CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AINSLEY
D éjà vu has always fascinated me. That familiarity the brain has with something that doesn’t actually belong to us. It’s a glitch. Not a memory. Not something we’re authorized to claim. And yet we know it. Intimately.
We can almost taste the words that will fall from a person’s lips next.
Feel the velvety breeze that’s yet to fan over our skin.
Smell the aroma that will soon waft from the kitchen we’ve never set foot in.
Baffling.
There was a time I loved that feeling—the rush of something new and slightly off-balanced, layered inside a sensation that seemed like a whisper from before, like it was mine even though it wasn’t.
That time is not now.
“Cough it up, girl. What was your man like back in the day?” Rena’s eyebrow piercing sparkles as her question hangs in the air like one of those cartoon thought bubbles.
My man. It’s dangerous how much my heart clings to that title.
The Scrabble word Gage left me before he took off with the guys— celebrate —sank into me, leaving me yearning for more. It might not be overly romantic like his previous I miss you statement, but it was a well wish. And that’s something.
So, I have. Celebrated.
We’ve spent the Fourth of July holiday listening to smutty audiobooks, swimming and playing with Felicity, watching fireworks on TV, and creating a carpet picnic. Now that the little peanut is in bed, we’ve seized the furniture, and we’re lounging in pajamas. The family room has three couches in a boxy U formation—Ivy and Celeste on one, Rena on another, and me on the third—a coffee table in the center, soaring ceilings, a catwalk balcony, and a grand fireplace. All the spaces in this house are cozy, despite the opulence.
Like a warm bath in a solid-gold tub after a long day. Maybe it’s the decor. More likely the residents.
These girls are truly amazing. They gossip and giggle like most other women I’ve known, but there’s this unbreakable bond between them that is enchanting. Like they’d walk through fire for each other. Even the worn and tattered part of my soul that is far too blackened to become attached to anyone is having a hell of a time denying their appeal.
They’ve shared countless tidbits about their men throughout the night. Wells is an unmistakable Dom with his Little Storm. That wasn’t earth-shattering news. The man exerts control over everything, even his candy. Liam apparently has a penchant for restraints and inappropriate phone calls. That one had me cackling. He adds a mischievous spin to just about every moment, which I’ve come to appreciate during my time here. I suspect it’s exactly what Celeste needs to keep out of her overly organized mind.
When Rena mentioned Ty having a bedazzled dick, my jaw unhinged though. Didn’t see that coming and didn’t really want to. Ty feels … brotherly. Not that I know anything about having a sibling. But he fits my vision of one. A safe harbor.
Since they know all about Gage railing me out in the trees with Dante watching, I think the sharing was to even the playing field. Sweet, hilarious, and awkward. More of a gift than they’ll ever grasp.
But it was all the little snapshots they offered about Gage that shaded tonight in a déjà vu coloring I’m not too fond of. It’s been overwhelming—weighty with emotions that tangle my heart, confuse my soul, and yet, oddly, quiet my cluttered mind.
I clear my throat of that overwhelm, swig a sip of beer, and attempt to summarize who he was, who we were. “He was your classic broken bad boy when I met him. Tragic past. Too smart for the life he ended up in. Hot as hell, obviously, but he knew it. He was often broody. With everyone else more than me. Only a handful of tats, full head of dark brown hair, a cocky, panty-dropping smile. And those smoldering amber eyes—deadly.”
All of this is new to me. I’ve never had girlfriends. Forced to mingle with other girls? Sure. But they weren’t really friends. You’d think being a Mafia princess came with the adoration Rena speaks of when she talks about her brothers and their hospitality associates.
It was nothing like that.
The resentment is heavy and the misconceptions drastic. A Mafia princess is a threat to the women and a commodity to the men. Never a human. At least in the Cosa Nostra from my neck of the woods.
Ivy bites her lip, perched on the edge of her seat to hear the inside scoop regarding my man. She’s a bit of a mystery. Everyone seems to adore her and revere her in equal measure. I’m guessing it has something to do with the cabal they mentioned, but I’m not sure what. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t struggling with jealousy for the first time. Maybe I understand the Morelli girls more than I thought. My jealousy stems from something else though. I don’t covet whatever this central family role of hers is. But romantic or not, she’s the woman who fixed what I’d broken. I’m not sure what to do with that.
