Chapter Twenty-One
S triding through the front door just after 5:30PM, Trouble grinned and called, “Honey, I’m home!”
In the three weeks since Liz and Erika moved in, he’d made a point of coming home at the same time every night to spend precious time with his girls.
My girls.
Fuck, he liked the sound of that.
At the sound of his little girl’s giggles, his heart soared. He fucking loved that sound, it never failed to wipe away the bullshit and weariness of the day. Erika had quickly become his reason to live and breathe—and her mother…she’d always been the reason—he’d just spent the last ten years slowly suffocating without her. And now that he could take a deep breath again, fuck was he going to go back to barely breathing. He’d take many massive gulps of air, until his lungs burned, and his head swam—he’d drag Liz into his chest, and put her back where she belonged as the most precious of his vital organs.
“Trouble!” Erika called, still giggling, as she ran into the room, and wrapped her arms around his waist, face planting into his belly. Chuckling, he bent his knees, wrapped his arms around her, and squeezed. She was a tiny thing—definitely getting her mother’s petiteness. He lifted Erika up, grinned into her all-too familiar eyes, and dusted wet kisses all over her face. She wriggled, laughing, her happiness filling him so full he nearly burst with it.
This…he’d missed this for almost ten years.
Never again.
“Mommy made tater tot casserole,” Erika effused, her green eyes shining.
His grin grew into an outright smile. “She did, huh? Does it have lots of cheese in it?” he asked, remembering that tater tot casserole was something Liz had made for him back in the day. It was cheap, simple, delicious, and it could feed them for a couple of days—even with his appetite.
Erika nodded energetically. “Yeah! And she let me put the cheese on it all by myself!” At almost ten, when most kids were getting jaded and losing the joy in the little things, Erika was still as enthusiastic about cheesing casseroles as she was about getting a new dress. The kid was joy personified.
And that was all her mother…because her father hadn’t been there, and even if he were, he would have just tainted all that joy. As a boy, happiness of any kind had been beaten out of him, until even smiling had been a red cape flapped in the face of an angry bull. Karl Skaarsen was a mean motherfucker, and any sign of goodness, happiness, joy—he ripped it out, leaving a gaping wound that wouldn’t heal.
It still hadn’t healed.
But Erika…she was his happiness now, and he wished he’d known what it was like to have that happiness, that pure joy in this life over the last ten years. A pang of regret tapped against his heart—he’d felt so many lately, that the sensation was an old friend, one he never wanted to see again.
“You help your mom mix it all up, too?” he asked, knowing Liz had gotten most of her arm mobility back, but was still struggling with not overusing her arm, and the cast made fine movements difficult. Unfortunately, she’d learned tricks on how to dress herself one-handed, so he hadn’t gotten a chance to see her glorious body in her bra and panties…or naked, as he’d prefer.
“Yes, she did, and what a mess she left on the counter, too,” Liz said as she stepped into the living room from the kitchen. She looked at Erika with narrowed eyes. “You’ve got a mess to clean up, young lady.” Trouble bit back a groan; Liz was wearing a pair of black yoga pants that molded to her thick thighs, wide hips, and lush ass, a dark red tank that cupped her tits just right, and her shoulder length wavy blonde hair was up in a messy knot at the back of her neck. She’d, no doubt, spent the day in her doc-boss outfit of curve-hugging pencil skirt and blouse, and heels that made her legs go on forever, legs he wanted wrapped around his waist…and his head. But now, in a simple, comfortable get up, she was still fucking sexy as all hell. There wasn’t a thing Liz could wear that would make her any less fuckable, because it wasn’t just her body that turned him that fuck on, it was all of her. Her smile, the way her blue eyes lit up when she saw something funny…or when she looked at their daughter. The way they’d darken and heat when they looked at him—when she thought he wasn’t looking. It was the way she carried herself—all sass and badass doctor, because he knew all the heartache and struggle she had to go through to become the woman she was. It was her heart, the way she loved—how she’d loved him, and how she loved their daughter. And…it was her soul. Liz had the brightest, fieriest, most pure soul of anyone he’d ever known, and it still cut deep that he’d pushed all of her away. He’d had perfection in his hands, in his bed, in his arms, and he’d fucked it all up.
