Chapter Thirty-One
Caine
I hold her, my nose taking in the floral scent of her hair as her hands glide over my chest. This is all I want. It’s all I need. My hand moves up and down her back as she cuddles against me.
“What’s the plan with Jason?” Mikayla pushes herself up to look at me, her hair flowing down her back and shoulders onto my chest.
“He said he wants help. Sawyer can’t stay there with him. The place isn’t livable. I’m gonna get a house cleaner to fix their place up,” I explain. “Then help him break the lease.”
Mikayla sits up. I can see from the look on her face that she’s uncomfortable about something, if the frown on her face is any indication.
But the ultimate distraction is literally right at eye level.
Her perfect round breasts, her nipples hard, milky smooth skin.
My dick stirs, though I know I’ll need another thirty minutes to really get hard again.
They are neither big, but not small, just—perfect. She’s beautiful.
“If you want to have a serious conversation, you’re gonna have to put those away,” I suggest as I reach for her breasts. But she swats my hand away and huffs.
Leaning back against my pillow, I watch her swing her legs over the side of the bed and saunter to her shirt and shorts that I threw to the floor.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” I groan when she bends over, giving me the perfect glimpse of her wet pussy and ass.
“I may as well go to the bathroom,” she says before walking to the door.
“Sweetheart!” I holler before she opens the door. “Clothes. Remember, we have guests!” I remind her.
A little hand smacks her forehead as she rolls her eyes. She quickly pulls on her clothes, but I frown as she leaves. Her nipples are visible through the fabric of her top, and her ass cheeks are precariously close to the bottom of those shorts.
A growl escapes me when I see Jason walk by her, his head turning to look over his shoulder as she walks away and then into the bathroom.
“How the fuck did an old man like you get a woman like that?” he asks with raised brows; his thumb pointed over his shoulder. “Her ass alone…”
“I have no problem throwing you out.” I interrupt, my jaw clenching at his words.
“I’m just saying…” he says with a smirk. “When you’re…”
I jump out of bed, not caring that all I’m wearing are my boxer briefs, and grab him by the collar of his shirt, pinning him against the wall.
Wide, shocked eyes meet mine as he looks at me. He doesn’t fight back; he just looks at me, stiff and terrified. I step back, releasing him. Horrified at myself and shocked at his reaction.
Fear.
“They beat you?” I ask, and he shuts his eyes, his head dropping down. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You hate me,” he accuses, his hands now wiping at his face as tears stream down his cheeks. “Why would you have helped me?”
“I didn’t hate you. And I don’t now. I’m pissed you threw your career away over pussy and booze,” I argue, lifting my arm toward the door as though his future is just outside it.
“I never had money before. All that attention and… I don’t know…” he shakes his head as he tries to explain, his voice hitches as he slams his head against the wall before sliding down it to the ground.
I turn at the sound of the bathroom door opening. Mikayla walks out and looks at me, then Jason, who is cradling his head in his hands, his knees drawn up to his chest.
She gives me a kind smile and tilts her head toward the living room. She turns around and walks away, giving me and Jason time to talk.
Jason isn’t wrong; her ass is perfect. But it’s mine, and he doesn’t have my permission to enjoy that particular view.
“How’d you do it?” Jason asks.
My brows draw and I frown. “How’d I do what?”
“Not let it ruin your life?”
I sigh and walk to my wardrobe. This conversation requires clothes. Once I’m dressed in a pair of sweatpants, I walk over to him and sit beside him on the floor. “Booze wasn’t my problem, and I won’t compare our situation, but Jason, have you ever wondered why I was single for so long?”
“No,” he answers honestly, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“I married the wrong woman when I was about your age. Met her at a rodeo. Thought she was the one. Not two years into our marriage, I caught her fucking some random guy,” I explain.
I look out my door at Mikayla, who’s curled up on the sofa watching the television. She sits with a new blanket she just bought, draped over her small frame. And my heart tightens at the sight of her.
“Fuck,” Jason says. “So… but…” he frowns, his brow furrowed as he turns his head and sees what I’m looking at.
“That woman over there,” I say, pointing at Mikayla, “She’s my light at the end of the tunnel.”
“You two are like—for real?” he asks, sitting up straight. His head turns to her again and back to me.
“She was at my table, with my family. She cooked the food you ate. She’s funny, driven, crazy and kind.
Smarter than me. She’s what makes my house a home,” I explain.
“But I didn’t get her by way of a perfectly straight line.
Granted, I have parents who support me, but even with that I managed to fuck up quite a bit. ” I shrug, my hands opening.
“I always thought your life was perfect,” Jason says.
