“I don’t feel worthy, Gabe. I don’t feel like I deserve you, or this second chance at possible happiness. I just caused an argument for no reason. . .”

  “Babe, get the fuck over here,” I interrupt. Shifting my seat as far back as it will go, I lean across the centre console, slide my hands under her armpits and pull her into my lap. Holding her against me, I breathe in her scent, loving the fact she smells like me and our home.

  “I think I might need some professional help,” she sniffs out against my neck.

  “Totally understandable considering the shit you’ve been through. If that’s the case, and you think it’ll help, then we’ll get it for you, but please, let’s not argue over things we can’t change. I promised you total honesty, Ren, so when you ask me questions about my past, I won’t lie to you. I’ll always give you that honesty, but it’s a two-way thing. When we pulled away from your old house, you should’ve told me that you were struggling, we could’ve gone home, camped out on the sofa and watched the shitty reality shows on the telly you love so much. We could’ve done anything you wanted, all you had to do was let me know.”

  She brushes under her eyes with the palms of her hands and looks down at me. She’s makeup-free with her hair piled on top of her head. A few wispy curls have escaped, and I tuck them behind her ears.

  “No, I want to get the stuff for Ava’s room. Working on that will give me something to do during the week, keep me from overthinking.”

  “You can redecorate every room in the house if that’s what it’s going to achieve.” I lean in and kiss her nose, which leads to a kiss on the mouth, her hand sliding into my hair, our tongues tasting. A car door slams, reminding us we’re in a public place, and we pull apart.

  “C’mon,” I tell her. “Let’s go buy my daughter a new bedroom.”

  Chapter 26

  Lauren

  After paying for the furniture I’d chosen for Ava’s bedroom, we headed across to the other side of the retail park for bedding, sheer window coverings, a rug, and some throw cushions. While I was in my element, Gabe was mostly silent, and it has my paranoia kicking in.

  After my tantrum earlier, no one could blame him if he was finally sick of me, done with my drama and meltdowns.

  As I stand with two cushions in my hands, holding them up to a print I’ve just spotted, I sense Gabe’s presence to the side and slightly behind me. I smell his aftershave and everything else that makes up his unique scent before he leans in.

  “You’re good at this. Watching you work is making my dick hard,” he says into my ear.

  I feel heat creep up my chest, neck, and cheeks. Tilting my head to the side, I turn and look at him.

  “Really? I thought you were over me and keeping quiet while considering whether you were going to dump me somewhere on the highway or take pity and return me to Jo’s.”

  He takes both the cushions from my hands and throws them in the trolley along with the sheet sets and doona covers I’ve already added.

  Putting his hands on either side of my hips, he turns me around to face him.

  “I’m pissed off that pricks’ words have stayed with you, I’m pissed off that they’re still affecting you, and I’m pissed off you don’t always share how you’re feeling with me, but I’m not pissed off with you. The only place you’ll be getting dumped is back into our bed later.”

  The words ‘our bed’ have me wrapping my arms around his neck and smiling up at him.

  “I have no words for you sometimes. You say things that leave everything inside my head scattered and scrambled, and I can’t think of a single response.”

  “An Essex Girl without a comeback? I don’t believe that for a minute, and if it’s true, perhaps it’s time to finally hand back your membership and declare yourself full-on Aussie.” The sexy smirk he’s wearing as he talks is doing all kinds of things to my insides, and before I can recover and come up with a comeback, I see a woman staring at us from across the store.

  “Fuck,” I say against Gabe’s chest.

  “Lauren? I thought that was you,” she calls out as she moves towards us.

  Julie fucking jug ears, the wife of one of Jay’s foreman is now standing next to where Gabe still has a hold of my hips. My hands have dropped to my sides, and as I step away and turn to face her, Gabe grabs hold of one.

