Washed Up (Bayside Heroes)

“You’ll always be enough for me.” I shake my head. “More than enough.”

She doesn’t look convinced, so I pull her into my arms.

“Look, maybe I do want to marry you one day. If I did, would you be opposed to it?”

Amanda swallows. “I don’t know. It didn’t work out well for me last time.”

“But I’m not Josh.”

“Oh, trust me, after last night, that is more apparent than ever.”

I smirk.

“And as for kids, I don’t know if I want any. I’ve never really thought about it, if I’m being honest.”

“Never?” she deadpans.

“All I’ve thought about since I was eighteen is my career.” I pause. “And hockey.”

She smirks at that.

“And in recent months, you.”

“Smooth,” she comments, and though she tries to act like it’s a cheesy line, her flushing cheeks betray her.

“But if I do want kids one day,” I continue. “Who’s to say we couldn’t adopt, or foster, or get a dog.”

“A dog?” She laughs.

“Hey, they’re both high maintenance and cute as hell. Could be close to the same thing.”

She shakes her head, running a finger down my chest. “Even with all that aside,” she says. “What would we tell David?”

My stomach roils violently at the thought, at what I know won’t be a pretty conversation no matter how we try to sugarcoat it.

“We tell him the truth,” I settle on.

“Which is?”

That I love you.

The thought slams into my chest, hard and unexpected, but I bat it away like a fast pitch served right over the middle of the plate.

I bring her fingertips to my lips, kissing each one between sentences. “That I care about you.” Kiss. “That I want to make you feel safe.” Kiss. “And comfortable.” Kiss. “And happy.” Kiss, kiss, kiss. “And that you make me feel all those same things, too.”

“And when he kicks you in the balls, disowns me and says I’m never allowed to see him or my grandbaby again, and calls us both disgusting traitors — then what?”

I frown, the joke not sitting anywhere near funny for me. “Do you really feel that way?”

“That he’ll be pissed? Absolutely. I know my son.”

“That we’re disgusting.”

“What?” She shakes her head, sitting up against the headboard. “God, no. I think we’re…” She pauses, searching for words, and her eyes soften, a small smile spreading on her lips. “Written in the stars,” she finishes, her eyes finding mine. “By some really fucked-up, twisted god who thinks it’s funny to torture human beings.”

I try to smile, but it’s weak. “It’s just age. A number. A meaningless number.”

“I think it’s more than that.”

Amanda quiets, thinking, her fingertips brushing my forearm.

“Then, there’s Josh.”

I scoff. “He can piss off.”

“And take his alimony with him?”

That wipes the smugness off my face.

I haven’t even considered that, the new stipulation he wormed into their divorce settlement. The reminder makes my blood boil.

“It won’t pass the judge,” I say, more certain than I feel.

“It might. And as much as I want to say I’m fine without his money… I’m not.” She looks down at her hands. “I want to be. I will be, one day. But I never went to school. I’ve never had a job. I’m starting over at forty-seven,” she says that last part with a laugh. “I don’t want to still need him, but I do.”

I’m already shaking my head. “You don’t need him.”

She just shrugs, quiet again.

I’ll take care of you. I’ll provide for you. I can pay for your school and give you a place to live and a car and anything else you need.

All the words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can tell already that Amanda is freaked out, that she’s in doomsday mode, and I decide it doesn’t have to all be figured out right now in this moment.

We’ll find a way.

That much I’m certain of.

“I need to get out of this bed,” Amanda says, stretching her arms skyward.

“Mm… you sure about that? I was just thinking that I’m kind of hungry…”

“Want me to make you breakfast?”

The insinuation is lost on her, even as I’m crawling down her body, kissing her arms, her stomach, her hips.

“I think it’s already been made.”

I look up at her with a smirk, nibbling on the top of her thigh as I spread her legs and settle between them.

Recognition hits, and Amanda bites her lip, shaking her head. “I don’t even know if I can anymore. I’m drained. Exhausted. Dried up.”

I plant a soft kiss against the inside of her thigh, trailing my finger up and between her legs.

“Trust me, baby,” I growl, gliding my finger through her slit. “Far from dried up.”

Amanda blushes, her legs falling open wider, a soft whimper slipping free when I lightly graze her clit with my tongue.

And then, the front door slams shut downstairs.

I freeze, Amanda gripping my wrist, her eyes wide and locked on mine.