Chapter 32
Andilyn
My first thought when we step into the cemetery three days later is that it’s unseasonably warm today.
The weather doesn’t fit the mood. The sun sits high in the sky, not a cloud in sight.
Only the eight of us dressed in black are a reflection of the somberness blanketing our cordoned-off section of the graveyard.
Even though Hudson is far too young to remember this, I felt it imperative that he was present to lay his father to rest. Given the circumstances around Seth’s death, there’s no fanfare, but those closest to him insisted on being here today, and I couldn’t deny them the opportunity to say goodbye.
A total of six men have joined us, their postures rigid as they stand opposite us in their Army dress uniforms. Their faces are wiped of any emotion, a trait they’ve likely been trained to embody when the situation warrants it.
They showed up early to drape an American flag over Seth’s coffin, then stoically carried him to his final resting place.
A random priest was chosen to preside over the ceremony, but it can hardly be called that with how short and to the point it is.
Seth left clear instructions, and he wanted this part to be over with as quickly as possible.
We each take turns speaking to Seth privately, and when the others have all gone and only I remain, I take a cleansing breath and pass Hudson to Royce’s waiting arms. Staring at the freshly dug hole in the ground, I have a brief moment of complete disbelief.
Out of all the possibilities of where life could’ve taken us, I never once imagined it would lead us here.
Seth wasn’t deserving of such a brutal ending, and I wish more than anything that I could go back in time and erase all the awful things that have happened to the Taylor family.
They’d still be whole if Tobias hadn’t entered their lives.
“I hope you’re at peace, Seth,” I whisper, a single tear slipping free and sliding down my cheek.
“Wherever you are, I hope you’ve found LeAnna in the afterlife, and the two of you are finally together again.
I promise to keep Hudson safe; I’ll do my absolute best by him.
Until we meet again.” I touch my fingers to my lips, then press them against the casket.
A final goodbye to the man who’s changed the entire trajectory of my life by entrusting me with his son.
I can only hope I don’t fall short of his expectations.
After rejoining the others, I watch with a heavy heart as two of the six service members begin intricately folding the flag.
Once it’s neatly tucked into a pristine triangle, one of the soldiers begins his approach, the nameplate positioned on the right side of his chest reading Vasquez.
He stops short of where Hudson is standing, his tiny hand gripping one of Dayton’s fingers, then crouches down so they’re eye to eye.
“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Army, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.
” I graciously take it, knowing Hudson is far too young to understand the magnitude of what he’s being given.
But I vow that we’ll always hold space for Seth and LeAnna.
It’s been sixteen days since Hudson came to live with me.
The majority of our time is spent traveling back and forth to therapy sessions, since his treatment facility is roughly an hour away.
Briggs is typically the one who takes us since he isn't employed, which begs the question of how he can afford to live, much less have the extra funds to self-pay my medical bills and purchase a brand-new SUV.
In between our visits to Covey, we stick close to home, not wanting to become a talking point for small-town gossip.
Since I have Hudson to think about now, I’ve been more conscious about my comings and goings, much to the guys’ delight.
He needs normalcy, not an overeager reporter sticking a camera in his face or plastering his picture on the internet.
Things got even dicier after the murder-suicide that took place in the courtroom that day, so Raiden has been keeping a close eye on anyone who seems overly persistent.
As a key witness, I couldn’t give an interview even if I wanted to, but that minor detail hasn’t stopped the vultures from circling.
These past few days have been especially difficult.
My back aches more often than not, and Hudson hasn’t slept through the night once.
I’d be lost without the guys, or at least more sleep-deprived than I already am.
We were twenty minutes late to therapy this morning, and as I sit here in the waiting area with the other parents, I can’t help but feel like I’m an imposter.
They’re chatting quietly with one another, finding comfort in sharing their struggles, and I’m still fumbling around in the dark, clueless about how to be a parent most days.
“Angel,” Briggs calls out, doing a horrendous job of keeping his voice down.
