Shane’s home was built in 1919, by a WWI veteran who came to Wyoming, hoping to recover from the war. Shane said he learned of the history of his worn house, and wanted to buy it on the spot. It’s falling apart in many spots but has a strong foundation. It may not mean much to others, but a man who buys a house for its history and for a strong foundation, even if it needs a lot of work, is the kind of man I respect the hell out of. And, unfortunately, find him all the more attractive.
My children are running around in the post-sunset dusk, Shane and Joe chasing them. They’re all laughing so hard. And I want to cry. Because I want this to be mine.
Joe’s at peace here, making me feel even worse. Although he’s mostly at my house, he’s been keeping his things at his mother’s. Whenever he runs into her, he comes to me frustrated and sad. But here it’s quiet—no drama, no divorce. The closest neighbors are two large Belgian horses. Friendly huge beasts that didn’t bat an eye when Liv screamed at them, begging to ride one. Shane cut apart some small apples that fell off one of his trees and Jamie and Liv fed the Belgians reverently.
I’m in one of Shane’s bathrooms, peeing on a stick, when I hear a soft knock.
“Not now, Liv. Just a sec.” I’m guessing it’s one of my children, and Liv lately has taken to invading my bathroom time. So I assume it’s her knocking.
“It’s me,” says a very deep rumble.
Sometimes, I can’t tell the difference between Joe or Shane’s voice. So I pause, swallowing.
“Joe.”
“Just a sec.” I put the lid on the stick, setting it on the bathroom counter, flushing and washing my hands before I let Joe in.
He glances at the purple and white gadget then smiles at me. “I thought you might be doing that.”
I nod, biting my lip nervously. I’m not sure I want him here. I don’t know how to react if the test is positive or negative.
“Do you know yet?”
I glance at my cell phone and the timer I was about to set then press the button for the countdown to begin. “Not for two minutes.”
He encompasses me with his strong arms. “I won’t get fired, Moira. If you’re worried about that.”
I pull away to look up at him. “No. I—Joe, do you really want to keep working construction?”
He sobers, blinking and swallowing. After licking his lips, he says, “Shane and I made a plan. I—I wasn’t going to get a job so soon after I was discharged. I was going to live with him. I mean, part of this house is mine.”
“You and Shane bought it? Together? Like your pickup?”
Joe nods. “When you’re working in places like Afghanistan, it’s easy to save up. I had the money, Shane needed it for the house. He wants to pay me back, but I said I wanted part of the house, because, you know, I thought I’d be living with him.”
I blink. “But I came along.”
Joe smiles. “Best thing that ever happened to me. I’ll be a good provider, Moira. You don’t have to get a job. I mean, if you want to work with Glen and Betty, I’d be happy for you. But—I don’t want you to ever worry about anything.”
I lean my head against his strong chest, my heart squeezing for this wonderful man. “Joe—sweet Joe. You—I love—wait. You said you weren’t going to get a job so soon after you were discharged?” I glance up at him again.
His eyes narrow for half a second. “You caught that. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“What were you going to do?”
“Build the garden, see about making a green house. Maybe get a job in the fall.”
“Why did you get a job so soon?”
He pinches his lips together.
I sip in a breath. “You did it for me, didn’t you?”
“We got serious so fast, and I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t—”
I reach up on my toes and have to pull his head down to me. After kissing him for a long moment, I pull away. “I don’t want you to—”
“I wanted to.”
“Are you at all happy working construction?”
His blond brows furrow. “I’m happy with you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to—”
“I don’t need anything.” Then I rethink what I’ve told him. “Correction: The only thing I need is for you to be happy.”
My timer chimes, and I jerk, looking at my cell, turning it off in a mad rush, and then staring at that damned purple stick. I can’t see the lines from where I’m standing, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to see anything just yet.
Joe sighs.
I glance up at him. “Can you see…?”
He nods then shakes his head. “You’re not pregnant.”
I lunge to the gadget and see for myself. I’m so relieved to only see one line. I’m, indeed, not pregnant.
