127. In the Trenches
IN THE TRENCHES
LIVY
I stare down at the bottle in my hands. I’ve been staring at it in disbelief for several long minutes.
Oxycodone.
Large, unlabeled, easily two-thirds full.
I’ve counted. One hundred and eighteen pills.
My butt is on the rug, and my back is to Layton’s side of the bed, but my eyes are glued to the amber bottle in my hands.
The front door slams with a crash, and I jump. I whip open Layton’s nightstand drawer and stash the bottle back in its home.
What the heck do I do now?
It would be different if I weren’t frozen to the spot and stunned into immobile silence.
Layton strides through the house from the sound of his footsteps and stops dead directly in front of me.
He strides. How did I not recognize the considerable leaps in progress he’s made?
Why have I not questioned the healing that I thought was physical and mental improvement that might very well be numbness to reality?
Oh hell.
I want to question him. I want to bow up, but I don’t have any fight in me after that slap of reality. Not until I have time to think. And my thoughts are way too scattered.
“What are you doing down there?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I push up from the floor, struggling to meet his gaze. “Good drive with Brighton?”
He scoffs. “No. In fact, I’d call it a setback. I think I need a nap.” He looks pointedly at the bed. “You interested?”
“I won’t argue with that. Let me let Kyle out, and I’ll be right back.” I leave without making eye contact and spend a moment in the sweltering heat and bright sunshine of a Texas summer.
My first thought is did one hundred and eighteen become one hundred and seventeen while I was standing out here?
Is that why he came into the bedroom instead of calling for me?
We don’t have a pattern where I know what he normally would do.
We’re new to each other. No history. No expectations.
No knowledge of the other’s behaviors or coping mechanisms.
How long has the bottle been at one eighteen? How long did it take to get down to that number? Where are they coming from?
“Come on, good boy.” I rub Kyle down as he returns from the grass. He lopes in, and I follow. And what I find is not what I left.
Shades have been dropped to make the room dark. “Whoa.” I might as well be blind walking in from outside.
Layton flips on a sconce light on the wall, illuminating him as he lies on his back on top of the covers, one hand under his head. “Is that better?”
“A little. Thanks. This may be my new favorite thing.” I point at the blackened window coverings.
He smiles, but there’s no joy there. His smile is brittle, almost bitter. “What was your favorite thing before?”
“I’ll have to think about that, but my first thought is the towel warmer in your bathroom. I don’t know that I can fully appreciate it, though, when it’s in the nineties.”
“Ah.”
“Get some rest, handsome.” I climb into bed under the sheet and curl into a ball. Quietly I add, “I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy your time.”
There’s no response.
I have no idea if he sleeps, but I never do.
I fight the war in my mind that circles like laundry in a dryer.
How bad is the pain? How numb is his body?
How dependent is his mind? How long has this been going on?
When will it end? What if he’s hurting himself worse and reinjuring his body because he doesn’t feel reality? What if he tries to stop cold turkey?
Or worse, what if he never plans to?
My tears flow, and by some miracle, I manage not to sniffle and clue him in to my struggle. I slide out of bed and pad into the bathroom to draw a hot bath.
Before I strip down and soak in my fears and frustrations, I text the one person I can think of who might be able to help.
Me: I need help and I want to keep it quiet. Can you call me?
I delete the message just as my phone rings.
“Livy? What’s going on?”
I slide into the water closet, dropping my voice. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. And I don’t know what to do or where to start.”
“Start at the beginning,” his smooth voice calms me with his cool authority.
“I found oxy here. Lots of it. I don’t have to tell you what that means. But we need to know where it’s coming from and how to address it. And I need a levelheaded friend right now. One who can remain dispassionate and methodical. And do the right thing by Layton.”
“I can do that.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing. Be there. Guide him. Love him. I’ll get back with you quickly.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
A click tells me the call has ended.
I set my phone aside and strip out of my clothes. I slide into the bath as I turn off the tap. The water is so hot it takes my breath away. It takes no time at all for my skin to pink and the wound on my leg to burn.
Warm tears run down my cheeks.
My mind spins until the scenarios are mush, and I can’t think anymore. The bath turns cool, but my body has absorbed all its heat. I towel off and pad back into the room, sliding back under the covers.
My pillow is damp with my earlier tears. My head’s fuzzy, and I give in to the exhaustion that overtakes me.
Layton
I wake to a pasty, dry mouth and a foggy mind. It’s dark in this room, and I have no idea how long I’ve slept. Turning my head, I see one of Livy’s bare shoulders peeking from under the sheet.
I slide it down enough to know that her shoulder is not all that’s naked, though I’d swear she was dressed when I fell asleep. But I was angry with Bright and just a bit suspicious of the woman at my side. My sister’s words niggled at me, and skepticism easily took root.
I roll into her, a big spoon to her small one, and bend my knees into the crooks of hers, touching her body every place I can. I wrap an arm over her and splay my hand on her flat belly.
