Page 104 of Remiss
He prayed he reached her and she found a way to respond, even though he didn’t believe in that bullshit. In his mind, though, his and Megan’s love was eternal, able to transcend time and place.
Able to overcome his motherfuckery. He’d turned his back on her when she needed him most.
“Baby, I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I get it, Megan. I swear I fuckin’ do. Just come home so I can show you. Ima kill all those motherfuckers who insulted you. Ima kill all those motherfuckers who voted against me and then fuck up the entire American Scorpion organization. Ain’t given’ a good fuck what Celia asked.Youmy priority. Ima kick those cunts out the fuckin’ club and get new girls. Ima end the Bobs. Ima take you to see Rule personally.” He sniffed the pillow again. “You want me to build a hospital for him so he can be close? I’ll pay the doctors a mint. Come home, Megan. Come home.”
Christopher fell asleep chanting that plea.
Curled up in bed, Meggie reached out and ran her hand over the empty place next to her. The spot where Christopher should’ve been. Could’ve been…Would’vebeen if he hadn’t turned so completely against her.
Exactly what did he want from her?
He was angry that she’d scheduled the surgery after he’d called her selfish when she wouldn’t. He was begging her to return when she’d become little more than an afterthought to him.
The constant upheaval exhausted her and yet the hours away from her husband and other sons left her aching and uneasy. She missed them,him, but he needed to know his behavior was unacceptable. Obviously, a pussy lockout was no longer effective. She hoped these drastic measures got through to him.
If not, then what?
A lifetime of disregard and disrespect? A graduation to cheating and abuse? She’d spent her adult life holding Christopher down and would gladly spend eternity in that role. But his behavior and attitude was depleting her inner strength. Wholly unacceptable, considering how much she was needed to be there for him, their sons, and their daughters.
He wanted his Sweet Angel back. It would be so easy for Meggie to give in, considering her broken heart at the distance separating them. All she had to do was cave. Stand down. Hope her husband came back.
Arguably, Christopher’s Sweet Angel talked him down, played along with his games, and excused his manipulations. His Sweet Angel reminded him that family was first, always and forever. That any club slights or issues could be excused because of blood ties and personal bonds. She’d pull out her No-Kill list on a regular basis.
MaybeOutlawneeded that sweet angel. But Christopher?
Christopherdefinitely needed Hell Goddess. He needed Hell Goddess to protect him and make decisions he couldn’t seem to.
Meggie understood that Christopher would be less resistant to the new her if he wasn’t in her scope, too. Little by little over the weeks, his words and actions crushed her. Neither her softness or her tears helped matters.
Another concern for Meggie because she saw herself in Gypsy and it left her spiraling.
Closing her eyes, Meggie sniffled, and hot tears slid down her cheeks. She was so tired of crying. If it wasn’t over one thing, then it was another.She’dcaused her latest misery by leaving her husband and children. Her home.
She’d just walked away, which wouldn’t help any of them.
Obviously, you have the answers for everything except your own fucking marriage.
Ophelia’s words invaded Meggie’s guilt, and she growled.
When she left the kitchen, she’d gone to the nursery and read Gunner and Blade a bedtime story, then went and thanked Axel for his help, talked to Bunny for a few minutes, then showered and finally crawled into bed. All the while, she pretended Ophelia hadn’t touched a nerve.
But she had. Except that witch didn’t know what took place behind closed doors. She had no right to castigate Meggie when she had her own issues and demons.
With every passing moment, her desire to talk to Christopher grew stronger. Somehow, she ignored the need to call him and just hear his voice.
Sighing, Meggie reached for her cellphone and forced herself to dial Father Wilkins’ number instead of her husband’s. She expected the same result—no answer.
“Hello?”
It took her a moment to realize the priest didn’t send her to voicemail.
“Father Wilkins?”
“Mrs. Caldwell…? Are…you okay?”
He hadn’t recognized the number. She felt like an idiot when she realized he hadn’t answered because she was using a burner to call him.
“I’m fine,” she said quietly. “The question is how are you? I didn’t know about the rectory fire until a couple of days ago.”
