Chapter Twenty-Three
L iz had never been more grateful for her daughter’s knack for interrupting conversations. She was loathe to say she fled from Trouble’s room as quick as her feet could carry her, muttering, “She’s probably thirsty,” over her shoulder as she threw his door open, and made her escape. She didn’t miss the way he growled, nor the feeling of his emerald green eyes burning a hole through her back as she went.
She knew it was only a momentary reprieve; he’d find her again, corner her, and force her to listen, but for a few short minutes—as much as she could milk—she didn’t have to listen to him talk about that night. She didn’t have to hear him replay the scene she already knew by heart. She didn’t have to hear about how he chose Bonnie over her, betraying her, breaking her.
Sadly, it only took five minutes to fetch Erika a glass of water, and tuck her back into bed.
That done, she couldn’t hide out in her daughter’s room the rest of the night; she wasn’t that much of a coward. She just….
She heaved a sigh, rubbing her forehead against the pinch of the coming headache.
Leaving Erika’s room, she left the door open a crack as Trouble had, then made her way back to the kitchen for her own glass of something resembling water.
Bottle of vodka in hand, she poured two glasses, tossed one back, and waited for Trouble to make his appearance.
She didn’t have to wait long. The sexy bastard, his golden blond hair loose around his shoulders, strolled into the kitchen, his long, muscular body moving with the grace of a wolf. It took maximum effort to not let her gaze drop to where she knew his cock was swinging thick, long, and free in those “man lingerie” house pants. When she’d been trapped in his room, face to face with that growing monster, she grew wet as fuck—memories of when they were together, of when he would thrust into her, balls deep, or when she’d ride him, his length hitting her so deep she felt it for days afterward. And her mouth watered at the memories of taking him into her throat, tasting his salty deliciousness on her tongue. She remembered the sounds he’d make, the chest deep groans, the way his breath would catch, the way he’d grunt with every thrust—
She refilled her glass, threw it back, then glared, praying the booze would make her forget everything.
“I would ask what you’re thinkin’ about, but I have a feelin’ I’ll be fuckin’ you on the counter soon after,” Trouble said, smirking wickedly. His smile dropped as the depths of his eyes turned to fire. “Then again….” He stepped toward, and she gasped, her body humming with need long denied.
He pressed his chest against her, her hard, sensitive nipples scraping against it. She shuddered. His heat filled her, making her blood rush through her veins, straight to her pulsing pussy.
God, what was he doing to her?
He leaned down, running his nose over her forehead, breathing her in. She held her breath, not trusting herself to not scent in him in return.
“I can feel you…smell you…I know you want me,” he smirked once more, his eyes dark and hooded. He nipped at the heated flesh below her ear, and she moaned at the electricity that shot directly to her breasts and clit. “Your body is telling me all I need to know, and the body never lies.”
Her body ?
She snorted, a weak sound, desperate to reestablish some equilibrium, to take back the moment so she’d survive what came next. “My body cannot be trusted,” she replied, her voice husky. “It’s a medical fact that the body is the least trustworthy part of the human being. When you’re anemic, your body tells you to eat dirt. When you’re dying of thirst in the desert, it tells you that the heat waves coming off the sand in the distance is water. When you’re starving, your body tells you that eating other people is okay. And when you’re faced with your cheating, asshole ex, your body tells you that if you have sex with him, it won’t matter; it’s just sex, and it’ll feel amazing….” She pushed at his chest and, stunned, he stumbled back, giving her space to breathe. She dragged in a breath, trying to ignore the scent of him—leather and bergamot—in the desire-thickened air. “The body is a goddamn liar, but my mind, my heart, they both tell me to tell you to fuck off.”
His face hardened, his eyes glinting as he clenched his jaw, the muscles twitching. He looked pissed as fuck—but then the hardness dropped like a stone, and what was left was guilt. It swam in his eyes, etched grooves by his eyes, and made his mouth droop. She watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed.
Rubbing his chest, he swallowed again, before nodding once. “I get it,” he said, his voice strange. “Now isn’t the time for that. It’s what Fae would call slow burn, so we’ve got time to get to the fuckin’.” Liz gasped, shocked but not shocked at his audaciousness. The man was an ass. Before she could tell him that, though, he continued. “We have things to talk about—well, you have things to listen to, and I have things to say.”
“Trouble—” she tried, desperate to avoid what she knew he wanted to talk about. But he stepped into her, chest to chest, making her breath lodge in her throat.