“It kills me that I can’t bury myself in you. Need to feel you, Pix.” My words are whispers as I kiss the nape of her neck and down to the point of her exposed shoulder.
She stirs and looks over her shoulder into my eyes. “Layton?”
I back up enough to roll her to her back and drop my head to kiss her collarbone. I fight the pain in my back as I move over her, and push a hand under her shoulder blades, arching her, lifting her tits to my waiting mouth.
I suck hard before taking her nipple between my teeth and biting.
“Oh.” Her voice is gravelly with sleep and husky with want. A hand wraps around my neck, holding me close to her.
I roll my hips instinctively, trying to find her heat. It does nothing for my cock. I’d kill right now to sink inside her, be buried in her, to dissolve into her body.
I move a hand down from circling one of her tits, trailing down her ribs, toying with her belly button.
I torture her slowly until I dance my fingers down to her ankle and lift it onto my shoulder.
She sucks in a breath. I hold her eyes, still rolling my hips at her core, desperate for my dick to comply.
I let my fingers slide back over her calf, around her knee, under her tight thigh, and to her warm heat.
I play at her entrance, teasing her, and stretching out my attempt at seducing her. She lifts her pussy to find my finger.
“I need you inside me. I need your touch, Layton. Please.”
I spear her with one finger, and the look of ecstasy on her face is enough to make a grown man cry as she pushes against me and rides my hand.
“More,” she begs. “I need to be filled by you, overwhelmed by you.”
I pull my finger out slowly, crooking it to provide some friction, and plunge two fingers in hard, fast, and deep. The wet slapping of my hand against her pussy, her keening moans, and my grunts of desire and desperation fill the room like an orchestra.
Her mouth pops open as she closes her eyes, rolling her hips, fighting to get more of me, seeking her pleasure.
I stop my movements and press my thumb to the top of her mound, holding her down. “Look at me, Olivia.”
Her eyes snap open, and her mouth turns down in a frown. I hold her eyes, dragging out of her torturously slow before adding a third finger and twisting as I enter her.
“Why are you here?”
“What?”
“Why. Are. You. Here?” I emphasize my words with thrusts of my fingers deep inside her.
She looks bewildered and stops writhing. Anger replaces her confusion, and no sooner than it does, she slides her ankle off my shoulder and rolls to escape me. She’s fast, but my wingspan is wider, and I trap her in her flight and pin her face down on my bed.
I slide her long hair over one shoulder as she pants and rub my chin where her shoulder and neck meet. I place a kiss there. “Baby, I need to hear you say the words.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, but lifts her ass, seeking me.
I slide my hand under her body, through her lips, and find her clit. She’s so wet and slick, and I want to roar for making her body want me this much.
She lifts enough to masturbate herself against my fingers, rubbing herself back and forth against my hand. I trail kisses down her spine, watching as a shiver ripples down her body while she fights to get her pleasure, to get off.
I stiffen, refusing to move my hand between her legs until she moans my name and comes, continuing to rock through her orgasm as my hands feel her clench around me.
“Olivia Morgan.” I place an open-mouthed kiss on the back of her neck.
“You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.
You make it impossible not to fall in love with you. ”
She freezes under my touch before melting softer than I’ve ever felt her. “What?” she whispers.
“I didn’t stutter.” But now I wonder if I should’ve.
She turns her face to mine as if seeking something written there. “You’re falling for me?”
“No, Pix. I said you were impossible not to fall in love with.” One hand still around her hip, I use the other to brush the hair off her face and cup her cheek. “I’m in love with you. We’ve had a hell of a road to get here, but I’m glad it’s you on the journey beside me.”
She drops her head into the mattress. When she looks up at me, her lashes are spiked with wetness. But the megawatt smile that beams across her freckled face makes me feel ten feet tall. This stunning, brave woman is mine.
She rolls beneath me, looking up into my eyes. “I love you, Layton.”
It’s like a helium balloon explodes in my chest.
I love the woman in my arms. And she loves me back.
She loves me back.
I lift her chin, holding her to face me. “I’ve never said those words to anyone.”
“I love that I’m your first.”
“So long as you’re my last, Livy, I’ll be fine.”
I kiss her languidly, thrusting my tongue into her as I would if I were making love with her.
When I’m finished and she lies below me, my body is angry at what I’ve done today. And I don’t give a fuck.
“We did this all backward, you know? Crazy wild sex, then moving in together, then committing to each other, then love.”
I don’t know about that, but I won’t be the sap every time. “Are you saying you didn’t fall in love with me during the fabulous sex? And that there wasn’t something between us when you moved to Texas?”
“Oh, I fell for you all right. But that wasn’t love. That was fun and play. That was the possibility of what could have been. That was hope. Hope isn’t love, Layton. Hope is frolicking in flowers. Love is combat boots in the trenches. With you, those two hold hands.”
I fall silent.
“Then here’s to holding hands with you forever.” I kiss her again and roll to my side.