20. Honoria
Chapter Twenty
Honoria
Wombat texted or called me at least twenty times over a week and a half. It took me that long to meet with my therapist twice, do some deep self-searching, and decide absolutely nothing. Every time I thought, this is it, I’m going to tell him we’re done, I’d take one look at Molly and she’d whine.
Not to go out, not to come cuddle, just look at me and whine. Like she was trying to tell me something.
Then I’d change my mind and reread his texts, try to decipher if I’d hurt him or not, feel awful, make another note in my journal, and then force myself to work.
The problem with that is I was all caught up.
Which was absolutely unusual. There was always something to read, something to research, a case needing attention or documentation, yet I’d run out of ways to avoid the truth.
I couldn’t let him go. I didn’t want to. I should. It would be much better for my career if I did.
The meeting with Walt was tense once he found out the reason for the switch.
It was such a shift it was noticeable. He’d come in, jovial and amicable.
Then nodded and smiled at me, commenting how he’d bet I was as smart as his wife, Mary, maybe even smarter.
I tried not to take that as a sexist remark until he admitted she probably could pass the bar exam, but had decided on a career as a paralegal. Then he mentioned her firm.
They specialized in family law. A practice we didn’t have any depth in.
No sooner than he mentioned the partners who ran it, I knew exactly who she was. And she was sharp.
I sat a little straighter, knowing he’d complimented me.
Then we filled him in on my relationship status. His forehead turned red, and he muttered something like, “That stupid motherfucker and his damn dick.”
Stephen shot his eyes to the ceiling. Bill avoided eye contact by turning his gaze toward the wall.
I met Walt’s eyes. “Is that going to be a problem?”
He stared at me until the silence was uncomfortable. Then he grinned. “Absolutely not.” His eyes dipped to my chest and back. “None whatsoever.” And his grin got bigger.
Whatever he was planning involved me, and would likely entrap Wombat.
I left as soon as I could to warn him, but Walt had been there first.
Wombat took one look and walked away from both of us.
Which was a rejection, plain and simple. Which also was the reason I hadn’t answered any of his calls or messages since then. I glanced at the phone in my hand, noting that the last message was yesterday.
“Molly? What do you think?”
Her ears perked up, and all her attention was on me.
A puff of commentary was her reply. Then she climbed off her bed and ran up the ramp to join me on my bed.
With two left turns, a right, then another left, she found the right spot to plop down and shove her snout under my elbow.
I scratched behind her ears with both hands.
The phone vibrated against my leg, so I checked the display.
“It’s Wombat.”
Molly was almost more excited than I was. She stood up, tail wagging, and barked as I answered the phone. “Molly shush.”
She didn’t.
“Hey.” Wombat’s voice was intimate and almost too soft to hear over Molly’s ruckus. But no sooner than he spoke, she quirked an ear toward the device in my hand.
“Hey.” It wasn’t a great reply, but I didn’t know what else I should say.
Molly barked again.
“And hello to you, too, Molly-collie.” That got her going. She twisted in circles and dropped to the mattress in a roll that exposed her belly. I scratched it so she’d calm down.
“She’s excited to hear your voice,” I relayed to Wombat.
“She’s always excited. Lemon said you wanted to talk.”
I took a deep breath. “I… you called. And texted.”
There was a second or two of a pause. I felt the resignation in his voice hit the back of my chest like a fist. “I did.”
“I’m sorry?” I offered.
This time the wait was a bit longer. Molly twisted so I’d reach a better spot to scratch.
“Are you?”
Oh god. “I… it’s been a bit of a hassle at work.”
His breath hit the microphone as he blew it out. “My fault.”
“No, mine,” I quickly countered.
He snorted. “Honor.” There was reproach in that word.
“It is. I should have let them know sooner and it wouldn’t have been such an issue. My own insecurities caused the problems with the account and they had to tell Walt, and—”
“Yeah, about that.”
“I saw he went straight to you that day.”
Wombat paused again. “What did he say to you?”
“Just greeted me, said, nice day isn’t it? But it wasn’t. It was cold and rainy. What’s up with that?”
“He was in a snit. I’m glad he didn’t insult you. Then again, talking weather? That’s his way of pushing you away.”