She’s also shared more about Gage than the other two have. Not that I didn’t already know their bond was solid. He said as much. They’ve all been intent on highlighting his softer side. It hurts more than it helps, but I don’t fault them for their good intentions. No one has ever worked this hard to make me feel at home.
And I’m grateful that he’s alive, happy, and loved. It seems all those nights bartering with God over my tearstained pillowcase paid off. But I’m shattered it had nothing to do with me. I’m sure that is outrageously selfish, but I can’t help the hollowness. It makes what we had feel like a glitch and what they have seem real.
My nails pick at the Modelo label, slowly peeling it off as I keep going. “That was all intriguing at first. It’s what got my attention. But there was so much more to him. Aside from me, his best friends were senior citizens—sixty-, seventy-, eighty-year-olds. The ladies swooned over him, and the men were his heroes. He was mildly addicted to cribbage for a spell and was downright ruthless when he won Bingo. We used to joke that the two of us were simply biding our time until we could be grumpy old folks.”
They all laugh, spewing comments of shock and some about how they can picture that. It hits a little too close to home for me, rattling my nerves more than I expected.
A lump forms in my throat, but I force myself to go on because this isn’t a mirage. These memories are mine. Buried with another life or not. “It was how he treated those senior citizens that reeled me in though. And the way he was with me. He had this knack for observing, finding something that was important to a person, and bonding with them over it. No one had ever done that with me. It was more than simply hobbies though. It was also the rough edges, the hopes and fears and ugliness I tried so hard to hide. He saw what no one else could, what others would’ve judged harshly, and loved those parts the most.”
Loved me.
“How long were you guys together?” Celeste asks, kicking her feet up on the square coffee table and readjusting her messy bun.
“Aside from the time he was in the Navy, it was about a year before he left, before my father …” I pull my knees up to my chest, trailing off there with a sigh, not wanting to take them down that rabbit hole and also realizing they do own parts of him that were never mine. “ Together is a loose concept because we never really got to be. Every encounter was a risk. Everything was timed. We had secret dates and were with each other a lot, but never got most traditional couple experiences.”
“Forbidden is pretty hot,” Rena sings, chomping on red-white-and-blue Airheads candy. “You had sexy couple experiences, right?”
A genuine laugh puffs out of me while admiring how uninhibited she is. “We did.” I smile, recapping our odd beginning. “But it was in the senior-center broom closet or under the bleachers at a fair. Occasionally, we found an opportunity that was more romantic. We had an epic skinny-dipping experience once. Our time was always perfect, but rushed. We were so young. I’m not sure I realized how not normal our relationship was. But after he was gone, I’d do the Sunday crossword puzzle, not always very well, and I’d imagine he was beside me with a cup of coffee, filling in the words I struggled to figure out.”
This hurts.
“You’ll get that,” Ivy says, her hand on her heart, as though the pain in my chest is plaguing her.
“I’m not so sure.” My voice quavers with that fear, my gaze landing on hers with all the unspoken truth floating between us.
She bobs her head at me in a subtle gesture of understanding, her blue eyes welling with the same emotion threatening to spill from mine. It knots everything inside me tighter. She really did keep my secret. Owes me nothing and has protected the most tender truth about me anyway. Not even my own mother did that.
“Well”—Celeste drops her feet to the floor, gathering an empty wine bottle and her glass—“I’m a betting girl, and that man is down bad for you, which means buckle up because you’re staying. Lots of Sunday crosswords in your future.”
“Truth.” Rena’s hands fly high into the air. “Don’t hold back. It’s all yours for the taking, girl. Trust me, the power is in the pussy. Jackpot.”
“Oh my God,” Ivy bellows, throwing herself against the back of the couch and covering her face. “Your Noire upbringing always drags us back to the sex club. Ainsley was talking about quiet moments together—puzzles and coffee.”
Rena beams victoriously. “Which is a breakfast activity—”
“Generally occurring after the pussy party,” I finish, which has Ivy and Celeste howling.
