She wanted to point out he was sleeping on a cot like a kid at camp, but she didn’t even have his phone number.
And she’d known when she woke up to an empty bed with Fred sleeping in the doorway that he was gone. Even the smell of coffee hadn’t lulled her into a false hope; the lack of presence was tangible; there was no more energy in the air, no crackle of electricity or excitement. The house was empty once again.
Loneliness had shot through her with a strength she hadn’t felt in a long time. She told herself she hadn’t had the chance to truly grieve yet, that it wasn’t because he was gone, that it wasn’t his rough presence she missed, it was just… everything.
She tried not to dwell on the all the things he’d done for her that were on his list ofdon’t dos: he’d danced with her, he’d gone down on her so many times one would think he’d been starved for it, he’d made love to her—that wasn’t to be mistaken—and he’dtaken care of her. His motivations, she didn’t know. It should have told her something that he could walk out the door, mission accomplished, with no tender words between them or even an explanation of why he’d been there for her in the first place. She should have been able to understand it; to predict what might come next.
But she couldn’t.
All she knew was that Mac excited her libido in a way that her husband hadn’t. She could be honest about it, even as a sliver of guilt still stabbed her for comparing her husband with Mac.
When the guilt came, Cassidy was starting to fight against it. She’d loved Elijah desperately. She still loved him; every part about him and their life. He’d excited her differently; they’d had an incredible attraction and passion. There wasn’t anything missing or lacking, and until the day she died, there would never be a moment where she would pause and say, “Well, except for…”
Because that didn’t exist, and she wasn’t looking back through the lens of a widow, ignoring all the bad. There had been bad. But they’d been bad together, and she was no saint. He’d hated her with as much fervor as she’d hated him sometimes. But she would still give anything—do anything—to have him back.
Mac could give her orgasm after orgasm, dance with her until she was dizzy, cook the best mac-n-cheese she’d ever tasted, leave her so sore she’d sit and walk funny for days, and she’dstilltake Elijah over all of it. She’d give back Jason’s friendship and Mac’s thrills.
She’d hand it all back for Elijah.
The reality of it was, she wasn’t going to be given the choice.
Thatwas the difference between today and a year ago.
A year ago, she hadn’t figured that out yet. She hadn’t figured out that the universe wasn’t going to right itself for her. She’d still been fighting her reality, unable to accept it.
Chapter forty-three
Cassidy
COUNTING ON YOU
Theflowerswerefromthe guy at the bar, Roman. She’d stared at the card, feeling bad that his timing had kept him from the courtesy of her response even if she wasn’t interested. The beauty and expense of the bouquet hadn’t kept her from destroying the vase with a sweep of her arm to hear the shatter echoing the breaking of her heart.
Cassidy tossed the phone down next to her on the outdoor cushion. She’d sent Roman a text thanking him for the flowers, the number provided on the note. She dropped her face into her hands, pulling her legs up onto the seat with her.
Fred’s sudden movement and excited panting had her lifting her face from her hands, eyes scanning the lawn, already anticipating. And, like Fred, she was conditioned to respond when she saw him, her entire body reacting to the sight of him.
Mac smiled as he approached, wearing his customary jeans and T-shirt with work boots. His sunglasses were dangling from the collar of the tee. “Afternoon.”
Wrapping her arms around her legs, she smiled back timidly. This was unusual behavior for them, seeking each other out in broad daylight. She glanced at Fred; this couldn’t be about him; he was right here. “Hi.”
The humor in his dark eyes let her know he was aware of her confusion over his appearance. Squatting down next to Fred, he gave the dog the attention he was craving before turning his attention to her, silently approving of the cute little cotton shirt and shorts combo she was wearing. Raising a brow, he said, “Need a favor.”
Cassidy watched him for a second, thinking the amusement in his eyes should tell her to tread lightly here; he was playing with her. Raising a brow back, she asked warily, “What kind of favor?”
He grinned, wagging his brows once before he pivoted on the balls of his feet and glanced behind himself at the dock, then back at her. “Going to look at a boat. Need your help.”
Cassidy made a face. “My help?”
“You know boats. Not gonna pretend I do,” he said.
She couldn’t help but tease him. “Then maybe you shouldn’t get one.”
He laughed low. “If I listened to all the people who told me not take the things I want…” His gaze was covetous as it swept her. “I’m getting one. I live on a lake; I need a boat. It’s what we do, right?”
“It’s more than owning a boat. You have to know how to operate it, maintain it, dry dock it, navigate… everything,” she pointed out.
Mac nodded. “Got that figured out.”