But I will fix it.
He had to. Looking at her standing there, her hands planted on her hips, her eyes dancing with mirth, his cock agreed, thickening against his leg. Fuck. Now was not the time for a hard on, especially with his daughter basically eye level with his dick.
At her mom’s words, Erika pouted, making Trouble bite back a laugh. God, but she looked just like her mother then—the same feigned look of chagrin. Liz was a pro at looking upset or innocent, but being as about repentant as a whore in church.
Liz looked at Trouble with a mocking glare, fighting her own smile. Yeah, she saw it, too.
“Go on. Clean up all that cheese, then wash your hands. Dinner’ll be done soon.”
Erika flicked her wide eyes at him, her pout bigger and more pleading, and he nearly gave in.
“Go on, little one, clean up. You made the mess, you clean up the mess,” Trouble urged gently. He was very new at the whole “dad” thing, but he was determined to be a good one.
At least better than Pa….
Blowing out an exaggerated sigh, Erika whirled on her heel and stomped to the kitchen, leaving Trouble and Liz staring after her, Trouble’s heart growing bigger. There was something about watching his daughter living, thriving, and safe in his home that made him feel like a fucking superhero.
Flicking his gaze to Liz, he didn’t miss the flash of something like sadness that crossed her face.
“You okay? Takin’ it easy at the clinic?” Trouble had argued with Liz returning to work; he’d wanted her to take it easy for a little longer, but she’d been adamant about at least spending a few hours in the clubhouse clinic every day. Not that there were many medical emergencies, but Dragon and Denise—the new brothel Madame—were having the women from the brothel, Sex he hated how much they constricted his nine-inch cock and made his balls all sweaty. His going commando was something Liz never complained about; she’d always liked having quick and easy access to him—to suck him or ride him whenever she got hungry for him.
Even now, he didn’t miss the way her gaze would often drift to and stay on the bulge in his pants. He recognized the heat in her eyes, the way her cheeks would grow pink, and her chest would rise and fall in quick pants as she fought her reaction to him. Soon, though, she wouldn’t have to fight it, because he’d have her in his bed, and they’d be giving in to every need and desire they had for one another.
Hurrying from his room, he nearly crowed when he saw Liz was alone in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the delicious smelling casserole. She sprinkled a handful of crushed Doritos over the top, then brushed her hand over her pants to wipe off the cheese dust. It left clear evidence on her black yoga pants.
He chuckled, loving how the little of imperfection only made her look that much more adorable.
When she turned around, she gasped, clearly surprised he was standing just behind her, close enough for him to feel the heat from her body. Damn, she must have been all up in her head to not have noticed him get that close, because she was always tuned into him, even after all the years apart. It was the same for him; she could enter a crowded room, and he’d know it, feel the electricity pulse through the air like a live wire skipping over his nerve endings. It had made putting on a show with Amelia that much easier. He felt Liz enter the room, then he’d ramp up his activities with Amelia, knowing Liz was incoming, that she would see them. And it never failed to make him feel like shit. A coward. A pathetic sack of assholes.
Just like his pa, who went out of his way to hurt his wife and son, just because it felt good, just because it made them hurt. The man was a coward and a sadist…and the apple didn’t fall far from that particular rotten tree.
Thrusting those thoughts aside, he raised a hand and pushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear, luxuriating in the silkiness of the hair against the roughness of his fingers.
“Shit, Trouble, you almost gave me a heart attack,” she snapped, glaring at him. He couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t tense at his touch, or step back, or comment about it. Good, even though she was stabbing him with her eyes. But it wasn’t the glare that caught his attention, it was the way her nipples were poking through her top, and the way her cheeks flushed, and the way her eyes—though glaring death at him—were darkening…from cornflower blue to a midnight navy.
She was turned on—and she was fighting it.
Before he could do anything about it, she opened her mouth and killed his hard on.
“Get that look off your face, Erika will be back any second,” she whisper-yelled, her gaze moving to the hallway. “She wanted to wait for you before we ate, but she’s been in and out of her room to see if you’re back yet.”
He nodded, sighing. Guess that was something he had to get used to; cockblocking progeny.
