“She died two days after she gave birth to Presley. Fluid embolism. A rare but deadly complication. One minute, she was holding our daughter, and the next, she was gone. We did everything the way we were supposed to. Met at a charity event and started dating. I was a few years into my career, and she had recently graduated from college with her master’s and was working at her father’s company. A year after dating, I proposed, and a year after that, we were married. Two years later, Lucas came, and a couple years after that, we decided to have a second child. Three years apart, according to her, was the perfect age difference.”
I sigh and rest my elbows on my knees, scrubbing my face with my hands. “I’m sorry. I’ve never had to explain this to anyone, and now that I am, it’s fucking hard.”
She takes my hand in hers and brings it up to her heart. “I can’t even imagine.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that,” I tell her, my throat clogged with emotion. “We were supposed to raise our family together. She became a stay-at-home mom when Lucas was born, and when she died…” I sigh in frustration. “I try so damn hard. But I’ll never be her. I’m trying to do it all, but since she died, it feels like I’ve been failing over and over again.”
I glance up at her and blink away the tears threatening. “My kids have spent more time with Joanie than me between practices and traveling during the season. Then add in the endorsements and functions. My contract ended, and they asked me to re-sign for three years, but I don’t know if I can do it. They needed an answer like yesterday, so I disappeared and came here.”
“Your kids are well taken care of,” she says, moving closer so our bodies are touching. “There’s nothing wrong with a single parent working to support his kids. On many nights, I cried myself to sleep feeling guilty over studying instead of playing with Abby. I want to give her the world, but I also need to be able to feed her. You’re having working parent guilt, but that’s not fair. I’ve only been around your kids a little while, but it’s clear they love you and are close to you. Hell, they’re both practically a mini version of you.” She laughs, breaking the tension, and I find myself smiling because everything she says makes sense.
“Where’s Abby’s father?” I ask, being nosy. But based on what she said, he must not be around.
She blows out a harsh breath. “Unlike you and…”
“Clara.”
“Unlike you and Clara, we did everything wrong.” She chuckles self-deprecatingly. “We started dating our senior year of high school, had unprotected sex, and I got pregnant. He promised to be there for me, and at first, he was, but then he and his band got picked up by a label, and he took off. I caught him cheating on me several times and ended things. I was hoping maybe he’d get it together when Abby was born, but when he found out they were going to sign a huge record deal, he signed his rights away, so he wouldn’t be responsible for paying child support.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal while I fist my hands, wanting to find the asshole and wring his neck.
“It’s for the best,” she says. “Abby never knew him, so she couldn't miss him. His band was a one-hit wonder. He’s probably living off the little bit of money they made and has never tried to contact us.”
“He’s an idiot,” I tell her, palming the side of her face in my hand. “He has no idea what he’s missing out on not knowing you two.”
She smiles softly, and I lean in and kiss her. My tongue pushes through the seam of her lips, and she moans into my mouth. The kiss quickly turns heated as I hover over her, tasting her, devouring her.
My hand finds her breast, and I pinch her nipple through her shirt. Her back arches in pleasure, silently begging for more, so I do it again, this time harder. I worry I’m going to hurt her, and for a split second, my thoughts go to my wife—Clara liked it soft and gentle, always. But then Sawyer breathes, “More,” against my mouth, and I shake her from my head. I’m here with Sawyer, and she deserves to have one hundred percent of me.
Sliding my hand under her top, I pull her bra cup down and tweak her nipple until she screams out in pleasure-pain.
“Yes, just like that,” she hisses, wrapping and tightening her legs around my waist. “It feels so good.”
I lift her shirt up enough to expose her pert pink nipple and dip my head. Taking it between my teeth, I alternate between biting and sucking on it. Her hands go to my short hair, and she tugs on the ends as I expose her other nipple and give it the same attention.