Hold On (The 'Burg Series Book 6) Read online

  Or giddy.

  Or both.

  I didn’t know, I’d never felt that feeling.

  But I knew it felt good.

  Riding that feeling, I slid my lips up, over his jaw, his morning whiskers scraping my lips in a way I felt in my clit. I kept going even as his head twisted, angled. My lips glided over his and locked on.

  Then I kissed him, open mouths, sliding my tongue inside.

  He let me, not taking over or anything.

  He tasted like toothpaste and Merry, an awesome combination.

  The last thing I’d had the night before was a Baby Ruth bar and a can of Diet 7UP, but I figured that had long since worn off and maybe I didn’t taste so good.

  I didn’t care. I went for it, drawing him in, my insides contracting like they were caving in on an empty that had to be filled or I’d shrink to nothing, and the only sustenance it would accept was a healthy dose of Garrett Merrick.

  So I fed from him, trailing my hand up his shirt from his abs to his chest, my fingers clenching in, pulling him closer to me and going for more.

  Merry gave it and kept giving until his groan throbbed through my pussy, making it contract.

  He pulled his lips away and landed a peck on the side of my mouth before he moved back minutely and looked into my eyes.

  “I like how you wake up, baby, but you got shit timing. I have to get Ethan to school.”

  I stared up at him and slowly let his shirt go as I just as slowly turned my head to look at the alarm clock.

  Ethan had to leave for school in exactly three minutes.

  My alarm didn’t go off.

  What the fuck?

  I looked back to Merry. “Ethan’s ready for school?”

  “Got up, got him up, got him doin’ his thing. I made him breakfast. He’s ready to roll. Just didn’t want you to wake up and freak, so I woke you to let you know he’s all good, I got him, and you can sleep in.”

  I could sleep in?

  Merry made my son breakfast?

  Merry had him?

  A fog filled my head as this knowledge processed through me.

  Since he was born, mornings with Ethan were mine. With my work history, they were the only times that were guaranteed, him and me. For breakfast. When he was a baby, a toddler, a little kid, for cuddles. On the weekend, for hanging together and watching cartoons. Before school, shooting the shit and making sure he was good to face the day.

  That was mine.

  No one got that.

  Not even my mom.

  When I worked late, she stayed at my place and either slept on the couch if she was tired or went home when I got home. If I had to count on Feb, Vi, anyone, I went to go get my kid, shuffling him out half asleep to my car, helping him drop into his own bed.

  It might not be right, making a kid switch beds in the middle of the night, but my kid woke up in his bed with his mom there to take care of him.

  And he did not wake up with some guy in the house that he knew but he did not know what that man was to his mother.

  The world might think I’m a stupid, skanky slut.

  But my kid did not.

  And he was never supposed to get that first inkling his mom was that kind of mom, that kind of woman.

  Not ever.

  Not…fucking…ever.

  “You got my kid up,” I said to Merry.

  “Yeah, babe, and now I gotta get him to school.”

  “You got my kid up,” I repeated, and Merry’s head jerked.

  Then his eyes went alert.

  I moved quickly, throwing back the covers and leaping out of bed. I snatched my jeans up, shoved a foot in then the other. Yanking them up, I looked to Merry.

  “You don’t get to do that shit,” I hissed quietly, doing up my fly. “You do not get to make that decision, Garrett. He’s my kid. I get his mornings.”

  Something flooded his face, a sweet something, but I was not done.

  Not by a long shot.

  “You shoulda stayed in bed, or you shoulda got me up and got out before he got up. You do not make the decision your own damned self about what my kid knows, what he sees, or who looks after him.” I straightened and jabbed my thumb to myself. “I do.”

  He stood, murmuring, “Cher—”

  I got in his space, head tipped back, mouth still hissing. “You and I fucked once. Now you’re jackin’ my shit with your fucked-up head games, and that’s okay. That’s the way of the world. That happens to stupid bitches like me who do stupid shit like gettin’ shitfaced and lettin’ a man fuck her who’s drownin’ his sorrows because he’s in love with a woman he cannot have.”

