Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

Only he’s not coming back. By day he’s tearing the world apart trying to find her. By night he lies here—drunk, sad, and alone—in the bed he shared with Mia. So, it’s not going quite according to plan, but I’m telling myself it’s only because he still has hope of finding her right now. As long as he thinks she’s coming back, he doesn’t need me.

If she doesn’t come back, he will.

It’s not the fairytale, exactly, but hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I like my windpipe uncrushed, thank you very much. I want to see my children grow up. If their father murders me to get me out of his way, I’m going to be pissed.

I move closer and he doesn’t say anything, but then I brace a hand on the bed, preparing to climb up on it with him, and he finally grinds out, “Don’t.”

I freeze, hand on the bed. It doesn’t immediately register.

Then it does. I’m not even allowed to sit on her fucking bed.

I withdraw my hand like it’s on a hot stovetop and straighten, irritation whipping through me like a live wire. He’s got a lot of fucking nerve. He has fucked her in my bed—I was there to witness it once—but I’m not even good enough to sit on hers?

He finally moves, but only to bring his glass to his mouth and take another sip.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding the past few nights,” I say, lightly.

He still doesn’t respond. This is a level of disregard I wasn’t prepared for, but I keep it light. I know he’s drunk. Mateo doesn’t get drunk very often, but he behaves much differently when he is.

I keep my tone level, but I ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fucking fantastic,” he replies. “Is that all?”

I shift my weight, resting my arms on top of my baby bump. “I just wanted to check on you,” I tell him. “I’ve been worried about you. It doesn’t seem like you’ve been sleeping. You’re obviously stressed out. I know you’re pretty busy these days trying to find Mia, but it’s the middle of the night. Since there’s nothing you can do, I thought it might be healthier to get your mind off things for a little bit. Why don’t you come to our bed tonight? I can relax you. Maybe you’ll actually get some sleep so you can start fresh tomorrow.”

“How selfless,” he remarks, dryly.

I can’t fight the frown that transforms my face. “I’m sorry; we haven’t had sex in over two weeks. I figured we could both use the release.”

“The only release I need is a bullet from the chamber of my gun into Vince’s thick fucking skull.”

I don’t really know what to say to that.

“I should’ve killed him,” he mutters, taking another drink. He’s not actually talking to me, more to himself, so I don’t respond. “I should’ve fucking killed him.”

Offering a shrug, I say, “Mia didn’t want that. You know she has a soft spot for him. He was her first love. You made the right call at the time. No one could’ve known he’d come back.”

“I knew,” he says, nodding slightly. “I fucking knew. Mia is irreplaceable.”

“Well… there are other women in the world,” I say, trying not to be bitchy, but Jesus.

“I shouldn’t have stopped watching him. I thought enough time had passed. Three fucking years I watch his ass, and year four he comes back for her.” He shakes his head in cynical disbelief.

“No one could’ve predicted that, Mateo,” I assure him.

“I should’ve have never let her work at the bakery. I should’ve kept Adrian on her—this wouldn’t have happened if I’d have put a fucking guard on her. I put a guard on you,” he says, gesturing to me. Somehow this gesture, his facial expression, his tone, indicates he put a guard on a tool shed but left his palace unlocked.

I shake it off. “Don’t blame yourself. She didn’t have to go to the bar with him.”

He shakes his head again. “That’s my fault, too. I softened her to him when she thought I killed him. He’s probably fucking her right now.”

My eyebrows rise and fall, but I’m not sure how to respond to that, either.

Since I didn’t disagree, I guess, he hurls his glass across the room. It hits the wall, breaks into pieces, and clatters to the hardwood floor.

Somehow it doesn’t even startle me. I stand there for a moment, then I turn and walk into her bathroom to retrieve a towel and garbage can so I can clean it up. I steal a glance at him as I dab up the wet spot from the spilled liquor and wipe down the wall. He doesn’t move to help me. I didn’t expect him to, but once I take the towel and trash can to the bathroom and come back, he still hasn’t really moved. His hands are covering his face, then he rakes his fingers through his hair and resumes staring at the ceiling.