by Hazel Grace
I need someone—her— to bring me back to life.
And I just worked against the both of us to make sure that didn’t happen with the limited and one falsehood that could’ve been easily overcome.
See…Emmy and I, we don’t work well together.
I guess we never have.
I truly came outside to mind my own business and answer a phone call to not wake up the whole house while I did. Alexander and I have been talking on and off all week. He’s been super busy with work, and I’ve been trying to sort out things here by taking care of Bishop’s personal issues as a group.
So when he called, I got a little excited, promptly dipping outside to speak with him.
“Hey, stranger.”
“Hey,” he greets back in his self-assured tone that normally I would find unattractive, but on him, I don’t know, it just fits his appeal. “Miss me?”
I roll my eyes with a lift of my lips. “Oh, God, here he goes.”
“What?” I can hear the smirk in his voice. “I miss you.”
“You’re too busy to miss anyone.”
“I do have breaks, Emmy. I am the CEO, it gives me time to plan our next date.”
“I don’t know,” I drawl, stepping down off the porch. “I’m starting to think—“
“Don’t you dare,” he carps out. “I’m taking you out, and you’re going to be swept off your feet.”
“Are we going dancing?”
“No.”
“Skydiving?”
“No.”
“Water skiing?”
“Nope.”
“Bike riding?”
“No.”
“This date sounds lame already.”
“Just wait…I have some things up my sleeve.”
I shrug. “The only other thing I can think of is you throwing me off the top of a building.”
“Wow, you’re undoubtedly morbid, Emmy Lou.”
“I watch a lot of crime shows.”
“I’d love to watch some with you, but I’d be scared to touch you in dread of what you’d do to me.”
A mirthless chuckle rumbles off my chest. “Need to keep the fear instilled.”
“Oh, Emmy.” I hear him sigh on the other line like he’s entirely and utterly smitten. “You make me only want you more.”
“You’re demented.”
“And you obviously like it. When are you free?”
“I’m honestly not sure.”
“Then I’ll send flowers to keep you interested.”
“I’m not home, remember? I’m out for work.”
“Then I’ll send them to your work.” My initial thought goes to Wade—the only job he thinks I have—and the interrogation I’ll receive on why I’m getting a bouquet from a man he told to stay away from me.
“Remember on our first date when you said you didn’t want to get your ass beat?”
“Yeah.”
“Wade will kill you.”
Alexander chuckles. “Oh, geezus Christ, does everyone who knows you fall in love and want to protect you?”
I look heavenward at the millions of stars above. “Not everybody.”
“Well, not everyone is smart. I like that, though because that means you’ll only be protected by me.” He says something else, but I don’t catch it. I’m too busy peering over my shoulder to see a lean body walking purposely up the driveway towards me.
And I don’t have my gun or knife on me.
The figure halts when they notice me, sending a stretch of goosebumps lining up my forearms before they continue on, stomping their way closer.
And when there are only about fifteen yards between us, I already know who it is.
Camilla.
“Hey, I gotta go,” I tell Alexander when he’s in mid-sentence about something. “Call you later.” I don’t wait for him to respond, hanging up and pocketing my cell now, wishing I did have that knife.
I fucked up yet again and researched Camilla Andrews—tortured myself, really.
I wanted to know what kind of hold she has on the man who was supposed to love and honor me forever.
Kyson’s words still ring loud in my ears, and I feel for him. I don’t excuse it; hate that he holds on to it, but I can’t do anything about that.
However, I can despise her.
“Can I help you?” I drone, purposely stepping in her way to get to the house.
If Bishop wants to speak with her, he can do it during the day or when I’m not around.
Yeah, I’m being a petty cunt and possessive as fuck, but I really don’t care.
She broke him.
And I want to break her.
“No,” she returns with a snotty snarl. “I came to talk to Kace.”
“He’s sleeping.”
“He’ll wake—“ I step closer and raise my chin to her height.
“I said,” I repeat with steel in my words. “That he’s sleeping.”
Camilla snickers, tucking a piece of yellowish blonde hair behind her ear. “And what exactly are you?”
I cock my head to the side. “I’m the bitch that’s not going to allow you to hurt him again.”
She advances, frame tense from my intrusion. “That’s none of your business.”
“Get out.”
“Make me.”
“This isn’t high school, hoe. Don’t make me break your arm.”
“You couldn’t do shit.” She looks me up and down again like she did earlier. “And if you think he likes girls like you, you’re sadly mistaken. You look like a fucking rotten cunt with a haughty ass attitude.”
“You’d be half right then.” She attempts to step around me again, but I mock her actions.
“Move.”
My lips curl into a bitchy grin. “Make me.”
Her fist flies into my ribcage so quickly that she knocks the breath right out of me.
I should’ve expected her type to throw the first punch, being scrappy and all that. Obviously, she doesn’t give a crap about proper manners of coming to someone’s house past midnight to “talk” or fucking aggravate.
And that’s precisely what Bishop is doing to me right now.
