Secret Twins For My Ex’s SEAL Best Friend (Billionaire Silver Foxes’ Club)

8. Robert

eight

Robert

I laid my head down that night with a heavy heart and a busy mind.

I kept thinking of what Delia said, of what she thought of me, that I was using my self-defense courses for some sort of weird attempt at meeting women.

It disgusted me.

She must have said it to get under my skin. She was attracted to me, and it bothered her.

It made sense. It bothered me that I was attracted to her, too. It bothered me that even right now, my cock was hard with lust for her.

I couldn’t stop looking at her when she was in class, at the curves of her body and her delicate smile, the way she seemed so sure of herself and so sure of what she wanted.

She had kicked me so hard I had seen stars. I liked a woman who went for it.

Part of me wanted to tame her, to hold her down and make her mine. Under the blanket, my cock twitched, moving the blanket with it.

I held my head in silent frustration, trying to shut out the thoughts of Delia and her form.

I closed my eyes and willed myself to sleep. I woke up with Delia in my arms, her mouth pressed against mine, her breathing throaty, and her chest rising and falling against mine.

I could feel her nipples against my chest, and I reached up and tweaked one, enjoying the moan that awarded me in response.

I leaned down and took one of her nipples in my mouth through her shirt, nibbling against the fabric and her nipple at the same time.

She held my head in her hands, and when I glanced up, I could see that her mouth was wide open, and her eyes were rolling back in her head in ecstasy.

What started as a breathy groan of “God, Robert” turned into a moan, and then Delia looked behind me and pointed, her eyes wide.

Her open mouth stopped moaning, and instead, a scream sliced through the air, piercing, so piercing that it shot a pang of fear through my whole body.

My body was ice cold, and when I turned around, I saw my late wife.

I walked over to her, screaming, “Quinn! Say something, Quinn!” She looked lifeless, her eyes wide open and milky.

I shook her slightly, but her body was stiff and gone.

I moved to pick her up, and when I tried to, I found that she was heavier than I could manage.

I tried to drag her anyway, but she wouldn’t move at all. Just as I became devastated by my inability to move her, someone from my platoon yelled out, “Rob! It’s coming! Let’s go!”

I didn’t know what ‘it’ was, but I felt charged with the knowledge that it was bad and that I had to go. I had to leave, and that meant leaving Quinn.

I wept a few tears, and they sizzled onto her skin, burning her. I glanced over at Delia to tell her that we had to get out of there, but she said, “I’m staying with her.”

Her face turned into my daughter’s, then Jeremy’s, then hers again, and then it went black.

She was gone, everyone was gone, and I was alone in the darkness, listening to ‘it’ breathing and brandishing a weapon.

I heard the sound of a gun being cocked, and before I could react, it was going off, and I was in nothing but pain.

I screamed to check if I was alive and found that I could scream, but it didn’t reassure me.

“Daddy?” I heard from behind my bedroom door, and I came out of my sweaty haze as I realized it was Corinne. Her voice was small and afraid, and I could see her shadow sneaking in beneath the door, looming and dark.

I fought the terror, rearing its head again, interpreting the shadows as figures coming for me in the darkness of a dirty foxhole.

I knew it was just my baby, Corinne. I knew I needed to fight the fear to be able to answer her.

“Corinne?” I asked, groggy from my sleep being exhausting instead of restful.

“Daddy, you were shouting again,” she said, and I saw her shift her feet under the door.

“I’m sorry, Rin-Rin, I’ll be quiet. Go back to bed.”

She didn’t say anything and instead stood there for a moment in the light of the hallway, and I knew she was considering coming in. I was afraid for her. I didn’t know how long I had until the flashbacks won over, and my mind would be lost.

“Go to bed, Corinne,” I said more firmly, lowering my voice.

She turned and padded off, her bare feet retreating against the hardwood.

I needed to protect her. She was so vulnerable, and I felt like I was a threat to her in these moments.

I didn’t know how to get around the PTSD. Sometimes, it took me over like possession. Sometimes, I was as powerless to them as she was to me. If she came into my room while I was suffering from a flashback, I couldn’t be certain that she’d be safe. And that terrified me.

As soon as she was out of earshot, I sprang from the bed and dragged an armchair from the corner of my room to the door, blocking the handle with it.

I tried to open the door to see if it was something I could do while asleep and found that it was sturdy. But I wasn’t sure if it was something I wouldn’t be able to maneuver if I was afraid enough. I’d done a lot of things in the middle of a flashback when I thought my life was at risk.

Sighing, I walked over to my black lacquered dresser and opened the bottom drawer. I opened the small lockbox where I kept things I didn’t want Corinne to get to, a small bottle of alcohol and condoms. I pulled the handcuffs out, shiny and harshly bright in the dark room.

I had never used them before, but I’d bought them for this exact purpose years ago when it had gotten really bad.

I’d been able to restart therapy and hadn’t stopped since, once I realized how seriously the safety of my family relied upon my going.

With a heavy sigh, I clasped one of the handcuffs around my wrist, pushing it tight until I wasn’t able to slip my wrist out at all, and then I climbed back into bed and closed the other cuff around my bedpost, trapping myself into a singular sleeping position for the night. I shoved the key under a slat beneath my mattress, using all my might to push it as far away as possible and make it as hard to reach as I possibly could. I needed it to be hard to reach if I was having a flashback.

Being a father meant protecting my daughter at all costs, even from myself.

I closed my eyes and prepared for the onslaught of images, each more horrific than the last, knowing that I couldn’t stop it with all the breathing in the world.

Finally, I gave up and uncuffed myself. It wasn’t going to work.

I needed a fucking drink.