Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
She’s fucking everywhere, and it’s driving me crazy.
Nursing my coffee, I sit at the breakfast table with my family late Saturday morning.
And her.
Outwardly, I appear relaxed or as much as I can manage. But deep down, there’s a constant struggle, a tug of emotions I can’t ignore.
Last night, as I watched Sloan dance with Nash, jealousy gnawed at me. I wanted to get up from my table, pull her away, and claim her as mine. But, of course, I will not fucking do that.
I can’t.
She despises me.
She’s not mine to claim.
All that’s mine gets hurt.
But seeing Nash’s hands on her left me brooding in silence, nursing my beer and pretending not to care. It’s getting harder and harder, though.
Because I do fucking care, and I can’t do shit about it.
Then she left, drunk and alone.
How fucking dumb can you be?
Walking home alone in the middle of the night in the freezing cold after having had five tequila shots?
Yes, I counted.
I’m starting to question if she’s pushing it. Is she that desperate? She doesn’t seem like someone who wants everything to end.
But I hadn’t seen the signs once before.
I clear my throat before taking another sip of my coffee. I have to end this train of thought right now. So, I bring my gaze back up to Sloan, who is rubbing her temples.
Hangover? Well deserved. Maybe that will teach her.
Although I can’t deny how much I enjoyed where her tipsy state brought us yesterday.
That sassy little mouth. Goddamn.
I wonder how much it would take for her to beg for me. How much would I need to poke until her defiance turned into desire?
Not too much, given how she was panting when I pressed her to the wall, how her eyes zeroed in on my lips, and how she let me get that close. So close, her breath was brushing over me, her Caribbean scent clouding my senses and resolve, and she’s nearly gotten me to lose my damn head.
I glance down at the noticeable bulge in my pants and shift my hips, trying to adjust myself.
So not the time or place to get hard.
After our little encounter in the hallway, I struggled to let her go to her bed instead of mine, but I would never start something with her when she was drunk.
When I fuck her, the only thing she’ll be drunk on is me.
Lio brings me out of my thoughts and interrupts the silent tension at the table with his question. “Can I get up and play now? I’m done.”
I want to tell him to wait until we’re all done, but Hunter beats me to it. “Sure, bud. Go ahead.”
I shoot Hunter a look, but he ignores me. He knows I don’t like how he lets him do whatever he wants, but when I objected once before, he just laughed and told me I could decide how I wanted to raise my son if I was there to do it.
It stung, but it wasn’t unearned.
I’m not there.
I’m there for what’s important—doctor’s appointments, birthdays, holidays. But I’m missing his childhood. His childhood is slipping away before my eyes, and I can’t handle having him around all the time.
He’s the spitting image of Jessie, except for his eyes.
His mother, whom I failed.
And now I’m failing him.
Lio scurries away, and my attention shifts back to the table.
I can’t help but notice the odd dynamics between Nash and Sloan.
Nash looks relaxed, a self-satisfied grin playing on his lips as he sits next to her, leaning over to grab the salt from her side of the table, his hand brushing her arm as if by accident.
She tries to avoid his gaze, her discomfort obvious.
Did something happen between them last night that I’m not aware of?
She went to bed after I got upstairs. I waited and listened for her door to close before I went to my room.
My jaw clenches involuntarily as I sip my coffee, my thoughts racing.
I have no right to feel this way, to be possessive of her or jealous.
But fuck, it’s hard to ignore that I want her, even when I know I shouldn’t.
As I continue to observe her, I catch Sloan’s eyes briefly meeting mine, and in that fleeting moment, I see a hint of vulnerability. I quickly avert my gaze, not wanting to betray my own conflicted emotions.
“So, what are the plans for today?” Hunter asks, breaking the silence and turning to look around at all of us.
“There’s a poetry slam happening in Calais tonight. Adam and I are going.” Nash shrugs before he turns to grin at Sloan. “Wanna join, Siren?”
She lets out a huff but doesn’t look at him as she answers, “Gotta work.”
“North?” Hunter asks, raising a brow. “I wanted to start clearing out the stuff from the garden shed. It’s still too cold to work on it, but we could at least get rid of the old junk.”
We have a big garden, with an even bigger shed outside, next to a hot tub on the porch and a swing on one of the big pine trees.
The shed is falling apart, and Hunter has been talking about it for ages, wanting to turn it into something useful.