“See? Ainsley gets it.” Rena points an accusatory finger at Ivy. “You and Celeste gave me similar advice with Ty.”
“No, we didn’t,” Ivy scoffs, sitting straighter, skin pink with indignation. “We told you the truth was in the pursuit .”
“Exactly,” Rena says, aiming that finger at me as she continues to make her case to Ivy. “Gage chased her all over the property to get what he wanted. If she didn’t have the power between her legs, he would’ve shot her.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Celeste holds up her dirty-dishes-filled hands in concession and casts a smile in my direction on her way to the sink.
“But no worries,” Rena tacks on with an exaggerated wink at me. “If you prefer fucking in a broom closet instead of the rain, the pantry is huge, and there’s a great utility closet off the upstairs game room. Ooh”—she claps her hands—“I think we could work with that and also torture Liam at the same time.”
Celeste guffaws on her way back from the kitchen. “God, I love how you fuck with him.”
Rena beams, filling me in on how she and Ty recently convinced Liam that there was a horny ghost inside his closet walls as Ivy laughs, tears streaming down her face. Apparently, they made him feel so crazy with inexplicable erotic ghost noises that he finally ripped into the drywall, discovering a Bluetooth speaker planted there. Which somehow ended up with him out for revenge and them all diving into the pool, fully clothed.
I’m in absolute awe, listening, unsure how my secret broom-closet trysts with my man could be turned into a prank yet completely up for it. But before I can inquire about her plans, the beep that alerts us the garage door is opening dings, and a minute later, the guys start rolling in.
While all of them sweetly greet me, with shoulder squeezes or a palm to the head, their missions are clear. Wells bolts for Ivy, praising her for holding down the fort while wrapping her in his arms and fawning over her. Liam captures Celeste’s lips in a hungry kiss. And Rena runs and jumps into Ty’s arms, curling herself around him, which has him chuckling.
Gage hasn’t walked in yet. But even if he had, our reunion wouldn’t look like any of those. Maybe that’s my fault. He was trying the other night. I’m just so afraid to believe we could find our way back to each other or anything that resembles what I’m looking at.
I’m so mesmerized by the scene that I miss his footsteps, but his unmistakable deep, husky tenor zips through me.
“Ainsley.” He pauses until I lift my eyes to his—those entrancing ambers stern, serious, and burning into me—and he holds out his hand. “Come here.”
He’s dressed in all black—a tight, plain T-shirt, jeans, and combat boots. It’s not so different from his everyday attire, but all the guys match tonight. I might not know the details of the job, but I’m no stranger to nefarious work. And while I’d love to be filled in, I also know better than to inquire.
Since I need him more than my desire to push back, I take his hand without a smart-ass comment. He clutches it tightly, towing me around the corner and into a closet. Fitting, considering my recent conversation with the girls.
“Just like old times,” he announces as he flicks on the dim light.
“Kind of.” I glance around. It looks like it should be a coat closet, but it’s mostly gift-wrapping supplies. Even with seven adults, they have too much space to fill.
His fingers weave into my hair, thumb dusting my cheekbone while his other rests on my hip. “You had a good night?”
There’s an intensity rolling off him despite that casual question, his whole body vibrating with a weird energy. So, I keep my answer hushed, like we’re sharing a secret here in the closet.
“Yeah … I … we had a lot of fun. They”—my mouth dries with the sentiment that is both a balm and a bruise to my tattered heart—“really love you.”
“They do,” he agrees, but his expression shouts something more, something indiscernible. “I’m glad you had that time with them. You need that. They really love you too.”
Resisting the urge to argue how very different that is, I move to what I really want to know, skimming my fingers over his scruffy cheek and relishing that he leans into them. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Yes, but … listen to me.” He plants his forearm above my head while his other hand grips mine, lowering them both to his chest. “I’m being patient, and I am not a fucking patient man. I’m a goddamn grump when I have to wait for shit.”
“I’m vaguely aware of that trait.” I burst into a peal of laughter, perplexed but amused. “Is this like some bizarre self-awareness therapy session? What the hell are we even talking about?”
