Stitches

“I hate everything about this,” Moira states. “I don’t ever want either of you to have been in dangerous situations, even in the past. I’m going to find a way to time travel back and protect you both.”

Seb shakes his head, smiling down at her fondly. “That’s a sweet gesture, but having you there would have just been a headache for us.” He glances up at me, lifting a dark eyebrow. “Imagine both of us trying to protect her while I’m trying to come off as unaffected and you’re the gruff badass, both of us living every day fucking terrified she’d get hurt? No. That would’ve been terrible.”

“Maybe I could have brokered peace,” Moira suggests. “Failing that, I could have been sneaky. I could have recorded the asshole being an asshole and shown it to your caseworker or whoever.”

Seb shakes his head. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it wouldn’t have worked.”

“Do you think you would’ve liked me back then?” she asks.

“Probably not,” he answers, earning him a scowl. “You would’ve tried to peel back all the armor I had just equipped myself with and infect me with your love. I wasn’t open to it back then. It took quite a few years before I leveled out. Learning to protect yourself against everything—there’s a learning curve. There’s no manual on how to do it right, so there’s a lot of trial and error.”

She drags his arm around her chest and snuggles it between us. “That makes me sad. I hate that you had hard lives. I hate that you ever felt the need to protect yourself. I hate everyone who has ever hurt either one of you. I’m glad you had each other, at least.”

“We turned out all right,” Seb assures her.

“I don’t care,” she insists. “I still want to wrap you both up in warm hugs and protect you forever.”

Seb looks at me and rolls his eyes, but he’s not fooling anyone—he loves it. Who wouldn’t love someone being so nurturing and protective after a lifetime of having to look out for yourself?

“I’m so glad you walked into that coffee shop that day,” she tells him. “I may have never met either one of you otherwise.”

Seb nods his agreement, kissing the side of her face. “Then you’d have to settle for some basic asshole who wouldn’t even fuck you with his best friend.”

She shakes her head, as if disgusted. “What a disappointing life I might have led. You’re my hero.”

He grins and she turns her head to kiss him. His hand is already snuggled up against her chest and wedged between us, but now he shifts it to cover her breast. He squeezes her smooth flesh and a soft moan slips out of her.

I love her body. Even after we both just fucked her into oblivion, I bet it would only take a light warm-up to get her going again.

Sebastian’s thoughts must be in line with mine because he rolls her over on her back and roughly kisses her breasts. Her eyes drift closed and she arches off the bed, tangling her fingers in his hair.

He pulls back, watching her writhe beneath him. Flicking a glance my way, he says, “You up for fucking her again, or should I take this round on my own?”

“Oh, I’m up for it.”

He grins with approval. “Good.”

After a night in heaven, I have to spend the next day in hell.

When I decided to file for divorce, I went in with the naïve assumption that the prenuptial agreement I had drawn up would make the process fairly simple. Especially because—while I had drawn up a generous agreement in the case of a faultless divorce—I included an infidelity clause that specified what would happen in the event of cheating. Of course I would have to be able to prove she cheated, but since she’s a moron who cheated in my club and there’s footage, I can. Easily.

What makes it more difficult is that Ashley’s a fucking lunatic and she’s fighting back, hard. Since I wasn’t a greedy asshole, I made certain provisions for Ashley when we got married so she knew I wasn’t trying to railroad her. I’ve never liked the idea of an airtight prenup to begin with. I don’t think a man should be able to steal years of a woman’s life and then abandon her without any kind of reparations—unless it’s warranted, like this. If she cheats, she doesn’t get reparations. Had I just fallen out of love with her, that would have been another thing entirely.

So now she’s claiming I did. Now she’s trying to get the prenup thrown out, crying alienation of affection, saying I cheated first, that I drove her to cheat and she felt abandoned in our marriage. She’s appealing to the courts for counseling, claiming our marriage can be saved and she’s willing to do the work.

Obviously I told my lawyer to tell her to fuck off, but now they’re investigating the external factors surrounding the prenup and I’m ready to lose my fucking mind.

Ashley texts me little fucking hearts and “I miss you” messages.

I want to text back and tell her where to shove her stupid fucking messages, but my lawyer has strictly forbidden me to engage. Since I seem to have made it all worse by meeting with her yesterday, I listen this time.

Then the fun part. Moira sent me a text while I was in the meeting. Given Carrie is also Seb’s lawyer and Moira isn’t the most common name, she connects the dots.

Our lawyer is discreet, but after seeing the warm look on my face when I open the message, she stops talking and stares at me.

I don’t think about it until I put the phone down.

Her humorless gaze holds mine and she adds, “Not that I have to tell you this, obviously, but if you are seeing anyone right now, stop.”