“Walsh,” Micah calls again, and it’s in pure desperation. I falter in my steps. “She loves you still. Not Vince. Please don’t throw her away because I was a fucking douche about this.”

  My feet plant and refuse to take another step. I turn back to look at him hesitantly. He’s leaning against the wall with blood streaming from the corner of his mouth.

  Yeah… that still makes me feel good.

  But I walk the few steps back to him and say, “Talk.”

  Micah stands up a little straighter, spits blood out of his mouth, and then wipes it on the sleeve of his shirt. “She loves you, Walsh.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I growl at him. Because that’s just a painful reminder of what I don’t have.

  “She doesn’t love Vince,” he says urgently. “She’s only with him because she was so lost, she latched onto the first security that presented itself.”

  “She told you that?” I ask him.

  His eyes cut away guiltily, then back to me. “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?” I snap, running out of patience.

  “She’s not talking to me. Hasn’t since that night.”

  “Then are you making this shit up about Vince?” I ask in disbelief at the levels he’d sink.

  Micah shakes his head. “No. She sent me a single text that just said she was moving back to L.A. with Vince, and she was going to try to figure out what she wanted.”

  “Nothing about that text says she doesn’t love him or that she wants to be with me,” I tell him pointedly, and I have another intense desire to punch him again.

  “But it does,” he insists. “She said she wanted to figure out what she wanted. Which means she doesn’t necessarily want Vince, but you.”

  I roll my eyes at him and turn to walk away. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “Walsh… you both love each other. Don’t fucking walk away from that.”

  Rage flows through me again, and I spin on Micah. His hands come up protectively, but I don’t physically strike out. Instead, I yell at him, “How do you know that, Micah? You wouldn’t fucking listen to us that night, so tell me how you know shit about what’s between your sister and me, you motherfucking, cock-sucking asshole.”

  “Okay, I deserve that,” he says hastily. Suddenly, all my anger just dies.

  I feel a hundred years old, beaten and broken, so I ask him again, “How do you know?”

  “Because I saw Jorie pleading with you that night to not leave her,” he says quietly. “I heard the pain in her voice. I saw the heartbreak on her face when you walked away.”

  “You made me walk away from her,” I accuse.

  “Yes,” he agrees readily. “I was so fucking mired in my own anger that I couldn’t see anything else. But I see it now, Walsh. She loves you. Don’t sit here and tell me you don’t love her back, because that would be a fucking lie.”

  I don’t respond, but my jaw clenches tight as I listen.

  “You love me, too,” Micah adds.

  Once again, I want to punch him.

  “I despise you,” I mutter.

  “No… you love me. You walked away from my sister because I asked you to, and you did that because you love me.”

  “But not anymore,” I growl at him, but the last of my anger ebbs away, and I notice with strange awareness there’s a flicker of hope within me. “I still want to kick your ass.”

  “If that will make you feel better,” Micah says as he throws his arms out wide. “I’ll do anything to help make this right. But Walsh… I’ve been two weeks without my best friend and my sister, and it’s killing me. I miss you both so much, and it’s absolutely just killing me that you two are in pain because of my selfishness. You’ve got to let me back in, and you’ve got to get Jorie back.”

  “Start by telling me everything you know about her and Vince getting back together,” I tell him as I start walking toward The Royale. It’s several blocks away, but the air is helping to clear my head.

  Micah rushes to catch up with me. “I talked to Elena before I flew out here today. She said Vince showed up at the apartment four days ago and convinced Jorie to come back with him.”

  “What’s his agenda?” I ask, so I can figure out how to shut it down fast.

  “I don’t think he has one,” Micah says dejectedly. “Elena felt he was being genuine and really wants to work things out with her, but he promised he’d give her space to figure things out first.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter. That presents a huge problem. First, Jorie is married to this dude, and I swore I wouldn’t stand in the way if she wanted to save her marriage. I have to decide if I’m being selfish by trying to impede that.