Joe holds my hips and fits his front to my back. “What if you stopped taking those pills and I stopped wearing condoms?”
I swallow.
He caresses my hips as he kisses the top of my head. “What if we made a baby?” He laughs. “God, you’re getting so tense.”
“I had a daydream, a fantasy, but it felt so real,” I blurt out. I want to stop myself, because I’m going to say too much. But I don’t. “I dreamed I had another child.”
He wraps his arms around my stomach. “We could do that.”
“I’m not ready. Yet. I just…”
“Yeah.” He kisses my cheek. “I know. I’m not sure I’m ready yet either. I just…I know it’s fucking lame, but I wanted it to be positive so we can just tell everyone we’re together. I’m tired of this secret, Moira.”
In AA meetings, there’s this saying: you’re as sick as your secrets. That’s how I realized I was truly an alcoholic. I was secreting the drinking, the need for numb, daily. Drinking was as much a part of me as my heart is. That is my secret. Wine was my fucking heart for so long—my children’s early years are a blur for me, not because they grew so fast but because I was mildly drunk throughout. I hate myself for that. But I’m learning how to forgive myself now.
And I can’t help but wonder if my sickness is infecting Joe. He wants to tell everyone about us. Shane already knows, but because of me he’s also keeping a secret. Just how sick am I?
* * *
On the way home, I cry while my children are asleep in the car. I cry because I idiotically want Shane and his home. I cry because I love Joe. I know I do. I cry because I’m not pregnant, yet so relieved I’m not. I cry because I worry about Tony and probably always will.
Joe stayed with Shane, whispering how he’ll come over later. But as I tuck my children into their beds, I’m grateful for a little alone time. I need to breathe. I need a drink. Fuck, do I need three glasses of wine.
But I’m not going to drink one.
As I snuggle into my bed, I think of how today was a hot mess. Such a beautiful hopeful, hopeless day. That’s life, isn’t it? I might have a job that I’d love. Tony will start putting more money towards our kids, but he says he’ll always be a little in love with me. And the weird part is, I wish Tony and I were better friends. I wish we were buddies. I would have loved to laugh over his girlfriends and then told him how I feel about Joe and Shane.
However, Tony doesn’t have any regard for his girlfriends.
While I might be in love with two men at once.
It’s so ironic—men and women and our fantasies. I’m sure Tony’s living a fantasy for men, having two young girls at once. And I might be living one for women. Only, my heart is breaking because I know I need to choose Joe. I already have chosen him. I just have these terribly persistent and strong feelings for his brother too.
I’m feeling fragile and tiny when I hear my bedroom window open. Joe’s inside my room faster than I can get out of bed.
“The kids asleep?”
It took me this long to notice that both Shane and Joe refer to my children as the kids. There’s a certain amount of possession in the tone, as if Tony might be their father; however, that doesn’t mean t
hey won’t be there for my children too.
I nod but realize how dark it is in my room. “Yes.”
I try to get out of bed, but he’s there, pushing me down against my pillow.
“Moira.” His voice is strained and ragged. I think he has a knee next to my hip. It’s hard to make out, but I sense him hovering over me—his hand hot on my shoulder, his body’s warmth radiating down. “Tell me tonight can be my turn. I fucking need you. I need to feel you.”
I wiggle and remove the comforter. So happy when he lays on me. His clothed body against mine. I’m wearing one of his t-shirts which I love to wear at night because they’re huge and smell like him. I open my legs, wrapping them around his hips.
“I can’t run and scream. My kids are here.”
He softly chuckles. “Just say it’s my turn. You don’t have to run and scream; although, that is hot.”
I rock my hips against him. He’s already hard and my body is instantly aroused, crying out for him.
“It’s your turn, Joe.”
He growls and leans away from me. In a quick move he tears off his t-shirt, cupping my breasts with his calloused hands. He’s fast and restless, waking my body, stirring passion, then he moves down to my panties. He tears them off, instantly caressing my folds.