  I can’t stand this woman. She’s a gossip. There’s barely a thing that happens on the entire peninsula that she doesn’t know about. Her eldest son went to school with Ryder, and she was all over whatever went on there too. Whenever we held work functions or dinner parties at our home, I always made sure to seat her as far away from me as possible.

  “Julie,” I greet her quietly. Giving a chin lift, I turn and add the print I was admiring to our trolley.

  She doesn’t take the hint that I have nothing to say and continues standing there.

  “How have you been? I’m assuming by that little PDA, the rumours are true, you and Jay have split?” Holding her hand out to Gabe, she adds, “Hey, I’m Julie. My husband is Lauren’s husband’s head foreman.”

  I give an eye roll as Gabe takes her hand and shakes it. I watch on as he gives it a gentle squeeze and brushes his thumb across the back.

  “Hey, Jules,” he says huskily. “I’m Gabe,” I can’t help but roll my eyes when he adds a wink.

  She nods. Still holding his hand, she continues to nod.

  “Gabe. . . that’s. . . Gabe, right. So, you’re. . ?”

  “Who I moved in with after Jay kicked seven kinds of shit out of me, and who I’m now fucking,” I tell her in my sweetest voice.

  Still under Gabe’s spell, it takes her a beat to catch up and turn her wide eyes back to meet mine.

  “He was beating you?”

  I nod and something shifts in her eyes, her face, her entire demeanour changes.

  “Oh, Lauren, really? I didn’t. Oh, Lauren. . .” Finally letting go of Gabe’s hand, she reaches for mine.

  “I’m sorry. Really sorry, Lauren. I had no idea.” She finally takes a step back, her eyes darting between me and Gabe, and I’m more than a little surprised at the sincerity in her voice.

  “I honestly didn’t know.”

  “Why would you?” I shrug. “Not exactly something he’d go to work and broadcast.”

  “No, you’re right, it wouldn’t be. Well, I’m glad you managed to get away from that situation. I wish you happiness with. . .” She gestures with her head. “With Gabe. Both of you, I wish you both happiness.”

  She actually looks sad as she talks and a niggly little thought worms its way into my head, and I can’t not say something.

  “Thanks, Julie. Listen, I have a new mobile. Would you like to take my number, you know, just in case you might ever want to catch up for a coffee?”

  I watch as she swallows, and I wonder for a moment if she’s going to cry.

  “You know what, yeah, I will take your number. Thanks, Lauren.”

  “No worries,” I tell her before reeling off my number as she taps it into her phone.

  “Goes without saying, I’d rather you didn’t share that with anyone else at this stage.”

  Julie pulls her phone in and holds it against her chest.

  “Of course. It’s safe with me, I promise, I won’t even mention to. . . anyone, that I’ve seen you.”

  “Thanks, that’d really be appreciated.”

  We say our goodbyes and Gabe and I stand silently as we watch Julie head straight for the doors and leave the store.

  “Well, that took a one-eighty,” Gabe says just loud enough for me to hear.

  “Graham, her husband is a dick, and I’ll be totally honest, she’s a gossip, has an opinion on everything and everyone, and I can’t stand her, but. . .”

  “He’s putting his hands on her.”

  “You get that vibe too?” I ask him.

  “Fucking oath I did. I thought she was gonna throw up when you told her what happened to you.”

  Throwing his arm over my shoulder, he pulls me against him.

  “She’s probably the way she is because she’s so unhappy with her own life. That was a really nice thing you just did, reaching out to her like that,” he says into the top of my head.

  “Don’t, coz I’ll cry,” I say into his chest. “I had no one I was comfortable telling. If he is doing that shit to her, I don’t want her to feel as alone with it as I did.”

  “Yeah, I get that. I’ve been there, Lauren, believe me, I’ve fucking been there.”

  I look up at him, frowning in confusion. “You’ve been there? Someone was hitting you?”

  His eyes aren’t on me, they’re staring out across the store.

  “Not hitting, but I had some other shit going on and didn’t know who I could turn to and ask for help.”

