“Why weren’t you there instead of Duke?” he all but growls and walks away. “Forget I asked, love. Go to work. I’ll find something to do.”
“I didn’t know,” I say quietly. “I didn’t know he’d gone to get you.”
He rounds on me. “But you did know I was there.”
I can only nod, misery filing me, yet there is a glimmer of hope. Is the fact that I wasn’t there the reason behind his anger?
“For how long?” I try to speak but I can’t. He grabs my shoulders, gentling as his large hands settle on them. “How long, Ophelia and don’t you dare lie to me.”
“Let me explain,” I plead. “You don’t know what—"
“Answer me.” His gaze turns dark. He’s not the man I married, but I don’t feel unsafe at the moment. In fact, I can see the pain in his gaze. “A couple of months.”
“What can I drive?” he asks, the change in subject mind-reeling. “And where are the keys?”
“In the foyer. There’s a bowl on the table,” I all but choke on the words. “You can take mine.”
He stares at me a beat longer before letting me go, moving to the front door and tossing over his shoulder, “Don’t wait up, wife.”
Everything inside of me is screaming at me, at him, leaving me feeling paralyzed. I don’t stop him as he shoves the door open. I don’t run after him when I hear the car door open and shut. I don’t do anything at all when I hear the scrub of tires against gravel as he speeds down the driveway.
It’s like I’ve lost Laird all over again.
Chapter Ten
Laird
GUILT PINGS AROUND my chest, like a metal ball in a vintage pinball machine while I sit in a rundown bar that looks as if it’s seen better days. As long as the beer is good and people leave me the hell alone, I’m okay with rundown.
I tip up the bottle and finish off my beer. A guy sits down beside me, signaling the bartender.
“Don’t get the special,” I warn him just to show that I can be not an asshole. “Seven Finger Toss is better.”
“Thanks for the advice,” he says, and I want to groan. This guy sounds exactly like Duke, which means he’s most likely related to me. “How long have you been here?”
“Thanks for the ego boost, but you’re not my type.” I move to leave, but he applies pressure to my shoulder. “Sit down, little brother.”
I turn to the guy, taking in his dark hair and dark eyes. We look nothing alike. I should have asked a second time for pictures of my siblings, but Dr. Drees warned against the trauma of it. Who was I to argue... a chump, that’s who. “Which one are you?”
“Knight.”
“You really let people call you that?”
He smirks. “Better than punkass.”
“Not more insults.” I smack my fist against my chest. “How will I ever recover?”
Knight shakes his head in wonderment. “I didn’t believe it when Duke said you’d regressed all the way to puberty. I owe the man a beer.”
“Y’all’s brotherly love is touching.”
“Your version of showing love and respect to your mother by ignoring her is appalling.”
Shit. I should make time for the woman who brought me into this world. Another strike against Ophelia for making me ignore what, or rather who is important in my life. I narrow my eyes at him. “Ophelia didn’t send you here?”
“Why would she?” he asks, then his eyes narrow right back. God, we even make faces alike in this family “What did you say to her?”
I don’t answer him right away. Instead I concentrate on peeling the label off the empty bottle of beer.
“Laird.”
“My marriage is none of your business, and maybe we had some kind of kumbaya moments in the past about relationships, but it’s not happening from now on.”
“I don’t want the intimate details of your marriage. I only want to protect Ophelia from further damage,” he says.
“Is she some kind of fucking saint y’all have to protect at all costs?” What I really want to ask is what did she do to earn this kind of respect from my brothers.
Knight grunts. “She was there for you when I couldn’t be. She’s always been there for you. I think without her, you’d be exactly what you are right now.”
I slam the bottle on the counter. “I don’t even know who I am, or who I want to be, so forgive me if I have zero interest in hearing about how awesome my wife is or how much of an asshole I would have been without her.”
He holds up his hands. “I get it. More than you realize.”
“Sure you do.” He’s not the one with years missing from his life. He didn’t have it interrupted. From what Duke told me, Knight has the perfect life.
“When I got out of the Army, I didn’t know what to do, how to act... shit, I almost lost Campbell because I was so damn confused. For the longest time, the Army made up for the absence our dad’s suicide caused. I couldn’t make it up to you for not doing more to help you forget finding him or—.”
I stare at him blankly. “Excuse me?”
Knight pales a little. “No one told you?”
“I was told he passed when I was thirteen” Damn Dr. Drees to hell for keeping this from me. “I thought he died from a heart attack or something.” The vagueness to the docs answers let me fill my own narrative in the gaps.
“Fuck,” Knight breathes. “I’m sorry, Laird. I thought you knew. Duke said you knew. Shit.”
“It’s not Duke’s fault. He had no idea my information as incomplete.” However, I feel betrayed again. “I found him huh?” That had to do a number on me. Maybe it’s best I don’t remember.
“Yeah, but uh, Deacon was with you, so you didn’t see the worst of it.” Knight’s jaw works. “I think we need to have a family meeting. What works for you?”
“Wow, someone actually asking me what I want...” I shake my head. “As soon as possible, I think.”
