I expected Ivy and Gray to be at my house; I gave Gray the passcode. They’d been closer to Fi. Gray was playing a game in Atlanta, and Ivy had been visiting her Dad with the baby. What I did not expect, though I probably should have, was Fi and Ivy’s dad, Sean Mackenzie—my co-agent with Ivy—to be here.
Shit.
He does not look pleased.
Sean, or Big Mac, as a lot of us call him, used to play point in the NBA. Six-foot-seven if an inch, he’s long-limbed and gaunt like some sort of modern day Abe Lincoln. He also has a fierce glare that says he’ll gladly tear me a new one. At this moment, I might not give a shit, but he’s Fi’s dad. If I have it my way, he’ll be in my life for as long as we’re alive, which means I’d rather be on his good side.
He doesn’t wait for me to set my bag down before launching an attack. “What the fuck did you do, Dexter?” He takes a step forward as if he might throw a punch.
Gray steps in too. “Easy there, Sean.”
Sean glares and swings his gaze back to me. “I asked you a question.”
“I fucked up.” And it guts me.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
My gaze slides past him to Ivy, who is pale and unusually quiet. “Fi? She here? Is she…” Shit. I can’t get the words out. Regret is an agony crushing my chest.
She gives me a nod and gestures toward the stairs. “She’s sleeping.”
My bag hits the ground and I move.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Sean snaps.
“Where I’m needed most.” I don’t look back. “You can bawl me out later.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Fi
The bedroom is dim and cool, the covers heavy and warm. I love this bed. It’s big, the mattress firm yet plush on top, the bedding soft and brilliant white. Ethan’s bed. Our bed. But it smells of him, spice and warm.
I hug a pillow close and sigh. But the snick of the door opening has me tense. Light angles across the bed then fades as the door gently shuts. I hug the pillow closer, trying to keep it together as Ethan walks in. I don’t have to see him to know. He’s in my blood now. I’m as aware of him as my own breathing.
The bed creaks and he sinks into it, pulling the pillow free and gathering me into his arms. I flow into his embrace, a sob breaking free despite my best effort.
“Ethan.” I wrap myself around him, clinging tight.
“Cherry, baby.” His hold is so hard it aches. I love it. He holds me like he’s trying to make me part of his body—strong, capable, a sentinel against all the shit the world has thrown at us. His hands stroke my hair, my back, everywhere he can touch.
“Darlin’,” he whispers. “Cherry…I…” A ragged breath tears out of him and he shakes. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I cling to him, fisting his hair. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he snaps, low and angry. He takes a deep breath that ruffles my hair. “It was my fault. I let you down.”
He sounds so broken that I turn my head and kiss the sweaty crook of his neck, feeling his throat move as he swallows.
“What happened?” I ask.
Ethan swallows again, another tremor running through him. His lips press against my head as he takes deep, hard breaths. And I’m afraid. What has he done?
When he begins to tell me what happened, I’m no longer afraid. I’m enraged. It runs through me like wildfire, heating my blood and setting my heart racing.
He finishes on a garbled sigh, his head sinking as if he can no longer hold it up.
I lean back to face him, touching his cheek so he lifts his head. His bleak expression hurts to see. “You want to hear the fucked up thing?” I ask.
He frowns. “What?”
“My brain stalled out at the naked woman in your bed.”
A sad smile drifts across his face. “That was the least important part of the whole story, Cherry.”
“I know. But I have this mad urge to hunt her down and punch her in the tit.”