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He swung his feet to the floor and pinched his nose, forcing focus, because if she needed him, this little girl came before everything. “Greer. Everything okay, sweetie?”
“Are you coming to the center to watch my game today?”
Shit. He’d forgotten about that. Why? Because being fall-down, black-out drunk wasn’t good for anyone’s skill at remembering promises or appointments. And that’s how he spent his time when he wasn’t dealing with publicly taking over Inicio. People were calling for interviews, women wanted to be on his arm. More often than not there were reporters outside his house in the morning and his ex-wife was working hard to try and weasel her way back into his life.
“Of course. I never miss a game.”
“He’s coming, Daddy!” she screamed, and he winced as her voice pierced his skull like an ice pick. He fought the urge to curl up in a little ball and whimper. If he listened hard enough, he could hear his friend’s laughter at his agony.
Leave it to Linc to use a child to get him out in the world. They weren’t giving up on him, despite his attempts to drive them away. When he got too bad for them, they went and called in the women. If that didn’t work? Greer.
The one female in his life he refused to disappoint, and his friends knew this, shamelessly using it to their advantage.
“I have to get ready, Greer. I’ll see you soon.”
“Daddy says to shower or you’ll be late and stinky.”
Despite his own personal agony, those words made his lips twitch with humor. “Tell him he and I will talk when I get there.”
She laughed. “Uncle Mitchell is gonna get you, Daddy.” She hung up and Mitchell flopped on the bed with a groan.
Summer was almost upon them in Rock Falls. The nights were still lovely and cool but the days were getting hot. Mitchell stumbled to his feet and turned in the direction of his bathroom. He didn’t even bother turning on the light. No need to see how shitty he looked. He felt worse than dirt.
Water running, he stepped beneath the waterfall shower and leaned forward, bracing his hands on the smooth tile. Memories battered him. He grunted and slapped at the touchscreen to get some music going.
Didn’t help.
Low and slow, it pumped through the speakers, reminding him of how it had been…with her. Shit, since Hope had left, he’d been crashing in the living room and using the other bathroom. Last night, he’d come into his bedroom and crawled into bed, deep in his cups. In his state, he’d been under the impression he could still smell her on his bedding.
Now he was in the bathroom where he’d fucked her. Wrapped his hand around her curls and tugged her head back, exposing her smooth neck for his teeth. He’d not been gentle but she’d only asked for more. Begged. Mitchell had put his mark on her as the music, this music, had threaded around them. The low bass had vibrated through them both.
He gripped himself and stroked his cock. Hard. Thick. And desperate for something he no longer had in his life. Horny or not, he didn’t deserve to find the satisfaction his body sought. Releasing himself, he punched a few more control buttons and hissed when the water became icy and sliced into him.
He washed quickly and reached for his towel as he stepped out, the water no longer falling. It took him a moment to remember to turn off the music as well. Drying off, he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked out to his kitchen, tucking the edge in to keep it from sliding to the floor.
“Hello, Mitchell.”
Nearly crossing his eyes in frustration, he continued to the fridge and opened it to pull out some orange juice. Only once he was drinking out of the container did he turn to face his mother.
Her expression was pinched as she stared at him. Slapping the juice bottle on the countertop—one he’d also enjoyed Hope on—he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Okay, there wasn’t a surface in this house where he hadn’t enjoyed every inch of Hope.
“Why are you here?”
“I called. You didn’t answer.”
“Make it brief, Mother. I have a game to get to.” He took another drink. Partially because he knew he needed something in him other than alcohol but mostly because she abhorred him drinking directly from the bottle.
“Are we going to speak about this company you have?”
“Nope.” Had he wanted her to know about Inicio, he would have told her.
“I was on the phone with Shawnee this morning and—”
He walked away.
“Where are you going? Mitchell, I’m talking to you.”
In his bedroom, he drew on a pair of boxer briefs then dropped the towel. After locating a pair of black board shorts, he pulled them on and went in search of an old Monterey Leviathans shirt. A wry smile tugged up his lips as he recalled how Hope had looked wearing his old shirts.
