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I still have an ache of abandonment, but I shove those feelings down.
He was the one to assure me that we’re still having fun. He didn’t hint once that he was ready for this to end, but I have to always keep that in the back of my mind. I can’t let fantasy and hope get tangled up in what we’re doing. It’ll only make things worse for me in the end if I do.
I stretch on the bed, my muscles sore from both the motorcycle ride yesterday and the strenuous activities after we got back to the clubhouse.
I consider that Derrick really needs more rest, but then consider that maybe day-long bike rides and vigorous sex have always been a part of his lifestyle. That Penny woman yesterday seemed more than a little familiar with him.
I pull Derrick’s pillow from his side of the bed and manage to press it against my face before screaming my rage into the damn thing.
I should have better control over my life. Coming here was supposed to be a step in the right direction.
Derrick has urged me more than once to speak up if I’m ready to end what we’re doing, but since he doesn’t know me at all, he has no damn clue that being capable of doing that isn’t exactly one of my strong suits. If anything, I wait until I’m to the point of exploding and hating everyone involved before I manage the courage to walk away.
But walking away from him?
It seems impossible, no matter how hard I fight the sensation trying to convince me that Derrick might just be my forever. What started as a barely recognizable whisper has now grown into a sort of yelling in my head. Part of me knows it’s a warning sign, but there’s also that piece of me that wants it to be true.
I climb out of bed, heading into the bathroom for another shower. I need to fully wake up to face the day, but I take my time, disappointment mingling with the soap bubbles on my skin when I finish with Derrick still not coming back into the bedroom.
I know the man can’t spend all day in here, so I reason with myself that he isn’t pulling back. He’s simply busy doing something else right now.
I get dressed, grinning at the clothes of mine he hung in the closet. My freakout over that isn’t as comical though, so the smile doesn’t last long. I take my medicine, using water from the sink cupped in my hand to swallow it down before leaving the bedroom.
I head right to the kitchen, praying I’ll find him in there, but he isn’t one of the more than half a dozen faces that turn their attention toward me when I enter.
“There’s coffee, scrambled eggs, and bacon,” Misty says, pointing across the room.
“There’s also oatmeal in the first cupboard,” Em, Kincaid’s wife, a woman I met yesterday, says, pointing in that direction. “The water in the dispenser is hot enough for it.”
I opt for only a cup of coffee right now because breakfast has never been my thing. I’m more of an early lunch sort of girl.
Instead of making my cup and heading right back out of the room in search of Derrick, I walk toward the table where Misty and Em are sitting, giving a quick nod and smile to the other woman sitting there with them.
“I’m Khloe,” the woman says, holding her hand out to me when I sit. “Kid’s wife.”
“Beth,” I tell her as I shake her hand. “Derrick—I mean, Oracle’s—wife.”
“It’s lovely to meet you. How did you sleep?”
My eyes dart to the side at their own volition. Is this a test? Did someone complain that Derrick and I were too loud last night? Do I really scream while having sex and I just don’t realize it?
“We replaced all the beds in the rooms a couple months ago,” Khloe says. “I hope they’re comfortable.”
Relief washes over me as I respond. “They’re incredibly comfortable.”
“What are your plans for the day?” Misty asks.
It feels like another test even though her tone doesn’t hint at anything more than casual conversation.
“We were thinking that you might want to help in the nursery,” Em adds.
“Kids?” My head begins to shake immediately.
“Don’t like kids?”
“I… umm… it’s not… no one has ever trusted me with their kids.”
I pull in a deep breath, waiting for the rejection, waiting for their faces to change.
“I think I like kids,” I rush to tell them. “I just don’t have much experience with them.”
Misty slowly lowers her coffee cup to the table before speaking. “Are you a danger to them?”
Wow. She legit just came out and asked rather than beating around the bush, and I have to respect the woman more for it.
“I’m on meds for bi-polar disorder. More specifically for cyclothymic disorder. I’ve never hurt anyone else or myself. I’m more prone to impulsive behaviors. I’m more likely to get distracted and leave the stove on more than anything else.”
