Stitches

“Sebastian! What are you doing?”

“Come on,” I tell Griff, nodding as I head for the bedroom.

“Are we done talking about this?” he asks tentatively, standing and following me nonetheless.

“Yep,” I say, simply.

After we’ve worn my wife out and she sleeps nestled against Griff, I stare at her naked back and let the doubts creep in.

If Donovan doesn’t come through, the money he took me for is the least of my problems. Tens of thousands of dollars can be made up, but without that prenup, Griff’s toast. Obviously she can’t touch my house, but Moira’s right; we would have to sell ours. We’d need the money.

Our first house flashes through my mind, even though we wouldn’t move to a shithole. It’s not like we’d be completely broke, and we would build things back up, but all those years, all that effort… everything just ripped away from us… it’s bullshit.

It makes me fucking sad. I logged all those hours and worked as hard as I did then so I wouldn’t have to now. Now I have Moira and Griff and we can be a family; I don’t want to spend 18 hours of every day gone.

I’m tempted to go see Donovan again, but he told me not to. Conveniently, he told me that until the job is done, I shouldn’t come around.

Helplessness is not a feeling I’m accustomed to anymore. Once upon a time I felt that way, and I vowed never to let it happen again. That claustrophobic fucking feeling.

There’s nothing worse than powerlessness.

Moira shifts in her sleep. I’m feeling a little selfish so instead of letting her remain asleep, I give her hip a little squeeze and let my hand drift forward, placing the flat of my palm against her abdomen and lightly rubbing.

Her dark hair tickles my face as she turns to look at me over her shoulder. “You’re still awake?” she whispers.

I shrug.

Her husband senses on high alert, she eases off Griff and rolls over to face me. Her pretty face is relaxed and calm, none of this stress weighing on her mind. Exactly how I want it.

Not wanting to stress her out, I let it go myself. I reach for her and drag her close, tucking her beneath my chin. Her sweet little body snuggled up against mine, her lips pressed lovingly against my chest as she kisses away whatever worries must be keeping me awake, I’m cognizant of this being what really matters. Hell, even Griff lying there on the other side of my bed, happy for once in his fucking life.

We have all we need.

I want my stuff, my businesses, the empire I’ve poured countless years of my life into building, but all I need is right here in this bed.

No one can touch this.

28

Griff

The phone is still pressed to my ear, a shrill voice lobbing obscenities at me, but I can’t quite process any of it.

This can’t be real.

This can’t be true.

Ashley’s hysterical sister isn’t making any sense at this point, but between the lines of hurled insults, casual accusations, and muffled sobs, one statement rings clear, reverberates off the walls of my mind.

Ashley is dead.

Last night while Moira’s sister visited us, while I played with her baby and Moira snuggled close… Ashley decided to end her life.

That doesn’t make sense.

There are a lot of things I know about the woman I spent years married to, and there’s one truth I would stake my fucking life on.

Ashley is too vain to put a gun in her mouth and shoot a hole through the back of her head. The amount of pain she would have to be in to even consider it…