Page 15 of Straight, No Chaser
Delicate fingers entwine with mine, and the peace that's been eluding me for two long ass years finally settles in my soul. I let the darkness overcome me so I can enjoy the unfamiliar sensation before it's gone.
7
Chapter Seven
She's gone.
I know it before I even open my eyes or wince from the rolling of my stomach and the pounding in my head. But it's my fucking pussy ass heart that hurts the most. She saw me. The real me. Weak. Broken. Lost.
And then she left.
Rarely do I indulge my pity so obviously. But when I fuck up, I seem to have a tendency to fuck up royally. Go big or go home. In all things I guess. Self-hatred included.
My jacket pulls taut across my forearm as I untangle myself from the sheets. At least I took my fucking shoes off. They're sitting neatly next to the night stand. Or maybe she did that. A bottle of water, two Advil, and a banana cover the wooden top. She definitely did that. So fucking sweet. Better than I deserve.
I toss back the pills and chug down the cool liquid. Welcoming the relief alleviating the drought in my mouth. I manage a few bites of the fruit before I have to stop ignoring the shrieking of my fucking phone. It takes all I've got not to tell Ty to shut the fuck up when I answer. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"I should be asking you that."
My brother's harsh baritone bellows through the speaker. Motherfucker needs to dial that shit down.
"It's fucking ten o'clock. Is your lazy ass going to stay in fucking bed all damn day?"
Fuck! Way past the normal four to five hours I allow myself to sacrifice for sleep. I'd love to fucking blame the booze. Or this fucking god awful headache. But I can't. It was her. My body absorbing her sweetness for all it could. Craving her genuine affection. "I don't fucking answer to you."
"Well, the men who do answer to you are fucking waiting for your orders. So stop lolling in bed and get the fuck down here you stupid motherfucker."
I fucking hate it when he's right. "I'll be there in thirty."
To clean up the mess. To make that motherfucker pay even more. St. Louis may not be big enough to sate Creed Annikov's hunger for domination, but I'll make damn sure my city will never be his.
Peeling off my clothes, I shove the rest of the banana in my mouth as I stride to the shower. Loathe to wash her enticing scent off of me. I'm already so fucking hard thinking about her. But I don't need any distractions. This bastard needs my full attention to keep my guys, and my family, safe.
Without enough time to shave let alone jack off, I let the memories engulf me that Eli stirred about my Dad and Harper's funeral. His broken heart yesterday resurrecting the hellish pain we endured. With Ty beyond wasted and me trying to manage Eli when the first joke of a nanny I hired, who insisted he needed closure by attending the services, fucking flaked on me. Watching my baby brother crying hysterically, almost breaking free from my hold straining to reach his mother laid out in an ebony coffin. That horror shuts down my need in a heartbeat.
I throw on a fresh suit, pausing when Molly's energetic voice seeps through the window. I can't help but smile. Eli's already trying to master riding a two wheeler. He just never fucking gives up. He hops up and climbs on again, already peddling before she can get her hand on the back of the seat, racing to catch up with him.
She lets go and he seems to have it, traveling about fifteen feet before he swerves and then collapses on his right side. Damn, poor kid.
This time he's slow to get up. Kicking at the tire with more irritation than necessary to crawl out from underneath the still spinning wheel. Ah, the Ellison temper coming out. He jumps to his feet and jerks the strap under his chin, slamming the helmet to the ground.
Not very often does he have a full on temper tantrum, but sometimes even this four year old can't do everything he thinks he can. Or face the disappointment of his failure.
Molly gives him a small smile, shouting something encouraging I'm sure. But, his body language has got 'fuck that' written all over it.
Of everyone, he's best behaved for her. But even he gets pushed too far. She takes his impudence in stride, shrugging her shoulders and walking back to the steps. Dropping down on the bottom stair, she waits. Not ignoring him, yet not indulging his melt down either. Good for her.
I can't hold back my chuckle at Eli stomping around the grass. Kicking the closest black path light and one of the concrete flower boxes for good measure. That has to hurt. He limps over to Molly, his anger forgotten with his pained foot. She slides off the shoe and sock and provides a very thorough examination for his toe and his pride. Little man's head bobbing the entire time she talks to him. Making everything better. For his body and his heart.
I keep that image with me as I jog down the steps and into the garage. She may have given up on me, but I can deal with that. With the fucking remorse of everything that I've done to her. As long as I know she's here for Eli.
* * *
Igroanfrom the timid knock on the door. After eleven o'clock. Way past Eli's bedtime. Damn, I hate for the kid to be sick, but it's been a shit ass day plotting against Annikov, and I don't think I can take playing nurse all night. I yank down the handle.
Not him.
Molly.
