Hold On

He took another pull from his beer, thinking Cher’s early shift was noon to eight thirty and her late shift was eight to three thirty. He knew that because he was a cop and he paid attention to everything, an occupational hazard, so he’d noted it just from being a regular at her place of business.

Those shifts meant, either way, on school days, she didn’t have to rush Ethan to get ready. Even if she’d only had a few hours of sleep, she could make him breakfast, take him to school, not have to be anywhere but with him. Late shift, she could also go get him, get him home, make sure his schoolwork got done, make him dinner.

But even if they had time together, either way, that time was still fucked.

People did that kind of thing all the time, shift work that meant they had to get creative about who looked after their kids.

But those people didn’t have Cher’s history and a kid with a stick-up-their-ass stepmom who decided the way of the world and that her way was the only way. Garrett knew that was the way Peggy whoever-she-was was the minute he saw the bitch. Cher didn’t need to lay that out. He knew she was trouble of one variety or the other before she opened her mouth.

Before he knew she was bringing Cher trouble.

Fuck, he hoped the junkie ex was dirty.

He pushed away from the counter, took his beer to the couch, and grabbed the remote.

He found a show right when his phone sounded.

He grabbed it off his coffee table and his mouth curled up when he read, Kiss my ass, Merry.

Using his thumb, he returned, You want that, brown eyes, I’ll work it in.

She didn’t make him wait and shot back, Go fuck yourself.

Now, sweetheart, you know that’s not the way it works.

Then came, We’re done.

He ignored that and sent, Sleep tight. See you tomorrow.

Tomorrow? she returned.

Have good dreams.

Tomorrow?

Garrett didn’t reply.

Merry? Tomorrow?

Garrett again didn’t reply.

Don’t fuck with me, Merry. I don’t need your shit.

Garrett grinned, but he didn’t reply, and at that, Cher let it go.

He trained his eyes to the TV, not watching it.

He was thinking that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

The only thing he knew was that he was going to do it. And right then, as much of a dick as it made him, it was because Cher Rivers was the best fuck he’d ever had, bar none, including Mia.

After their showdown, where Cher showed him a different kind of fire than her normal—a fire he liked—and a vulnerability she’d never shown before—the kind as a cop and as a Merrick he couldn’t ignore—he wanted more.

It was also because, when he was low, she took his back.

So now that she had the possibility of trouble, he was going to take hers.

If she wanted him to or not.





Chapter Four


Plotting My Murder

Cher



The next day, after I’d dropped Ethan at school, I was about to go out to the garage to get the storm windows when my phone rang.

I moved to my purse in the bucket chair, pulled the phone out, and saw a number I did not know.

I’d learned a long time ago never to answer those kinds of calls. I was careful to program in any numbers that I would need to know, including doctors, dentists, Ethan’s school. I’d learned to do this, because if it didn’t come up as programmed, they were either someone trying to sell me something or someone I absolutely did not want to talk to.

This being someone I didn’t want to talk to, I dropped the phone on top of my purse and headed to the garage.

I had the windows out of the garage, stacked against the side of the house, the screen switched out in the front door, and was moving to the first window when I heard shrieked, “You think I won’t fuck with you?”

I looked left and went still.