Chapter 27 #2
Rage flared hot in my chest. After everything he'd done—the cheating, the gaslighting, the fucking court order forcing himself back into my life—he thought he deserved honesty?
“Focus on yourself.” I rolled my eyes. "You look like death."
"F-feel like. . .it too." He tried to laugh but it came out as a wet cough.
“Stay here, Scott. I’m going to get the—”
“No. . .no. . .please. . .don’t leave me alone.”
“I’ll be right back—”
“I’m dying. . .”
“You’re not.”
“I. . .am. . .” Sweat dripped from his hairline, running in rivulets down his temples. His skin had gone gray—the color of old newspaper. He tightened his grip on my arm. “P-lease. . .”
What if Dominic gave him too much?
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, as a tingling sensation spread through my body.
Please, God. Don’t let him die tonight.
The police would check his system and know someone gave him a sedative that was not prescribed.
“P-please. . .let me go. . .with you. . .”
"Can you climb up the stairs?" I moved to his other side, trying not to breathe in his scent, trying not to feel the wrongness of touching him when Dominic's fingerprints were still branded on my skin.
“I can. . .go. . .” Scott nodded, but when he took a step, his knees buckled.
I caught him.
Barely.
A minute later, we staggered toward the stairs together, a grotesque parody of intimacy.
His arm draped over my shoulders. My hand braced against his ribs.
Any observer would think we were lovers, not strangers bound by children, legal documents, and the ghost of a marriage neither of us could quite bury.
“I-it smelled like. . .sex. . .in his apartment. D-did you—”
"The kids," I hissed as we reached the staircase. "Keep your voice down. They're sleeping."
He nodded, but every step up groaned under our combined weight.
The house settled around us—old bones creaking, pipes humming their midnight song.
Somehow, we climbed higher.
Through the banister, I could see J's door, slightly ajar.
Further away, Oliver's nightlight threw soft shapes across the hallway.
My babies. Sleeping peacefully while their world crumbled in slow motion around them.
Scott stumbled again, almost dragging me down with him.
My hands tightened around his arm, not out of love but survival. If he fell, I’d fall too—and the boys would hear.
J would come running, brave and small, thinking they could save me.
Oliver would be shocked and cry.
I could see it: their little faces peering down the stairs, catching flashes of Scott’s rage, my torn dress, the truth bleeding into their innocence.
No. I’m going to get control of this evening.
I bit down on the panic and pushed harder, forcing Scott up the next step. My arms ached, my heart hammered, but the only thought that mattered was get him back to sleep.
When we got to the top, Scott stopped.
"Teyonah." His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. "You're not. . .you're not with. . .him. Right?"
To my shock, his eyes actually watered.
I moved him forward. "With who?"
"The tenant."
"That's none of your business. You gave up the right to know anything about my life when you moved into that apartment with your mistress and left me with two confused children and a mortgage I couldn't afford alone."
"Teyonah. . .you threw. . .me out—"
"We're not doing this." I shoved him toward the bathroom. "Not now. Not ever."
He stumbled in and leaned against the wall.
I sucked my teeth and headed to the bathroom. When I flicked on the light, the brightness hurt my eyes.
In the mirror, I caught a glimpse of myself and almost didn't recognize the woman staring back.
Hair wild.
Lips swollen.
Eyes too bright.
Dress definitely backwards.
I looked like I'd been claimed.
And God help me, I liked it.
This was what being desired looked like.
This was what good sex did to a woman's face.
No wonder Scott was asking questions.
He’d never seen me this way, because he could never please me like Dominic had just done.
But then darkness drowned out the joy of the moment.
If Scott remembers any of this tomorrow. . .it’s going to be a problem.
I fixed my dress, putting it on the correct way, then I yanked open the medicine cabinet and grabbed the Tylenol bottle.
Right in front. How did Scott not see it? Or did he really even try to find it?
I went back into the bedroom and handed the bottle to him. “Here. Take this and go downstairs."
Still leaning against the wall, he stared at the bottle in his hand. "T-Teyonah. . .I'm dying."
I didn’t want to get Dominic in trouble, but I was also done being Scott’s fucking nurse. I let out a long breath. "Let's call an ambulance."
If they did figure out he had a sedative, I would have Dominic’s back all the way. I wasn’t home before he passed out. There was no proof Dominic had ever entered the house. It would be our word against his.
But to my shock, Scott quickly shook his head.
"No! Don’t call!" Panic flared in his eyes. "No hospitals. No. . .no questions."
I crossed my arms. "Then you're not dying."
"I. . ."
Something didn’t seem right.
I studied him. “What aren’t you telling me? Why don’t you want to call the ambulance?”
