“Go after her.”
The notion makes sense, given the circumstances. But he’s not aware of the full situation. He can’t possibly understand.
“Leith.”
“That’s my name, and yers is Brody MacKenzie the Fourth if ye forgot.” I pluck the whisky up, open it, grip the neck of the bottle, and press it to my lips. The burn soothes my soul.
“I always forgot how much of adaftienuggetye were. Only smart on a piece of paper. Chevelle was the best thing to ever happen to ye. I guess I’d better get to praying that she continues to be that thing too.”
“Pray good and hard, Da. G’night.” I salute him, tuning out his stream of curses as I leave.
* * *
For the next hour,I cook the weeweans’dinner. My four youngestbrathairsare gloomy as I pray with them and Mia. My bairn isn’t begging for my leprechaun voice. It takes a while to figure out that she’s jaded over Justice and not getting a gift.
As the kid said, she expected a gift from any female associated with Brody. I wonder what my daughter will think when she learns her princess room is a pile of ash and rubble?
Heaving a sigh, I run a hand through Mia’s silky curls. “Ye want to go home?” I ask her since I’m not talking with Chevelle anytime soon.
“No, Daddy. I love slumber parties.”
I press my lips to both her chubby cheeks, smile, then head out of the kitchen. Thank God for small blessings. This is a slumber party for my weewean.
I send a text message to Blythe, who took all the bits of scrap that once made up Douglas Yates from MacKenzie Freight. I’d taken thenuggetto the small room at my parents’ business and chopped the techie to wee pieces with the katana earlier. Once Blythe responds, I take a deep breath.It’s time. I begin to search my parents’ large home for Chevelle.
Half an hour later, I find her out back on a lounger. The blue water from the pool reflects across her sleeping face. My pace stops. Hands in my pockets, I expel one last breath, staring at a woman I miss with all of me. She’s but a foot away, yet so veryfeckin’far off. I’ll not chance waking my wife by moving her. I dinna have it in me for another spat.
Michie’s alive. Witkind of pussy areye, Leith? He should bedeid!
Aye,kill him and watch her mourn. That’s like shoving a grenade down my throat and hoping for the best.
I won’t wake her. My inner turmoil plays on repeat. I feel like I’ve stared at Chevelle for ages when I retrieve a throw blanket from the couch in the den.
With a light touch, I place the blanket over her magnificent body, framing her face.
I take a few paces to the wrought iron hearth and light it up. Before I realize, I’m seated on the lounger beside Chevelle, honed into the rise and fall of her chest, the subtle sound of her exhales. She’s sleeping peacefully. She’s slumbering like a woman in love. She’s dreaming of . . .
Leith, ye nugget.
“I screwed up so bad,” I mutter. There’s no discounting that fact. But out of all the moves I made, they were to appease her, at least, I tell myself so. Except, my actions took her love away, only to grant it to another man.
* * *
Over the night,I’ve tossed and turned, longer than it took the last ember to burn into ash. It was a coldfeckin’night. I wake up before Chevelle. Yawning, I place my palm parallel to her cheek, a fraction away from touching her smooth brown skin. Heat radiates from her. Good, the knit blanket has kept her warm.
I head into the house, strolling toward the stairs, when Camdyn’s aggravated voice comes from the kitchen. “Bitch, I will kill you.”
I eye him, back to me on his iPhone. There’s no surprise in that. Does my weebrathairmoonlight as a shoddy stockbroker? I could be wrong—probably wrong.
The sneaky bastard senses me and kills the call, turning around. I arch a brow asking, “Do I wanna know?”
“Probably not,” he quips, running a hand over a canvas of angry arm tats.
I cross my arms. “Ye’re not calling a female a bitch, though, are ya?”
Camdyn rolls his eyes as he removes a mug from the Keurig. “No, it’s her ex.”
“Then I definitely dinna wanna know. Fighting over—”