Grief swallows me. For the tragedy that could have been prevented. For the life that could have been saved. For the families that paid the consequences. Mine. And Noah’s.
“I was wrong.” His voice drops.
I swallow, and it feels like swallowing glass. “I hate you. But I needed to hear it.”
“I wish I had made different choices back then.” He stands up.
I wait for the familiar urge to punish him. To make him bleed for what he did. But the urge doesn’t come the way it used to.
Not because I forgive him.
Because I’m tired.
Because I’m going to be a father.
Because I don’t want my child to grow up in a house where hatred is the loudest language.
“Me too.”
He hovers for a moment before he walks away.
Roxy’s hand is still in mine. Warm. Reassuring. Real.
“I’m sorry,” Roxy whispers. “Do you want to go to the police?”
“No,” I rasp. “I don’t want the need to avenge Noah to rule my life anymore.”
She climbs into my lap and wraps her arms around me. “I saw what you do there with Alf. You’ve been honoring Noah’s memory in the most meaningful way. He would be proud of you.”
I close my eyes, holding her tighter. For the first time in a decade, the anger doesn’t feel like oxygen.
She does.
“Fuuuuck,” I roar, my fingers gripping Roxy’s hair. She is breathtaking with her lips around my cock.
Sleep clings to my brain, but my body is wide awake. My balls tighten, my cock pulsing, warning me I’m seconds from losing control.
I push at her shoulder. “I’m close,” I grit out.
Thunder snaps her eyes to me, a gaze full of want, and she twists the base of my cock with her hand, sucking eagerly.
“Roxy,” I groan as I spill ropes of white into her mouth.
She swallows and looks at me with triumph. Her eyes hooded with lust, she licks the corner of her lips. Fuck, she’s stunning.
She climbs up and kisses me. “Good morning.”
“The best.” I deepen the kiss, tasting myself on her tongue. “You can wake me up like this every fucking morning.”
“Maybe on the weekends. I’m a busy woman, after all.”
I swat her ass, kiss her shoulder, and force myself out of bed.
Roxy’s mouth was the perfect lie. A perfect distraction.
But my father’s revelation lingers in the back of my mind. Noah’s name presses against my ribs, like a bruise I can’t stop touching.
And yet Roxy’s here. Alive. Laughing. Trying. Loving me like I’m not ruined.