  “He told her he wants kids,” Micah adds.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I curse under my breath.

  Micah’s hand on my arm stops me in my tracks, and I turn to look at him. His eyes are solemn when he asks, “Do you want children with her? Marriage? Because if you don’t, then let them be. Let Jorie figure it out on her own.”

  “I want everything with your sister. If she’ll have me, I want to give her everything she wants and then more on top of that. I’m thinking three, maybe four kids, but we’d have to talk about that. A house in the suburbs. Fuck, I want a white picket fence with her and a golden retriever named Scout or some shit like that.”

  Micah’s lips peel back into a bloody grin, which seems completely macabre, but it makes me smile back at him.

  His smile dies a little. “I’m really sorry, Walsh. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. I should have never been wigged out by this in the first place. It was a huge mistake, and I’ve caused a lot of hurt that I’m asking you to fix for me.”

  There’s no hesitation when my arm shoots around his neck, and I pull him to me for an awkward bro hug with a huge back slap.

  Yes, I hope it hurts a little.

  When I release him, I say, “Let’s go get me packed up. I’ve got a flight to catch to L.A. in the morning.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Jorie

  I rinse my coffee cup out and put it in the dishwasher. The counters are pristine and wiped off. Vince and I bought this—our second house—about four years ago after we’d saved up money. I thought it was my dream home, but I’m realizing that real dreams having nothing to do with granite countertops and Viking appliances.

  Still, I made this house into a home, and I smile fondly at all my touches. Buttercup-yellow paint in the kitchen, cream suede couches in the spacious living room, and elegant lamps in the bedroom. All little things I’d picked out that said, “Jorie was here”.

  I walk through to the master bathroom and brush my teeth. Love my coffee, but hate the sour aftertaste.

  Vince graciously gave me the master suite when I came home with him. I can’t say he offered it altruistically, because I could see he had immediate hope I’d share the bed with him. I knew this because that first evening, he’d pulled me into his arms and tried to kiss me.

  The turning of my head away from his mouth was an indication I clearly was not ready for that.

  That’s when he graciously told me I should take the master suite, and he would stay in one of the upstairs bedrooms until I was ready to cross that bridge.

  I must say, outside of that, life back here with Vince has been a pleasant surprise. While we may not be intimate, we’ve lapsed into a comfortable existence with one another. I’ve found myself smiling, and… that’s solely due to Vince. He’s been charming, amusing, and he’s really been listening to me when we’ve talked. I can tell he’s trying his hardest to show me that he wants this to work, and he’s even being patient by letting me set the pace of things. So far, all I can give him is friendship.

  This hurts my heart, because I’m not sure if I can do anything more than that. I’m still unbelievably incapacitated by the hurt of losing Walsh, and it’s still not getting any better. If anything, I’ve layered anger over the top of the pain, because after I grieved, I had to move on to the other stages, right?

  And I’m fine in the anger stage for now.

  I’m pissed as hell at my brother and Walsh.

  Micah for not giving us a chance to explain and driving Walsh away from me.

  And Walsh… well, I’m pissed he let Micah drive him away. I don’t like forcing someone to choose, but in this case, and as I feed on some of my bitterness, I know he made a mistake in not picking me over Micah. If he’d done that, he could have still had me, and we would have worked on Micah together. I know my brother; he would have come around eventually.

  But Walsh was too fucking scared or cowardly or I don’t know what, but he never considered that option in the first place.

  Asshole.

  God, I love him, but I want to hate him.

  My phone rings, and I realize I left it back in the kitchen. I rush through the house, see Vince’s number, and answer it cheerily. “Hey you.”

  “Hey, Jorie,” he says affectionately, and I have to admit… that sounds really nice to my soul.

  “What’s up?” I ask him as I lean over the kitchen island.

  “My lunch appointment got canceled, and I wanted to know if I could take you out. Want to meet me at Cristo’s in about forty-five minutes?”

