Love and war, p.83
Love and War, page 83
She starts humming something sweet, but coming from my daughter, it sounds haunted and borderline fucking scary. Her blue eyes darken several shades as she looks past me out the window at the beach, the moonlight casting an eerie glow on her face. Baylee used to get the same look in her eye when she thought about Gabe. There’s no doubt in my mind, Hannah is thinking about him too. And whatever it is, I certainly don’t want to think about it.
“When did you know you were different, Daddy? When did you realize you were sick?” she asks and reaches for her mug of tea on the end table. She sips it and looks at me over the steam.
I scrub at my face and shrug. “I don’t know.”
But that’s a lie. I remember the exact second I realized something was completely wrong with me. It wasn’t long after my high school girlfriend moved on because I was going insane. Dad was at his wits’ end with me. I’d become antisocial and refused to leave my room. But that isn’t when the realization occurred.
It happened almost like a crack in a glacier.
Small at first.
Then it seemed to run from me. Zigzagging back and forth away from me at light speed.
I’d desperately tried to hold the fissure together. Dug my fingernails into the black ice of my mind. Watched them rip from my fingers as the divide spread open. The crack became a valley, and I fell. So far, I fell. Into the nothingness. Alone.
That day, I attempted to calculate how many seconds I’d known my mother before she passed away. I’d obsessed over those last moments of her life. Grew confused on the calculations because I wasn’t exactly sure of the exact moment she’d left this world. I replayed the horrific scene of her blood and brain matter all over my parents’ bathroom over and over again. Sometimes the calculation would vary by a few hundred seconds. Other times just a few seconds.
It maddened me.
I needed to know.
I’d had a burning desire to cut open my head and demand the memories to become clearer for me. To pull out the part of me that actually paid attention in that exact moment. It was then that I went into the bathroom and buzzed all of the hair off my head. Each strand fluttered into the bathroom sink until my flesh-covered skull was on display. The answers were all inside. I just needed to cut them out.
I’d held a kitchen knife out before me and glared at it for hours. Actually, it was fourteen hundred and fourteen seconds to be exact. But who’s counting?
I imagined seeing the blood run down my forehead. To see it dripping down over my eyelids, blinding me with red. The very idea of the horror show replaying again was enough to make me drop the knife with a clatter. I’d gagged and gagged and gagged until I expelled my lunch into the toilet. Then, I’d become fixated on the hair discarded in the sink.
How many were there?
Hundreds?
Thousands?
I found a pair of tweezers and a Ziplock bag. That afternoon, I stood in front of the sink counting my hairs. Each and every one of them. Dad worked late that night. When he’d come home, I was still counting. He’d taken one look at me and broken down. Sobbed and sobbed in the doorway as he regarded my crazed self.
And I was crazed.
It was the beginning of my confusion. My mental hurricane. My self-hate.
I’d cracked. That afternoon, I cracked and it wasn’t until I met Baylee that I was able to bridge the divide. She healed me. Not only did she place bandages on the splits in my mind but she also showed me how to bring the two torn parts of me back together. With steady, sure hands, she stitched me until I was no longer ripped in two. One day at a time, she healed me.
“Your move,” I tell Hannah as I slide my rook into place.
She groans. “Ugh! Dad! How do you always know what I’m going to do?”
I’m still smirking at her when the front door swings open and Ren stalks in. He slams the door, and I cringe hoping he didn’t wake the babies or Bay. Calder is out with friends. Not that the kid ever sleeps, anyway.
Hannah frowns at me. “He’s still mad at me?” Her expression is crestfallen.
I close my eyes and expel a deep breath. Being mad is the biggest understatement of the year. Ren hates Hannah for the path of destruction she left in her wake. I know this because he’s screamed it at me on more than one occasion since Gabe dropped her off on our doorstep to go find Heath.
“He’s not mad,” I lie.
She makes a humming sound but then leans forward to focus on her move.
“I’ll be right back, Han. I’m going to go talk to your brother.” I stand and press a kiss to the top of her head before striding down the hallway after my boy.
