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“Just the toast, baby,” he says, causing my stomach to do another flip. Calling me a pet name is small, but it feels monumental.
Leaning across the countertop, handing him his plate and cup of coffee, I catch the lust in his eyes as he gets a view of my cleavage. My white nightie doing the trick, I’m glad I chose this. But as soon as the look came, it’s gone. He looks down at his coffee mug and brings it to his lips, taking a sip.
“Here you go.” Making my way around the counter I take a seat next to him. I’m not looking forward to the next twenty-four hours. I am, however, glad Trey has finally gotten out of bed and had something to eat.
“Morning, bud,” Kingston says, patting Trey on the back and walking up to Lana. I watch as he kisses her neck and whispers in her ear. They really compliment each other well, I wish Lana would take the final leap and be with him.
There isn’t much of a height difference, but she is maybe a hundred and five pounds, very slim, with wider hips but smaller assets. My brother is freaking ginormous. He is the kind of guy that has to walk with his arms out to the side slightly, because his biceps are so big. His crew cut and beard accentuate his face and then the tattoos—man, people must fear him when they see him on the street. Little do they know, he’s a big teddy bear who can make anyone smile, even in the worst of times. I love my brother.
“You making me breakfast, beautiful?” I smile when Kings slaps her on the ass and turns to face us while Lana glares at him over her shoulder.
“Maybe put on a shirt, I’m trying to eat,” Trey says, taking a bite of his toast. I reach over and run my hands over his back, my nails leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.
“I have to put on a fucking shirt but you can walk around without yours? What’s wrong, big boy, you jealous of these guns?” Kingston flexes his arms, his intricate tattoos stretching with his bulging muscles.
“Shut it, shithead,” Trey says, throwing a piece of his toast. Kingston catches it with his mouth, flipping Trey off with a cocky smile while he chews. Kingston gives us all a much-needed laugh. How he does it is a mystery, especially since today is such a somber one. I look at the clock and see it’s nearing ten, and I still need to shower and get ready for the funeral.
“I need to shower, do you need anything?” I stand up and kiss him on the shoulder. He lifts his hand and puts it on top of mine, the small gesture giving me butterflies.
“No, I’ll finish here and then get ready.”
“Okay.” I start to walk away when my hand is grabbed and I’m pulled into his side. His lips landing on mine. It’s all lips before he slides his tongue along the seam of my bottom lip. My lower stomach ties in knots when his hand slides up the back of my leg and he grabs my ass, giving it a strong squeeze. The feel of his soft velvet tongue against mine sparks an eager need in me,
my legs pinch together and my thighs rub, trying to relieve the ache.
“I love you,” he says, letting us come up for some air.
“I love you, Trey,” I reply while he admires me, running his thumb over my cheek. It feels so good to be touched by him.
“Okay, get in the shower you fucking sickos.” I look up and laugh at Kings.
“Jealous?” I question.
“Nope.” He grabs Lana and dips her, kissing her before slapping her on the ass, letting her get back to breakfast. That’s my cue to leave. Only a few hours left until we will be saying good-bye to Pops, I just wish we could take this time and hold onto one another for a while longer.
Trey
IT’S BEEN SIX DAYS SINCE I lost my dad, and it’s been the most unbearable, miserable days of my entire life. I thought losing my mother at a young age was hard, but this is a new kind of pain, a cut so damn deep—I can’t heal it. My mother chose to leave, my dad didn’t.
I finish up my breakfast and go to the room to start getting ready. I smell Shayla the second I enter; it smells like jasmine, taking up the entire space. I hear the shower turn off as I enter the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, my eyes wander, watching her open the shower door and reach for the towel. Shayla’s beautiful body is dripping wet, water droplets glistening against her tan skin. Her lean legs are long and I want to lose myself between them. I miss being intimate with her, but I can barely find the strength to get out of bed, and I don’t know if me wanting to make love with Shayla is too far-fetched, shit—wrong, given the circumstances.
Either way, I spend the days sleeping and drinking away any sober thoughts that will remind me that my dad is gone, how would I even be able to fully appreciate her when my heart, soul, and mind are completely numb? God, today the ache is weighing even heavier on my heart than before.
She wraps the towel around her body and steps out. Glancing back at myself in the mirror, I see my terrible reflection, the shadow of a man staring back at me. My eyes are lined in black rings, dark and shallow. My facial hair is growing fast and lining my face, creating the caveman look. My heart doesn’t just ache, my body does, too. Between the drinking and lack of sleep during the night, my days are on repeat, making me far from being myself. I feel lost—defeated.
“Hey, baby?” I pause, watching her do her simple routine when she comes to stand beside me. Brushing her wet hair first, then taking out the blow-dryer and setting it on the marble countertop.
“Yeah?”
“Can you help me get ready for the funeral?” Her eyes flash and I see her chest cave with the release of her breath. Sorrow etched all over her perfect face, and I soak it up. I soak in all the strength I can from her, craving for her to fix the broken in me.
“Of course, handsome.” She leans in, kissing my chest, causing my eyes to squeeze shut. She kissed her spot.
I’m so fucking thankful for my little woman taking care of me this past week. She’s so small and sweet, you would never know she has the strength of many men; she could part the fucking sea if she wanted to.
I move, sitting on the toilet seat, and wait for her to get dressed. Watching the elegance of her subtle moves as she slips on one of my shirts and grabs my hair product and brush. I wonder to myself how she does all things with strength and grace. How is she so strong for me when she has faced hell as well?
“Do you want me to shave your beard or just trim it?” she asks while she rubs my cheek. Grabbing her waist, I pull her into me, not answering her right away.
