Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lincoln / Present
N obody but Matt Conklin knew the truth about my rocky relationship with Georgia. I’d trusted him fully with the details I couldn’t even tell my family or else they might have talked me out of the inevitable choice I made.
I wish I could have gone back and confided in my father, telling him every reason I asked Georgia the question I thought I’d only ever ask one woman in my lifetime. But I didn’t. I lied to them and to most of my coworkers, and I got Conklin killed because of it.
It keeps me up at night, waking me from nightmares that are nothing more than memories stitched together like a film that replays in my mind. Every night, it’s the same one.
I see him getting out of his patrol car.
I hear him approaching the front door.
Then I hear the gunshots.
One.
After.
Another.
After another.
After another.
It happens in slow motion, just like it did that day. When the first shot rang out, I couldn’t get out of the unmarked patrol car fast enough. No matter how quickly I propelled myself toward the front of the house where Matt Conklin was serving the arrest warrant, it wasn’t fast enough.
The drill times I beat in the military, and the praise I’d gotten for my physical conditioning in the academy didn’t help me when it mattered most. By the time I’d gotten to Conklin, it was too late. He’d fallen, and the next two bullets had found me as I dragged him out of range.
Every time I have that nightmare, I’m reminded of how badly I failed.
Marissa and my therapist can tell me all they want that it wasn’t my fault, but I made the call that led us there. I asked him to serve Jakob Volley instead of the other officers. I led us straight into danger.
Because of me, Marissa is a pregnant widow, and Cooper is fatherless.
I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that go without getting the justice they all deserve.
Peeling the blankets off me, I walk into the kitchen for a glass of water and guzzle the whole thing in seconds. The window above the sink looks out over the back deck, and my eyes find the glass table where I’d had Georgia splayed out in front of me weeks before she’d finally signed the divorce papers. When I’d gone back out there the next day, I saw the imprint her body left behind and was grateful Mom hadn’t been over to clean.
Knowing sleep will evade me, I don’t bother going back to bed. Instead, I get my phone, pour a glass of whiskey, and sit in the living room. The flat screen is blank, only turned on once in a while when I need to drown out the silence. Georgia used to watch it more than I ever did, making me sit through trashy television shows that made my brain bleed half the time. But I sat and endured them because she liked them, and seeing her content made me content.
Stretching my legs out, I stare at the tumbler of amber liquid that reminds me of a unique pair of eyes. I used to love it when she stared at me. No matter what I was doing, I could feel them locked in with interest that she tried her best to hide.
Especially in the beginning.
But she couldn’t.
I suppose that was the honeymoon phase.
Or maybe it was a delusion.
Picking up my phone, I hover over a familiar name in my contacts and hesitate before hitting the phone button until it dials out.
A groggy voice greets me after three rings.
“I can’t sleep,” I murmur, draping my head back and staring at the wood ceiling. Georgia wanted to paint the wood, but I couldn’t do it. It would have hidden the natural beauty of each dark, polished knot that gave it character.
There’s a pause. “Do you want me to come over?” Georgia asks.
I take a deep breath.
I should tell her no.
That I’m fine.
Don’t go. I have a bad feeling.
I should tell her it was a mistake calling.
But I’m always making the wrong decision when she’s involved.
So I say, “Yes.”
Twenty minutes later, the door opens to the living room, and a lean body slips in through the shadows and makes its way toward me, sitting on my lap and wrapping a lean arm around my neck.
She put perfume on for me because she knows I like it; the scent engulfing me as a pair of soft lips trail over my jaw. It’s not the same as when she used my shampoo, but it’s familiar. And sometimes, I welcome familiarity.
“Surprised you picked up,” I tell her, brushing hair out of her face that’s still frizzy from sleep.
Her palm cups my cheek as her thumb strokes my bottom lip. “I’m surprised you called.”
She leans her forehead against mine, feeling the subtle breath exhale from my parted lips. We sit like that for a while in comfortable silence. She places her palm over my heart, feeling it thump, thump, thump against her.
I lift her palm to my lips, not wanting her to feel what she does to me. How my heart reacts to the traitor on my lap. “I thought you were seeing somebody,” I say, each word caressing her skin as her eyes slowly close.
It feels like forever before she whispers, “I already told you…” She moves her hand away from my mouth and replaces her lips with it in a barely there kiss. With her mouth still grazing mine, she says, “He’s not you.”
My eyes close as she kisses me again, each peck lasting a little longer than the last until I finally give in.
After all, I didn’t call her to talk.
Reaching between her legs, I stroke her until the softest moan rises from her throat. “I almost feel bad for him,” I murmur, dipping down to nip at the crevice of her neck.
She grinds down on my lap, waking my dick up. “Don’t lie.”
I smile against her throat. “I said almost.” Licking the spot above her pulse, I reach into her leggings to feel how wet she is for me. “I bet he doesn’t make you feel this way. He probably thinks you’re tucked in bed at home right now, doesn’t he? Safe and sound and loyal .”