  I laugh. “You know I can’t pass up their Reuben.”

  “Exactly,” he says as a husband who knows Cristo’s makes my favorite sandwich in the world, and I’m totally addicted to the rye bread they use.

  “Okay, see you then,” I say.

  “See you then,” he says back, and then adds on, “Love you.”

  Simple words that got thrown about so casually in our marriage. Every phone call ended with that, or as he was rushing out the door to work, he’d throw “Love you,” out to me. I’d always call back, “Love you too”.

  This time, I don’t because it doesn’t come to me easily. My lips are practically glued shut. Instead, I just say, “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Okay,” he says, and I can hear the disappointment in his voice. “See you soon.”

  Forty-five minutes doesn’t give me much time, especially because I want to stop by the post office and mail a package to Elena. I found the most beautiful scarf while out shopping yesterday, and I knew she’d love it.

  I rush back to my room, checking my hair and makeup. I put a little bit of cherry Chapstick on and grab my purse to head out.

  When I open the door, I’m brought to a complete halt by someone standing there.

  A big hulking someone actually, and it takes several beats of my heart before I can process it’s Walsh with his finger outstretched toward my doorbell.

  “What are you doing here?” I’m able to finally push out around the emotion clogging my throat.

  “I’m here to bring you back to Vegas with me,” he says confidently, and while I’ll admit a thrill of adrenaline spikes through me at that alpha proclamation, all my hurt and anger throw up a huge wall.

  “Not interested,” I say as I start to push past him. “And I’m running late. I’ve got to meet Vince for lunch.”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to work for me,” Walsh says as his palm goes to my chest and he gently pushes me back inside. He follows me in, shuts the door, and turns the lock. “You’re going to have to be late.”

  “Walsh,” I sputter, but then his mouth is on mine and he’s kissing me like I’ve never been kissed before.

  His hands deep in my hair, fingers curled to grip it tight. He shoves his tongue into my mouth, and he bends me almost backward as he claims me.

  When he pulls his lips from mine, he demands in a snarling way that tells me the answer is very important, “Have you fucked him?”

  I shake my head no, and then I go dizzy when he pulls me up, spins me to the door, and pushes me back into it. Words of protest are stuck deep within me when Walsh goes to his knees, puts his hands up my sundress, and roughly drags my panties down my legs. I feel the cool air hit me there, and it feels cooler than it should because I’m wet.

  Fuck.

  Lifting each one of my legs in turn, Walsh pulls my panties free without so much as a protest from me. Then he’s pushing my dress up, hauling a single leg over his shoulder, and burying his face in my pussy. He gives out a groan and then inhales deeply, a move that’s so fucking erotic I almost collapse. But then my leg locks straight as his tongue circles my clit and his fingers slip inside me.

  I bring my hands to Walsh’s head, and I try to push him off with a feeble protest that’s a bit of a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Walsh, please stop. I’m with Vince—”

  His head pulls back, and he glares up at me. “Say his fucking name again while I’m tongue fucking you and you’re not going to like what I do.”

  Our eyes stay locked, and I can’t say anything. I want to just say “Vince” to see what Walsh would do, because I bet it would involve him slapping my pussy, but I don’t poke the bear. He waits a moment more for me to tell him to stop. When I don’t, he dives back in. He licks and sucks. Fucks me with his fingers. He waits until I’m on the edge of an orgasm, and then he pulls his lips away to look up at me and say things like, “God, I missed this” and “This is my pussy” and “You better fucking scream my name when you come, Jorie.”

  My orgasm starts to brew hard again and my whimpering lets Walsh know I’m close. He starts to pull away from me, the torturous bastard, but I’m having none of it. I grip his hair hard, flex my hips, and rub myself hard against his mouth. I can feel his lips peel back into an amused grin, and he gives a tiny nip to my clit.

  I explode viciously, screaming out his name like he told me to.