Scott shivered. "I had a few lines. After the kids went to sleep. And some beer. Maybe. . .maybe too much of both."
The words hung in the air between us, taking shape like something toxic and alive.
"Lines?" My voice went dangerously edged. "Cocaine? You brought cocaine into this house? With J and Oliver sleeping upstairs?"
He couldn't meet my eyes.
"Are you fucking insane, Scott?" The words exploded out of me.
I forced my voice down but the rage stayed at full volume in my chest. "You forced your way back in here, in this house that you haven't paid a dime toward in months. Then, used a court order to violate my boundaries, just so you could bring drugs into the house with our children? And you think you’re a man? "
"You threw me out. . .like. . .trash. . .I was alone." His voice broke. "At Genny's place after. . .she didn't care for me. . .not like you do."
"I will never care for you again." I stepped closer, making sure he heard every word. "And you’re out of here soon. Trust me on that. And we’re getting that divorce—”
“T-teyonah—”
“I don't care what a judge says. And, you could get the President to fly here and deliver another court order personally. I will never be your wife again. That time is gone, Scott. You killed it."
"Please, Teyonah. . .Don't. . .say that."
But I was already turning away.
He stumbled past me, and came further into the bedroom—my bedroom, the one I'd reclaimed after he left, the one that smelled like lavender and freedom instead of his cologne and broken promises.
“Oh. . .God. . .my heart. . .” He collapsed onto the bed, still clutching the Tylenol bottle, his body sprawling across sheets I'd washed clean of him months ago.
"Scott?" Fear crept back in when he didn't move. "Scott!"
Shit!!
I hurried over to the bed and shook his shoulder, harder than necessary.
His eyes fluttered open.
Unfocused.
Even more glassy.
"Please," he whispered. "Let me stay here. . .on this bed. . .I can't. . .can't move anymore."
I stepped back like he was contagious.
Knowing Scott he was full of shit and over-dramatizing the situation.
Or. . .the cocaine, beer, and Dominic’s sedative was battling inside his body trying to decide who would win.
For a moment, I considered shoving him back downstairs. That thought brought a sick sense of satisfaction in my gut.
It might be nice to see him squirm his dumb ass back downstairs.
It was the pettiest part of me thriving on his misery and obvious discomfort.
But then the better part of me won.
"Fine.” I swallowed. “You can stay. I'll sleep downstairs."
“No.” His face crumpled. "You. . .won't stay here? With. . .me?"
"Never." I shook my head. "I would rather sleep in the middle of the street and risk getting run over by a diesel truck than lay next to you in bed again."
I turned to leave, but his voice caught me at the doorway.
"Teyonah?"
"What, Scott?" I didn't turn around.
"Can you. . .get me some water? To take the Tylenol?"
I closed my eyes.
Counted to five and felt the last threads of patience unraveling in my chest.
"Yes." I left him there, sprawled across my bed like a stain I couldn't quite scrub out, and headed downstairs.
Cocaine and beer. . .along with Dominic’s sedative. . .
It was a miracle Scott was still breathing.
I reached the bottom of the stairs.
Where am I going to sleep now?
Not the couch—Scott had spent the evening there, staining the cushions with his scummy scent and presence. McDonald’s bags and beer littered the area. In order to even be over there I would have to clean up his shit, and I was tired of doing that.
Maybe, the office. That loveseat won’t be too bad.
Of course I considered sleeping in Dominic’s bed. . .and my body trembled with lust.
I headed to the kitchen.
The light was off.
Moonlight peered in.
Huh? I thought I kept the lights on.
I continued and stepped through the doorway.
Shit!!
I almost screamed.
My heart boomed in my ears.
There he was.
Dominic within the moonlight.
Barefoot, and somehow even his feet were sexy, strong, and masculine against my kitchen tile.
Shirtless, and God, the moonlight loved him. It carved shadows along every muscle, defining his pectorals, the ridged abs, that Adonis belt disappearing into those expensive low-slung jeans that showed exactly how little he was wearing underneath.
His skin so smooth.
His big muscular arms crossed over that magnificent chest, biceps flexed, veins visible even in the low light.
He looked like every book boyfriend fantasy I'd ever had but was too ashamed to admit to my girls—dangerous, beautiful, and completely focused on me.
On another note, the needle was gone from his hand, but the intent in his eyes remained—sharp, possessive, and absolutely unrepentant.
I shivered. “What are you doing in here?”
"You thought we were done for tonight?" His voice held the same intimate tone he'd used when he was buried inside me and Scott was pounding on the door. “Bad Mommy.”
I widened my eyes in fear.