Oh. Interesting insight. I logged it for any future encounters. “He’s mad at me?”
“He’s mad at everything he can’t control.”
“Sounds like Jim.”
The noise Wombat made wasn’t pretty. I laughed because I felt the same way. “The partners called him into a meeting yesterday.”
“How’d it go?”
The partners wouldn’t let him talk about the change in lead. “Terribly. He’s angry. And, he may have mentioned a comment or two about retaliation due to his paternity leave.”
“That’s valid. He takes off work, loses a big client to the lawyer who took up the slack. He might even have a claim.”
“Except for the fact that he can’t be impartial when it comes to you,” Wombat said.
“Impartial or not, we have to take steps to avoid this kind of drama.” We were getting somewhere now. I shouldn’t stop. I should tell him everything I’d been ruminating over for the last week and a half. But he interrupted me first.
“We, who? Your firm or us?”
“Us. Since we know Jim has a problem with you, we’ll avoid it.”
He used one word like a hammer. “How?”
“You know…” Did I have to spell it out?
It took him so long to reply, I checked to see if he’d hung up on me.
Eventually, he shifted tactics. “Honor, you and I both know I don’t have anything to offer you.”
“That’s bullshit. You are kind, considerate, great at listening and even better at giving grounded, sensible advice.
You take your time with me, and that’s…” God, it was everything.
“Jim never did that. I mean, okay, when we dated, sure he was all those things. But once we got married, he changed. It seemed like he didn’t want to pay attention to me anymore.
” And he certainly didn’t go out of his way to call or text me twenty times in one week. Well, a week and a half.
“But I’m broke. Every cent goes into this farm, the animals, the rescue. Or, my bikes. I can’t even buy you flowers for things like Valentine’s Day or anniversaries, or—”
“I don’t need you to buy me flowers. I can buy my own.”
He laughed quietly. “There’s a song about that.”
“Damn straight there is. I want someone who listens. I want… well… touch. Kindness.” Sex. I didn’t say it because my brain whispered that he probably heard that often.
“Right now, it’s a bit difficult to give that.”
My heart recoiled. “Why?”
“I could say a bunch of bullshit about the farm keeping me busy, but that would be a lie. The truth is, I want all that, too. I… need someone who isn’t taking from me all that time. Fuck. That’s about as wussy as you can get, right?”
“No. Admitting you want to be loved is far braver than any man I’ve ever known. Except maybe my dad. He’s one in a million.”
“Is he still alive?”
“Yes, Mom, too. She’s the opposite. Alway running things, always doing rather than stopping and hugging. Dad made up for that for her. I’m pretty sure they worked out a plan to work with each others’ strengths.” For some reason, I thought that was why Jim and I worked. Until we didn’t.
Unaware of my thoughts, Wombat said, “They sound cool.”
A note echoed in his voice. It was sad and lonely. “What about your parents?”
“They’re fuck-ups. That’s where I learned it from.”
“Hardly.”
“Wanna bet? Age thirteen, caught dealing pot. That’s two years before my dad went to juvie for his dealing.
Mom? Rehab at age eighteen. Right before she got pregnant with me.
Or maybe she was pregnant with me and Pop-pop put his foot down and signed her in.
I don’t know. Either way, got sober, popped me out, and went right back to dropping acid and doing shrooms.”
“Is your grandfather still alive?”
“Died. I was two months from turning seventeen. I took my GED so I could sign the paperwork for Lemon’s custody, otherwise they’d ship her off to Oregon and that fucking commune… she’d have been pregnant in two weeks. They’re weird.”
“You said you have a younger sister?”
“Hal. She’s dressing and acting like a boy so no one touches her.”
My brain started spinning. “How old is she?”
“Thirteen. She was a whoops baby. Mom hadn’t planned on having another kid.”
I tucked my reaction to that into a box so I could focus on Wombat instead. “Have you tried for custody?”
“Some. It’s difficult with her so far away. I can’t prove any abuse. Hal filed for a court attorney there. That’s when Mom and Dad got the house away from the community. She’s doing okay on her own so far.”
“She lives by herself?” My loud voice startled Molly. I soothed her as much as I could.