I hate that they once had such a close relationship, yet now he won’t even speak to her. Not that I can blame him. Hannah’s ruined so many lives with her choices. But what Ren and Bay don’t get is that Hannah can’t help it. She doesn’t operate like they do. Her mind doesn’t know the lines of right and wrong. Hell, even Gabe has some sense of right and wrong—otherwise he wouldn’t be so damn protective over Toto.
But Hannah?
She’s like me.
Darker, though. Unpredictable. Certainly not reachable.
Her mind isn’t a crevice that can be pushed back together.
No…
Her mind is a black hole.
Empty. Crushing. Never ending madness.
Anything that gets sucked up into her twisted vortex gets decimated. She ruins people. Lives. Hearts.
Which is why I watch her every move. Just like in our chess games. It is absolutely imperative I learn everything I can about her darkness. Because if I understand it, then I can keep her away from it. Keep my once sweet baby girl in the light. Gabe, surprisingly, keeps her fairly level-headed. But he doesn’t understand her. He feeds her inner monster when she’s ravenous. He protects her from herself. And protects those he loves from her. But he simply doesn’t get her. Not like I do.
One day, I’ll learn about her black hole.
I will figure out her inner algorithms. Crack the code of her head. Cross all the Ts and dot all the Is. I’ll turn her black hole inside out. I’m so sure of it.
By the time I push into Ren’s bedroom, he’s standing with his back to me, his shoulders tense. When I reach out and pat his back, he flinches. It’s then that I see the bandages sticking out of the neck of his shirt.
“Did you add more to it?” I question.
He turns to regard me. My sweet son—always the boy who did what he could to please Bay and I—is gone. After witnessing the bloodshed online recently, he’s been a little fucked up. His steely blue eyes are hardened. All the softness of my son is hidden from me. He clenches his jaw and glares. “I got it filled in.”
I’m not one hundred percent on board with my oldest son getting a full back tattoo, but it seems to be therapeutic for him. It started not long after Brie officially moved on from him. Every couple of weeks, he’d get more added on. But after the massacre, he’s seemed almost obsessed with finishing it.
“Can I see?” I question.
He shakes his head. “Later. Why is she still here?”
Ren. Straight to the point. Just like his mother.
I let out a sigh of frustration. “We’re the only ones who can look after her properly until Gabe gets back. It’s not safe for her to be alone…” I trail off. We both know why.
His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. “I want access to my trust fund.”
I gape at his sudden change of discussion. “Why?”
“I’m moving the fuck out of here. The dorms are just temporary, and when I’m not there, I have to come back here. And I can’t stay here any longer. This isn’t home,” he seethes. “Not when that monster prances around as if nothing happened.” He rips at his hair and lets out a guttural growl. “Everything happened.”
My heart races in my chest. Thump. Thump. Thump. I try to focus on my boy rather than the urge to count the loud beats. He needs me. He needs my focus.
“I can give you your money,” I tell him, my voice hoarse. “But, Ren, I really wish you would reconsider—”
“THERE IS NOTHING TO RECONSIDER!”
His entire body quakes with rage. Both of his hands are fisted. My son is no longer a boy. He stands taller than me. Nineteen looks good on him. The past couple of months, he’s spent more time in our home gym than anywhere else, and his muscles have really filled out. He avoids Hannah at all costs. Lives in his headphones with his music blasting continuously to block out his family.
It’s cutting my chest wide open.
I want to fix my boy.
But right now, I have to fix my daughter.
Ren is smart. He’ll figure it out. The kid just needs his space.
“I’ll write you a check in the morning. Whatever you need,” I assure him. My tone sounds resigned to the fact that Ren will only heal if he gets away from his sister, who was instrumental in his life being torn apart.
“Thank you,” he manages. Barely. He turns and starts yanking clothes from his dresser and shoving them into a bag. I’m leaned against the wall watching him when the door squeaks open. When Hannah’s blonde head comes into view, I open my mouth to ask her to leave us be.