  Without even knowing what it was, my heart hurts for him.

  “Gabe?” I reach up and touch my hand to the side of his face, and he lets out a deep sigh.

  “Fuck me.” His lips and warm breath brush against my ear. “This isn’t the place, but we’ll talk about it soon, just not right now. Let’s get this lot paid for, we can come out again one night in the week for anything we’ve forgotten, but we need to go get paint now, then I need to get you home and get inside you.”

  So, we do exactly that.

  It’s been almost a week since our shopping trip. My clothes are in Gabe’s wardrobe, my GHD’s on his bathroom bench, photos of my boys sit on the bedside table, and my arse is in his bed every night.

  It’s all the little things that have helped make this week better. Having my perfume so I smell like me, seeing my things around the place, so it starts to feel more like home. All of this has helped me adjust and feel more settled. I’ve also been busy, giving me no time to overthink.

  I’ve spent the week painting a feature wall in Ava’s bedroom, washing and drying the new bedding we bought for her and hanging the prints on the wall.

  Shopping online, I used my business credentials to purchase a makeup station and Hollywood-style mirror, some photo frames, and a cool lava lamp from a company that is usually supplied to trade only.

  Now we just have to wait for the furniture to be delivered next week, and the room will be finished. Gabe has encouraged me to record the makeover and has spent a couple of nights this week helping me make the final updates to my website, including adding my new number, which I’d totally forgotten to do.

  It’s now Saturday. Gabe was up and out for a surf early this morning, something I would absolutely love to see him do if only he didn’t do it at the arse crack of dawn when normal people are still sleeping. He’s back home now; after hearing the shower running in the downstairs bathroom, I can hear him moving about in the kitchen. I debate with myself on whether I should get up but decide to wait and see if he brings me coffee instead. As I lie here, my thoughts turn to the path my life has taken the last few weeks.

  I think Gabe and I are now an ‘official couple’ but I’m not entirely sure. My kids know about us, we’ve been seen in public together, and tonight is the night of our first official date. I’ve no idea where he’s taking me, I’m just glad I have the contents of most of my old wardrobe here and won’t have to go out wearing a hoodie, leggings, and UGGs for it.

  It’s been a good week. I’ve mostly kept a lid on my emotional meltdowns. I’m not over the end of my marriage, having never experienced something like that, I’m not sure if it’s something you ever do. It’s hard to explain, especially with the speed it all ended, although, if I look at it realistically, it ended the first time my husband put his hands on me.

  That was when what we’d once had, came to an end. I didn’t stay on after that because I had to, Jay was never the controlling type. I worked, had my own money, own car, he never dictated what I wore or told me who I could hang out with. He just decided one day that it was okay to grab hold of my wrist and things escalated from there.

  I could’ve left sooner, should’ve left sooner, but I chose to stay because I was one hundred percent convinced things would eventually get better.

  My biggest mistake was not leaving after he dragged me out of the spa. I think I spent most of that week in shock and was trying to formulate a plan. I put too much emphasis on getting my documents and cash out of the safe, and here we are, over a month later and I’ve not needed either for anything so far.

  There’s been a few times, late at night when I can’t sleep, or during the day when I get lost inside my own head when I wonder if I deliberately dragged things out. Hung about for as long as possible, hoping that we could still turn things around. And even now, after everything, I can’t give an honest answer to that because I don’t know.

  It's now six weeks later and I have a new life, with a new man. Despite my emotional meltdowns, insecurities, and general whininess, Gabe wants me around, and I want to be here. It’s not just that the physical side of things works so well, but because of the way we’ve been thrown together, the amount of time we spend in each other’s company, talking, laughing, sharing stories and finding out about each other, it feels like we’ve been together longer than the time we have. There are moments where I forget I had another life before him, that I was living in a different house, with a different man, and when it hits, it just all feels so surreal.

  I both love and hate it.

  Mostly I’m terrified.