I moan.
“You’re already wet.” I reach for him, but he holds my hands together, binding me by my wrists.
“Hold the top of the bed. Like this—” He makes me grip the edge of the mattress, then unbuckles his jeans. I hear the rustling of a drawer opening, a foil wrapper being torn open, the plastic noises of the condom unrolling.
“Joe…”
“Hold the bed.”
“I am.”
“I want you. Right now.”
I moan, spreading my legs wider.
And he’s inside me. He’s still mostly dressed. I feel his jeans and belt buckle against the back of my thighs. He holds still for a second but then starts thrusting.
“Grip harder to the bed, Moira.”
I do.
“Fuck, you feel good.” He lifts one of my legs, bending it at the knee and pushing it against my body. The slap-slap sound of his thrusts are getting louder, and I hope my children can’t hear.
I want to touch him. I want to feel the sweat bead along his sternum, the way his dog tags feel along that very bone. But I hold onto the bed.
“Give me one of your hands.”
I reach out to him, and he instantly pushes my fingers over my clit, making me moan and try to rock into him. The way he’s holding my leg it’s almost impossible to move, but my hips do try.
“Touch yourself, baby. I want you to come.”
I’m surprised I’m so wet, but Joe stops, extracting himself from me, and rubbing the head of his cock right where my fingers are. He glides up and down, up and down. As I moan again, he buries himself deep into me, thrusting at a quick pace once more. I touch my clit, the slippery little nub, and something horrible flashes through my mind.
Shane’s hoarse whisper echoes inside me: I dream of being inside you, of feeling your body against mine, of making you sweat and call out my name. And I dream of having your hair in my fists when I come.
Joe bends and kisses me hard on my lips.
Make me stop remembering, I want to say. Make me forget your brother.
Joe’s tongue is in my mouth and I think back to when Shane kissed me the one time like that.
I moan, feeling my orgasm take root. I don’t want to come while Joe’s inside me and I’m thinking of Shane.
“Harder,” I say.
Joe really pounds into me then, nearly making me wince. He holds my leg, the one folded and against my chest. Slowly, he adjusts me while he keeps his rhythm. With my leg so high, he comes to lay behind me, still thrusting. His grip on my leg loosens, but the nook at his elbow holds me in place while his hand reaches around, holding me even more still.
“Keep touching yourself.”
“Yes,” I moan.
“Baby.” His voice is so ragged. Just like Shane’s earlier today.
I moan yet again. And then I do the ridiculous, the unforgivable. I imagine Shane doing what he is. I imagine him inside me, pumping so fast, so hard. I imagine him holding my leg in place so he can be deep inside me.
My orgasm clenches my womb. But, god, I don’t want to come like this. I’m a traitor. And I try to stop myself from coming.
Joe moans. “So close. I thought you—”
“Kiss me, Joe. Please,” I say, looking over my shoulder. “I know it’s your turn, but—I need—I need you so much. Kiss me, please.”
He pulls even harder on my leg, ensuring he’s even deeper. My pussy is pleading, insistent my orgasm be let free. Soon. I’m shaking and he plants his lips against mine. These are Joe’s lips on me. Joe. My sweet Joe.
“Say I’m yours,” I say against his lips, almost panting. “Tell me I’m yours. Please.”
“My Moira. Mine.”
“My Joe—” My orgasm can’t be stopped. Wave after beautiful wave cascades down on me, especially when Joe jerks all the way inside me, spasming and holding his breath and my leg. He’s coming too and I love it when we do it together. I feel so connected.
And I still do.
But I feel connected to Shane too.
I’m lost in a dark haze where I’m disgusted with myself.
Hello, my name is Moira, and I’m an alcoholic, but that’s not my biggest secret.
25
“My mommy has cap-capt-captured you,” Liv says, waking me from a groggy night’s sleep. “She will eat you alive.”
I’m holding Joe, both of my arms and legs are wrapped around him, my front to his back. Luckily, I’d grabbed another t-shirt last night and I know Joe’s in his boxers, unlike our usual attire, which is nude.