“You called me an angry old man!” I remind him, elbowing his shoulder.
Jason smiles then, a genuine grin that crinkles his eyes. “I just thought you were made that way.” He laughs.
“Maybe a little. But I was definitely pissed at the world.”
Jason and I just sit for a few moments in silence. I can see the wheels churning in his head. I want to give him time to process everything. When his hands comb through his hair, I can see them tremble. This is going to be a long night.
“I don’t want to be like them,” he whispers suddenly.
“Are they both alcoholics?”
He nods, his eyes downcast.
I clasp the back of his neck and rock him from side to side. “Let’s get you into rehab and then hopefully back in a bronc saddle.”
“You’d let me come back? You’d train me again?” he asks, his mouth open in surprise.
“If you want it and can clean your act up, yes,” I say simply.
Around midnight, the shakes turn into sweats and vomiting. Neither Mikayla nor I have any experience with someone going through withdrawals, a detox of sorts, so she calls Kyle.
We’re worried, and poor Sawyer, he’s a young kid—starts to cry at having to see his brother this way. The poor guy is clearly holding on by a thread.
“We need to get him to Penrose,” Kyle suggests. “It’s the closest place, and I think a good facility.”
“We ain’t got the money for that,” Sawyer says, his eyes sunken and bloodshot.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, wanting him reassured. They don’t need to worry about how he’ll get better, just getting sober.
“Caine,” Mikayla says, waving me over.
“What’s wrong, Mick?” I ask, threading my fingers through her hair.
“Those facilities cost upwards of ten to twenty thousand dollars. I mean, I know you mean well, but…”
I frown at her. “You want me to throw them to the wolves?” I ask in shock.
Mikayla’s eyes widen. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re committing to. I know your parents do well, but you…” she trails off, flushed. “Can you afford that cost out of pocket?”
I smile. This sweet woman doesn’t have a clue. How is it that she still doesn’t know? I shake my head, unable to believe it! She really doesn’t know.
And then it occurs to me. Why would she? We haven’t talked about it, and why the hell would she ask? My house is humble, tiny even. “Sweetheart, I don’t have to worry about money.”
But Mikayla rolls her eyes. “Caine, I’m talking twenty grand here, not like two thousand dollars.”
I grab Mikayla’s face and rest my forehead against hers. Fuck, do I love this woman.
“Caine’s a multimillionaire,” Kyle blurts as he walks by us, walking into the kitchen.
“You’re such an asshole,” Mikayla says, turning to face Kyle.
“That’s very true, but so is the fact that Caine is a multimillionaire.” Kyle points at me. “How the fuck does she not know?”
Mikayla steps out of my arms and lifts hers as though me and Kyle are about to get into a brawl. “Wait. What?” She tilts her head—her brows pinched in confusion.
“Did you really not know?” Jason asks hoarsely. “I mean, look around! He won more championships than any other rider out there, even today!”
I mean, I did well riding, but that’s not why I’m a millionaire.
“I live here!” Mikayla yells. Her arms raised, unmoving. She’s like a statue, standing perfectly still as she stares at me, her arms outstretched. “How would I know anything other than what I see?”
“Sweetheart.” I grab her arms and lower them.
Wide green eyes meet mine and she blinks. “You’re right. This isn’t about me. Let’s just focus on Jason.” Her voice is definitely higher-pitched than usual.
She’s not okay. Not in the least.
My eyes narrow at her, but I don’t argue. Now isn’t the time. I’m not sure what she’s upset about, but we aren’t going to resolve anything with an audience.
“I’ll call Penrose,” Kyle says. His eyes dart from Mikayla to me, and I see the worry there.
Stress and anxiety have been plaguing her since her dad was sick and have only worsened after that initial argument with her mother. She’s even more skittish since she told her mom she didn’t want a relationship anymore.
But that hasn’t stopped her mother from calling and leaving wretched messages. After days of discussion, and an argument with Jack over him fielding more vitriol from their mother than usual, both Masterson children have agreed to block their mother.
Jack agreed that they couldn’t sustain this any longer. He also decided to come here for Thanksgiving since his original plans fell through to visit us after Mikayla got sick.
This facade of calm, I can see through it. But it’s hardly an opportune time to analyze her anxiety.
“Can we check him in now?” Kyle asks. “Yes, thank you, Maggie,” he adds before hanging up his cell.
“You ready to go?” I ask Jason, walking toward him.
His face is devoid of color, and his eyes are wide. Shaky hands comb through his hair. “Uh, I guess, yeah.” He stands.
I place a hand on his shoulder as we walk to the door.