Page 26 of Shame

I’ve never slept well, but since Sam’s sentencing and the plea bargain that kept my brother out of jail—and the gutting of our bank accounts that went hand in hand with that, the non-stop critical inspection of our books by regulators, and the fact he’s sleeping on my fucking proverbial couch,still—my insomnia’s gotten worse.

Grace is still at the studio when I get home from the office.

Sam is in the guest room.

Fine, it’s not a fucking couch.

It’s still too much.

Tomorrow, the regulators will be back to review my plan to bring him back to work in a limited, no-trading capacity.

The little shit needs a fucking job.

I chew a couple of Tums as I strip off my clothes and start the shower.

* * *

Grace comes home an hour later,with dinner for all three of us. Sam emerges from his room but barely says a word as we eat. Fine by me. I don’t say anything, either.

Grace gets on my case when we retreat to the bedroom. “You could make an effort, you know.”

“I don’t need you telling me how to be a brother,” I snap.

“That’s not what I’m—” She cuts herself off and strips off her clothes, then pulls on a tank top and panties.

“If you’re going to bark at me, the least you could do is make it sexy,” she quips. “Threaten to spank me or something.”

I frown and get into bed, ready for a futile attempt at sleep.

She gives me an uncertain look, but crawls closer anyway. “Come on.” Her voice drops to a shy, hesitant note. It pricks at the back of my brain and feels dangerous. “Spank me, Luke. Channel some of that pent-up aggression in a more productive direction.”

The only thing pent-up inside me is irritation, and there’s no channeling that into being some kind of sex stud on command. “I’m not—I don’t want to.”

“Hey,” she says softly, stopping. But her gaze is challenging. It’s always challenging, because I’m never enough for her. “What if I want it?”

I make a face. “Don’t be weird about it. I don’t want to do that.”

“Oh.” She changes direction and crawls to her pillow instead, tucking her wee little self under the blanket. And then she rolls onto her side, facing the wall.

Giving me her back.

Well, I asked for that. I move closer, setting my hand on her shoulder. But she hears my sigh and takes it the wrong way.

“Don’t make me feel like a freak,” she whispers.

“I don’t know why you always need to make it about sex.”

“Because we’re married, and married people have sex. You used to be a guy who liked sex. What happened?”

I didn’t know my libido was so tightly tied to being a business success. “Nothing’s happened.”

“Great. Then it’s just being a freak.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what I hear.”

I sigh again. I’m so fucking tired.

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