardly.

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.” She perches on the edge of the couch cushion. “Pregnancy hormones can be a pain, especially with all the mood swings,” she says, going back to our earlier conversation.

  I nod my head in agreement because I really have nothing else to say. For the life of me, I can’t think of any conversation starters. Not a fucking one.

  Where the hell is Alex?

  Margaret and I sit in silence for a while until the doorbell rings. I jump to my feet so quickly, I almost lose my balance. Anything to escape this awkwardness.

  I yank the door open, revealing Aliza, Natalia, and the guys. My expression must look stricken and crazed because the men take a cautious step back while my girls take a step forward.

  “Help me,” I breathe quietly into the cool November air.

  “She’s here?” Natalia whispers, dodging her head around me, trying to get a look inside.

  “Yes!” I breathe out. “Now stop asking questions and get in here,” I growl, dragging both Aliza and Natalia in by their arms.

  Introductions are made for Margaret, and the guys and the girls say hello, having met her in Boston already. Natalia and Aliza follow me into the kitchen, place the food down, and start firing off question after question.

  “How long has she been here?”