A drawn-out moan rises from her throat as two of my fingers enter her. “Linc…”
“He’ll learn soon enough,” I tell her, pulling out and standing up as I carry her over to the couch to lay her on her back. I hover over her so we’re face-to-face, moving her leggings down and taking myself out. “You’ll only ever be loyal to your family.”
She doesn’t say anything before I’m surging forward, filling her until her back arches off the cushions.
Then again, she knows there’s nothing she could say anyway.
Because it’s true.
Matt Conklin wasn’t the only victim of the Del Rossi family.
We all are.
*
It’s boiling in the room today, making the long-sleeve shirt I opted for overkill.
The good doctor is wearing a sleeveless top tucked into a gray skirt, and there’s a blazer draped across the back of her chair. “I apologize for the temperature,” she says when she sees me tugging on the collar of my shirt. “Something is wrong with the heater; it won’t turn down. I’m still waiting to hear back from the landlord about getting someone in here to fix it.”
It’s sweltering, but I try not to make a big deal of it. “Do you want me to take a look at it?”
She presses out a wrinkle in her skirt before looking at me. “Are you handy with that sort of stuff?”
I sit forward on the couch. “Some might say I’m handy in a lot of ways.”
The remark comes out flirtier than I mean it to, but I deliver it unapologetically.
Giving me a slanted look, she shakes her head at some silent thought she has. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll wait until maintenance takes care of it.”
I lift a shoulder. “Suit yourself, doc.”
Walking over, she sits down with her pad and paper and crosses one leg over the other. “How has the last week been?”
“Like any other week.”
“Did you see anyone? Friends? Family?”
Her prying question makes tidbits from the other night with Georgia flash in my mind. I fucked her on the couch first. Then ate her out on the kitchen table. And then I took her to the bedroom, put handcuffs on her, bent her over the side of the bed, and made her come again before finishing us both off with her on top of me.
One of my favorite places used to be buried inside her, making her scream my name until she came around me. Obviously, I still enjoy being there. But it’s different now. Each orgasm I give us is another step closer to the ending I’ll have to accept one day.
By the time the sun rose, I was more than ready to get out of the house before Georgia woke up. I didn’t want to see her victorious smile. Or worse. The loving one. Instead, I put on my running gear, went for my morning jog, and came back to see her car missing from the driveway.
She’d put on a pot of coffee for me and left my favorite mug by the machine with a handwritten note beside it.
They weren’t the only ones I was loyal to
I’d scoffed, crumpled up the paper, and threw it in the trash before I left.
Choosing not to relay that information to the woman watching me, I sit back and nod. “I spoke to Marissa. Asked how she was.”
“Did you see her?”
“No.” She’s quiet. “I’ve been busy.”
Her nod is slow, disbelieving. “Last time we spoke, you brought up how unconventional your relationship was, but that you enjoyed having a companion to share the burdens. You could have that again.”
“You offering?” I ask teasingly.
She eyes me when I flash her a charming smile that’s gotten me laid a time or two when I was younger. “I simply mean, you don’t need to be in a romantic relationship to have companionship. They aren’t mutually exclusive things. Friendships can be just as fulfilling, if not more, in some cases.”
“And what? You think Marissa and I should be BFFs now that her husband is gone?” I question. That would never work. I can be there for her and Cooper, but there’s too much history, too many memories that having me around frequently would bring up. I won’t do that to her or their son.
That damn pen lifts. “I’m sure Marissa could use somebody who understands the pain and loss she feels. Not everything has to be about crossing lines.”
This time, I stay quiet.
The clock ticks with each passing second that turns into minutes, both of us sitting in silence, watching one another.
Eventually, she breaks it. “You seem a bit off today, Mr. Danforth.”
“It’s Lincoln,” I tell her, sick of the formalities. There are only a few people who call me that, and I’m none too fond of any of them. “And I’m sorry I’m not my usual forthcoming self. I know you’re used to me talking your ear off.”
The slightest twitch lifts the edges of her mouth—an amusement she refuses to let me see. It doesn’t turn into a smile, but close. “I know you’d rather be anywhere else, but you’re here. And while you don’t typically like to offer a lot of information, you still give me some. If there’s something that’s making you reluctant to, I can reassure you that there’s no safer place to speak than within these walls.”
“You mean in the pits of hell,” I grumble, tugging my shirt away from my body again.
“If you’d like, we can reschedule—”
“I’m here,” I relent with a sigh.
“Is something the matter?”
“Life,” I mumble, evading her eyes.
“Let’s talk about it then.”
I think about Georgia’s note, which is probably halfway to the dump now. “I suppose you want to know more about my failed marriage since that’s been a recurring theme in these sessions.”
“We can talk about other things,” she notes.
She knows I won’t. “Where did we leave off?”
Repositioning, she settles her notepad onto her lap and gets comfortable. “You helped a woman in need by letting her stay in your apartment while you were away.”
My lips curl up. “You make me sound like such a white knight.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” is all she replies with before waiting for me to enlighten her.
“Nah, doc.” I shake my head, my knee bouncing as old memories are dug up. “Don’t make me the hero in this story.”
“You’re certainly not the villain.”
A dry laugh passes my lips. “That depends on who you ask.”