His accent was especially thick as he spoke. “We are talkin’ about this because I am so fuckin’ tired of walkin’ ‘round on eggshells. I’m tired of seein’ your smile drop when your mind goes to memories of that night, robbin’ you of your happiness in that moment. I’m tired of livin’ a lie—one of my own makin’, I realize, but now that you’re here, that Erika is here, the truth needs out, Liz. And you will let me tell my truth, because the lies have eaten away at my insides for too long, and there isn’t much of me left. But what I got left, I want to give to you…to Erika.”
Two things occurred to her in that moment: it was time to hear him out, because she was just as tired of walking on eggshells as he was, and she…well, she was just done with being angry all the time. Did she have reason to be be angry? Yes. Was she allowed to be pissed about how life turned out? Yes…but why? Her life wasn’t roses and diamonds and fluffy kittens, but she was okay with that. She’d survived on her own, raised her daughter, achieved her academic and career dreams—the only thing missing? The man she loved. But he wasn’t missing anymore. And that brought up the second thing that occurred to her—she needed to guard herself against whatever was coming. Because she knew that reliving that night in Tipped was going to hurt like fucking hell, no matter how many years had gone by…because she still fucking loved Erik Skaarsen. He hurt her, he buried her in heartbreak, but she handled it. She walked away, and kept walking, and she did it without him.
“Come on, baby,” Trouble said, pressing a large hand to the small of her back. She immediately stiffened at his touch, but she let him lead her out of the kitchen and into the living room. He directed her to the couch, where she sat, then he sat next to her. His thick thigh brushed against hers, and she held herself tightly, unwilling to let the jitters building in her belly have control.
“Now,” he began, and she sucked in a steadying breath, and turned to meet his gaze.
Goddammit! She shouldn’t have done that, because now she was caught. He reached out and grabbed her hands in his, dragging them toward him to pin them to his leg. Her hands were shaking, and now he knew that. “You’re going to listen—all the way though, and when I’m done, I know you’ll have questions, you’ll want to scream and probably punch me in the face, but I ask that you abstain from beating the shit out of me until you hear it all.” He pinched his lips together, and she narrowed her eyes at him, hating that she was paying so much attention to his mouth in the first place. “You got it?”
Shit.
She nodded. “Yes,” she choked out, then swallowed, hating how scared she was. How vulnerable she was, sitting beside the man who’d hurt her even more than the Russian goons had. “I get it…but you have to know how hard this is for me, Trouble.”
He sighed, squeezing her hands as if to comfort her.
“I know. And it’s my fault. I fucked up, and I kept fucking up once you started working for the club. All that…is on me, but I think that once I get this off my chest, once you know the whole truth…we can work on being—if not friends, then at least co-parents who don’t act like they want to kill each other.”
It was her turn to pinch her lips together; Trouble made a good point. Fuck. She hated that he was making sense. Now that he was in Erika’s life, Liz couldn’t just brush him off, ignore him, or murder him. Liz knew that Erika had already fallen in love with her dad, and Trouble loved his little girl. Liz knew, firsthand, the pain of losing a father, she wouldn’t allow Erika to know that kind of devastating hurt. For her daughter…she could try.
Leaning back, she tried to pull her hands from Trouble’s grip, but he held fast, squeezing them once more. She could tell, this time, however, it was more for him than it was for her.
Dragging in a deep breath, she held it a moment, the let it out slowly, and the whole time Trouble watched her, his eyes shuttered.
“Go ahead,” Liz finally said, and Trouble’s shoulders straighten as if readying himself for battle.
“You know how I found that letter from Stanford—”
“The one you read and assumed I was giving up my life to stick around, slumming it with you, and attend a second-rate school?” Liz snarked, making Trouble roll his eyes.
“Yes,” he snapped, “that one. I thought you said you were going to listen.”
Liz snorted, shrugging. “Doesn’t mean I can’t comment.”
“Now it does. Just listen—no comments—until I’m done. Just let me get this all out at once, so we can discuss it, then hopefully move forward.”
She huffed. “Fine. Proceed.”
Trouble grunted, his nostrils flaring. “As I was saying…I saw that letter and jumped to the conclusion that you were passing up Stanford to stick around, slumming it with a broken Army vet, and attend a second-rate school.”
Liz sniffed haughtily, fighting back a grin at the flash of amusement in his eyes.