  Whenever Gabe talks about us, he talks like this is it, now I’m moved in, I won’t ever be moving out, not without him, but he’s not actually said it. Neither of us have said the words that would best describe the status of our relationship.

  Right now, I have no doubts that he’s into me, but I worry about the future. How will he feel when I turn fifty and he’s only forty? Will my age be a problem for him then? What about when my kids start having kids, making me a Grandma?

  I hold on to that thought as the bedroom door opens and Gabe walks in, bare-chested, trackie pants low on his hips, a tray loaded with coffee and toast in his hands.

  I lick my lips, smile, and sit up.

  “You like?” he asks with a wiggle of his brows and a smirk on his face.

  I adjust my pillows and lean back against the headboard as Gabe flips out the legs on the tray and sets it down in the middle of the bed.

  “Hell yeah, who doesn't like coffee and toast brought to them in bed?” I respond to his question, knowing that’s probably not what he meant when he asked.

  Climbing carefully into bed beside me, he passes me my coffee and a plate with two slices of buttery toast on it.

  “Babe, I meant all this,” he rubs his fingers over the bumps and ridges of his abs while giving me a nod and a cocky smirk.

  Folding one slice of toast in half, I put the plate back down on the tray and dunk the toast into my coffee.

  “That’s truly disgusting,” he states.

  “Oh, I don't know, disgusting’s a bit harsh, I think you scrub up pretty decent.”

  He shakes his head, then nods slowly.

  “I’m talking about your dunking habit, not me. I’m as fit as fuck, and you know it.”

  “Dude, you have a seriously high opinion of yourself this morning.”

  “Dude? Dude? Lauren, Dude is not the term you use when talking to, or referring to your man.”

  “I wasn’t, I was talking to you.”

  He takes a sip of his coffee, eyes on me over the top of his mug.

  “And am I not your man?”

  The smile has gone from both of our faces, and I decide to just put it out there and be done with the not knowing.

  “You tell me?” I ask.

  “Is your arse not in this bed, your clothes not in that walk-in, your girlie shit in the shower?”

  I take note of the way he called it this bed and not his bed and nod slowly.

  “All of those things are in all of those places, yes.”

  With a flick of his wrist, what’s left of his slice of toast lands on the tray, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me.

  “My dick not inside you at least once a day?”

  “It is.”

  “Do we not stay up half the night talking shit once we’ve done fucking?”

  “We do.”

  “Are we not lying on sheets you washed? Do I not come home from work every evening to a dinner you cook?”

  “We are and you mostly do, yes.”

  “Despite the fact you’re still married, are we not together?” He uses air quotes when he says the word ‘together.’

  “We are,” I agree without hesitation.

  “Tell me then, what part of all of that says that I am anything, anyfuckingthing other than your man, Ren?”

  I’ve never known his voice so quiet and intense. His dark brows are drawn down low making the blue of his eyes pop more than usual.

  “You’ve never said it though, you’ve never told me what. . .”

  “You need a label?” he interrupts. His voice rising in pitch.

  “Not a label as such. Reassurance, maybe?”

  “You don’t know? You don’t already know?”

  I shake my head. “I’m insecure and needy, remember?”

  Setting his mug down on the tray, he takes mine out of my hand and does the same, then moves the tray to the floor.

  I’m taken totally by surprise when he turns, grabs my ankles, and pulls me across the bed towards him.

  He’s on top of me in a second. My legs do what they have a habit of doing when in his presence, and they spread. . . wide! His hips grind against mine, his hard dick presses into me.

  “You need me to spell it out, put into words what you mean to me? What I hope we are to each other? Because if you do, Little Bird, then I need to hear it right back. I need you to use your words and tell me exactly what I am and what I mean to you.”

  He looks down at me, his elbows bent at the side of my head, taking the weight of his body, except his hips, which are expertly driving me insane as he moves them against me.

  Using his thumbs, he brushes soothing strokes across my cheeks as his scent invades my senses.

 

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