“She’s harmless.”
I take my eyes from the road for a split second to look at him and catch the grimace on his face. “Sure. Whatever you say, boss.”
I laugh. “How’s Juno going? Tell me you guys have kept it in your pants around her?”
“She’s a ballbuster.”
“Good,” I say and then dart my gaze toward him. “You’re not fucking her, are you?”
“Me? No. I’ve ... er ... actually been spending a bit of time with Clem.”
“Clem? As in my wife’s best friend Clem? Boy crazy, girl crazy, fucking anything that walks crazy Clem?”
“Hey, don’t talk about her like that.”
I arch a brow and chuff. “Who fucking knew? You’ve got a boner for Clementine.”
“Yeah, well. We’re taking it slow.”
“Does she know the definition?”
“I’m just saying we’re spending time together. Don’t expect a wedding invite anytime soon.” Tommy opens the glovebox and fishes out the pack of Red Vines I keep in there. Shoving one in his mouth, he bites off a chunk and chews loudly. “How’s Lo and the kid? I haven’t seen them in a few days. She’s had a pretty rough go of it.”
“I know.”
“I’m not saying that to be an asshole. I know you guys had almost zero interaction throughout your time in there. We went through it a million times with my mom. It was hard. Getting clean is hard on the addict, but in some ways, it’s worse on those left behind.”
“I get it. I left her at the worst possible time. I know she’s been through hell, and I know I’m the one to blame.”
“Look, man. She didn’t have a choice. She told you to go and get clean because it was the best thing for everyone, but I think it broke her to do it. She’s different now.”
“She’s been raising a baby on her own.”
“I don’t mean like that. I mean, she’s grown up. I was there for some of the nights—”
I shoot him a look and he holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Me and Clem came over to help her out sometimes, Santa too, even Logan chipped in. Not with the baby, just the housework or groceries. Moms are fucking superhuman, I am totally convinced of that. But a baby and a hysterectomy? It wasfucking brutal in those first few weeks, watching her struggle to even pick him up after surgery, but determined to do it anyway.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not going to do anything to fuck this up.”
“Good,” he says sharply. “Because if you hurt either one of them again, I’ll fucking kill you.”
I know he’s saying this to prevent me from relapsing, so that I’ll remember this conversation and how I felt in this moment every time I think about holding a bottle instead of my baby’s hand, or the woman I love. I know I deserve to hear it—God, I deserve this and so much more for everything I put her through—but it feels awfully like my best buddy just took a knife and plunged it right through my heart.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Lo
Gabe is finally home. Axl is finally asleep. I’m finally showered, with clean hair and clothes that don’t have baby spit or some other type of bodily fluids on them. I can finally breathe, but my precious rare reprieve of Netflix bliss is interrupted by Gabe nestling into the couch beside me. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, and as good as it feels, as right as this is, I close my eyes and steel my resolve. I pull away and sit up, turning to face him. He sits up too, but he leans in before I can open my mouth and kisses me. His tongue drives between my lips—deep, hungry. I moan and kiss him back, because it’s been too long, too many weeks since I’ve been touched, too many weeks since I’ve ridden this rollercoaster of desire and emotion and not just been a source of comfort and food.
Gabe’s sure hands cup my breast and squeeze. It hurts, full of milk as they are, but it feels so good too, like every second spent with him has always been this delicious torture. I moan into his mouth. Gabe pushes me back on the sofa and settles between my legs. I hiss in pain and pull away at the pressure against my C-section scar.
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m still a little tender. And I can’t ... I’m still not cleared to do anything anyway.”
“Right.” Gabe runs a hand through his hair. “When is that doctor’s appointment?”
“Not for another two weeks.”