3. Hades
Chapter three
Hades
By the time we left the hospital and returned to my apartment, it was getting late.
The kids were exhausted. I carried Casey inside, passed out from the pain meds, with his head lolling against my shoulder.
His bandaged wrist was tucked against his chest in a sling.
Tarzan, Psycho, and Bruiser had scrawled their names in thick black marker across the white gauze.
Casey was now hellbent on gathering the signatures of everyone in my club.
“Keys?” Jenny asked when we reached my door.
“Left cut pocket,” I replied, turning to grant her access.
As she slipped her hand into my pocket, she stroked Casey’s curls and kissed his cheek.
“My poor babies,” she murmured. “You’ve both had such a long day.”
I caught a wispy scent of her perfume, faint but still heady. Just enough to tease. Just enough to make me wish I could bury my face in her neck and breathe deep.
Then Jenny pulled away, sorting through my keyring until she found the right one and unlocked my door. We paraded inside, with Mia practically falling asleep on her feet while Jenny held her upright.
The spare bedroom in my apartment was reserved for the kids when they visited me—divided down the middle by a curtain, with a twin mattress on either side, and decorated to suit their tastes.
Mia’s half of the room was pink and purple, with fairies, dolls, and princesses.
Casey’s half of the room was red and blue, with cars, dinosaurs, and motorcycles.
When they got older, they would need their own separate spaces, but it worked for now.
I watched with a pang in my chest as Jenny tucked the kids into their beds, whispering soothingly to them. Our family was supposed to be together like this. Not splintering apart. It was only a matter of time before Jenny and the kids left me behind to build a new home, a new family, a new life.
At last, Jenny tiptoed out of the room, easing the door shut before she faced me. With her back against the door, there wasn’t much space between us. Only a few inches at the most. She gazed up at me through her lashes with a sigh.
“I want to be mad at you, Simon.”
“Well, that’s nothing new,” I replied. “Look, I warned Casey three times to stop—”
She shook her head and put a hand on my chest. My words died on my lips at her touch. I glanced down to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. But her palm was resting there against my heart, with coral pink fingernails, and the empty space where her wedding and engagement rings used to be.
A heartbeat of silence settled between us. Jenny didn’t pull away. I covered her hand with my own, holding her in place. I took every chance I could get to touch her these days—a rare privilege that would eventually be entirely forbidden in the future.
“It was an accident,” Jenny said. “I don’t blame you.”
I didn’t realize how much tension I’d been carrying in my shoulders until it finally eased.
The lump of guilt in my gut remained though.
I couldn’t stop replaying the whole thing in my mind, wondering what I could have done differently to keep Casey safe and prevent the accident from happening in the first place.
“I want to be mad at you for interrupting my date,” Jenny added. But there was no heat to her voice. No animosity or resentment. Only fatigue and the strain of worry.
“You would have skinned me alive if I didn’t tell you about Casey,” I countered.
She breathed a tired laugh and nodded.
“That’s true. You know me too well.”
I brushed my thumb over her knuckles. For a split second, I considered stepping back. Putting distance between us. That’s what I should be doing—separation. Untangling my life from Jenny so she had the freedom to find the love she desired.
Instead, I shifted forward by a few inches. Daring to get closer. Crowding Jenny against the door.
“How did it go?” I asked, my voice rough. “Your date.”
Despite the dim light of the hallway, I could clearly see the way Jenny’s pupils darkened and her lips parted.
When she sucked in a breath, her tits strained against the lacy collar of her blouse.
My mouth watered at the memory of tasting them, their silky soft weight in my hands, the sweetness of her nipples pebbled under my tongue.
“Why are you asking?” Jenny rasped. “I suppose you would be thrilled to find out that my date stood me up. Or it was so bad that I’m no longer interested in dating at all anymore.”
Yes, I thought. Deep down, I hoped that every single date she went on was a disaster. Then Jenny would finally realize that she belonged with me.
But that was selfish. And I knew it.
Above everything else, I wanted my Jenny to be happy.
I cupped her chin, pressing my thumb to the swell of her lower lip.
“I want to hear that he didn’t make you cry, mi amor. Like I did.”
Jenny blew out a breath and took my wrist, pressing her cheek into my palm.
“Damn it, Simon. You can’t call me that either. But no, he didn’t make me cry. He was…”
She paused, searching for the right words. Then she removed my hand from her cheek, tracing my tattooed knuckles with her fingertip.
“He was amazing. Intelligent, accomplished, a good listener, kind. And I…I liked him.”
My throat tightened and I clenched my teeth so tightly that my jaw ached. I knew this was coming. I knew my Jenny was one hell of a catch. And I knew it would hurt like a bitch when she married someone else.
Nothing could prepare me for how excruciating it was to finally watch it happen. To feel like I was being sliced open with a hot knife and my heart was pulverized to a bloody pulp.
Jenny peered up at me, searching my face. It took every ounce of will power to keep my expression neutral. To not let her see the agony that twisted up my insides into a tangled knot of torture.
“Did he kiss you?” I asked, hoarse.
“Simon,” Jenny pleaded quietly.
“Did he kiss you?” I repeated, more firmly this time.
I needed to know. I needed to hear her say it.
Jenny swallowed hard, chewing the inside of her cheek.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said.
Clearly she liked it, too.
Pulling away, I moved to the other side of the corridor across from her, leaning back against the wall.
I tucked my hands behind me, physically keeping myself under control.
