Sin City Baby

Grayson's big brown eyes looked back at me, filled with concern. His eyes – so reminiscent of Chris – broke my heart. I tried to reassure him with a smile and hoped it looked way more authentic than it felt. Leaning forward, I kissed him on the top of his head and pinched his cheeks, drawing a giggle out of him.

“Mama's fine, sweetheart,” I said. “Just a little tired. Why don't you go play in your room for a while until the pizza gets here?”

“Okay,” he said, grabbing the box of crackers and taking them with him.

Ordinarily, I didn't let him eat in his room, but given the upheaval in his life recently, I figured it would be okay. With a sigh, I got up from the stool and wandered around the house. I walked into the living room and looked out the tall floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the pool and the backyard. We didn't have nearly as much green as I would have liked – the pool took up most of our backyard. It was a tradeoff, because I had to admit, having the pool in the summertime was nice.

Still though, I missed the wide open spaces and sheer greenery of a place like Castle Creek. Okay, truth be told, I missed my hometown, period.

Of course, thinking about Castle Creek made me think of what I'd left behind. More specifically, who I'd left behind. My heart hurt over the fact that I'd up and run from Gabe, Jared, and Evan. I hadn't left them a note, a voicemail, nothing. I hadn't even shot them a text message telling them I was leaving. I'd just vanished. Gone, like a puff of smoke on a breeze.

It had been an asshole thing for me to do, but I'd thought it was necessary. I thought it was in all of our best interest if I get out of there and just come back to San Diego to sort through everything in my head – and there was some serious baggage up there for me to unpack.

Being with all of them was something I'd wanted. It was amazing, in its own way. Belonging to all three of them, and yet none of them, was an idea that wasn't without its meritsThere were so many things about it that appealed to me.

However, after sleeping with all three of them, something inside of me shifted. I thought I'd be able to handle that sort of a situation. However, in the aftermath of it all, I was left feeling wrong. Dirty. Somehow used. Even though I hadn't been. After sleeping with all of them, more than anything, I felt ashamed of myself.

No, I was a more than willing participant, but being with all three of them on the same night left me feeling a little disgusted with myself. Which was why I had to leave. I saw all of the judgment I needed to see whenever I looked into a mirror. The last thing I wanted or needed was to see it in the eyes of the three men I loved.

As much of an asshole move as it was – and it really was – I thought it was in the best interest of us all. The Walker boys wouldn't have to fight. Petty jealousies wouldn't surface and drive wedges between them. Nor, would they nurse resentment toward me for not choosing between them. For, instead, choosing to please myself.

I wanted to tell them what I was feeling. What I was going through, but, I knew that if I talked to them, they'd only try to talk me out of leaving. Knowing myself like I did, I knew I'd probably weaken and give in. My attraction to all three of them was still there and it was still powerful. I just couldn't be with all three of them like I thought I could.

But, it was over. Done. I thought I could handle it, but I couldn't. So, I'd made my decision and had come back to San Diego. I'd run home like a puppy dog, tail tucked between my legs, guilt-ridden and ashamed. Back to the house I'd shared with Chris. A house full of fond, loving memories. A house full of old ghosts.

I just couldn't face the brothers. Not after what I'd done.

I wandered from the living room into my office. The air was heavy and saturated with the must of disuse. Dropping down into the chair behind my desk – the desk from which I'd launched and controlled my little business empire – the first thing my eyes were drawn to was the wedding photo of Chris and I. He’d been so beautiful. If I'd been building the perfect man for me, he would have turned out exactly like Chris.

Reaching out, I picked up the photo and let my fingertips trace the lines of his face, his smile frozen in time, his eyes staring out at eternity.

“I miss you, babe,” I said. “I miss you so much. I miss you every goddamn day.”

I thought back to the last time I spoke to him and my heart was immediately filled with regret. My eyes stung with tears and they began to roll down my cheeks. The last words I'd spoken to Chris were not kind. They weren't loving. It wasn't me telling him to be safe. Or that I loved him more than life itself.

No, the last words I'd spoken to the man I loved were in anger. Annoyance. The thing that killed me the most about it, was that my annoyance and anger were over something petty. Something stupid. I leaned back in the seat, clutching the picture frame close to my chest, and closed my eyes, feeling the tears racing down my cheeks.

I let my mind drift back to that day, letting the guilt and shame rise up and consume me once more...

“Good morning,” Chris said.

A loud clang echoed around the kitchen as I slammed the frying pan down on the stove. I said nothing as Chris, dressed in his uniform, took a seat in a stool at the island, across from the stove, where I was cooking. I'd promised Grayson some blueberry pancakes for breakfast, so I was making good on that promise. Somebody had to keep their word around the damn house.

“Everything oka

y?” Chris asked.

I looked at him, but remained silent, letting the anger in my eyes speak for itself. Chris didn't rise to the bait though, instead, looking down at the newspaper on the counter. He was reading the sports page, as usual. If there was one constant about Chris, it was his love of sports. Not being a sports fan myself, I never saw the appeal. My irritation that morning though, was that his “things,” his hobbies, were getting in the way of him doing the things he was supposed to do. The things he'd promised me he'd do. I swear to God, sometimes it felt like I was the only one in that house who could do something to help keep it up and running. Some days, I felt like little more than the house maid.

I dropped a plate with three pancakes down onto the counter in front of him a little harder than was probably necessary. Chris let out a breath, folded up the newspaper, and dropped it onto the counter beside him.

“Okay,” he said. “What is it? What did I do?”

I rounded on him. “Oh, it's not what you did,” I snapped. “It's what you didn't do.”

“And – what didn't I do?” he asked, as if he didn't already know the answer.

“You promised me you were going to clean up the garage this weekend, Chris,” I said. “But, you decided it was a better idea to go fishing with your boys than do what you promised your wife you would do. Something your wife has been asking you to do for the last six months.”