Page 39 of Made For Ruin

And I mean it. I’m already counting down the hours until I’m back in his arms, surrendering to his dominance. “Goodnight, Marcus.”

“Sweet dreams, gorgeous.”

I end the call and snuggle under the covers, his deep timbre still echoing in my head.

For the first time in months, I drift off easily, my body sated and relaxed. The stress of the diner feels distant compared to the anticipation humming through my veins.

Friday can’t come soon enough.

TEN

MARCUS

The next fivedays are absolute torture.

Every morning, I wake up reaching for her, expecting to feel her warm body curled against mine, only to find cold, empty sheets. The disappointment hits me each time.

I can't focus on anything - not work at the lumber mill, not chopping wood, not even hunting. All I can think about is Lainey and how badly I need her back in my arms, in my bed.

I pace around the cabin like a caged animal, my skin crawling with pent-up energy and frustration. I have no idea what I was thinking when I told her I would wait for five whole days. I should have demanded she stay, should have thrown her over my shoulder again and hauled her back inside.

Anything to keep her with me.

Fortunately, Friday finally comes. I wake up feeling like a kid on Christmas morning. I spend most of the morning cleaning the cabin from top to bottom, determined to make space for her. I clear out dresser drawers, making room for her clothes. I reorganize the bathroom vanity, leaving half the counter bare.

I'm just finishing up in the kitchen when my phone rings. Axel’s name lights up the screen. Instantly, my stomach drops. Axel never calls me.

I pick up the phone and press it to my ear. “Axel? Everything okay?”

“Hey, Dad. Everything’s fine,” he says, sounding distracted. “I was just wondering if I could stop by the cabin today.”

“Stop by?” My grip tightens on the phone. “What’s the occasion?”

“I left one of my amps in my old room,” Axel explains. “I need it for a gig this weekend.”

Relief washes through me, followed by a twinge of guilt.

“Sure, come on by. I’ll be here until about four.”

“Thanks. Be there soon.” He hangs up abruptly.

I drain the rest of my coffee and sigh as I stare out the window, already dreading the inevitable awkwardness of this visit.

I love my son more than almost anything in this world. But seeing him always stirs up a storm of emotions I’ve tried to bury.

Five years ago, moving to Cooper Heights had seemed like the answer. I’d gotten the wake-up call of my life when Axel ended up in the hospital after a car accident after his high school graduation.

The next day, I started looking for property in Cooper Heights. I convinced myself that if I was closer, if I really tried this time, I could fix what I’d broken.

That first year, things actually seemed better. Axel would stop by sometimes and play his guitar on the back deck. He spent that summer here after graduation, writing music and talking about his dreams of making it big. I thought we were finally finding our way back to each other.

But the more time we spent together, the more obvious it became that we had no idea how to be father and son. Every conversation turned into an argument, and every attempt at bonding ended in frustrated silence. By August, he was gone.

A car door slams outside, and I head to the front window in time to see Axel pull up in the beat-up Jeep he’s had since high school.

He hops out, all lanky limbs and messy hair. And even from here, I can’t help but notice how much he looks like his mother. Same dark hair, same lean build. But the restless energy, the way he moves like he’s got someplace to be—that’s all me.

He bounds up the steps and knocks twice before letting himself in.

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