Page 22 of Another Round
Staggering back to the living room, I tear off the lid and grab everything out, spreading the proof of my guilt across the table. A fucking plethora of evidence that confirms that instead of shoving pizza in my mouth and enjoying the sunshine warming my face and falling even more in love with a woman I don’t deserve I should have kept my damn bastard arse at home where I belong.
Yellow and crinkled, the paper cracks as I attempt to smooth the numerous creases. Careful and cautious around the expanding rip, sliced from the rubber band as I tore the note off that day in my panic to read her last message to me. To understand why she left me. The faded ink of her curly handwriting is barely legible, yet I can still make out the cruel words.
I thought I would always be yours and now I’ll always be his. Every time Aiden cries, I hear him. Every time you touch me, I feel him. I know that every time I see this baby, I’ll see him too. I just can’t do it. I’m sorry. I love you.
The cap on the end of the blue and white stick won’t stay attached any longer yet I can’t bring myself to throw it away. The last thing she touched. The last emotion she felt. The last reason she had to finally give up.
Heat blazes through my muscles when I gulp down more of the scotch I need for the lab results. Ironically the words on this document haven’t faded at all in color or in agony. Ninety-nine percent probability that the baby she carried was mine. Ours. The second child we weren’t planning or expecting but would’ve celebrated as a blessing just the same. Except she mistakenly thought our daughter was a curse. Erroneously believing the infant would be a constant reminder of him raping her on our kitchen table while Aiden sat on the floor sobbing. Unable to comprehend why his mother didn’t pick him up like always when he needed her.
My fingers fumble opening the thick white envelope embossed withLeitz & Murrow Attorneys at Lawon the flap. Stupid lawyers helping her parents sue me. Furious at me for keeping her body so I could have the paternity test performed on our unborn baby. When they really just hated me for the attack. Blaming me for letting the assault happen. Almost as much as I hate and blame myself.
I slump against the cushion and flick on my laptop, tapping the icon for Evie’s camera. Grateful the booze finally kicks in from the cascade down to my belly. Warming my stomach and blurring my vision and quieting my brain, that wishes Evie was with me, when this is the last place she should be. Next to me on my sofa rather than on the screen holding up our bounty from this morning and her stained shoes from the muddy rows to the two women on her computer. But she’s not mad. No not at all. She laughs along with her mother and grandmother who don’t care about her ruined footwear as long as she’s happy. And she is.
She tells them she is. Because of the fun time. Because of the fruit and the band and the wine. Not because of me. Never because of me.
Her small hand waves to them, and Shae and Marta disappear. Then Evie does too. I miss her smile. I miss her beautiful face. I miss her.
Then she’s back. Glides into view as she yanks her dress over her head. Slides her thong down her toned legs. Releases the clasp between her breasts so her bra slides backward down her slender arms.
Naked.
Jesus. I watch like the sick, disgusting arsehole I am because I’m too drunk to move and she’s too breathtakingly gorgeous to turn away from. Torturing myself more with what I can’t have. What I don’t deserve. What I shouldn’t want. Entranced by her beauty until she pulls the shower curtain across the rod and vanishes behind the silver and pink stripes. I squeeze my eyes shut, but still see her gorgeous body behind the lids. Her soft ivory skin unblemished from any marks or brands. Small breasts with nipples as pink as her sun kissed cheeks. Smooth sweet pussy that makes my fingers flex with the need to touch her. To own her and consume her and make her mine.
Another long drink to drown those ideas. Swimming in the liquor flooding my body. Until my ears buzz with the alarm from her door opening. She’s leaving. Fuck! I push off the pillow and wobble as I get to my feet. I can’t protect her but at least I can stop her.
The knock sounds before I reach the door. My clenched muscles relax. She wasn’t going out—she was coming here. She’s here. God she’s here. Thank fuck.
I twist the knob and lean against the frame. Attempting to feign sobriety as well as manage some damn dignity. “Bad day love. Probably should skip dinner.”
At least I think that’s what I say. Johnnie Walker and I only have this standing date once a year, and he often gets the best of me and my tongue each time we do.
She frowns yet seems to understand. Glancing behind me before meeting my fuzzy gaze again. Nodding and caressing my arm in empathy.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Maybe we can just hang out. Not talking.”
I stand here. She stands here too. I guess I’m agreeing to hanging out and not talking because I step back. She steps in. I’m happy.
Her soft hand takes mine. She’s gentle but bossy. Leading me to the couch and pushing me down when I stare at her. She’s pretty. Too pretty and I have to shut my eyes again. But I still know how pretty she is in my darkness. How good I feel with her fingers tangled with mine.
“You’re watching me?”
Fuck. She doesn’t sound mad. More surprised actually than furious. I can barely get my eyes open, but when I do she doesn’t look mad either. At least I don’t think. Hard to tell with her swaying back and forth in my gaze. “I have to know you’re safe.”
Only half a lie. She seems to accept my reason with a slow head bob as she turns back to me from studying my laptop. Tickling my wrist from her long hair. That I want to fist and never let go with her lips on mine.
My fingers almost itch from need, and I grab my bottle instead of her. She shakes her head from my offer to share so I take a long gulp. Embarrassed but not too proud to drink alone. Too late for me to think less of myself. Pretty sure her impression of me is even worse.
A rattle of plastic bouncing against wood clatters next to her on the coffee table, and she glances at the vibrating mobile, but doesn’t answer. Bringing her face back to my view with a sad smile.
“It’s Theo. I can call him back.”
“You can talk now if you want. I know you miss him.”
“I do. A lot. But I feel like being here with you right now.”
