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“I’m so sorry.”
I bury my face in my hands because I’m certain I must look as ugly on the outside as the monster I feel like on the inside.
“Hey, you don’t have to hide,” he says as he kneels before me and pries my fingers away from my face. I turn my head so he can’t see me, but he grabs my face roughly and forces me to look him in the eye. “Look at me.”
“Stop,” I whisper, as I close my eyes.
“It wasn’t all your fault. I know that our relationship didn’t begin under the best circumstances. I wasn’t the easiest person to trust.”
I open my eyes and he lets go of my face, but his green eyes are locked on mine. The whole time we were together, Adam never wanted to acknowledge the fact that he left his former girlfriend for me, after cheating on her with me for two weeks. I knew he felt awful about it, but I got so used to him blowing me off every time I tried to talk about it, that I never even brought it up when we broke up in March. It didn’t matter, anyway. I was pregnant. I couldn’t fight for Adam anymore.
“And I should have just been honest with you about the fact that I wanted to start competing again after graduation, instead of stringing you along,” he continues. “I was stupid to think that you would have held me back. I was the one holding myself back.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask you how you felt today, being back at that beach.”
The resolve in his expression dissolves as he stands up straight. “Believe it or not, I felt happy being back there.”
I’ve only seen Adam cry once, the day we broke up and he was hauled away in that police car. I don’t think he was crying because we broke up. I think he cried because of what he had done to Nathan. As I look at him now, clenching his jaw as the tears well up in his eyes, I realize he’s been holding this in since we arrived at the beach this morning.
“It’s okay to cry,” I say, repeating his words from earlier.
He gives me a faint smile. “I’m happy. I swear these are happy tears. I think being back there today made me realize that, even if there is no heaven, Myles died in a place he loved. In a place and time where he was happy. Like Nathan. I don’t think I ever would have realized that if I hadn’t come here.”
We’re silent for a moment, before I finally pull off my sweater and hang it on the back of the chair I’m sitting in then pick up the phone on the desk. “What should I order?”
Chapter Eighteen
Chris
One of my secrets that I’m most ashamed of is that I have never made a real breakfast. Living with my mom, the best chef on the fucking planet, has made me spoiled as shit. Even when I lived on my own in L.A., I never made breakfast. If I woke up before noon, I’d fix myself a bowl of cereal or grab a coffee on the way to the studio. I’ve never had the patience for cooking. The only thing I know how to make is steak, but I can’t make anything to go with the steak. So the fact that I’m reading a box of waffle mix at eight o’clock in the morning and making a disaster of my kitchen has me questioning my sanity.
My hands tremble a little as I crack the eggs into the bowl. As I whisk the eggs with a fork, I wonder when I should make the coffee. Should I wait until the waffles are done or should I make it now so it’s ready when the waffles are finished? How long does it take to make waffles?
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m visiting the tenth circle of hell, but you’re not allowed in here. I don’t need any help. Go away.”
“You don’t need any help?” she says with a chuckle. “Then why is there flour on the back of your head?”
She comes up behind me and lightly brushes away the flour with her fingers, sending a chill through me. “I’m serious. Go wait somewhere else. I want to do this alone.”
She wraps her arms around my waist and presses her body against my back. “I want to help,” she says as she slides her hands into my boxers.
She lightly runs her fingertips over the full length of my cock, and it drives me crazy. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I say as I drop the fork in the bowl and turn around. “I gave you like four orgasms last night.”
“I know. I just want to even up the score,” she says as she slowly kneels before me. “Plus, watching you crack those eggs was really hot.”
“Cracking eggs might not be the best topic of conversation while you’re down there.”
She slides my boxers down and grips the head of my erection firmly in her hand then slides her hand all the way down to the base. I suck in a deep brea
th, which I hold in as she lightly licks the tip of my cock. Her tongue is warm, but it leaves a cool, wet trail that sends a shiver through me.
I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth as she takes me into her mouth and I hit the hot, fleshy part at the back of her throat. She moans as she bobs her head and the sound reverberates through my cock. I smile as I thread my fingers through her hair. “Jesus Christ, Claire.”
She chuckles and I wince as her bottom teeth scrape me. “Sorry,” she says before she lays a soft kiss on the tip of my cock.
“It’s okay. Don’t stop, babe.”
She smiles at me as she takes me into her mouth again, then the doorbell rings.
“Fuck!” I whisper.
“Let me finish,” she whispers, grabbing my hips so I can’t move. “They’ll go away.”
I smile as I squat down and kiss her forehead. “Get up.”
She stands from the floor. I yank down her panties so they’re at her feet and she laughs as she steps out of them. I pick her up to place her on the counter and her ass knocks over the bowl of whipped eggs, sending it tumbling into the steel sink with a loud clunk. Then the doorbell rings again.
“Go away!” I shout as I kiss her stomach.
Her hand grips the bottom of the cabinet behind her head as she leans back. I force her legs apart and smile at her lovely, pink center. Sliding my finger inside her, I’m not surprised to find she’s wet as the Portland streets in April. She whimpers as I finger-fuck her and stroke her clit with my thumb, getting her ready for my mouth.
The doorbell rings again.
“Christopher! Open the door!” my mom shouts through the door.
“Fuck!” Claire and I both whisper.
“Oh, my God! Go answer it. I have to get dressed!” Claire whispers as she slides off the counter and reaches for her panties. That’s when we both notice the box of waffle mix that must have dropped on the floor.
I grab her around the waist so she can’t leave. “You look fine like that. I can’t answer the door like this,” I say, pointing at my dick.
“I’m not answering the door in panties and a tank top!”
“Fine. Get some pants on. I’ll be in the bathroom.”
When I come out of the bathroom, grabbing a T-shirt off the bedroom floor on my way out, I find Claire on her knees in the kitchen, sweeping up waffle mix with a wet rag.
“We don’t have a broom. Did you know that?” she says, glaring at me.
“Why do I need a broom when I have a cleaning lady?”
“What did you call me?”
“Not you! I have an actual lady who comes to clean the apartment three times a week. Her name is Petra. She’s taking a few weeks off for the holidays. Maybe I should buy a broom.”
“Or another cleaning lady.”
“Yeah, that’s a better idea.”
“Why are you both home today?” my mom asks from where she’s standing by the glass doors overlooking the balcony.
“It’s Sunday,” I reply as I squat down and take the rag from Claire’s hand. “I’ll take care of this.”
“That’s right. I work every day. I can never keep track of the days of the week,” my mom calls to us from the living room.
Claire smiles at me as we squat over a pile of waffle mix. “When are you building that house in the country?”
“Whenever you’re ready,” I whisper as I kiss her cheekbone.
We clean up the mess together and I toss the rag into the sink before we meet my mom in the living room. She’s holding a stack of mail and looks slightly annoyed.
“What were you doing in the kitchen? Wait—I don’t want to know,” she insists as she holds out the stack of letters.
“Mom, I told you I’d be by to pick up the mail tomorrow. You didn’t have to drive all the way down here.”
She frowns as I take them from her hand. “There’s a certified letter in there.”
I flip through the envelopes until I see the green certified sticker and the return address makes my heart race. The letter is from Hirschberg, Leidenbach, and Associates. Tasha and I were finally able to sit down with the Jensens and Ira to discuss the agreement last week. I’ve been trying not to think about the meeting too much because I left the meeting feeling as if the Jensens regretted allowing us to hold Abigail.
“What is it?” Claire asks as she sits cross-legged on the sofa.
I stare at the return address for a moment before I turn the envelope over
