Page 12 of Blood and Sand

I needed her back.

She returned to her rocking chair, and I took the one Pops had been sitting in, right beside her. We sat for a few moments, listening to the nature around us while she fanned herself with a church fan—the one with the picture of praying hands on the front.

“You want a fan?” She laughed as I wiped away the sweat beading up on my forehead with a handkerchief. “It’s hot as hell out here.”

“Nah, I’m good.” I leaned forward with my forearms planted on my thighs. “It’s hot, but not Louisiana hot.”

“That is true.”

“How ya been, DeeDee?” I looked over at her, and her eyes narrowed. “And I’m not talking about the job. I know how that’s going. I want to know how you’ve been?”

“Why do you care, Rey?” she snapped, her expression clouded in anger. “You let me leave, remember? How I’m doing isn’t your concern anymore.”

I deserved every curse and every glare she aimed at me. I was the one who let her walk away. To be honest, I thought she wouldn’t, and if she did, she wouldn’t file for divorce. My arrogance cost me a lot, so I deserved everything she threw my way.

But she was wrong. When I vowed through the good times and bad, until death did us part, I meant every fucking word. I still wore my wedding ring, although we weren’t together anymore, because Dana LaCroix would always be my concern. She would always be my wife.

“Be angry all you want, DeeDee. I deserve it. I asked for everything you can throw at me because I didn’t fight for us, but you’ll always be my concern, whether we’re together or not.”

Silence engulfed us while she searched nervously for the meaning behind my words.

I leaned back in the rocking chair.

“Does Chanel know you’re here with me?” she retorted in cold sarcasm, breaking our silence after a few minutes.

My brows drew together, and I glared at her. What the hell did Chanel have to do with anything my wife and I discussed? I never understood why DeeDee was so hung up on her. Chanel and I fucked each other before I met her and again now that we were divorced. There was nothing special about Chanel Boudreaux, but DeeDee always had an issue with her.

“Why in the hell would Chanel know anything about what I’m doing?”

There was a little more anger in my tone than there should have been, but I didn’t want to talk about Chanel. I wanted to talk about DeeDee, about us.

“Never mind,” she mumbled, standing up. “It’s none of my business.”

When she tried to walk past me, I stood and grabbed her by the arm. She stopped and looked up at me with those large, round, doe eyes I missed so much.

“Anything that goes on in my life is your concern, DeeDee. No matter what those fucking papers we signed say or who we’re fucking at the time. I’m your husband, and you’re my wife. Always.”

She took a sharp breath and stared, tongue-tied, until Mama Wright broke our trance by calling us inside for dinner.

“Dr. LaCroix, I’m gonna get you back. So, prepare yourself, my beautiful wife. I’m coming for you.”

I motioned for her to go inside ahead of me.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she adamantly shook her head. “You can’t be serious, Rey! You’re fucking crazy if you think me helping you with this case changes anything between us. You let me go, remember? That was your choice, not mine. We’ve both moved on.”

“I do remember, and it was the biggest fucking mistake of my life. But this right here, us together now,” I caressed her face, “changes everything, my love. Every. Fucking. Thing.”

I placed my hand on the small of her back, giving her a slight push so we could walk inside her grandparents’ home.

I’d made my intentions known. Fuck Aaron Hart. If she thought I gave a damn about their relationship, she had another thing coming. Dana LaCroix was my wife. The love of my life. I’d made a mistake by not fighting for us, and it wasn’t a mistake I’d make again.

I’d gotten a second chance to show her we belonged together.

We were meant to be.

“That was amazing, Mama Wright.” I rubbed my stomach. “I haven’t had a homecooked meal like that in a while.”

One of the reasons I loved coming here was eating whatever Mama Wright cooked. My mother was a great cook. Her Cajun food was out of this world, and since she’d been sick, she didn’t cook much anymore. However, Mama Wright’s food was on a different level, and she fed me until I was bursting at the seams.

---