With his meaty hands on my biceps, he won’t let me go. I’m waiting for him to be furious with me for touching his ex-girlfriend and acting like a lunatic in his front yard.
I wanted him more than anything in the world, and I have to take the necessary steps to break that.
Just, apparently, not ten minutes ago.
“Why were you out here, Emmy?” I attempt to withdraw from his body again, but his grip remains tight.
It’s a simple question.
Just not a simple conversation.
“I was on a phone call. I didn’t want to wake up the whole house.” His eyes flick around my face, and his frown deepens.
“You’re gonna bruise.” I lift my shoulder dismissively. “Were you protecting my honor or something?”
I scoff. “You don’t need me for that or anything for that matter.”
“How wrong you are,” he drones before his thumb reaches up to brush my cheek. I feel the damage he was speaking about, but I don’t flinch from the slight discomfort. I welcome it because it’s a reminder of why he’s the way he is. “You really need to stay in your own lane, wife.”
I avert my gaze from him and take a deep intake of air before I answer, “I know you’re right.”
“You do?” I keep my lips shut. “Yet, here we are.”
“Not for much longer.” I shake my body a little. “Can I go now?”
“Cold?”
“Always around you, yeah. It’s a damn draft.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t try to pry doors open that don’t want to be tampered with.”
“Oh, you mean your feelings? Scary shit.”
“Like you telling everyone I’m your husband? Yeah…scary shit.” He drops his hands and takes a significant step away from me.
In a way, I’m glad because being near him is not only c
ool but nauseating too. However, it’s also invigorating and aimlessly addicting.
Bishop made me doubt everything between us and myself. I know we weren’t perfect, but I’ve never felt this way for no one.
He’ll be fine when I’m gone.
I’ll still be a fucking wreck for him.
Unless I can somehow find me from three years ago when I wasn’t so astray and past hope.
“Good night, Bish.” I pivot to get back in the house, knowing it’s going to be a long night.
So I lock myself in the bathroom until I hear his bedroom door shut.
I still remember his lie in my head like a skipping record.
Forever and for always.
Driving from Pittsburgh back to Connecticut was a waste of time—to anyone else but me.
My anxiety over Emmy believing that she’s not good enough for me has made me edgy and irritated. I can’t focus on anything else but the fact that she went home for some more space.
I’m at a crossroads in my life. To pry through some deep and bad bullshit so that I can be open and honest with her.
I need to let all the past memories go without the fear of my wife eventually turning into Camilla. That down the line, after I’ve bared every single heartbeat of my soul, she won’t choose me over something else.
Emmy is nothing like my ex; I know that in a way. I’m aware that she’s not a cokehead or that she wants to annihilate my feelings on purpose. I don’t think Emmy would choose anything over me other than maybe shoes and potato chips, but I’m okay with that.
It’s that small murky inkling that Emmy is ashamed of me that stops me from ever speaking the truth.
When we did get married that night, I thought we’d broken a barrier. But as weeks turned into months, she still wanted to keep us a secret. I was fine, giving her the space to think and get used to the idea, but then doubt began to sink in after month six.
Then seven.
Then she got defensive and used her sweet lips and pussy to distract me. When we got up to nine, I had enough. I was that dickhead that gave her the ultimatum. And she shot back with wanting me to open up and express myself. That she wasn’t going to look like a—quote; a foolish asshole that was stupid enough to marry a soulless dickhead just for me to go changing my mind.
She had a point.
That it’d change our dynamic as a whole with B723. It ate us alive by keeping it from our family.
It literally tore us apart.
Neither one of us wanting to give up or in, and I separated the remaining portion of my heart that I could muster and fucked Blue.
I wanted her to despise me.
I needed her to so I could relate her to Camilla by forcing me to close myself off. Because without it, I was the only one to blame for our marriage failing and Emmy wanting to keep me in her closet.
I fucking hate her for it.
I loathe her for not believing that I cared about her. Thinking that I would marry her just for fun.
The shit isn’t fun. It’s hard.
It’s brutal when I don’t want to divorce her or move on without me. But it’s what she’s trying to do and failing at.
Whoever she’s seeing doesn’t threaten me because I hold the key to releasing Emmy. I just can’t throw it away yet and let the princess out of the tall, dark tower.
I did ask her to marry me once—for real and sober—when she was sleeping, bundled up in her bed with her nose and eyes the only thing peeking out.
I never could make myself ask her again. Not being able to stand my own damn self for feeling this way—weak, dumb, entirely out of my element. She inadvertently demands my mental state and, while I’ve been able to hold back, her going towards my worst nightmare landed me here.
A life of her own.
And while B723 kept us linked, I’m running after a woman who left me without saying goodbye again and beat my ex’s ass. Who brought my dog home and hasn’t forgiven me for the sins I’ve committed against her.
I wouldn’t either.
And my saving grace might be for me to express how much I can’t live without her nor with someone else.
Either way, I’m fucked.
Now, laying beside her in her bed, she’s fast asleep.