Since he couldn’t grab Liz’s waist and drag her supple body into his chest, and grind his dick into her soft belly, he had to make do with asking her what the fuck was up with her.
Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the kitchen counter, and peered down at her. His eyes intense on her, he could see from the way she tensed, she hated it.
“What?” she snapped, huffing.
He smirked, loving that he was getting to her. She couldn’t fake her reactions to him, and the fact she had reactions at all, meant there was definitely a chance for him to get in there with her. He just needed to make sure he didn’t fuck it up.
“What happened on Friday?” he asked, his gaze intent on her, watching her.
At his question, anger flashed through her eyes, before disappearing behind her professional mask.
“What are you talking about? Nothing happened Friday,” she said, her tone the one she used on patients.
No, hell no, she wasn’t going to “Doctor Liz” this shit.
Shaking his head, he taunted, “Come on, Skizzy, it isn’t like you to lie.” She snorted, rolling her eyes. “I know somethin’ happened on Friday, because up until then, we had a good thing goin’. We were talkin’, we were gettin’ to know each other again, and you weren’t as tense as you are now. Since Friday, you’ve gotten quiet, you’ve pulled back, and I want to know why.” When things got awkward, his Texas came through. It had been decades since he’d left Skimmer, and he’d lost a bit of the twang, but in moments like this, when he felt the words bone deep, the thickest parts of his roots surfaced.
Bracing for a cyclone, Trouble was wary when silence met his words. She was still glaring at him, but there was something working behind that glare. Her shoulders were tense, her posture stiff, as if she were just barely keeping herself from making a run for it.
“You know what? You’re right. Things were going well—surprisingly. It was nice to not have to be on all the time, letting the hate and bitterness fill every moment of my day. I actually enjoyed sitting and talking with you, hearing about you and your club brothers. It was also amazing to sit and talk about Erika with you, share with you about the little girl that means the fucking world to me.” She pinched her lips together, her hands clenching into fists. She leaned into him, her body hot and vibrating with rage. “What I did not enjoy was having your ol’ lady get in my face, in my place of work, and talk shit about my kid.”
At her venomous words, Trouble jerked back, his mind reeling.
Ol’ lady? Who the fuck—
“Amelia,” he growled.
Liz sniffed indignantly. “She pissed all over you, taking great joy in telling me that you’ve been slipping into her bed every night, and that you’re just waiting for this shit with the Russians to be over so you can ditch me, marry her, and live your happily ever after.”
He pushed away from the counter, and Liz stumbled back at the sudden movement. Trouble stalked toward Liz, and Liz retreated until her back hit the opposite counter, and then he was right over her, her angry breaths puffing against his chest. Grabbing her shoulders, he felt the tension roll through her—at her anger or at his touch, he couldn’t tell.
“First off, she’s not my ol’ lady. I’d rather tie a piece of raw meat to my dick and walk naked through the desert than make her my ol’ lady. Second, unless she somehow invented select teleportation, there’s no fucking way I’ve been leavin’ my bed for hers every night. I’ve been in my own bed, jackin’ my cock to thoughts of you naked, so I haven’t been doin’ shit with Amelia.”
At the mention of his cock and what he was going with it, Liz’s cheeks bloomed with color.
Fuck, now he was getting hard again, and her breathing was picking up, her hard nipples dragged against this abs, making her gasp. She tried to take a step back, to pull from his grip, but he wouldn’t let her.
“I know that Amelia and I have a history, baby, but that ended the night I found you bleedin’ on your kitchen floor. She was a comfortable distraction, a way to numb myself against the pain of losing you, and now that I’m workin’ to get you back, to get my family back, there’s no fucking way I’m going back to comfortable, to numbness, and especially not to whatever form of crazy Amelia has been smokin’, because I already warned that woman about leavin’ you and Erika alone.”
Rage thrashing his insides, Trouble dropped his hands from Liz’s shoulders and pulled his cell from the pocket of his cotton PJs.
“Get Erika, y’all start eatin’,” he drawled, barely keeping his voice even. “I’ve got a call to make.”
Without giving Liz a chance to shit fury over him and what he’d said about his plans to get back with her, Trouble turned and strode from the kitchen.