He’s not quite sure what yet, but he sees it as his little project and tries to involve me so we can do something together with Lio, teaching him how to handle small tools or just spending some quality time.
And I’ve successfully avoided it for months.
“Work,” is all I mutter, seeing disappointment on his face.
He should know better by now.
Lio comes back to stand in front of Sloan, his face flushed as he has a fit of coughing. Hunter reaches out to stroke his back soothingly, trying to calm him down. Then, after catching his breath, Lio looks up at Sloan with watery eyes.
“You okay, buddy?” Sloan asks with concern.
I hate that she’s so good with him. Even a fucking stranger has a better instant connection with him than I do.
“Do you need your inhaler?” Hunter asks at the same time.
Lio sniffs and wipes his nose on his sleeve before replying, “I’m fine, but my car is broken.”
Sloan tilts her head, puzzled. “Your car?”
Lio nods vigorously. “You said you’re a mechanic.”
I roll my eyes.
“He’s got an electric car he likes to drive around,” I tell her dismissively. “She can’t help with that, Lio.”
Sloan shoots me a glare before standing. “Well, let’s take a look. I can certainly try.”
Lio’s face lights up, and he grabs Sloan’s hand, pulling her out of the kitchen. I watch their golden heads disappear from view.
The moment they turn to leave, there is a tightness in my chest that’s not just mere irritation. It’s a knot of complex emotions—envy, regret, and something dangerously close to longing.
Watching them is like watching a part of my life being rewritten in front of me.
The way Lio’s hand fits into hers, it’s natural, unforced—a contrast to the clumsy attempts at affection I’ve tried to offer.
It should be me out there, tinkering with his toy car and sharing in his little triumphs.
But instead, I’m here, rooted to my chair by a weighty blend of stubborn pride and a fear I’m not willing to dissect.
I take another sip of my coffee, but it has lost its warmth. I’m staring at the doorway they’ve just exited, and the reality hits me hard once more.
I’m on the periphery of Lio’s world, an observer, not a participant.
Because I just can’t.
I should be irritated with Sloan for stepping in, for effortlessly doing what I can’t, but instead, I find myself wrestling with gratitude. She’s filling in some of the gaps I’ve left wide open, and Lio’s world is better for it. It’s a thought that is as comforting as it is painful.
Hunter takes a sip of his coffee before turning to Nash, his voice low. “What the fuck happened between you two? Something feels off.”
Nash grins mischievously. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”
That gets my head from where it followed Sloan and Lio right back at this table.
He fucked her?
Again?
My knuckles turn white around the coffee mug as I try hard not to break it. Huffing a bitter laugh at Nash’s response, I tell him, “You, a gentleman? That’s a stretch.”
I can’t sit at this table one second longer, or I might just strangle him.
Where I really want to be is a few doors down anyway.
They could hurt themselves with those toy parts.
“I think I’ll go see if they need a hand,” I say, standing up and making Hunter look at me in surprise with wide eyes.
“You want to—” Hunter starts but gets interrupted by Sloan, screaming his name from Lio’s room.
Without a second thought, we all rush over, only to find Lio unconscious on the floor, his head in Sloan’s lap. She kneels before him, her hands on the sides of his face, tears streaming down her cheeks.
My heart sinks before it starts beating rapidly.
Walking into the bathroom… her lying there unconscious… so much blood.
Not her. He. Is. Not. Her.
He isn’t dead.
“He coughed and simply fainted. I don’t know what to…” She starts, shaking like a leaf when Hunter and I kneel too. Nash rushes out of the room.
I pull myself together and him away from her, making sure he is lying flat on the floor to help him breathe easier. “You should have told one of us immediately when he started coughing!” I hiss out at her while Nash comes rushing back with his inhaler and spacer.
Taking it from Nash, I bring it to Lio’s mouth. My hand is on the back of his head, propping it up slightly so I can push the inhaler and ensure he breathes in the medication.
“I’m so sorry,” Sloan whispers, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She’s standing beside Nash now, hugging herself.
“It’s not your fault. He does that from time to time. It’s been happening more frequently lately,” Hunter tells her, but his gaze is on me.
It’s been happening way too frequently.
And all the doctors tell us is that he reacts to something.
Well, fuck yes, he reacts to not getting enough oxygen.
Lio comes to, his eyes fluttering, and I hand the inhaler back to Nash. I push Lio’s hair away from his forehead, searching his face. He always gets frightened after such an episode.