But Ren sees her before I get a chance to.
“Get out,” he snarls, his muscled arm quivering with rage as he points at the door behind her. “Get the fuck out of my room and out of my goddamned life!”
She tenses at his words and shoots me a sad look. “Ren—”
He stalks over to her with lightning speed. I tense, preparing myself to yank him away if his temper flares any more. His finger points at her chest as he glares down at her. Their bodies are nearly touching. “I hate you, Han. Do you understand that in your fucked-up little head? Hate.”
Tears well in her eyes. “You don’t mean that.”
He scoffs, narrowing his gaze. “Every word. You ruined my life. You ruined Brie’s life.”
She tenses at the mention of Brie. I know this look too. The look she regards Bay with on occasion. The one she flashes to Toto at times. I’m not at all comfortable with this look. It’s one that screams: I could make you disappear with a snap of my fingers.
I fucking hate the look.
“Okay, you two,” I grumble and grab Ren’s elbow. I drag him away from her and stand between them. “Han, go to bed. Ren, pack your stuff. We’ll talk about this later when tempers aren’t hot.”
Tears roll down my daughter’s cheeks and she launches herself into my arms for a hug. I know those tears, though. They aren’t real. They aren’t genuine. They’re the ones she uses to get what she wants. Right now, she wants Ren to forgive her.
Unfortunately, I don’t think Ren will ever forgive her.
“We’ll talk soon, son,” I say to him, giving him a nod of my head.
“Yep,” he grunts out before he goes back to packing.
I usher Hannah out of his room and into hers. We don’t speak as I give her the pills that seem to be helping. Once she’s settled into bed, I kiss her goodnight and shut the door. Now that she’s not acting so crazy, I don’t have to lock her in the room at night.
But Baylee and I lock ourselves in our room.
With both Mason and Toto.
You can never be too sure with Hannah.
By the time I make it back to my bedroom, Ren’s already gone. I hear the thump of his bass as he peels away.
Poor kid.
My bedroom is dark, aside from the glow from the closet. Toto sometimes gets scared, so we leave it on for her. She’s passed out in her pack-n-play. Her blonde curls glow in the light from the closet. God, I love that little girl. Next, I peek in on Mason. He’s in a basinet beside Baylee. She swaddled him up, and he looks serene sucking on his pacifier. The boy looks just like Ren did at that age. My heart swells at how beautiful our children are.
“Come to bed,” Bay murmurs in her thick, sleepy voice.
I peel off my T-shirt and shove down my lounge pants. As I crawl into our bed, I’m assaulted with her scent. It’s a permanent happy place in my mind. So feminine and clean and just Baylee.
“What was all the yelling about?” she asks in a whisper.
I haul her to me and press a kiss to her forehead. “Hannah and Ren.” Our eyes meet, both of us wearing matching frowns. “He wants access to his trust fund. He’s moving out, baby.”
A storm brews in her eyes, and she chews on her bottom lip for a moment while she contemplates my words. After a moment, she darts her eyes to mine. “I don’t want him to go, but maybe he’ll be happier.”
I nod and slide my palm to her hip before slipping it under her shirt to stroke the delicate flesh on her back. “He needs his space. It’s better to let him have his money than for him to quit college or something.”
Her fingers skim over my chest and she sniffles. “Everything is a mess right now, War.”
I lean forward and capture her lips. So soft. So fucking supple. “This mess is ours. We’re the only ones who can clean it up. This mess is our responsibility.” I kiss her deep enough to draw out a needy moan from her. “But we will get it cleaned up. Then we can be happy again.”
Pushing her onto her back, I lick away her tears as I strip her out of her clothes. We’ve only been able to go back to having sex in the last couple of weeks. Thankfully, though, we don’t have to worry about birth control because she got her tubes tied after Mason.
“War…” My name on her lips is a prayer. She needs me to fix it all for her. Of course I will. I’ll always owe her for fixing me.