“You.” He swallows, his eyes lingering on my lips, but still not committing. “This.” He releases my hand to flip his between us before bracketing my head with both arms so that I am completely caged by his mammoth limbs. “You’re worth it.”
“Worth what?” I balk because he’s still sending mixed signals and I haven’t even detonated the bomb, so …
“Everything,” he rasps, and despite the rumble of irritation in his timbre, my chest constricts.
“Since when?” My chin wobbles with that question, and he latches on to the movement.
Gripping both sides of my face, he rests his forehead against mine. “Since always. We just … we got fucking robbed.”
God, he’s saying all the right things, and I’ve never wanted to believe someone’s words more. But I’m not sure he’s thinking clearly, and he still doesn’t have all the information.
This all started with my confession, and I can’t have that. He fell in love with me because of my strengths. I refuse to win him back with my brokenness.
You’re either the hunter or the hunted. The lion or the lamb.
The truth is, I have no idea who I am with him. Not anymore. Do I fight or surrender?
“You’re pretty riled up,” I begin, brushing off whatever this is and intent on reminding him that we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. “It’s clear you’ve had an intense day. You’re not afraid I’m going to rip your heart out anymore?”
He grips my chin so I don’t look away. “Not afraid. No. Whatever you’ve got is going to hurt like a bitch. I see it in your eyes. But I’m telling you that this time, we’ll get through it by holding on to each other.”
I try to pull my chin away, but he doesn’t allow it. A frustrated groan gusts out of me. “You can’t know that yet. And I … you can’t just do a one-eighty flip on me. Two weeks ago, you wanted to murder me, and now, you … We’re different people than we were. What if there’s too much between us?”
“I’ll slaughter anything between us, Ains. Anything. Anyone.” His eyes sparkle with a hint of that haughty charm he sported when we were younger. “And we’ll always have common ground. What about that movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s ? Seen it yet?”
He remembers.
Fuck déjà vu. That’s all us.
“Nope,” I breathe, and the smile that blooms on my cheeks is positively giddy. “Still haven’t seen it.”
“Me neither, so we’ve got that,” he says, gliding his thumb across my bottom lip in a gesture that conveys soon . “I’ve been awake for days, so I’m going to bed. But tomorrow, you and me, we’re fixing this.”
Those hypnotic ambers pin me to the wall, and his fingers curl around my throat in a hand necklace that has my heart hammering.
“Whatever you’re hiding,” he goes on, “it fucking stops because I need you.”
Misses me. Craves me. Needs me.
“Okay,” I concede, knowing it’s time. “Tomorrow.”
With wolfish eyes, he surveys his hand and the rolling swallow I make beneath it before he wraps his arm around my head, pressing me to his chest and kissing my hair. “That means tonight is the last damn night you’re not in my bed. That’s as much fucking patience as I’ve got.”
And that patience is debatable because he hauls me away from the wall and smacks his flat palm down on my ass in a spank that could be heard around the world. My shriek of surprise echoes through the closet, reverberating off the empty racks and gift boxes and wooden door. But he is undeterred. He rips the strap of my tank top aside and sinks his teeth into the flesh at the crook of my neck and shoulder with stinging bites and sensual, soothing licks.
My mind is outraged, but my body is liquefying into a swampy puddle of lust.
He draws me back into his tight embrace, his huge hand cupping between my thighs as he growls in my ear, “I know that shoots right to your greedy pussy. It’s gonna be a long night without your toys. I won’t be sinking my cock into your sopping cunt again until you’re begging and pleading for me to mark every inch of you as mine.”
Good Lord.
But also , keep dreaming.
I lurch back from him, so he lets me go, and my brows arch in challenge as I cross my arms. “You’re searching the wrong valley for a cold snap, Big Guy . There isn’t a snowball’s chance in Hell I’ll be begging you for anything.”
He smiles—the smile that was only ever mine, the one that crinkles his eyes and sees right through me—and his knuckles graze over my cheek. “I’ll never get enough of that fury, Ains. It’s like a drug for me. But I’d like more of the laughter you gave me too. Christ, I’ve missed that laugh.” He pauses for the briefest second, as though he’s replaying the sound in his head, his gaze romping all over my face. “We’ll get there.”