“Oh, yeah?” Joe’s voice is scratchy. Liv must have woken him too.
I wish I could hide.
I forgot to lock the door last night.
Shit.
“Yes,” Liv tells Joe with all the authority she has, which for a three-year-old is a lot. “That’s what my mommy does to me when she captures me. She eats me alive.”
Joe’s softly chuckling.
“You are GI Joe.” That’s Jamie’s voice and I cringe.
Joe’s so big I can’t see my children around him. They’re both on his side of the bed, and I can’t imagine what they’re thinking.
“Those are dog tags,” Jamie says confidently.
“Yes, they are.” Joe’s voice isn’t so scratchy now.
“Are you a dog?” Liv asks.
Joe laughs again. “No—” I can hear metal lightly clanging against metal, making me think he’s lifted his tags, “—these are what’re given to soldiers.”
“Why?” Liv asks.
“To identify us.” I can feel Joe cringe. “So we know who is who.”
“Why?” God, Liv is good at being a toddler.
“So the authorities know which soldier is doing what.”
“Why?”
Joe sighs. “Okay, you got me. I’m really a dog.”
Liv squeals. “I knew it.” I feel the bed moving and think she’s jumped up on Joe’s side or on Joe himself. “You had a slumber party with Mommy.”
Joe moves slowly, letting me adjust and let go of him as he rolls on his back, my daughter on his stomach. He sniffs. “I guess that’s what it’s called.”
Jamie climbs up the bed and crawls to me, where I sit up and cradle him close.
“I have slumber parties with Julia,” Liv tells Joe. “She doesn’t like her name, so I told her she can have mine when she sleeps over.”
“I have sleep overs,” Jamie adds. “I don’t have slumber parties.”
Joe nods, sitting up slightly and leaning against my silver headboard. “Yeah, I guess your mommy and I had a sleep over.”
“Did you play army?” Jamie asks.
“Something like that.” Joe smiles at me and I’m d
ying. I’m both happier than I should be and scared out of my witless brain. It’s the fear that’s got me speechless right now, and I’m thankful Joe can talk. Joe then shines his grin on my daughter. “That’s nice of you to share your name with Julia.”
Liv smacks Joe on his chest. I have no idea why. She probably doesn’t know either. It wasn’t a hard smack, just kind of a poke. Then she says, “I call her Liv Two, because I don’t want to share my name. Not all of it.”
“Well, that makes sense.”
“I thought all daddies had hair here.” She narrows her eyes at Joe’s chest suspiciously.
“I, ah, don’t have hair here.” Joe touches his own chest, his long fingers splaying wide.
“Maybe when you have a baby, you will get the hair.”
“No, babe,” I interject Liv’s three-year-old logic. “It doesn’t work like that. Some men have hair on their chests. Some don’t.”
Liv turns her suspicious scowl on me. “He’s like you. You don’t have hair there.”
I cover my face with one of my hands, mortification turning my cheeks into fire.
“Liv,” Jamie whines. “Why do you have to talk like that?”
“I don’t know,” Liv whines even more than Jamie. A tiny reprimand like that from her brother will send her over the edge and she’ll burst into tears soon.
“Okay, time for pancakes,” Joe says, grabbing my daughter and throwing her in the air then catching her while she’s screaming with joy. He hustles to get out of bed as he’s flinging my wiggly daughter onto his back. “Coming, big man?” He reaches out with a hand toward my son, and my heart, oh my heart, is beaming as brilliantly as the sun that’s sparkling throughout my bedroom. Jamie stands and jumps at Joe, who somehow manages to catch him, keep ahold of Liv, and laugh at the same time.
“Let’s let mommy sleep in today,” Joe says as he takes my children out of the bedroom.
Other than when my children are with Tony, I never lounge in bed and for a second, as Joe races away with Jamie and Liv, I want to chase after them. Sleep in? Who can do that with two small children?
Awake: Book 3 of the Wild Love Series Page 25