“Naw. Dad’s with her… most of the time.”
His silence was too loud. The situation did not sound good. “And your mom?”
“Babe. Don’t go there.”
He’d “babed” me again, knowing I didn’t like it. It proved how raw his pain was that he’d forgotten. “I won’t, okay? And I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t your fault she’s an addict.”
Oh. “Is your father?”
“Just pot. That’s not addictive.”
Denial. Cannabis use disorder was a real DSM entry. “Does he use every day?”
“Naw. He’s cut way back to take care of Hal. He’s got a job and everything. And that’s a sore spot with Mom, who thinks he should be dosing with her. They’re not doing good.”
“She needs help.” I hope he knew I was talking about his mother, not his sister. It sounded like he and his father were doing what they could.
“She won’t get it. One of these days she’s going to trip and not come back. Lemon won’t talk to her, and Sonnet? Geesh, she gave up on all of us before they took off. Which, in hindsight was the smartest possible move. I just wish she’d taken us with her.”
The call lapsed into silence. I couldn’t come up with anything comforting to say. I wanted to hold him and tell him he’d done his best. Even though on paper it looked like he’d followed in his parents’ footsteps, I knew he’d done more by age seventeen than they’d accomplished in their entire lives.
Wombat broke the silence first. “What are you wearing?”
“Sweatpants and T-shirt.”
“No bra?”
I smiled. He was trying to distract me. Or maybe he was trying to distract himself. “No bra.”
“Mmm.” The growl in his tone rumbled through the phone, touching me deep between my legs.
“You can come over if you want.”
“Can I stay the night?”
It was a work night, but I agreed anyway.
When I unlocked the door for him, he didn’t talk. Not in the hallway, nor on our stumbling trek up two flights of stairs, nor when he pulled my shirt off and tossed it over his shoulder to join my sweatpants on the floor.
In contrast, his clothing had been discarded in dribs and drabs all the way down the path to where he’d left his boots next to the cabinet in my front hall. His pants were the last to go as he handed me the condom he’d pulled from his pocket and joined me.
Only after he seated deep inside me did he groan out my name.
I kissed him madly, trying to silence him, or simply devour him.
I couldn’t decide. Our lovemaking was hot, angsty, and deeply wounded, but somehow we both just needed the connection.
It clicked together right as he dug deep.
His fingertips bruised my thighs, and I pressed the tips of my fingernails into his shoulders.
He bit my neck.
I screamed out as my pussy pulsed around him. His cock throbbed double to our heartbeats.
And then there was grace. It settled deep as we both clung to that connection between us. I didn’t dare speak for fear of breaking the spell it held over me.
He shifted, pulling out carefully, then wrapping his arms around me in a hug so strong I felt whole.
I replied by locking my legs around his waist and running one hand through his hair.
My other hand held his shoulders in place so we could remain connected by skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, and nothing could strip us apart.
Of course, that’s when Molly quietly climbed onto the mattress near our feet. She did her usual two lefts, a right, then another left. Her jaw settled on my hip with an almost human-sounding groan of pleasure.
Wombat lifted his head to check on her. “There’s no moving now.”
“Nope. Dog says stay.”
He snorted. “You’ve got a smart dog.”
A moment later, his phone rang, breaking our connection and ruining the nice bubble of happiness that had enveloped us.
He scrambled off the bed, displacing Molly, and dug it out of his pants. “Lemon, you know I’m at—Fuck!” He straightened with his back to me. The muscles of his back tensed. “Just drive, get him there as fast you can. I’ll meet you. Is Fly with you?”
In the pause, he pulled on his jeans and fastened them while bracing the phone against his shoulder.
“Good. Tell him to drive faster.” He set his phone on the nightstand and swore again. “Where the fuck is my shirt?”
“On the steps? What’s wrong?”
“Dumb Ass.”
What? Oh, no. “What happened?”
“He ate something stupid, I think. Lemon says he’s having a reaction. She’s induced vomiting and Fly is taking her to the all-night vet.” He grabbed his phone and stared at me with a lost expression that I couldn’t fix. “I gotta go.”
“Go!” He needed to be with his dog.
“I’ll call you later.”
Before I could reply, he was gone.