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I cough, clearing my throat when she walks in, her jeans hugging her ass like a second skin. I don’t regret my son. I haven’t for a single second since I found out about him, but I’d give my retirement account just for five minutes alone with his mother in this moment, knowing it would take mere minutes to make her get over her attitude, make her realize just how good we are together. Two minutes to get my cock inside of her is all I’d need.
“I’m going to take an Uber to the funeral home,” she says, and then it hits me like a ton of bricks.
She’s dealing with so much shit, and I’m wondering when I’ll get to put my mouth on her tits. I’m the biggest asshole that’s ever walked the earth.
I didn’t forget about Brooke’s passing, the pain of the loss was clear in Alex’s eyes when he lumbered into the living room thirty minutes ago. I just let my mind wander to my own needs, and that’s a total dick move.
“We can go together,” I offer. “Breakfast is on the way up.”
I don’t miss the way she avoids looking at me.
“I need to go alone,” she says. “Can Alex stay here with you?”
This makes the second time she’s asked me to be responsible for him, and I’d take joy in that if it weren’t for the fact that both times, the first at his baseball game when she got the call about her mom and again now, she’s simply asking out of necessity.
“He can.” I stand, reaching into my pocket. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come along?”
Her eyes dart to Alex, and I understand. Hashing out final details with the funeral home isn’t something she wants him to experience.
“Ok,” I agree. “But take the truck so you don’t have to wait for a ride.”
She takes the keys when I offer them, and I use the opportunity to run my thumb over the back of her hand. She doesn’t respond the way I want. She simply pulls the keys away and heads over to Alex. She whispers softly to him before pressing a kiss to his forehead and leaving the suite.
There’s a finality to the sound of the door closing behind her, as if the door is a wall she’s just firmly locked back in place. It screams I regret it, it’ll never happen again, you took advantage of me when I was weak.
I get the message loud and fucking clear.
Alex, thankfully, is ignorant to what happened last night and what just happened, and for that I’m grateful. Now I can only hope that Tinley doesn’t use the latest mistake of mine to make my son withdraw from the relationship we’ve been working on.
Alex eats breakfast in a nearly catatonic state, muscle memory making his fork shovel food into his mouth as his eyes stay locked on the television. The sound isn’t even on, but it’s as if he doesn’t notice.
I sit with him in silence, not tasting the eggs and toast I ordered for myself.
I’m so out my element right now. I don’t know what to say to make things better. I don’t know that there’s actually anything I could tell him that would set him at ease a little, so I don’t even try. The last thing I want is his anger, and I know it’s bottled up inside of him waiting for an outlet. I know he needs to release it, but I’m a selfish bastard, not wanting it to be directed at me. The tenuous bond we’ve built could be shattered with a few hate-filled words, and I’m not willing to risk it right now, not with the look on Tinley’s face when she left. If he told her he never wanted to see me again, I don’t know that she would defend me at this point.
I fucked up big time last night. I wanted to stop it. I knew deep down that no good could come of it, but her persistence, even if it was just a blink in time before I gave in, was too much to deny. When her mouth met mine, when her tongue begged for entrance, I was already gone, lost to her and the warmth of her body against mine.
I knew deep down before I crawled in bed with her that if things went that direction, she wouldn’t see me the same way before we touched.
I fucking knew.
And I did it anyway.
“I’m going to go make a phone call,” I tell Alex, unable to sit idle and do nothing.
The call connects, a video chat with Wren before I break the threshold into the bedroom.
“Tough news yesterday, man,” he says when the call connects.
“Yeah,” I agree, a small smile playing on my lips when a squawking version of Bob Marley’s version of Everything’s Gonna Be Alright comes from Puff Daddy.
