Soaring (45 page)

“And she said?” I prompted when he stopped speaking.

“If you can believe this shit, shit that was unbelievable then but it’s more unbelievable the day after she got a DUI, she said that she had some work thing she had to go to. Someone at her job was leaving. She’d had too much to drink so she didn’t want to get in her car. Said she texted Aisling that when Ash didn’t say any of that shit to me, and she would, and my girl checked her phone about seven hundred times when we were at The Eaves.”

The only thing I could come up with to say was, “Oh, Mickey.”

He took that lameness and kept giving me the ugly, “When I asked her to explain why she didn’t contact our son after, she said she had a big late birthday thing planned for when he got back to her and she didn’t wanna ruin it. And she did do a big thing. Though if she had it planned before I got in her face or not is anyone’s guess.”

“Excuses,” I murmured.

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “Now tonight, I called her on the DUI, askin’ what the fuck is up that this shit is goin’ on and leakin’ into our kids’ lives. And she fuckin’ told me that I needed to call my buddy off. She wasn’t likin’ that I was handin’ her this crap, makin’ her out to be the bad guy in an attempt to steal our kids from her.”

I stared up at him, dumbfounded, and asked, “What?”

He nodded shortly. “That’s what the bitch said.”

“Your buddy?”

“Coert,” he bit off. “He’s the sheriff and he’s a friend of mine. Good friend. We’ve known each other awhile and we’re pretty tight. But he wasn’t the one who pulled her over. He
was
the one who didn’t slap a DUI on her the last time she pulled that shit, because that was her first time, but also because he’s my fuckin’
buddy
, but I’m guessin’ she forgot that part.”

“So…so…” I stammered. “So she’s making this out to be you targeting her in an attempt to get custody of your children when you had nothing to do with her being picked up for drunk driving?”

His mouth got hard but he still forced through it, “That’s what she’s makin’ it out to be. Called it my ‘grand scheme.’ Said her blood alcohol level was negligible, just over the edge, proves I’m out for her and roped Coert into that shit, and if they try to put that on her permanent record, she’s fightin’ it. Also said I started this scheme even before we split. Said if I didn’t back down, stop maneuvering, she was gonna fight me tooth and nail. And she said if I tried to keep the kids from her, she’d have me arrested for kidnapping.”

“Oh my God,” I breathed.

“Yeah,” he grunted.

Now I understood why he was so unhappy.

“Mickey,” I grabbed his hand and held tight, “I don’t know what to say.”

“What’s there to say?” he asked, lifting our hands and pressing mine against his heart as he shifted closer to me. “I’m stuck. Called Arnie again. The attorney?”

I nodded.

Mickey continued, “He said this is a case of declaring her unfit to raise our children. I’d have to call CPS. They’d have to inspect. I’d have to have evidence. I’d have to have witness testimony. The DUI on record is something but it isn’t enough. And at the kids’ ages, they’re old enough to be deposed. They could get dragged in. Have to talk smack about their mother.”

“It isn’t smack if it’s true,” I shared carefully.

“You’re right. But would you want your kids to sit with some fuck they don’t know and share their dad is a cheating asshole?”

No, I would not want that.

I shook my head.

“No,” he bit off. “So I got two choices, keep my kids from her and brace for whatever shit she throws at me. And she was pissed, Amy. She’s got her back up and she’s so deep in denial, it’s a wonder she’s breathing. Or let my kids go to her and wait for the other shoe to drop, maybe this bein’ something that scars my kids in some
new
way I won’t be able to heal.”

I moved closer to him and pointed out the obvious, “You’re between the rock and the hard place.”

“I am. ’Cept I got one more option, this comin’ from Arnie. Sit down with my kids and see if they wanna live with me, makin’ ’em say they don’t wanna live with their mom. And they might not wanna live with her, but I don’t wanna
make
’em share that shit.”

No. That wasn’t easy. I knew it. I wasn’t with my children when they had to make that choice and say it out loud, but I’d seen the way they couldn’t look at me afterward. The sorrow on their faces. It was agonizing.

And it was the beginning of my recovery.

Even though that would be promising in the case of Rhiannon, who clearly needed to be shaken out of her delusion, it was not something to take lightly.