  I’m still shuddering with tiny micro bursts of pleasure when he surges up and whips his cock out of his pants so fast I don’t even have time to admire it. He’s got me in his arms, back slammed into the door, and he’s driving into me so deeply, I feel another climax start.

  Walsh is so lost inside of me, he grunts like an animal every time he thrusts in. I claw at his shoulders and rotate my hips, trying to get him deeper. I moan and whimper and pant, begging him for more.

  He starts to fuck me so hard, the door starts rattling.

  Walsh buries his face into my neck, and his mouth is on me. He gives me a sharp bite before he mutters, “Going to fuck your ass next.”

  So wrong. So sexy.

  The thought of him doing that to me, in my marital home, makes me explode again.

  So fucking wrong, but I scream out his name again.

  A noise penetrates the fog of lust… a clear squeak that seems to come from the door behind me. Then the slap of mail hitting the wooden foyer floor shocks me silly.

  Walsh’s hips slow down, and we both look at the mail the mailman just pushed through the slot.

  While Walsh was telling me he was going to fuck my ass, and then while I screamed as I orgasmed.

  We lock eyes, his cock now gently plunging into me but never stopping.

  Then we both burst out laughing. I drop my forehead on his shoulder, and laugh while Walsh continues to grind into me. But the laughs give way to chuckles, which gives way to more panting as Walsh starts going faster again.

  His breathing is labored, his cock batters me, and all I can do is hang on for the ride, knowing I’m going to have to deal with the fallout later.

  Walsh suddenly plants deep, and I look for the signs of his orgasm. But his eyes don’t close, instead locking on to me. He groans out his release while he says, “I fucking miss you, Jorie.”

  Then he crashes his mouth on mine again. My hands go back to his hair, and I hold him tight to me as we make out while he comes down off his orgasm.

  When he finally goes still inside me, he puts his forehead against mine and murmurs, “I love you, Jorie.”

  Every cell in my body seems to quiet over his words before pure joy bursts out of each one. The feeling is so climactic, I start to cry.

  “Shh,” he says as he pulls back to look at me. “It’s okay.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not.”

  Walsh’s lips press tight, but he nods some sort of understanding to me. I’m immediately terrified he’ll give up, but before I can say a word, he lowers me to the floor.

  Before he tucks himself into his pants, he’s immediately kneeling before me. He takes my panties and has me step into them. After he pulls them up my legs, he comes to a standing position before me as he adjusts the elastic waistband and pulls my dress down.

  “You have lunch plans with him?” he asks as he takes care of himself and zips back up.

  “Yes.”

  “Go meet him,” he says quietly. “Then you and I are talking after.”

  I glance at my watch and curse. “Shit. I’m going to be late. I’ve got to go get a shower.”

  “Uh-uh,” Walsh says as his palm presses me into the door. “You go eat lunch with him with my cum inside you. Let it keep your panties soaked the entire time so you don’t forget about me.”

  Jesus… my eyes glaze over from the lust his words provoke. He gives me a knowing smile and kisses the corner of my mouth.

  “I’m going to go get a hotel close by,” he says when he pulls back. “I’ll text you the information. Come see me after you finish lunch.”

  “Walsh,” I say with uncertainty. “This isn’t right.”

  “Wrong,” he says gruffly. “Everything’s been right between us from the moment I walked into that hotel bathroom and saw you bleeding. I’m not giving you up. If I have to compete with Vince, so be it. But I tell you right now, Jorie… if you come to my hotel after lunch, we’re going to fuck again before we talk. My balls have two weeks of misery to overcome.”

  I can’t help it. I snicker over that, getting a pinch to my ass in return.

  With that, I immediately start to fret over what I need to say to Vince.

  ♦

  Vince already has a table when I arrive at Cristo’s, and I’m relieved it sits in a relatively private corner. He stands when I approach and gives me a kiss on my cheek.