Page 80 of Red Hot Harmony

Afterward, we lay side by side on the bed. There was a mountain of pillows to my left and Camille was to my right, hot and shivering from her orgasm.

Her heavy breaths were the only sounds in the room and for some reason, I found them fascinating. I tried to memorize them the best I could.

A few moments later, she pulled down her nightgown to cover up her thighs and rolled to the side to face the footboard, her back to me.

This act, an obvious display of hurt and disregard, prompted me to remember what we’d agreed on a little while ago when I showed up at her door. I’d promised her that I’d leave, which would only prove that I was a coward, and I didn’t want to be one anymore.

I’d hid from each and every problem behind the haze of drugs and booze, and it was time to stop hiding.

So instead of taking the easy way out, instead of running off, I scooted over, pressed my chest to Camille’s back, wrapped my arms around her, and said, “I’m sorry. I fucked up, but I’m not leaving you here alone.”

She didn’t respond.

Shortly after, tired and sated, we both drifted off.

9 Camille

I woke up too early and I was groggy.

My kid got a tattoo.

My kid got into a fight.

The reason for said fight was still unknown.

Neither Loretta’s mother nor I had ever extracted one word out of our daughters.

Great.I was failing this whole parenting thing over and over.

Dante’s body, buried in the mess of blankets behind me, felt nice and warm, and the soft puffs of his breath grazed the back of my neck.

A fraction of me—however small—was ready to forgive yesterday’s transgression right then and there because he’d integrated himself into every part of my life so skillfully that I had the hardest time letting all that he’d brought in with him go. The madness. The joy. The wild sex.

My memories didn’t agree with my heart, of course.

They kept shoving the embarrassing moments at me until I was drowning in worry and self-loathing.

You really are a bitch, Camille, a tiny voice inside my head said.The man, who’s been on drugs for twenty years, had just witnessed his friend relapse, and you’re agonizing over your hurt ego. He did everything in his power to make it up to you, even delivered a mind-shattering orgasm, and you’re still not happy. No wonder you’re single. You probably deserved it.

Outside my window, everything looked dark and dirty when I rolled over and stared at the narrow opening between the curtains.

Beside me, Dante stirred and I felt the change in his breathing. He was awake now, and despite my confusion and fear, I didn’t feel bad when I told him he needed to go.

“Sure,” he muttered, sitting up. His jeans were still undone, but he’d made himself more or less decent sometime between giving me an orgasm and now, and I was grateful.

My sanity was a fragile thing this morning.

Mainly because of the conversation I’d had with Ally after last night’s dinner. She’d called me a bunch of horrible names, some of them possibly from the list of the world’s deadliest dictators. Then she’d said she couldn’t sleep in the same house with me. Because my presence was suffocating.

Thank God for Harper.

I trusted him completely with my kid, but the cold feeling of dread was still there, lodged deep beneath my sternum, making each inhale and exhale difficult.

“Hey, mama.” Dante touched my shoulder as I attempted to leave the bed. His hands slid around my waist, and suddenly, he was pressing himself to me and whispering words in my ear I’d never thought I’d hear from him. Sweet, gentle, careful nothings.

“Please, stop that,” I asked, my voice raspy and low from all the screaming I’d done yesterday, both at my parents’ ranch and here, in this room, during a round of our ridiculously hot sex.

“Don’t shut me out,” he said.

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