“I know the feeling and we can talk more about it, but uh, I’m afraid if we keep talking, I’ll share shit you aren’t ready for and that’s not mine to share.” Knight mutters something under his breath. “Go home to your wife. She’s always been the one you ran to when things got tough. I’ll hit you up later.”
IT’S NEARLY MIDNIGHT by the time I get home. The front porch light is on and I’d almost bet my last dollar that Ophelia is still up. She seems like the type to worry over a husband coming home late—not that I’m a husband to be worried over at this point.
I run a hand over my face. What’s wrong with me? Maybe I should have stayed in Dr. Drees’s hospital longer, insisted on the family coming to me instead of the other way around.
Only I can’t change that now. I don’t want to go back there. I need to stay here so I can learn more about my past, my family—including a father who killed himself.
God, do I really want to know more about that? Do I want to relive finding him? I’d already grieved, in a way, the man who died. It was an odd sort of grief, like watching a movie or reading a book where you are invested in the plot.
Pushing those thoughts away, I jog up to the front porch, pausing on the first step as it creaks under my weight.
The door flies open.
“Laird?” Ophelia says from behind the screen door.
Relief intertwined with a bit of sweetness fills me at the sight.
“You should have called me.”
Irritation burns it all away. “Didn’t realize I had a curfew.”
Ophelia’s eyes flash, but she remains calm. “I meant so that I could tell you the code to get in the house. I don’t have your number so I couldn’t call or text you.”
My ears heat. “Thanks for waiting up for me.”
She pushes open the screen door as I climb the last of the steps. “I have to work tomorrow.”
“You should have told me.”
She nods. “Yes, I should have.”
Why does she keep being so agreeable? I push past her, careful not to touch any part of m
y wife. “Where would you like for me to sleep?”
Her breath catches in her throat, and I turn to face her. “In our bedroom,” she says.
Heat travels from my ears to my groin. Despite my irritation and overall confusion that’s given way to anger, I am more than attracted to my wife. “Really?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I use the guest room as my office, but maybe you’ll remember the mattress and have a really good night’s sleep. It’s the one from the houseboat.”
“The houseboat?”
“Before... we lived on a houseboat.” She touches the wall. “We were in the process of remodeling this.”
“So this isn’t our home.”
“When we were younger it was our safe place.” She gazes at me steadily. “Sometimes we’d say it was our Neverland.”
“Why would we say that?” I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I await her answer.
“Because it’s where we came to get away from real life. From all the nightmares and people who said we shouldn’t be together.”
“Like my family?”
“No. Just people.”
Interesting. “What was the reasoning behind it?”
Her lashes lower, hiding her pretty gaze from me. “Because they thought you were too good for someone like me.”
I hook a finger under her chin, lifting her face. “Look at me when you’re talking about our past. Why did they think that?”
Pale green eyes, so pure in color, pierce me. “Because people thought I was as crazy as my momma. My dad died in a freak surfing accident when I was a toddler. It drove my momma crazy with grief and she became... eccentric. Children aren’t very kind when parents act like that. Didn’t help we own a funeral home either.”
“Adults aren’t much better. I don’t have to be able to remember things to know that much about human nature.” I slide my fingers along her jaw, no longer hold up her head, but caressing satiny skin. “Why didn’t I treat you like the rest?”
She licks her plump lips. Desire and lust crash together. I can understand why the old me wanted her. My body is on fire for hers, with just a touch. “You were different. Kind. Protective. It wasn’t in your nature to treat others as less than you. Eventually, those feelings turned into love.”
I ignore the part about love and concentrate on how she described me. “Wasn’t in my nature. As in past tense.”
She shrugs a little, but she doesn’t pull away from my touch. “I don’t know the new you well enough to make an assertion about your character.”
“Liar.” I smile at a little. “Duke, Knight, and even your friend Caine have already made assertions about me.”
“You talked to Knight?” she asks.
I cup her cheek and she leans in to my touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. “At the bar. He says I need to meet the rest of my family.”
“Your momma is beside herself, but she’s a very understanding person. You’re a lot like her. Duke, too.” Ophelia closes her eyes again, as if she’s lost in a memory. “I still can’t believe you’re here. I want to touch you so badly, Laird. I want to—”
I take her lips with mine, unable to keep from kissing her a second longer. Her arms go around me, no hesitation at all. I can taste the sweetness of her, feel the need for me radiating from her body. I want her just as much, maybe even more. Our mouth fuse together, tongues slipping and gliding, dueling for dominance. I thought my wife would be the shy type, the type to be gently coaxed, but as my back hits the wall, I’m shocked to learn how wrong I am.
And I’m turned on even more by her boldness. The years of celibacy don’t help either.
“Please, Laird,” she says before sucking on my tongue and making my eyes roll in the back of my head. She hooks a leg around me, and I grab her ass, pressing her against me so I can feel her against my cock. “Oh my,” she all but groans each syllable. “More.”
“What kind of more?” I nip at her chin, her mouth, and travel the line of her jaw. “More kisses or should I make you mine?”
