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AIDAN JR.
MILLION YEARS AGO - ADELE
Savvie snored in her sleep.
My lips quirked up in a grin at the thought of telling her she did.
I knew it’d lead to an argument, but I didn’t mind. No one argued like Savvie.
No one’s eyes flashed with irritation like hers did, no one’s nose tipped up just so, and no one stomped off in the perfectly adorableandlust-inducing way that made her tits and ass jiggle.
For all those reasons, plus a thousand more, Savannah was my wife.
She was cuddled up next to me, her thigh angled high over mine, her foot against my leg, far from my knee from habit rather than necessity.
The bum joint was no more. I wasn’t as good as new but if she accidentally kicked me there, it wasn’t the end of the world.
Before, I’d have preferred her to kick me in the balls rather than my knee but my new doctor had worked a fucking miracle on the replacement.
One hand behind my neck, the other hooked against her knee, I stared up at the ceiling, well aware that I should be sleeping, well aware that now wasn’t the fucking time to be dealing with insomnia.
A screen flashed on, illuminating the room. I tilted my head to stare at the cluster of phones and pulled a face when I saw it was my da’s.
The screen was cracked and there was blood in those cracks.
His blood.
It was fucked up but I didn’t have it in me to just switch out the SIM card.
Grainne.
That was the name on the caller ID.
I frowned at the sight.
"Where the fuck do I remember that name from?" I muttered to myself as I watched the screen flash after I let it ring off.
I could have picked it up, could have just answered it to uncover why an Irishwoman was calling my da at three AM, but I didn’t want to.
My hand smoothed up and down the silk that was my bride’s thigh, and my gaze retreated to the ceiling once more.
It was one thing to know you were ready for more responsibility, to be tired of being treated like an untried boy, and it was another to be shoved into the fray.
I was forty-three-fucking-years-old but that was the bitch of losing your father—you were never too old to feel young when they died. Even if you were relieved, and felt guilty about that relief, that you didn’t have to deal with their bullshit anymore.
The screen flashed.
Grainne.
Again.
Annoyed, I untangled myself from Savvie’s clinging embrace—that wasn’t a complaint—and gently shuffled her into the middle of the bed. She rolled over with a huff but didn’t wake up. Since the funeral, sleep hadn’t been coming easily, so when she did rest, she slept deeper than usual.
There was a majestic irony to the fact she was more grief-stricken than I was.
I grabbed the phone, eyed the blood on the glass and let my thumb swipe over the cracks that represented so much more than a fucking broken screen, then retreated from the bedroom into the living room.
I didn’t stop there because I knew my wife too well to recognize that she’d pretend to sleep so she could listen in, and instead, I continued to the office at the other end of the apartment.
