Chapter 27
twenty-seven
My wife.
My wife…
Somehow, drunk off my ass and blitzed with happiness, she wrangled me back to our place. Put me in the shower. Handed me water and anti-inflammatories. Dressed me in my shorts. Put me to bed.
And then she cuddled me.
When I wake up, dry-mouthed and still a bit dizzy, I stumble quietly out of the bedroom. Carefully closing the door so I don’t disturb her sleep.
I got too drunk because I thought she wouldn’t come. Thought I could ward off feelings of loneliness, of disconnect, with whatever warmth I could pour into myself.
But when she showed up…it meant everything. Our first night out showing off as husband and wife. I’m still on a high today.
I pass one of her poetry books lying open on a pile of medical texts. It has lines that jut out at different lengths. Grabbing a nearby pencil, I underline a few passages and smile. There. That’s romantic.
Hopefully, I didn’t just highlight something insane.
Next to the book is a tin of lemon drops, and I pop one, relishing the flavor of Scout’s kiss.
I start breakfast. Eggs. Toast. And bacon.
I add pancakes to the menu just in case she doesn’t like the other options.
Then slice avocados, tomatoes, and strawberries.
Once everything is done, I lay it out like a buffet on the island.
Rubbing my belly, I worry she won’t get up in time to enjoy it all hot and fresh.
She creeps out of our room, long, brown hair a tangled mess down her back.
“I feel spoiled! What’s all this?” she asks, voice still hoarse from sleep.
I gather her in my arms and hold her for a silent moment. Just feeling the weight of her body against mine. We sway in sync. As casually as I can, I sniff her skin, the smell wintry like juniper berries as I press my kiss to the top of her head.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” She softly peels back and glances up at me with a wondrous smile. “Because I could get used to all this.”
“Sure! I like to cook. Sundays can be buffet breakfast.”
A flicker of hesitation passes through her eyes as she asks, “And slow dancing before the meal?”
If I thought my feelings of gratitude for last night, of getting pulled toward her, couldn’t grow more, I was wrong. She appreciates our dance more than the food.
“Yeah,” I mutter through a tight throat. “Of course.”
Her hand reaches out to slide along my bare arm as she pulls me toward the kitchen and bar. We load up our plates, me letting her go first, though my stomach growls with incessant need.
“This is incredible! Thank you!”
“It’s just as much for me as for you. But I wanted to thank you for coming to my rescue last night.” Between bites, I confess something I need her to know. “I don’t normally drink that much. Just didn’t want you to think you married someone who gets so sloppy.”
She shrugs. “You’ve seen me sloppy. It’s fair. Besides, you were quite funny.”
“I was?”
Swiping at her chin with the back of her hand, she giggles, almost losing her bite. “Yeah. The, uh, Scout Song was utterly phenomenal. Think you have a career in songwriting ahead of you.”
I groan. “Fuck. Forgot about that…”
“I wanna know who Scout isssssssss…… I want you to show meeeeeee….” She reminds me with a deep vocal croon.
I slap a hand to my forehead. “Don’t remind me.”
“But you really can sing! Even after falling from a keg stand. It’s impressive. Not to mention, the insistence on wearing your socks in the bathtub.”
“Stallions’ luck.”
“Well, they should win today, then.” She laughs silently, shoulders shaking.
I catch a tear on her cheek with my thumb. “Thanks for taking them off before I got into bed, though.”
“There was no way I was sleeping on soaked sheets. So you’re welcome.”
I nudge her arm with mine. “I got rid of the scary candy.”
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Saw it in the trash, so I emptied it,” I clarify.
With a long chew, she almost chokes. “T-Thank you.”
I give her a moment to collect herself, but her demeanor changes rapidly from light-hearted to serious. Finishing my plate, I shove back from the counter. “What’s the deal with that?”
“Ayan used to leave them on my desks in class.”
My grip on the counter tightens. I don’t like that. “And you…put one in the freezer?”
Flames heat her cheeks. “No! I didn’t put it there! I thought you did.”
I blink rapidly, astounded by her fiery reaction and also relieved she’s not keeping mementos from her ex. “Nope. Maybe one of my brothers shoved it in there when they helped us move?” Probably Nico. I’ll have to remember to ask him about it later.
She nods. “Yeah… Okay.”
After setting down her fork, I gather up the plates, but she stops me. “You cook, and I’ll clean.”
My eyebrows raise. “I’m very okay with that rule.”
I stretch tall, then flip on the TV, hunting out the football games for the day.
“What’s this?”
She saunters in as I laze back on our sofa, the poetry book held open as she reads it.
I smirk. “Wanting to share how I was feeling about you.”