  Merry’s expression changed again, but I was too far gone to take note.

  “But my son never knows his mother’s a stupid bitch like that. And he sure as fuck doesn’t find out that shit from some asshole who gets his rocks off jackin’ her around.”

  His entire long, lean body jolted like he’d been struck, but I turned on my bare foot and stomped out of the room, happy to see that I had to open the door in order to do it, which meant Ethan wouldn’t have heard any of that.

  I took a deep breath and another shallower one on my way so I at least had some of my shit together by the time I cleared the hall and came into my living room.

  Ethan had his jacket on, his backpack on his shoulder, and when he saw me, he grinned.

  “He told you, right?” he asked the minute he could get the words out. “Merry told you that Marty got ’im? Tackled him behind the freakin’ Dairy Queen.”

  “Yeah, kid, he told me,” I confirmed.

  “Marty’s so cool!” Ethan declared, saying words about Officer Marty Fink that only kids in that town eleven years old or younger would utter. “And get this, you know that waffle iron you bought at that garage sale that we used once and it conked out?” Before I could confirm that I knew the waffle iron he was referring to, he kept talking. “Merry opened it up, messed with some wires, and now it works.”

  God.

  Ethan said that like Merry came up with the cure for cancer in his sleep, called the FDA, and got them on it, and already, statues around the world were being planned to be erected in his honor.

  It was worse than I thought.

  “He made you some too, Mom. They’re in the oven, keepin’ warm,” Ethan told me.

  “That’s cool, Ethan. Now, do you have your homework done?” I asked.

  He looked confused at my non-excitement to his excitement-filled morning and answered, “Yeah, Mom. You asked me that last night.”

  “Your gramma check it?”

  “Yeah.” He was getting impatient. “You asked me that too.”

  “Okay, warning,” I declared, moving closer to him. “Last night a bad guy was on the loose, so I’m taking my quota of gooey for the week right now. I’m gonna hug you before you go and you’re gonna have to put up with me tellin’ you I love you.”

  My boy rolled his eyes, but I ignored it completely, getting close and taking him in my arms.

  I hugged tight and went overboard, landing three quick kisses on his head, smelling the shampoo in his freshly cleaned, still slightly wet hair.

  Christ, Merry also got him to shower. This was not big on Ethan’s hit list in the mornings (or ever).

  Ethan wound his arms around his mom, gave me a quick squeeze, and let me go.

  I took my cue and let him go too, but after I did, I lifted up my hand and playfully shoved the side of his head.

  “Love you, kid. Be good.”

  At this juncture, Merry came into play, opening the door and lifting his hand with his keys. We heard a faraway beep and I looked his way.

  “Go on out, buddy. I gotta talk with your mom real quick, then I’ll be out.” He offered his keys. “You know how to start a car?”

  My mouth got tight.

  “Yeah! Sure!” Ethan lied, because he did not. Then again, he’d seen me do it often enough in his life and it wasn’t hard.

  “Start ’er up, keep h
er in park, but get the heater runnin’,” Merry ordered.

  “Right!” Ethan cried, grabbed the keys and looked to me. “’Bye, Mom.”

  “Later, kid.”

  He took off.

  I watched, then looked again to Merry to see him also watching.

  He turned to me only when the door on his Excursion slammed.

  I opened my mouth.

  Merry beat me.

  “Any more shit gets found, Tanner’ll call you direct.”

  I stood still and stared at him, the empty tone of his voice slamming into me as sure as if he was shouting.

  “You should tell Ethan what’s up with his dad and that woman,” he advised, his voice still empty. “He should be in the know and aware if they try to pull anything.”

  Okay, right, I’d reacted and I was right to do so. Merry had made a decision that wasn’t his to make.

  But I was getting the impression that I may have taken my reaction a bit too far.

  “Merry—”

  “You like your head jammed right up your ass, Cheryl, have at it.”

  Pain stabbed through my midsection.

  He’d never called me Cheryl. To my recollection, not even back in the day when I still was Cheryl.