Yeah, I broke the fuck in. It wasn’t a hard thing to do which is another subject I’m going to bitch at her on.
Her bedroom looks completely different from when I last saw it. Gone are the frilly little pink comforter and rose-colored walls. The girly decor that made her that much sweeter but unexpected.
I never would’ve been able to foresee Emmy coming. When she was new to B723, I thought she’d be just like anyone else except from being drop-dead gorgeous and smart as all shit. Someone with a skill set required for the team and with a hard stomach for torture.
I watched her for three years.
I worked with her and kept my hands to my damn self until I had way too much whiskey, and she got way too close. Add on her amazing fucking ass, and I was a goner way before we secretly became an item.
When Vegas happened.
They say what happens there stays there. Maybe it’s what jinxed us because I wanted to blurt it everywhere to everybody. I want to take her home and have her redo my house. I wanted nights with her in my arms, when I could kiss her when I wanted, fucked her until I couldn’t see straight, and love her because she was everything.
Now staring at the simple white walls with golden framed decor, it’s like she washed me clean from ever being in here. As if her sanctuary was wiped clean of every night and fuck we ever had.
And here I am fucking it up again.
Emmy shifts, feeling my chest against her back, and she snuggles closer. That fucking bottom of hers nestling perfectly against my already hard cock, and I allow my arm to drape around her middle, tugging her more firmly into me. Then she moans.
Fuck me, she moans.
“Morning,” she mutters sleepily. “I didn’t hear you come back last night.”
I stiffen, a blur of red filling my perfect vision of her pressed up to me. “Didn’t hear who come back last night?”
My voice sends Emmy leaping out of my hold, ungracefully stumbling from the mattress and taking half the bed with her.
The white comforter flies in the air, followed by her thudding onto the floor, and I don’t feel sorry.
No, that’s what she gets for doing fuck knows what since taking off two days ago.
“What in the actual fu—“ Emmy makes an effort to stand but gets tangled in the puffy white cloud of her comforter and falls to her knees. “Shit.”
“Have company here last night, Ems?” I lift a brow, impatiently waiting for her to get herself together so I can get my answer.
And I will get it.
Then I’ll kill him.
In front of her for allowing another man to touch what is legally fucking mine.
“How in the hell are you in here?” Her haughty tone is gonna get her spanked if she doesn’t shut it. She’s evading me, I know my wife, so her throwing another question at me isn’t going to get me to forget my previous one.
“I walked in,” I deadpan.
Her pretty brown eyes lock and thin at me, palming the mattress to keep herself from falling again. “No, shit, but how and why?”
“We need to talk.”
Emmy’s face scrunches. “You couldn’t just call me?”
“Why, so you could hang up on me?” My own focus narrows on her because she would—has, and I’m not trying to strangle her today.
“I did that once.” She rolls her eyes and stands on her own, free of bedding and the shock of my being here. “And you need to let shit go.”
I remove myself from her peach-scented sheets that smell just like I remembered and slide off the bed.
Emmy takes a few steps back as I round her furniture, raising her chin to be able to look me in the eye.
She’s right to the middle of my chest without heels, and when she’s in my arms
, short legs wrapped around my middle, she’s fucking perfect.
“We need to talk,” I repeat, helping myself to soak her all in.
She’s in a light blue tank top with no bra and short shorts. Fuck me, besides her naked, this was my favorite outfit of Emmy’s.
Casual.
Hair a mess.
No makeup.
Creamy skin and stunning brown eyes.
“Then talk,” she drawls, crossing her arms along her chest. “I’m listening.”
Good, because I think I’m only going to be able to say this once.
“I need you on this mission.”
“You didn’t want my help, remember?”
“I changed my mind.” Fuck, she smells amazing. “I need you.”
“Bishop.” Her voice is harsh, and I know I crossed a line by sneaking into her room, but I had to see her. I wasn’t going to pour my feelings out over the phone, but at least I could maybe make a point here.
“Mhm?”
“Why are you in my house?” She rubs at her right temple with her lavender-painted fingers. “The hell is wrong with you?”
“I want this done and over with. I need to be able to move on. I’ll go to the Hamptons with you.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t go.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to New York in a few days and—“
“With Alexander.” Her face flinches at his name before recognition dawns.
She’s not stupid by any means. And right now, she doesn’t know how to react because she’s unsure where I’m going with this.
“How?”
“Mills has a big mouth,” I quip with a lift of my shoulders. “You need a better friend.”
Emmy wags a finger at me. “If you’re here to bitch at me…”
“I’d start with how I was able to break in with no fucking problem. Which is astonishing given the fact that you’re so anal about safety.” She moves for the door, and mindlessly I move to wrap my arm around her waist and scoop her in the air.
Her face aligns with mine, my palms cup her perfect ass, and it’s the only effective way to get her to stay the hell still.
Unfortunately, though, she doesn’t bother to wrap her legs around my hips, but she doesn’t need to. I can do it for her.
My hands slide down her soft thighs, coaxing her legs open to where she has to use me as an anchor.
