I set the plate aside, put the file that was open on my lap on the low, rectangular table in front of me, grabbed the plate again, nabbed the fork stuck in the food, sat back and commenced eating. Upon my first bite it was confirmed. It was delicious.
Creed joined me, sitting in the wicker chair furthest from the door, putting his booted feet up to the edge of the table and his eyes to me.
He shoved a big fork full of ziti in his mouth and asked through it, “Questions?”
I didn’t have any. He was thorough. He didn’t miss a trick. This was added proof he was skilled, talented and experienced.
“You did a shit ton of work and got a month of nothing,” I told him something he already knew.
“This is why I know the ride’s gonna get bumpy,” he replied then shoved more ziti in his mouth.
I shoved more in mine, chewed and swallowed.
“So, no questions about the file, let’s get this closeness crap outta the way,” I suggested and he grinned while still chewing.
Then he invited, “Shoot.”
“Arizona?” I asked.
“Phoenix,” he answered.
I shoved more ziti in my mouth, buying time to find it so I could ask it.
Then I found it and asked it, “Married?”
“Divorced. Six years.”
Six years, divorced. His oldest child was twelve. I wondered how long he was married before the divorce. In other words, his first child was born four years after he left me so I wondered how long it took for him to replace me.
I didn’t ask this. It was clear we had to talk about our pasts, get to know each other. There was no avoiding it. But there were places we weren’t going to go.
I nodded then continued, “You work out of state often?”
“If the job feels good and the pay is right, yeah.”
“How long you been in state?”
His eyes held mine even as he shoved more ziti in his mouth, chewed and swallowed.
He was preparing me.
He didn’t have to. I was already braced.
Then he gave it to me. “Left Kentucky, went to Michigan. Moved from Michigan to South Carolina. Met Chelle there. Her parents moved to Arizona, she got pregnant, wanted to be close, we moved there.”
“Chelle?”
“Ex.”
“Right,” I muttered, leaned forward, grabbed my beer, sat back and took a swig before I looked back at him. “See your kids often?”
“Often as I can.”
“Close?”
His eyes grew sharper on my face before he answered but when he answered, with the words he said, this warning would be lost on me.
“Yeah, with both. Kara’s gettin’ to a stage, doesn’t get along with her Mom so I try to be around and if I can’t, I’m a phone call away. Something she takes advantage of so it’s good for me since I connect with her often though it sucks why she feels the need to do it. Brand’s all me, top to toe to heart to mind, all my boy.”
His casual, yet careful, words pierced through me like spears and I froze in an effort to contain the pain.
Then the pain engulfed me and I couldn’t contain it anymore.
As it swallowed me into its dark, fiery pit, I tossed my plate of ziti on the table. It went skidding across the files and flew over the other side as I drew my other arm back and brought it forward in a sidearm slice, releasing my beer so it sailed past him and shattered against the low wall under the windows at his back, foaming beer spraying in wide spatter all around.
His feet came off the table and I knew by his eyes, he knew.
He knew.
He didn’t forget.
That motherfucker knew.
“Sylvie, let me –” he started.
“You named her kids my names,” I whispered, my breaths coming heavy.
“Sylvie –”
Shit, fuck, shit.
I couldn’t take it.
We’d talked about it. We’d talked. Frequently. Talked. Dreamed. Planned. Frequently.
I told him, we had a girl, she’d be named Kara. We had a boy, we’d name him after his Dad.
Those were my names.
My fucking names!
“You named her kids my names!” I screamed then attacked.
Launching myself over the table, I hit him in the chest. His chair slammed back, taking us and his plate with it, ziti smushed between us but I did not give one, single, solitary fuck.
He named another woman’s children my names!
That fucking motherfucker!
I shot up to straddling him, my knees in the back of the chair, my arm coming back in preparation to land a blow and he shot up with me, arms coming around me, effectively taking away my target. He pulled me to him, rolled the both of us free of the chair then kicked it and I heard it slide and crash against something that stopped it.
I’d learned early and quick that my size was a major detriment to pretty much anything, especially if it was physical. I was in shape, no doubt about it, but I was small, thin and a woman so I had to aim true, be willing not to fight fair and be smart, fast, ballsy and sly.
I was so pissed, I lost sight of all that and Creed immediately gained the advantage. If I didn’t pull my shit together, his weight, height and power would have me defenseless in seconds.
But there was no way in fuck he was winning this.
No way.
No fucking way.
Therefore, I lifted my head and sank my teeth in his neck so hard, I tasted blood.
“Fuck!” he ground out, reared back and I went with him, using his momentum to take him to his back. I shot up, straddling him again and didn’t delay in pulling back an arm and landing a fisted blow to his cheekbone.
He grunted and his head shot to the side.
I didn’t get a second one in. He got his hand around my wrist and rolled me to my back, him on top of me.
I got my boot planted in the floor and rolled him so I was on top. I grabbed both sides of his head and lifted it in preparation for a head butt when he came totally up, knifing at the waist. I automatically held on, my hands fisting in his hair.
“Calm the fuck down and let me explain,” he growled.
“Fuck you!” I shouted, let go with one hand, brought it low, shoved it up the back of his shirt and scored my nails through his flesh.
“Jesus,” he hissed, shifted to his knees and immediately fell forward so my back slammed into the edge of the coffee table before it went skidding. Then my back hit floor and Creed’s body pinned me.
Not good. I had his weight on me and his hips between my legs so I couldn’t get a knee to his crotch. He reached back and pulled my arm from around him, his other hand going to my other wrist and yanking my hand out of his hair. He pulled them around and between us, locking them there.
We grappled, pushed, pulled, shoved, both of us growling, grunting and hissing, me rocking my hips and planting my feet, arching my back, nearly rolling him but not succeeding.
Fuck, he was going to win.
Fuck, I had to fight dirty.
I lifted my head, he reared back to avoid my teeth but couldn’t get back fast enough. I got my mouth on him and didn’t use my teeth. I used my tongue.
The element of surprise worked.
He stilled instantly.
It was a tactical error.
Not on his part, on mine.
He smelled good. He tasted good and fuck me, he felt good.
The pain of his further betrayal, one even more unforgivable than the last, still consumed me and it had to go. It had to go and I knew only two ways to stop it. Two ways I’d blindly turned to over the years. Two ways that didn’t work for long but they worked for a while.
Without thinking, to dull the pain, I needed one of those ways.
So I went for it and licked up his neck to below his ear and God, God, the scent of him, the feel of him on my tongue, the taste of him…