I’m rarely speechless, but that did it. That felt like … more .
Real. Mine.
Everything.
“Tomorrow.” He winks, opening the door, flicking off the light, and exiting while I follow him into the hall. He starts for the stairs, peering at me over his broad shoulder before he disappears into the second level with a chuckle. “Bundle up, Wicked. There’s a goddamn blizzard moving in. It’s gonna bring you to your knees, baby. I can fucking feel it.”
I can’t help but laugh. Silently, of course. I wouldn’t dare let him know how smooth that was. It takes me a full minute to settle my thundering heartbeat and stuff down my traitorous libido before I saunter into the kitchen to do a little cleanup. While I’m wiping down the counter, I hear some hushed conversations from the family room, but it seems like most everyone went to bed.
Until Wells swaggers in, selecting a bottle of Macallan 18 and two glasses. He slides one in front of me. “I was hoping we could chat for a few minutes.”
“Sure,” I say, nodding to the glass.
My father always taught me that in business, you drink what you’re offered. It’s a sign of respect. It was more about his expectations of others because he never did anything he didn’t want to. And this isn’t necessarily business, but the theory still seems to fit with Wells.
He pours me a small shot, about half the size of his, which is fine by me. “Bring that,” he orders, sliding the cork back in. “It’s a nice night. Let’s talk on the patio.”
My stomach wrenches. This seems casual, but like there was with Gage, there’s an intensity radiating off him. I follow him out to the entertainment area, where we sit at a table. No white string lights on or pool fountains splashing. It’s dark and quiet, except for the chirping crickets and the canopy of stars.
“He did something big for you,” he starts, lifting his hand when my mouth falls open to respond. “We’ll get to that, but I wanted to tell you about back then.”
“Okay.” I sip my drink, grateful for the burn to steal some of my attention.
“He’s still that guy”—he circles his finger on the rim of the glass, and I know he means the guy Josh was—“and … though he can come across callous and unfeeling, he’s not. I actually worry about him most.” He exhales, shaking his head. “Maybe not most. I worry about them all, but Gage is different.”
“Why?”
“Because I was there for the initial breaking.” His eyes find mine, and in them is the sorrow of a commander—although not the kind that was ever present in the Morelli family. He glances away, out to the acreage, but it’s obvious he’s envisioning the past. “The utter devastation that losing you caused him.”
“I’m sorry,” I say because I don’t know what else there is to say to that.
He whips his head back to me, in full Chief mode. “Don’t apologize when it sounds like you were both victims.” He sips his scotch, his mind sailing back to another time. “After … it was rough. First, he could barely function. Then, he became so focused on forming himself into a monster. On seeking revenge. But for various reasons, I made him wait. One of those being you.”
That has me chugging the rest of my drink and leaning in. “I don’t understand. Why would you do that for me?”
“Not for you.” He pops the cork cap off the bottle, pouring me another finger’s worth. “When I first discovered that your father wanted to use me, kill me, take what was my family’s—even though I wasn’t connected to them—I was irate. I decided I’d reach out to my grandfather and help take the whole Morelli family down. But then the guys and I broke out of the war camp, got rescued, and were erased. That’s when we found out about your marriage.”
“Right,” I dismiss, more confounded with every detail he shares. “And that didn’t make you want to destroy my family more?”
“It did.” He raises his eyebrows at me, as if to let me know the depths of his desire to destroy them. “But my initial plan included Gage—Josh—coming for you first. And once we were forbidden from returning, saw that you were married, and believed you were happy, we couldn’t.”
He swigs the remainder of his glass, but he’s clearly got more to add, so I wait.
After a beat, he explains his reasoning. “I knew that no matter how enraged Gage was about you, destroying you would destroy him. And I’d never get him back. I had valid reasons to put the vengeance on hold—reasons he bought—so that’s what I did.”
I’m utterly shocked—men in my family gave up revenge plans for no one. “So, you sacrificed your own revenge for his—”
“Sanity, well-being, hope,” he fills in. “Yes. He was more important.”
Family means sacrifice.