“I knew I couldn’t let you do that, Skizzy; your dream was to be a doctor, and I wanted you to do more than be just any doctor, I wanted you to be the doctor who got only the best education so you could be the best fucking doctor in the world. I know you loved me, baby, and I loved you—” She stiffened at that and tried to pull her hands from hers again, and again he held them tight. “And I know you don’t believe me, but I did love you, Elizabeth. I never loved anyone the way I loved you—bone deep, right to my fucking soul, you were it for me. And that’s why I did what I did next. I couldn’t let you stay in Vegas and live a half-hearted dream, not after everything you went through in your life. So…I knew I had to make you go. I knew I had to force you out, and the only way you’d go is if I did something so bad that you’d drop me, leave me behind, and run to Stanford as fast as you could.” He swallowed, sweat beaded at his temple, but he still didn’t let go of her hand to wipe it away. “When I left you in the apartment that morning, I headed to the bar. I told Hound, Tosser, and Benny—he was the bar tender then—that I was scraping you off because you were becoming a problem. They’re loyal men—to me and the club, so they didn’t ask questions. After that….” He closed his eyes, the color draining from his face, and Liz nearly called an end to it. The man looked wrecked. One part of her wanted to tell him it was okay, he didn’t need to finish, but the other part of her, the part that had been living with only half a heart for ten years, wanted to know what happened. She remained silent…and she squeezed his hands. His eyes snapped open, right into hers, and her heart jerked. Pain. So much pain and regret and guilt swirling in those eyes. “I called Bonnie. I told her to come to the bar, that I’d be waiting in the office….”
Oh God.
Her lungs felt like lead balloons, and her skin was too tight. Her hands began shaking like crazy, but they remained enveloped in his…even as his large, capable hands began to shake, too.
“I told Bonnie…” his voice caught, “I told Bonnie I wanted to get rid of you, and that I needed her help. She jumped at the chance, thinkin’ that by helpin’ me she’d get a shot at my patch.”
Liz snorted; of course, Bonnie was a patch chaser, she’d even trapped Tosser with a baby before slowly killing him, and then aiming for Odin’s patch. She got herself killed when she turned on the club to get rid of Skathi.
Trouble’s massive body shuddered, making Liz’s heart pound. Whatever he was about to tell her would hurt like hell.
“I told her that you’d be comin’ by, and that I needed her to…to make it look like we were fuckin’—I never actually touched her, Skizzy, then or ever. I just needed her to make it sound like we were fuckin’ in that office. The glass in the door was opaque, so I knew you’d only see the outline of us, and that the sounds would be enough to give you the idea that we were fuckin’—”
Okay, she’d heard enough. Liz ripped her hands from Trouble’s, and shot to her feet.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” she demanded, her voice loud enough to wake Erika, but she couldn’t be bothered in that moment. “You’re telling me that what I heard in that office was…what? Make believe? That I made it all up in my head?”
Trouble rose quickly, reaching for her, but she jerked back out of reach.
“That is not what I fuckin’ said; I said we made it sound like we were fuckin’. Hound was at the door that night, and when you got there, he texted me. Then Bonnie and I put on a show. She was wearing those booty shorts, so it didn’t take much effort for her to simulate the sound of bodies smacking together. For me, all I had to do was grunt a little, make the sounds I know you liked when we fucked—”
Her blood rushed to her face, and she hissed, “You put on a show ? With fucking sound effects —of fucking ?”
Trouble’s lip curled in a smile, but it quickly dropped at the look on her face. He cleared his throat, then answered, “Yes. I never actually touched her, Skizzy. I never touched her. We had to stand close because of the silhouettes, but I never once touched her. She slapped her thigh, I grunted and groaned, and then she went off script with the shit she said…and I just followed along, knowing it would help push you away that much harder. I didn’t mean a goddamn word of it, baby. And I swear, if I’d known you were pregnant, I never would have done any of that. I would have moved to Stanford with you, and I would have been there for you and Erika. We would have married, and we would have been a family….”
Liz listened to what he was saying—his truth—but she couldn’t comprehend that level of deception. So…he didn’t cheat with Bonnie, but that meant nothing. He still hurt her, still abandoned her, still broke her into tiny shards of sharp pieces. His truth meant nothing because the consequences of the lies were still the same; she was still betrayed, she still had to survive on her own, she still had to raise Erika alone, and she still felt the soul-deep pain of someone with a broken heart.
Shaking her head, overwhelmed with everything—his words, her feelings, her thoughts, she took an unsteady step back, nearly tumbling over the coffee table. Trouble cursed and reached out to grab her, but she threw her arms out to stop him.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t ever fucking touch me,” she rasped. Without another word spoken between them, Liz turned away from him, but she didn’t miss the abject anguish on his face as she did.
It wasn’t until she reached her room that she let the tears free.
And as the tears cascaded down her face, she replayed every word Trouble said, every truth…and that peeled back a new layer of flesh, leaving a bleeding wound on old scars.