He’s seated across from me, legs spread wide as he thumbs through a random subscription magazine I doubt he has much interest in.
His attire doesn’t match our current environment, but the faded black jeans slung low on his hips are doing wonders for his ass, his bad boy look wreaking havoc on my lower half.
I’m in a near-constant state of arousal these days, and at some point soon, something has to give. “What are you thinking about?”
My eyes track the shape of the words as they form against his lips, then slide to his neck, to the gruesome tattoo that replicates the veins and tendons that sit beneath his flesh.
I quickly avert my gaze, not wanting to imagine a scenario in which Briggs would ever have his throat split open.
Traveling down, my inspection hits a roadblock when the back of the magazine comes into view instead of the old band tee stretched tautly across his stomach.
My brows pinch together, frustrated that my ogling has been impeded.
Slowly, Briggs closes the magazine and sets it on the table.
My eyes snap upward, clashing with his obsidian orbs as he raises a single brow.
He settles back, casually waving his hand for me to continue my perusal.
My cheeks are blazing hot from being caught, but I’d be remiss not to finish what I started.
Briggs’ abdomen is a work of art. I’ve seen it bare, so I call upon that image, absently biting my bottom lip as I imagine trailing my fingers over the divots and grooves, toying with the trail of hair that leads to the waistband of his pants.
Glancing down, I see the prominent outline of his cock.
I suck in a shocked breath, my gaze flying to his, then around the room to see if anyone else is privy to the eye-fucking I’ve just given him and his resulting hard-on because of it.
When I’m certain no one is paying us any attention, I turn back to Briggs, the banked heat in his expression causing me to press my thighs together.
He stands abruptly, stalking forward with purpose.
I don’t have time to think before he takes my hand in his and begins striding across the lobby.
Only a few seconds later, he’s ushering me inside the family bathroom, the click of the lock sliding into place sounding overly loud in the sudden quiet.
I stumble backward as he advances, my back hitting the porcelain sink as his arms fall to either side of me, completely caging me in.
“Fuck, Angel,” he groans, burying his face against my neck. “You can’t look at me like that and not expect me to do something about it.” A whimper escapes me when he trails the tip of his nose along my jawline, every word he utters causing his lips to brush my heated skin.
“What is it, baby?” I practically melt at him calling me that, his sex-drenched voice my new favorite sound. “What do you need?” His tongue traces the valley of my breasts before he bites down lightly.
“Briggs,” I choke out, so full of need I can barely think straight. “Please.”
“Please what, Angel?” I grab his hand, shoving it between my thighs. “You want my fingers?” I nod frantically. “I need you to say it, Andi. Say you want me.”
“I want you,” I happily admit, willing to say whatever he wants me to if it’ll make him relieve the ache growing more unbearable the longer he drags this out.
“Fuck yes, you do.” Briggs doesn’t waste a second more, yanking at the waistband of the expensive athletic leggings he insisted on buying me.
He tugs them down just enough to slide his hand inside, his fingers brushing the damp center of my underwear.
The faint touch drags an indecent moan from the depths of my soul. “Jesus, baby. You’re fucking soaked.”
“Hurry, Briggs.” I plead with him to put me out of my misery.
“I’ve got you.” My panties are shoved aside as the blunt tip of his finger breaches my entrance.
My body turns to jello, sinking further down the digit until I’m practically riding him.
“Fuuuuuckk, baby.” His free hand gathers a handful of my hair, tugging it harshly so I’m forced to arch my back.
“That’s it, tilt your hips forward so I can fuck you properly.
” Oh, shit. He’s put me in this position so my protruding belly doesn’t hinder his movement.
A flush of embarrassment washes over me, but before I can think to squirm away, he inserts another finger.
My head empties of all thoughts aside from Briggs and how expertly he’s working my body.
On the verge of exploding, a loud knock interrupts the beginning of my undoubtedly earth-shattering orgasm.