“Shhh,” I murmur against her mouth as I part her legs and settle myself between them. I tug my hardened cock from my boxers and tease her wet opening. Then, with a low growl, I push into my perfect wife.
Once I’m seated deep inside her heat, I lift up to look at her. “I love you, Bay.”
Her fingernails dig into me and her heels press into my ass as she urges me to fuck her. I suck on her sweet tongue as I deliver the thrusts she wants. Exactly the way she likes them. Exactly the right pace.
With every pound into her tight body, I feel my own climax taunting me. It’s so close, but I don’t want to lose control unless she’s unraveling with me. Now that we have two small kiddos to deal with, our sexual times have been limited. I want her to orgasm and give me all of her, even if only briefly.
“Come all over my cock, baby,” I urge. My fingers slip between us and I massage her swollen clit. Having been married for nearly two decades, I know exactly where to touch her. I know how many seconds it will take her to explode with pleasure the moment I find her sweet spot.
“Oh,” she moans in the softest of whispers.
Her body clenches around mine. It drives me mad with need. My nuts tighten for a brief moment before I’m draining my desire into her.
“God,” I say with a grunt and nip at her bottom lip. “You make the hottest sounds when I fuck the pleasure out of you.”
She lets out a quiet laugh and grins up at me. Her blue eyes sparkle. “War?”
“Yeah, Bay?”
“I am happy.” She palms my cheek. “Everything is a mess, no doubt about it. But I’m happy. As long as you’re here taking care of me and the kids, my life is complete. You’re a good man.”
I flash her a lopsided grin. My cock, which had been softening, hardens up rather quickly. “I’m about to make you happy again. Then, we’re going to shower.” I buck into her hard enough to make her yelp. The time for sweetness is over. It’s now time to bring out her claws. I fucking love it when she digs them into me. “And after we shower, you’ll make me happy too when you let me suck on that sensitive clit of yours. It’s been far too long, baby.”
My hips buck powerfully into her. The pain of her fingernails has me groaning with pleasure.
“Don’t stop,” she begs against the shell of my ear.
I’ll never stop.
CHAPTER THREE
Brie
I’m broken.
Used up.
Empty.
Fucking lost.
The pillow beneath me is soaked from my tears. Days and days. They all bleed together. I’m lost inside this vortex of pain. Unsure where it all starts and where it ends. One thing’s for sure, though.
Duvan’s not here with me.
Heath ripped him away from me. He came into my life, one last time, and took what never belonged to him. The ache in my chest intensifies. A pain unlike one I’ve ever known claws from within me. It’s like a caged beast desperate to escape. But God has punished me—again—for some reason. Because, this time, I’m to manage this beast all on my own. This beast of despair devoured the old one within me. Before that, I only thought it was bad after my mother was taken from me. Now, I realize it wasn’t a beast at all. Just some sad little animal.
But the feral animal in me now is not small at all. It’s devastated and crushed and growing by the second. The animal is also very angry. She has a thirst for blood. The one she wanted to devour is already gone. That only leaves the thirst for one man.
Esteban.
The cravings that used to surge through me were because of what he could give me. The heroin. Heated bliss that stole all the pain away. I know that if I wanted it again, I could figure it out myself this time. I could drive into the city, purchase the product, and get high.
If I wanted to.
If I didn’t have Duvan’s baby growing inside of me.
But I don’t want to.
The craving when I think about Esteban now isn’t about the drugs. It’s about making him bleed. It’s about punishing him because he deserves it after all he’s done. It’s about vengeance. I want him to be the recipient of the pain I can’t dole out to Heath because he’s dead.
Esteban will be the one to pay for the sins of Heath.
I want his blood to coat my fingers as I cut his heart from his chest.
Swiping a tear from my cheek, I sit up and look over at Duvan’s empty spot. The first night we’d arrived back home, Daddy tried to comfort me. As soon as the bed dipped with his weight, I screamed at him to leave. I was so afraid he’d steal away the lingering scent Duvan left. That he’d take away the memories of my husband.
