Page 29 of Loving at 40

“How can you be if you’re off doing top secret stuff? Confidential and all that,” Calvin mocks, sounding strangely like his mother with that tone.

“If you join the force, you’ll understand. There are some things you can’t discuss.”

“Even with family?” Bryce questions.

Especially with family. Most times, it’s better not to even think about family and what you’re missing out on. Or their safety as you see the craziest shit you’ve ever seen.

I shrug. “It’s a price I’m sorry I paid.” I missed my own parents’ funeral. I almost missed Ben’s, and I’ve missed most of the lives of my family who remains.

“Can’t get a refund,” Calvin mutters.

I’d love to tell him to cut the crap, but I remember being mouthy and eighteen. “One day, you’ll make sacrifices, and then you’ll understand.”

You might even give up your morals, your ideals, and your body to get a job done, and it doesn’t mean you’ll feel good about yourself. The only saving grace will be knowing a dangerous man was caught, and maybe his demise saved someone else’s life, even if it ruined a bit of your own.

Calvin looks away from me while Bryce glances down at his menu. “We already made a sacrifice,” Bryce says to the page in his hand, and I realize my misstep.

They gave up their young lives to move here for their dad. Anna has already explained how the decision to move came about and how they ended up in the house. We own it collectively, and I should be upset, but I hadn’t been present for a discussion.

And adding Bryce’s comment to my pile, the guilt shit keeps getting deeper.

+ + +

After an awkward lunch with the boys, I return to the house midafternoon. Anna tells me that Jenna’s girls are next door playing in the tree house with Zack’s twin boys, and she thinks Jenna might be doing some laundry. When I enter the apartment, Jenna isn’t on the couch nor is the door to the girls’ room closed. Wondering where she is, I hear water running in the bathroom like it’s filling the tub. The idea of Jenna getting naked on the other side of the door develops a hum under my skin.

Like a creepy stalker, I press my forehead against the closed door, waiting on the liquid to stop filling the basin. With a sharp shut off to the rushing sound, the telltale sign of a full tub ripples through the barrier with a sluice and a whoosh of water.

Walk away, Archer.

Leaning away from the door, I dig my fingers into the trim around the frame, and I prepare to call out her name, telling myself I’m only letting her know I’m leaving. She’ll have the place to herself. For another second, my hands grip the doorframe, holding me in place, wondering why I feel the need to tell her I’m going anywhere. Let her figure it out on her own that she’s alone.

Step back.

Only, another sound occurs, echoing off the tile of the bathroom. The rip and zip of a coiled pipe suggests Jenna has pulled the ancient handheld showerhead from the holder. The subtle hum of droplets spraying against water, like rain splatter against a puddle, resounds through the door. The hum is lower in tempo, a heavier plunk of beating water. My forehead furrows, thinking it strange for half a heartbeat until I consider what she might be doing with that pulsing showerhead.

Preparing to step away once more, I hear a soft but distinct purr. “Archer.”

Freezing in place, I fist my hands and lean forward once again, connecting imaginary dots between the pulsing vibration and the lusty sigh. Without hesitation, I reach for the door handle, expecting the door to be locked.

It’s not.

“What are you doing?” she shrieks as the door swings open. At the same time, I ask a similar question in a deep, strangled voice. My eyes glance toward the tub from the open doorway, and Jenna sits upright. She wraps an arm over her ample breasts in an attempt to cover them, which is fruitless. The swell is the only hint I need to conjure the image of sharp nipples peaking against her fitted bathing suit the other day. I’m working my way from semi to full-on hard.

Her other hand is hidden beneath the tub’s lip, but the gurgle of bubbles suggests the showerhead is underwater. Jenna’s mouth hangs open. Any second, she’s going to scream for me to get out, but her expression is stone. It prompts me to close the door—behind me—sequestering both of us in the small, steamy bathroom.

“I asked you a question,” I snap, my patience barely contained. It isn’t that I’m angry as a lack of patience often equates. I’m the opposite—high strung to join her in that tub. I’m practically vibrating myself.

“I could say the same,” she snarks, and that bit of sass pumps my dick from half-mast to full steam ahead.

I take another step toward the tub, invading her privacy, encroaching on her personal space, and briefly lower my eyes for the water. Her legs are clamped together, but there’s a rumble of water under her closed thighs, giving everything away.

“You called my name.” My eyes laser in on hers, fighting the pull to glance down once more and further inspect where her limbs press together.

“I—” Additional words catch on her tongue, and I watch the roll of her throat as she swallows. Shame and something else scribbles over her face. I lower to my haunches, place my forearms on my thighs, and dangle my hands between my spread knees. My eyes never leave hers.

“Whatcha doing in there?” Softening my voice, I tip up my chin, focusing on her face and struggling with my eyes, which desperately want to look downward.

“I…”