“You, um, underlined: ‘It is funny, you will be dead some day. By you, the mouth, hair, eyes. The unique and nervously obscene need. It’s funny. They will all be dead.’”
I freeze, my eyes widening. “Yeah. That one…felt right.”
Her lips form a solid line. “Do you often underline passages in books?”
My mouth parts as I try to form an answer, when my phone buzzes on the table. Loud enough to startle us both, and for me to feel a moment’s relief from her piercing gaze.
I press the button on my voice activator, and it calls out an incoming email from the president, scheduling an appointment with me for tomorrow. My back immediately beads with sweat.
What now?
“You’re going to watch the games?” Scout asks after I settle in, belly full and brain now buzzing with worry.
“Yeah. You have plans?”
She glances at the dining room. “I was going to study, but, um. Do you think you could help me with some flashcards?”
I hesitate, heartbeat rising into my throat.
“Just between commercials. Not to interrupt!” she assures me.
A mountain of guilt and want pushes on my shoulders. “Yep. I can do that. I can help.”
And I try. I do. She sits cross-legged in front of me. Sweats loose. Hair tossed on her head in a messy bun, and her glasses perched low on her nose. It’s all so fucking hot. But every time she hands me a card, the letters blur the longer I stare at them.
I hold them up. Fingers shaking. She answers something while I nod absently. And the longer it goes on, the more the petrifying fear of being uncovered hits me.
I turn toward the game again and again, hoping to escape this moment. That the torture will end soon. But my mind’s on anything but what’s on the screen. It’s not even on the letters on the cards.
It’s focused on the burning humiliation rising in my chest.
“If you can’t pay attention and want to watch the commercials instead, that’s fine. I’ll just call someone else and go to the library.”
“Scout, I, uh…”
“No. It’s okay.” She says it curtly, like she’s hurt, not angry.
But I don’t stop her. Even when the pounding of her steps echoes through the apartment. Not even as the door slams shut.
Because maybe she sees what I am. And she deserves a better man.
It’s lonely without her here.
Sunday night is Greek House meeting night for all fraternities and sororities.
I lead Delta’s without any issues, other than having to address Lex Lynx almost getting arrested for another race against the cops. By this point, I feel like he’s just baiting them to see how much he can get by with.
Scout’s already in bed, half asleep, when I return home. Omega must have ended early.
Despite the chill in the bedroom, I slip under the sheets and pull her toward my chest. Pressing a kiss to her neck, I whisper, “Goodnight, tulip.”
She doesn’t protest. Within a minute, she softens against my body, falling into a deep sleep.
That’s when I can rest.
Monday morning?
She’s gone. No note. And the winter light streaming through the windows is too blue.
That afternoon, I’m convinced I have an ulcer. All the pep talks in my head aren’t working to calm my nerves before heading to the president’s estate.
I stuff my hand in my pocket instead of shaking hers, relieved that she doesn’t offer it.
“Have a seat, Mr. Griffin.” The look on her face says this is all business. And I’m in trouble.
I clear my throat and lean forward. “What’s this meeting about?”
She waves to one of her enforcers at the door, and he steps outside. There’s one still lingering in the back, but she calls him forward. Instead of standing near her, he hovers over my shoulder. Like an impending threat.
With a plastic smile, she takes a deep breath.
Expression calm, but serious. “Mr. Griffin? We’ve noticed your new wife has not been wearing her approved POT bracelet.
The crew on the Wellness Initiative were waiting for her biofeedback to take some notes.
And the pills… We need to know how she’s responding to the fertility vitamins she’s taking. The ones we approved.”
I swallow hard. I haven’t noticed if she’s been taking them or not. And now that she mentions it, I haven’t seen the bracelet, either.
Cold crawls over my skin until I break out in goosebumps.
“I see…” I hear myself say.
“Has Scout been expressing any…bouts of anger? Perhaps a lingering paranoia? Persistent distrust?”
“Paranoia?”
“Feeling as though others are plotting against her or conspiring to harm her in some way?”
The lollipop incident settles in my gut like iron. “No?”
The president’s silence is louder than anything she could say.
A tense moment rings between us. It stretches until I can’t take it any longer. “I’ll monitor her. Make sure she’s wearing the bracelet. She must’ve forgotten after a shower.”
President Damon lifts one eyebrow, waiting.
“And count her tablets, too. Note anything unusual. Any symptoms she may exhibit.”
A genuine grin comes over her and comforts me, allowing my shoulders to relax. “Perfect! That’s what a dutiful husband and Viscount would do for his appointed.”
That’s when she offers the hand, and I shake it. Sweat and all.
As I stroll back across campus, the terror I had been feeling is slowly replaced.
Scout will follow orders.
I’ll make sure of it.