Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Conway
G race: In case you needed an afternoon pick-me-up, Daddy. ;)
“Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath as I gawk at the image of Grace that just came through on my phone. The light pink sundress is pulled down to expose her taut, perky tits, and she’s smirking up at the camera in what looks to be her office at work.
Me: It’s like you’re purposely trying to torture me, Sin…
Grace: I don’t know what you’re talking about. *angel emoji*
Grace: Oh, by the way, do you think this color compliments my skin tone? ;)
Another image comes through that makes my cock twitch in my pants. Grace, now standing up in her office, has the hem of her dress pulled up over her ass, showing off a cheeky pair of hot pink panties that makes my mouth water. What I would give to drop to my knees and take a bite out of that plump ass of hers right now.
Me: What a naughty girl you are today, Sin.
Grace: Maybe you should come punish me…
A groan sounds in my throat as the image of doing just that flashes in my mind.
Me: Maybe I should.
Grace: 9pm, my place? ;)
Me: I’ll see what I can do.
Putting my phone back in my pocket, I get back to work, finishing the last of what needs to be done before calling it a day. Me and my crew started on a new job Monday, and the owner is a particular motherfucker who has a knack for micromanaging, so the last five days have been hell, but at least it’s Friday. The idea of possibly seeing Grace tonight makes my blood pump hotter. It’s been almost a week since I’ve been able to touch her, and it feels like I’m going through withdrawals. I didn’t realize just how much I’ve grown to need having her around until Cole got to town and I wasn’t able to.
We’ve texted back and forth a little bit every day since she found out he was in town, but we both seem to be avoiding the elephant in the room. Our conversations have either been flirty and casual, or they’ve been about the fundraiser we’ve started planning. Nothing about Cole or why he’s here, or why I was a coward who avoided telling her about it until she showed up and found out for herself. The truth is, I don’t know why I didn’t tell her. I panicked when he showed up, and I guess it seemed easier to ignore the issue than tell her.
Not my finest moment, and I know we’re going to have to talk about it eventually, but as long as she seems to be okay avoiding the topic, I am too.
It’s nearly six o’clock by the time I’m trudging through the front door, and irritation burns in my chest when I spot Cole sprawled out on my couch, attention focused on the TV on the wall, with a video game controller in his hand and a bag of chips and a slew of soda cans on my coffee table. It’s how I’ve found him almost every day this week when I’ve gotten home from work.
“Turn that shit off,” I bite out. “And clean up this mess.”
Cole turns his head, brows raised. “Well, hello to you too,” he drawls as he tosses the controller onto the couch and stands up. “What’s up your ass?”
Heaving a sigh, I scrub a hand over the scruff covering my jaw. “It’s been a long day,” I murmur. “I’m going to take a shower before starting dinner.”
When Cole showed up on my doorstep Sunday afternoon, I had no idea what to expect. My son isn’t the type to show up out of the blue. In fact, he’s not one to show up much at all . After graduation, he moved to Charleston for work, and I can count on one hand the number of times he’s been back to Blossom Beach since. I will occasionally go down there to visit him, but other than that, it’s mostly FaceTime calls and texts between us, and even those have been scarce over the last few months. I’ve wondered if something was up with him, but any time I would try to broach the topic, he would say everything was fine and change the subject quickly. Like me, Cole has never been great with talking about his feelings, so I don’t usually push it.
Clearly, I should have, though.
Tossing my towel in the hamper in the laundry room once I’m showered and dressed, I grab the pound of ground beef out of the fridge and begin browning it. I’m exhausted and don’t feel like cooking, so something as simple as spaghetti will have to do. Glancing at the sink, I clench my jaw when I find dishes in there. I call for my son to come into the kitchen, pinching the bridge of my nose. This week feels a whole lot like he’s back in high school again, and I’m having to micromanage a moody teenager.
“What’s up?” he asks as he rounds the corner.
I gesture to the sink full of dishes. “It wouldn’t kill you to clean up after yourself, Cole,” I mutter. “You’re a grown man; there’s no reason you can’t rinse your dishes and put them in the sink when you’re done.”
His eyebrows pinch as he looks from me to the sink. “Sorry, I’ll do it now.”
“Thank you.”
Silence falls over us as he flips the water on, and I get back to fixing dinner. I know I should probably take it easy on him. He’s clearly going through it right now, but instead of sympathy I feel for my son, I’m filled with a bitter disappointment in the choices he’s made that landed him here.
I must not be doing a very good job at hiding it either, because as soon as he’s done loading up the dishwasher, Cole turns to face me, resting against the edge of the counter, as he says, “Are we ever going to talk about this?”
My shoulders tense before I can stop them, and I know he sees it. “Have you talked to Emily yet?” I ask, shifting my body toward my son.
Emily and Cole met right after he moved to Charleston, and they got married several years back. They’ve always had somewhat of a tumultuous relationship.
“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“Have you tried, or is that you assuming you know what she wants?”
Cole’s gaze hardens as his jaw flexes. “No,” he grits out. “I haven’t tried.”
“Well, maybe you should start there,” I mutter, turning my attention back to the stove, the irritation boiling inside me like the pasta in the water. “This shouldn’t be up to her to fix, Cole. You made this mess, not her.”
“I know that,” he sighs. “You don’t need to lecture me like I’m a child.”
“Clearly I do.” I whip my head to the side again. “I raised you better than this, Cole. I raised you to respect women. To respect your wife, not cheat on her like she means nothing to you. What were you thinking?”
Sunday afternoon when Cole arrived, he told me he and Emily were going through a rough patch and she kicked him out. It was obvious there was more to it than that, but it was also clear he didn’t want to talk about it. I left it alone that night, but the next night during dinner, I pressed, and that’s when he told me she found out he had been having an affair with a temp at work for the last few months. He swears up and down that was the first time, but I don’t know if I believe him.
Emily didn’t just kick him out. She asked for a divorce.
“God,” he groans. “Can we not do this?”
“You’re the one who wanted to talk about it, Cole. So, talk.”
“It didn’t mean anything, and I told Emily that. She’s overreacting.”
Eyes narrowing on my son, I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Your wife finds out you’re cheating on her, and she’s overreacting ?”
“Yes. I said I was sorry, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“Oh, well, you said sorry,” I scoff. “That makes it all go away then, doesn’t it?”
“You sound like Emily,” Cole mutters, and I don’t have to look over at him to know he’s rolling his eyes.
Blood pressure through the roof, I breathe harshly through my nose, knowing arguing with him is going to get me nowhere. “Set the table, please,” I eventually grit out.
After I put together a small salad and pull the garlic bread out of the oven, Cole takes those to the table as well, neither of us saying another word to each other. I wish I could say I was surprised by what he did, but after finding out he pulled the same shit with Grace when they were in college, I’m not.
I’m just disappointed.
I love my son, and I always will, but fuck, I can’t say I like him very much right now.