Page 12 of A More Than Mayhem Christmas

I expect the questions to come right away, but they don’t. Instead, she takes my hand in hers, linking our fingers, and we walk silently, side by side, toward the exit. It’s not until we’re in the car, with me behind the wheel, that I even attempt to look at her.

She’s been crying, as I knew she would be, and a part of me wants to comfort her, but I know she won’t accept it, because in her mind, she believes I need to be comfortedmore.

So, instead, I sit with my back against the car door and just watch her. I watch her profile as she stares ahead, each intake of breath more uneven than the last.

I wait, readying the words in my mind for all the things she needs an answer to.

“How long have I known him?”

“How much time have I spent with him?”

“What the fucking fuck happened to him?”

But she doesn’t ask any of those things. Instead, she faces me, her eyes red and raw from emotion. “That was the hat and glove your dad gave you when you were?—”

“When I was like him?” I finish for her.

Amanda nods once, then blinks, releasing another set of tears.

I shrug, adjusting so I’m facing the windshield again. “It’s no big deal.”

“Logan…”

“Look, I love you. You know I do. And I know you want to fix this, but this is reality.” I think, deep down, this is why I couldn’t tell her about Micah. Because as much as Amanda wants to heal the world, nothing we do will change the reality of Micah’s life. Or the reality of my past. “These things happen to innocent children every day, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Iwishthere was more we could do to help him, but there isn’t.” And I’m done thinking about it. Done agonizing over it. I need to get the fuck out of here. Out of the hospital and out of my head. “You mind driving home from Cam and Lucy’s? I really need a drink… or ten.”

5

Lucy

It’s said that passion dies out the longer people stay together. Personally, I say,fuck that. Cam and I have been a couple since we were fifteen, and our physical need for each other has only grown.

Cam had barely put the car in park before I was stripping out of my clothes, preparing myself for whatever he was about to give me. And boy, did he give it to me. Against the front door, on the living room floor, the couch, the bathroom counter, and finally our bedroom. We didn’t make it to the actual bed, just the floor, where we currently lie in a heap of sweat and post-orgasm bliss.

Child-free sex is the best sex, and I will die a thousand deaths on that hill.

“I can’t feel my legs,” I murmur.

Beside me, Cameron chuckles, then leans up on his elbow so he can look down at me. He smiles, his eyes softening as he takes in my appearance. I will never, ever get used to the way he looks at me. The way he worships and reveres me, even when Idon’t feel worthy of it. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, running his thumb across my heated cheek. “God, I needed that. Thank you.”

“No, no, no,” I sigh out. “Thankyou.”

His phone dings with a text, and he whips his head up, looking around. “Where the fuck is my phone?”

I try to think back to when he removed his jeans completely. Sometime between the front door and the couch. “I think it’s in the living room.”

He kisses me once before standing, giving me a full view of his perfect, naked ass and his bare back—still showcasing the marks my fingernails left behind. I close my eyes, remembering the way his body felt on top of mine. The way his biceps bulged beneath my touch every time he thrust into me, slowly at first, and then… “Babe!” I call out. “You got some juice left for round two?”

Cameron rushes in, his eyes wide, jeans back on.Boo.“No time,” he huffs out, tapping away on his phone.

I stifle my disappointment, but don’t make a move to get up. I’m way too exhausted. Thankfully, my husband knows me well, and he’s already opening the dresser drawer to get me a bra and underwear.

“That was Jake,” he tells me. “They’ll be here in five, but he said they might not stay long because Micky’s not feeling great.”

I pop my head up just enough to watch him move to the closet. “She’s sick?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Ask him.”

---