Page 53 of Blackout: Book Two

Chapter Eighteen

Lacey

Four weeks later, after speaking to Blackie almost every day on the phone, I finally decided it was time to visit him. He was starting his twelve-step program and soon it would be time for him to make amends. It’s very emotional for a recovering addict and I didn’t want the first time we saw each other to be plagued by grief.

When I told Blackie I was coming to see him, he sounded relieved, and that hurt my heart. It was never my intention to make him feel as though I didn’t support him and I sure as hell didn’t want him to believe that I had given up on him. I was simply trying to protect myself from suffering through more pain. Everything I did, all the space between us was just me desperately trying to hold on to any shred of sanity I had left.

I told myself I was doing the right thing.

I argued I couldn’t survive another heartbreak.

That I needed to be sane for our daughter.

But our daughter needed her father, and I needed my husband.

Blackie was either going to prove my maker right or love me sober. Accepting that, I put on my big girl panties this morning and prayed for the latter. That’s a lie. I put on the sexiest pair of panties that fit, a cheeky boy short with invisible lines and then I sent the prayer up. A girl could be one with the Lord and still feel sexy about her undergarments and if she couldn’t then I was okay with going to Hell. I bet they didn’t wear any underwear there.

My effort to impress my husband didn’t stop with the sexy boy shorts, though. I wrangled my tits into a lacey bra, slipped on a black bodycon dress that showed off my new curves and ever-growing baby bump and paired it with my leather jacket. The jacket wasn’t part of my maternity wardrobe so of course it didn’t zip, but it sure as fuck completed the look. Correction, the jacket, and my black leather moto-boots completed the look.

Squeezing my feet into those was fun—not.

I continued to primp myself by taking an entirely too long to curl my hair and by the way Nico keeps eyeing me, I’m starting to think I went too heavy with my makeup. I mean he’s looking at me like I’m a streetwalker not a woman trying to wow her husband and make him fall in love with her again.

Flipping the visor down, I ignore the side-eye Nico gives me and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

I definitely went overboard with the makeup.

“It didn’t change since the last time you looked,” Nico mutters, tearing his eyes away from me to focus on the road. Slapping the visor back in place, I sigh.

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m acting ridiculous.”

“About as ridiculous as that fucking dress,” he hisses angrily. His words and the tone in which he says them shocks me and I look at him with wide eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“For Christ’s sake, Lacey, everything is hanging out,” he growls. “There’s no possible way that dress is comfortable.”

Wow. Harsh.

Suddenly feeling very self-conscious, I pull the neckline of my dress higher. It doesn’t budge and so, I tug the ends of my jacket together. When that doesn’t work, I give up.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I snap, defensively crossing my arms across my chest.

“Why are you trying so hard?” he questions.

Keeping his eyes pinned to the road, I notice as his knuckles whiten around the steering wheel

“What business is it of yours?” I sneer. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

“Right, and why would you? I’m just a ride. A fucking fool who sits with you when you’re beating yourself up and runs out to make sure you have an unlimited supply of your favorite ice cream.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a headache to you but I never asked you to be my errand boy. You took that role on yourself.”

“The fuck I did,” he shouts.

“You know what? I think you should pull over.”

“No.”

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