“I would cautiously advise that’s a last resort, honey,” I told him.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“So, what are you thinking of doing?” I asked.

“Only one real choice,” he answered. “Wait until she fucks up again. Keep track of shit. Keep an eye on my kids. I don’t, I keep ’em away from her, she’s gonna go at me and then they’ll be dragged in and there’ll be nothin’ I can do to stop it.”

Suddenly, I hated yet another person I’d never met.

I’d hated Martine before I even knew her name. I just knew my husband had fallen in love with someone else.

And now I hated Rhiannon.

“What do you need from me?” I asked.

“You, keepin’ an eye on my kids. Droppin’ by. Comin’ around more often. Givin’ Aisling a good woman to be with. Givin’ my kids healthy.”

I nodded. “I can do that.”

“And I want you in my bed tonight.”

My head jerked back and I blinked.

“But—”

He cut me off, “I’ll get you home before they get up. Not a fan of sneakin’ and won’t ask you to do it often. But I had a shit day. I’m gearin’ up to face a shit time I don’t know how long it’ll last or how bad it’ll get. Right now, I wanna go in there and sit on my couch with you, relax, drink a beer then go to sleep smellin’ your hair.”

“I can do that too,” I said immediately.

Then I held my breath as I watched Mickey close his eyes and turn to face the dark of his backyard.

I pushed closer, pressing my hand in his at his chest, and called, “Mickey.”

He opened his eyes but kept them to the yard.

It took time and I gave him that time before he looked at me. “What if she gets behind the wheel with my kids in the car and she’s shitfaced?”

“You talk to them,” I answered firmly. “Do it trying not to bring Rhiannon into it. But Ash is a freshman. High school kids, they do stuff. They party. You could couch it in a warning they have to be smart about that, tell Cillian you’re talking to him at the same time to save time or something, and you do this inflexibly so they get your meaning.”

“They’re not dumb. They’ll get my meaning. My
whole
meaning, Amy.”

Regrettably, I had a feeling they would.

“Then be certain they know at
any
time with
anyone
, if someone wants them to get in a car with a driver who’s inebriated, then they can call you to come and get them and there will be no recriminations.”

“My son doesn’t have a phone,” he told me. “Rule is, they gotta hit fourteen.”

“Maybe you should break your rule, Dad,” I said, giving him a weak grin and a weaker tease.

Mickey stared down at me, a muscle ticking in his cheek, unsurprisingly not ready to lighten the mood.

Then he growled, “Could strangle that bitch.”

I pushed even closer.

“I thought I’d scarred my own kids beyond healing, honey,” I told him. “And tonight my son came over of his own choice just to have dinner with his mom and watch TV. Proves you give them good, they’ll respond. You said it yourself, they’re not dumb. Yes, all this is terrible. But one day they’ll see how hard you worked to give them safe and healthy, and they’ll appreciate it. But you just
giving
them safe and healthy, you’ll get them through.”

Mickey again stared down at me for a while before he sighed, lifted his free hand, cupped the back of my head and pressed my cheek against his chest.

I wrapped my free arm around him and gave his hand in mine a squeeze.

I allowed us to stay that way for a bit before I pushed my head against his hand and looked up at him.

“Gotta get my guy a beer,” I said softly.

He didn’t respond except to bend his neck, touch his forehead to mine then he went in for a lip brush.

After that, he pulled away but kept hold of my hand.

We went inside. Mickey got a beer. We lazed on the couch while he drank it and we watched
Letterman
.

Then he closed down the house and silently, he guided me to his bed.

Chapter Nineteen

Flash

I sucked hard at Mickey’s thumb in my mouth and I did this so I wouldn’t pant.

It was very early the next morning.

We were in Mickey’s bed.

We were spooning.

Mickey had his face in my hair.

And I had my hips tilted, Mickey’s finger at my clit, and I was taking his cock.

Suddenly, his thrusts increased in power and velocity, the pressure of his finger magnified, and his mouth was at my ear.

“Fuckin’ get there, Amy,” he growled.

He was close.

But I was too, and his growl shivered down my neck, my shoulder, across my breasts, belly, then gathered between my legs, and with his cock and his finger, I sucked his thumb deep and went soaring.