  “Not that this’ll get through, but worth it to me to say it, so I’m gonna do that,” he stated. “No way in fuck would I involve myself in your kid’s life in the way I did this mornin’ unless I was goddamned, fuckin’ sure that I intended to be a part of his life and his mom’s life in a way that was healthy for all of us. May have jumped the gun with that, but there was a way to communicate that to me, and the way you did it was not that way.”

  Yeah.

  I’d taken it too far.

  Fuckin’ sure that I intended to be a part of his life and his mom’s life in a way that was healthy for all of us.

  Shit.

  I’d taken it way too far.

  I took a step toward him, but a nuance of change shifted over his frame and I stopped.

  “Merry,” I whispered.

  “You like it behind those walls in your fortress, Cheryl? Stay. I reckon it’s cold as fuck in there, but I also reckon that don’t matter to you. You’re used to it. Enjoy it in there, spinnin’ your wheels.”

  With that as his parting shot, he turned to the storm door, opened it, and strode right through.

  It whispered shut on its hinge, banging at the last when I didn’t catch it, but I did move to it.

  And I stood in it, staring out as Merry got in his truck with my son.

  Ethan looked to me and gave me a short wave.

  Merry didn’t look to me.

  He just drove away.

  * * * * *

  I sat with my cell in my hand at my kitchen table.

  I had a mug of coffee on the table in front of me.

  Coffee Merry had made me. Coffee he’d made me, wanting me to sleep in on my day off and then get to take it easy.

  My mind was at war.

  All the ugly things I’d said to Merry that morning that he didn’t deserve tormented me. I should have calmly explained how I felt about mornings with my kid. It should have leaked in that I was talking to Merry and he would cut off his own arm rather than give any impression to my son that I was less than Ethan thought me to be.

  This and a lot of other things that had happened and had been said the last five days, not to mention the strong urging of my heart, made me want to engage my texts and send him the two short words that would tell him what I was feeling and give him what he deserved.

  I’m sorry.

  Another part of me—the dark, ugly part that kept me locked inside the cold, airless shell I’d created—thought this was good. It was over. It might all be over, everything Merry and I had, including our friendship, but that was okay.

  I was safe from him and he was safe from me.

  And I’d listened to my heart twice in my life.

  I knew better.

  Right then, it didn’t feel that way.

  Right then, it felt like if I didn’t act immediately to fix the damage I’d inflicted on Merry and me that morning, I’d be making the biggest mistake of my life.

  I lifted the coffee and sipped it.

  It was very strong.

  But it was good coffee.

  Then I engaged my phone, my thumb moving over it.

  I went to who I needed to go to and typed in a text to my mom.

  Don’t know if you heard. They got him. It’s all good.

  I hit send, took another sip of coffee, and stared out the window, my mind filled with Merry’s low, deep, beautiful but hollow voice.

  My phone sounded and I looked down at it.

  That’s good, sugar. And Garrett?

  I pretended I didn’t know what Mom was asking and sent, He’s fine. Everyone’s fine. Marty Fink tackled the guy behind Dairy Queen.

  Within seconds, she returned, Good to hear, Cher. But what your mother wants to know is why he was holding your hand last night or just why he was with my baby girl.

  I hated doing it, but I didn’t want my mom to know just how incredibly stupid I was. She knew I could be stupid because I’d handed her a lot of stupid for twenty-five years before I started to get smart. She was now living in a world where her daughter was a little less stupid. She didn’t need to think I was sliding back.

  So I lied.

  He was just tweaked, I sent. Then added, He happened to be at the bar when he got the call. Worried that the dude was at large in our neighborhood. You know he’s a good guy, Mom.

  I know that. I’m glad he’s OK, she returned, and in her first three words, even through a text, I actually felt her disappointment that a good guy like Merry wasn’t holding her daughter’s hand in the way she hoped he would.

  Then again, he was.

  And I’d fucked it up.

  Shit.

  Two words. I knew Merry would accept them. Easy to type them out.

  I’m sorry.

