Page 63 of Destroyed With You

Winston woke slowly, his body spooned against Linda’s, his face buried in her hair. It smelled like strawberries from the shampoo his mother kept in the guest bathroom, and he breathed it in, enjoying the intimacy of this moment.

Slowly, he traced his fingertip over her bare shoulder and down her arm, part of him wanting to rouse her, and the other part wanting to simply watch her sleep. The early morning light drifted through the curtains, and there was something so sweet and familiar about this moment, as if all the horror of the last few years had floated out to sea, gone and forgotten.

Ironic, since just a few days ago he’d raged at her, infuriated by the fraud he believed she’d perpetrated on him. But now he knew the truth—she’d been trapped in a horrible situation, possibly even more horrible than what he’d endured. At least he’d been allowed to mourn. She’d had to live with the truth every single day. With the knowledge that he was out there, and yet they couldn’t be together.

So many days had passed since Hades. But somehow, now that they were back together, it felt as if they had never been apart. She kept telling him that they were different people—that they never really knew each other—but that wasn’t something he believed. He knew her heart, and she’d known his.

Now, he wanted to make this work.

Gently, he brushed a lock of hair off her face, careful not to wake her. She sighed, then rolled over in her sleep, her lips parted, her expression so soft. So innocent.

He smiled at the thought, because there was nothing innocent about what she’d done with that mouth last night. The way she traced kisses down his chest and abs. The way she’d taken his cock in her mouth, her attention on him so intense that he’d groaned aloud, then pulled a pillow over his face when she didn’t relent, because he knew that at any moment he’d cry out with pleasure, shaking the damn walls and definitely waking his parents.

When she was done and he was spent, she’d eased up his body to lay on top of him, warm and naked and oh-so tempting. He’d kissed her and stroked her back, his hands cupping her ass as she wiggled teased.

“That was just for you,” she'd protested when he tried to flip her over. “Just because I wanted to.”

His heart had flipped at the mix of sultry and sweet in her voice, and he’d closed his eyes, wanting to ask her what this meant for them, hoping that it was more than just the pleasure of the moment.

But before he could broach the question, she’d slid down his body again, then looked up at him with that impish grin. Then she'd taken him into her mouth once again, and all coherent thought had left him, except for a lingering hope that they were back where they were supposed to be. And the fear that to her this was a deep dive into their past, and not a bridge to their future.

Now, he was tempted to wake her up and tell her that it was her turn to lay back. Her turn to let him enjoy the taste and feel of her. To make her shatter. But he couldn't bring himself to wake her, not just yet.

Instead, he brushed his lips over her shoulder, then sat up, noticing for the first time the scent of coffee drifting in from the kitchen. The smell filled the room, and he smiled with the memory of waking up to coffee every morning in the house they shared in Hades. Linda used to set up the coffee maker each night with a timer, so that it was brewed and ready before the alarm went off. Most days, she’d wake before him, then welcome him to the day with a kiss and a steaming mug.

Today, he could do the same.

He pulled on pajama bottoms and the flannel robe that still hung on a hook in what was his childhood closet. Then he padded quietly to the door, the wooden floor cool beneath his bare feet.

He opened the door slowly, trying to keep it from creaking, then he closed it behind him before heading to the kitchen. Sure enough, his mother had already brewed a fresh pot, and there were cinnamon rolls on the kitchen table. He glanced around the house for his parents, but saw neither of them. They tended to go walking in the mornings and were probably at the square right now.

He poured himself a mug, then started to pour another for Linda when he glanced out the window and saw his father standing with a woman by the fence. Not his mother. Emma.

Fear gripped the back of his neck. If she was here, something must be wrong.

With his mug still in his hand, he hurried into the backyard, passing his father. “Oh, good. I was just about to wake you. Emily’s here.”

“I see that,” Winston said, tightly. “Did she say why?”

“On vacation. Doing some hiking. Said you’d texted her that you were in visiting us and that you’d love it if your paths crossed. So she figured she’d stop by. I invited her to spend the day. Figured Linda would want to see her, too. You all knew each other in Hades, right?”

“Yes, sir, we did.” His parents hadn’t been tuned in to the real details of his life in Hades, but they’d seen the fake veneer he’d spread over his life and work. Emma—or rather, Emily—had been a friend who worked in the mayor’s office, who’d also come to the wedding.

His father continued on to the house, and Winston hurried to the fence where Emma was waiting. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hello? You head off to Texas for a mysterious assignment, then the next thing I know you’re calling me to track rental cars with your dead wife. Who, by the way, thinks the way to greet an old friend is to assure me that she isn’t holding you at gunpoint.”

She paused just long enough to take a breath, then barreled on. “And then I try to call you back and your phone is shut down. I know because I tried to track you. And that name—Tommy Bartlett with his rental car? Intel says he’s hooked up with Billy Hawthorne, and that can’t be good. Plus, you told me not to call Seagrave, and—”

“Please, tell me you didn’t.”

“No, you said not to. But, that’s a pretty big ask. So, seriously, you have the balls to ask me what I’m doing here? I wanted some fucking proof of life, dude.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I said hotdog. Why didn’t you believe me?”

She cocked her head. “Under the circumstances, would you have believed me?”

“Probably not,” he admitted.