“Thank fuck,” he gritted, buried his face in my neck, his cock deep and groaned against my skin.

I felt nothing but my orgasm and all that was Mickey, his heat, his strength, the power of his body tensed with his own orgasm.

Then mine glided from me and I relaxed against him and lapped at his thumb.

I knew his had left him too when he slid it out of my mouth and ran it along my lower lip.

His mouth came back to my ear. “You on the Pill?”

“Yes,” I breathed against his thumb.

“You fuckin’ anyone but me?”

I grinned at his ridiculous question.

“No.”

“You trust I’m not takin’ anyone but you?”

I felt my body stiffen because that was huge.

But this was Mickey.

So I whispered, “Yes.”

His fingers at my jaw dug in and I knew he knew what I gave him was huge.

But he didn’t dwell on it.

He asked, “Then you good with ungloved?”

“Yes, Mickey.”

“Thank Christ,” he muttered. “Condoms are history.”

I relaxed into him, sliding a hand up his sinewy forearm and wrapping my fingers around his wrist.

He twisted it, caught my hand and pressed both gently to my throat.

He settled in and I felt his breath stir the top of my hair.

We lay connected for glorious moments before he said, “Thanks for stayin’ the night.”

“You need me, I’m here,” I replied.

I heard the lightness in his tone when he went on, “Thanks for takin’ my cock.”

“You need me, I’m here,” I repeated.

I felt his chuckle and squeezed his hand.

“My heiress wanna loaf in bed while I take a shower?”

I didn’t know what my other choices were, other than get up, get dressed and go home before he had to get his kids up.

Or shower with him.

But truly, a waking-up-being-made-love-to-after-getting-about-five-hours-of-sleep orgasm was maybe the only thing that would encourage me to “loaf” in his bed rather than be naked with him in his shower.

“If I’ve got time, I’m gonna loaf.”

“You got it,” he murmured, kissed my shoulder then slid out of me and the bed.

He pulled the covers up before he walked to the bathroom.

I watched him walk to the bathroom, heard the toilet flush then the shower go on.

I’d been in his room once before, the night I spent there when my kids last left me. I didn’t need to peruse it.

I knew it was nice. Manly. Rhiannon, if she’d ever been there in the decorating scheme, was g-o-n-e
gone
from there in a way it looked like she’d never existed.

His room, like mine, took up one whole end of his house. It included a big master bathroom toward the backyard that had a double basin, separate shower and the toilet was in its own little room. There was a walk-in closet, only one, but it was huge. The fixtures weren’t old, it had been renovated and that was done sometime relatively recently. Perhaps not last year but if I had to guess, in the last five. If I didn’t have the bathroom to beat all bathrooms and three trust funds that meant I could create any bathroom I wanted, it would have been amazing.

The walls of the bedroom were painted a slate gray that worked with the wood baseboards and amazing tongue and groove ceiling, the wood so dark it was nearly black. He had a fireplace too, one with a stone hearth like the others in his house. That was situated against the wall across from his king-sized, mission-style bed.

He had slate gray sheets that had a sateen sheen. He also had a duvet with a cover, his in dark gray with a hexagon pattern, the lines making the design burgundy.

Between bed and bathroom, there was a large hunk of floor space that he’d filled with two matching club chairs. They shared an ottoman, a sturdy but attractive end table and a standing lamp made in brass. The chairs were covered with clothes (apparently, Mickey didn’t hit the laundry hamper with his clothes either, it looked like he hadn’t done laundry since I met him).

It was clean, though not tidy, exceptionally masculine…and all Mickey.

I loved it.

So I lay happily tangled in his sheets in that room, still feeling Mickey between legs, loafing, snoozing and floating.

“Babe.”

I wasn’t asleep, exactly.

But my eyes were closed.

I opened them to see Mickey in clean work clothes standing beside the bed.

“Time for me to go?” I asked languidly.

“That, right there,” he stated.

I studied him, unsure of his statement, his tone or the intense look on his face.

I began to push up and Mickey ordered, “Don’t fuckin’ move.”

I stilled but held his gaze and whispered, “What’s going on, Mickey?”