  I turned my attention back to my phone, hit what I had to hit, and put it to my ear.

  It rang three times before Vi answered, “Hey, babe.”

  “You got lunch plans today?” I asked.

  “I do now,” she answered. “Frank’s? The Station? Feelin’ like Chinese?”

  “My pad,” I told her.

  “Cool,” she replied. “What time?”

  “Noon good for you?”

  “Yeah. And hey,” she went on, “Bobbie’s got mums on sale for half off and I got my tradesman discount. You want some for your outside pots?”

  “That’d be good. The usual. Purple and white.”

  “Hmm…not sure she has white. But she has cream.”

  “That’ll work.”

  “Right. See you at noon.”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a pause before she asked, “Hey, you okay?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Oh shit,” she whispered, then asked tentatively, “Merry?”

  “Just come at noon, Vi.”

  “I’ll be there, honey.”

  “Later.”

  “’Bye.”

  I hit the screen to disconnect and tossed my phone on the table. I grabbed my cup of coffee, took a sip, put it to the table, and looked unseeing out the window.

  I did this a long time, eyes dry.

  When I finally snapped myself out of it, I realized I had just enough time to shower, slap on my makeup, do my hair, and get to the grocery store so I could make Vi a decent meal that didn’t involve microwave popcorn, chocolate, or Funyuns.

  But before I headed out of the kitchen, I turned off the oven, grabbed a potholder, and pulled out the plate of waffles.

  They looked amazing.

  I wanted to freeze them and keep them forever.

  I threw them in the trash.

  * * * * *

  Violet Callahan sat across my kitchen table from me, silent. The sandwich of shredded, fake crabmeat, mayo, and avocado that sat next to a stac
k of Pringles on a plate in front of her was untouched.

  Cal, her husband, had their kids, Angela and Sam.

  Cal was a bona fide badass of the scary variety, regardless of how much he loved his woman, his kids, and her daughters from her first marriage to a man who, sadly, was murdered, or how easily he showed all that. He still was scary in a way that Ryker, who looked like the maniac he only partially was, couldn’t be.

  There was no way to explain it. If you met Cal, you knew that was just his way.

  Which made it sweet as all get-out that he took their two very young children pretty much everywhere he went. They even had playpens and cribs at his office. It was crazy.

  Then again, his first wife was a strung out junkie who didn’t pay attention, and thus, his baby boy had drowned in a bathtub. So it wasn’t that surprising he kept his kids close.

  See? Life sucked. For everybody.

  It was just that for some, they made their way to happy.

  That just wasn’t for me.

  “Vi,” I prompted when she didn’t say anything. She’d barely moved, hadn’t taken a bite, even though I’d been blathering for the last twenty minutes about all that had been going down with me.

  Except for Ryker’s warning about my neighbors, I didn’t leave anything out.

  “Vi,” I snapped when she still didn’t say anything.

  “Quiet,” she returned. “I’m trying to stop myself from slapping you upside your head.”

  Loved my girl.

  Feb was my big sister and I loved her too. But Vi was my bestie, the best one I’d ever had, and I’d knock your teeth out if you said she wasn’t the best friend there could be.

  Even so, not real big on her telling me she wanted to slap me upside my head.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Uh…what?”

  “God, Cher!” she cried angrily, then leaned in to the table my way. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

  “It isn’t your problem.”

  She leaned back, glaring and speaking. “Yeah. That’s the part that makes me want to slap you upside your head.”

  “I’m tellin’ you now,” I pointed out.

  “You know,” she started conversationally, then hit me with her best shot, and it was a doozy. “It doesn’t feel real good when I got a BFF who’d race to my side at the drop of a hat if she got even the inkling that I need her—and I know this because she’s done that— and she doesn’t let me do the same for her. Of anyone, Cher, in all the shit that’s gone down in this ’burg with people who mean something to you, you know, bein’ a mom, you freakin’ know it’s no hardship when you’re called on to look after somebody. It’s an honor. I cannot imagine why you’d take that privilege from me.”