“Hope for what?” I ask, so eager to have all these pieces.
“I’m not sure.” His Adam’s apple bobs through a slow swallow, as though he’s choking something back. “His obsession with you never waned. It went through a lot of different stages. Some were pretty ugly, but it kept him fighting. Otherwise, he might’ve given up.”
I stare off at the moonlit yard, our momentary picture of the past, grateful and devastated at once. “Thank you for telling me that.”
“I have an ulterior motive,” he confesses.
“Oh?” I reply, surprised.
He fills his glass back up, and something about that drink replenishment relays the seriousness of the motive. “He’s worked so hard to get to a good place. I won’t watch him break again. So, if I erased you tonight, faked your death, took care of the Morellis and Vittoris, and gave you a clean start, would you take it?”
Oh God, no. This isn’t happening.
That’s what I wanted, what I pleaded for, and yet … this started to feel like home. I’m so stupid. It makes sense though. Wells doesn’t want me here with his family when I’ve got half the country hunting me. Plus, I’m toying with Gage’s emotions—unintentionally or not. And the girls—I was getting so attached. But this is survival. There’s no room for that, so I—
“Ainsley”—Wells clasps his hand over mine—“you’re crying.”
“I guess I am.” I wipe at my face, so embarrassed, but have nothing left in me but raw honesty. “Thank you for the offer. It’s exactly what I asked for. I just …” I glance at him, and the mortifying tears won’t stop. “I really missed him too. It’s been confusing—good and hard—being with him again. And I adore your family. I’m not ungrateful. I know this is for the best, that I should go. I just …”
“Would prefer to stay,” he finishes, and it’s suddenly evident that he set me up with that.
“Maybe.” I nod.
“We’d all like that,” he assures me, “but I need to know that you’re in this with him. That no matter how hard it gets, you’re committed.”
“What if I don’t know that?” I volley, panic still simmering in my chest. “I haven’t told him everything.”
He dips his chin to me. “I know.”
“And when I do—”
“He’ll accept it,” he insists with absolute confidence.
I huff, so overwhelmed. “How can you be so sure?”
He swigs his drink again, peering off into the night. “Because all he wants is for you to want him.”
“I’ve always wanted him,” I admit.
“Then be damn sure he knows it.” He stands, gathering his bottle and both glasses.
“And if you’re wrong, if he can’t accept it?” I probe, wondering if I’ll end up getting banished tomorrow anyway.
He groans, dragging a hand across his mouth, considering. “Then, we’ll find a way through it. When he brought you into our home, he knew the deal. You’re ours now.”
“Like as a captive?” I ask, half teasing, half needing clarity because I can’t sign on to be a prisoner again.
“Depends on perspective,” he answers, striding to the door. “We’re all captive to this life in ways. But I meant that everyone gets to weigh in, even if things turn ugly. And you’re looking like family more every day, especially to the girls.”
One conversation, and my entire foundation of blood and family and sacrifice is rocked. An avalanche of all I’ve ever known. I desperately want that crumbling to form a bridge to safer ground. But that’s …
Hope. Dangerous in its own right.
We part ways, and with that conversation still swimming in my mind, I brush my teeth, wash my face, and sneak into Gage’s room. He might have allotted me one more night of not being in his bed, but I don’t want it. This is the only one that’s guaranteed.
A soft snore emanates from him as I slink under the covers and drape myself over his bulky frame. He makes me feel small—not in the way I have all these years though.
With him, my spirit is still mighty, even though he dwarfs my physical form.
His hand scratches up and down my spine, recognizing it’s me, even as he sleeps—or at least, I hope that’s what this is.
God, what if he’s thinking about someone else? I’m not sure I could stomach that.
“Right where you belong, Ains,” he mumbles into my hair. “Mine.”
My heart swells with those words, his touch, the feel of his skin against mine. The steady rhythm of his pulse. It’s like a dream.
And between that and the you’re-part-of-our-family sentiment, I doubt I’ll sleep a wink. There’s a part of my brain wondering if this is a hallucination and maybe even thinking that would be better. Tonight, I have everything.
But in my experience, that’s simply more that can be stolen.