I had a habit of unconsciously touching Jenny without realizing it—absently brushing my fingertips over her shoulder, or resting my hands on her hips when I stepped past her.
But I couldn’t do that anymore.
“Oh,” I said as understanding dawned on me. “I didn’t just interrupt your date. I cockblocked you.”
“Simon,” Jenny hissed, taking a sharp step forward. “Don’t be crass.”
I arched an eyebrow, gazing down at her. She glanced away, rubbing the side of her neck.
“You should call him,” I said. Because I was a glutton for punishment, choosing to torture myself like this. Digging the shame of losing my wife into my own ribs even deeper. “The two of you can pick up where you left off.”
Jenny huffed and shook her head.
“No, it’s…it’s late. And if Casey wakes up in the middle of the night, I want to be here for him.”
How ironic that I was getting what I wanted. A few hours ago, I had hoped that Jenny would spend the night with me, instead of her date. But now that she was choosing to sleep over…it was all wrong.
“I’ll take the couch then,” I said, moving toward the living room.
“Simon, that’s—” Jenny reached out and touched my arm. Her fingertips pressed into the bare skin of my tattooed forearm like a hot brand. “That’s not necessary.”
As much as it pained me to do it, I removed her hand from my arm. Then I turned to face Jenny.
“What do you suggest instead? Sharing a bed?”
I stepped closer, dipping my head to whisper in her ear.
“Do you really expect me to sleep next to my wife when I can smell another man’s expensive cologne on her? When I know that he kissed you? Touched you? Because that sounds like you’re being a fucking tease, honey. And I will get my scent all over you.”
Jenny sucked in a sharp breath. She glared at me and shoved me in the chest. I caught her wrist with a firm grip. She twisted and squirmed but I didn’t let go.
“Don’t be an asshole, Simon. You’re not suited to it.”
I brought her hand to my mouth. Jenny curled her fingers into a fist, fighting against me. I kissed the tight band of her knuckles, holding eye contact.
“Don’t pretend that you don’t like it, mi amor. I’ve seen the way you cream all over my cock after accusing me of being an asshole. It turns you on. And that is exactly why I’m taking the couch.”
I released her wrist and adjusted her wrap, pulling it up over her shoulders to cover her cleavage.
“You have to stop being jealous, Simon,” Jenny said tartly. “You’re just making life more difficult for yourself.”
I took a step back, looking her over. God, she was as pretty as a picture. I really fucked up by losing her. When she inevitably remarried…it was going to break me.
“I’ll stop being jealous when I’m dead and buried,” I said. “Now go to bed and get some sleep, sweetheart.”
But Jenny was persistent, trailing after me into the living room. I dropped onto the couch with a sigh, kicking off my boots. She stood over me with one hand on her hip.
“You wouldn’t be so bitter about all this if you just started dating again like I keep telling you to,” she said. “What about those girls hanging around your clubhouse?”
I snorted.
“Not interested. I’ve had my fill of club bunnies.”
“But—”
“Would it make you feel better if I came home with lipstick on my collar?” I cut in. “Do you want to smell another woman’s perfume on my clothes? Do you want her nail marks down my back? Is that what you’re looking for here, Jenny? Would it be easier to hate me then?”
She clamped her mouth shut, her lips pursed like she’d just sucked on a lemon.
“No,” I said, my voice raw. “I didn’t think so.”
Jenny frowned and sank down onto the couch next to me. The plump curve of her hip pressed against my thigh. And my traitorous cock twitched. I wished she was climbing into my lap right now, straddling me. I wished she would lift her skirts and tell me that I was the only man for her.
But that wasn’t happening.
“I don’t hate you,” Jenny said softly. “I think that’s pretty obvious since we had our son after our divorce.”
I exhaled a quiet, dry laugh.
“We were fucking like rabbits there for a while.”
“The stress relief was immensely appreciated,” Jenny replied, with the hint of a smile in her voice. She fiddled with the fringe on her wrap, twisting it between her fingers.
I held out my hand, palm up. An open invitation for comfort if she needed it. Jenny looked at my waiting hand for a moment. Then she placed her palm in mine.
“I don’t want you to be alone for the rest of your life, Simon,” she whispered. “You have always been so proud to be a husband and a father. And you…you can have that. With someone else.”
I shook my head and gave her hand a squeeze. Then I released her, crossing my arms. I already had a family with Jenny and the kids.
“Some of us only get one shot at happiness like that,” I said.
And I blew it.
Jenny took a breath to protest but I closed my eyes, putting an end to the conversation.
“Good-night, Jenny. And for Christ’s sake, I’m begging you to wash off that bastard’s cologne before you slide between my sheets. It’s bad enough to smell him on you. Don’t make me smell him in my own apartment.”
Jenny didn’t say anything or move right away, and I wondered if she was preparing to continue our argument.
In the end, she finally rose to her feet. I opened one eye, watching her as she disappeared into my bedroom. A moment later, the bathroom light turned on, a golden slash of illumination through the shadows of my apartment.
Then came the rush of water from the shower.
I stared at the ceiling, trying to stop myself from picturing Jenny while she shed her clothes, leaving her lazy bra and panties pooled on the floor. Or her curves slick with water as steam billowed around her.
My cock ached, pushing against the zipper of my fly. I palmed my groin, willing myself to calm down.
Divorced for seven years, and I was still pining after my wife.
Ex-wife, I thought.
Fuck, I didn’t want to get used to that. But it seemed I didn’t have a choice.