“I’m already yours,” she replies.
“Answer me, love.”
“I want you inside of me.”
“My pleasure, wife.” I lift her in my arms, walking to the closest room and laying her down on the rug covering the floor. A second later I join her, pressing nearly the full weight of my body against hers. Her legs are parted, thighs cradling me like we’ve done this a thousand times before. She moves under me, in rhythmic undulations that leave me gasping and wanting more.
Her hands are everywhere, clever fingers pull at my shirt, the button-fly of my jeans as my palms glide along silky skin that leads to her hot core. She arches her back, full breasts with pointed nipples begging for my attention underneath the thin top of her pajamas.
“I love you, Laird,” she whispers. “We can get through this together. Just like we’ve done before.”
A memory hits me, of a younger Ophelia sitting in this very room. Misery invades every pore as I listen to her. I have no idea what she’s saying. I can’t make it out, but the entire scene is akin to dunking me in freezing water.
Reality hits me. There is no way I can sleep with Ophelia. I want to, but she loves me and I feel nothing but lust and desire for her. Hell, I’m still furious at her earlier rejection.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, staring up at me with beautifully swollen lips.
“I can’t do this. I can’t... my brain is fucked. My emotions... I can’t trust them right now.”
She caresses the side of my face, her touch making me feel more like a bastard. “It’s okay. We can get through this.”
“I don’t love you.” There. It had to be said. “I feel lust. Desire. My body is definitely attracted to yours, but more than that... I can’t pretend to feel something I don’t.”
Ophelia’s mouth drops open, a whimper leaving her. “Oh.” She scrambles out from under me, her cheeks red not pink. “I’m... you can take the bed. I have...”
As she fumbles over her words, I take pity on her. “I’ll take the couch. It seems only fair.”
She doesn’t fight me on this. Instead she retreats to the bedroom, leaving me torn and unsatisfied.
Ophelia didn’t leave you unsatisfied. That was all you, brother.
I know it’s true. It’s all my fault. Yet, I did her a favor by not taking things further, giving her a hope for the future that’s not guaranteed.
Ya think, Nostradamus. How about stop doing her favors and think with you brain instead of your dick. She deserves better.
How would you know?
It’s called decency. You don’t need memories for that.
“Fuck off,” I mutter.
I seriously hate my conscience.
Chapter Eleven
Ophelia
THE NEXT MORNING, I don’t follow my normal routine of breakfast, email, and then crafting. Instead I walk the path Laird and I created when we were younger to his family’s home. A part of me wants to take my SUV, but it would only be out of spite.
With a grunt, I kick at a helpless dandelion patch.
“What did that weed do to you?” Laird asks from behind. My body hums with awareness. He’s so close that it feels like he’s touching me.
A wave of fresh feelings rush over me—embarrassment, rage, and love making me want to kick him, but not before I kiss him. I fight and win against the urge to turn around. The man is too fine for words and seeing him makes me feel all mixed up inside. If I can concentrate on his words and tone only, I’ll be much better off and prepared when dealing with this Laird I don’t know.
“Nothing and it’s not a weed. It’s just an unwanted flower in most people’s lawns.” I don’t stop walking. “You can drive my car to your heart’s content.”
“I wouldn’t know where to go,” he says. “Where are you going?”
“Are you asking because you truly want to know, or because you think cheating is in my DNA and I have a rendezvous with my lover Caine?
”
He grabs the crook of my arm, spinning me around. His ocean eyes are stormy, full of a jealousy I can’t comprehend because it makes no damn sense. “Are you?”
“Why does it matter? You don’t love me.” I hate saying those words. Hate with every beat of my heart to give those words my voice. It makes last night all too real instead of simply a nightmare that I endured. “You’re only attracted to my physical appearance.”
“It’s a start.”
I shake my head. “For you, but not for me.”
“Knight thinks I should go to a therapist.” Laird lets go of my arm. “Just got off the phone with him and saw you disappear into the woods.”
“I thought you had therapy on the island, in the hospital.”
He slashes his hand through the air. “It’s not enough.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I demand.
“Honestly, it seems like the right thing to do,” he says. “My first thought was to go to you.”
I don’t know if I should be pleased by his admission. “I think you should go.”
“What if things don’t change? What if I don’t get my memories back.” A hint of vulnerability shines through and in that moment, my heart softens to him. “What if I never... this is so fucked up.”
I touch his arm, making him jolt. “You don’t know unless you try. Maybe being home will help you recover faster.”
His gaze hardens. “Would you look at that. Your lover is here.”
“My what?” I spin around, only to see Caine striding through the woods. Of all the days, all the times, this is when he comes calling? Wait, he’s not alone.
“Who’s the kid,” Laird asks.
“Our niece.”
Caine flashes me an apologetic smile. “Morning Auntie O and Uncle Laird. Hazel wanted to meet you on your way to Gramma’s.”
“Auntie O,” Hazel chirps, wriggling her hand out of Caine’s to run to me. She has beautiful brown eyes and ringlets the color of parchment paper. “You’re here. Let’s go play dollies.”
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