“Sweet dreams, Dylan.” She flicked the light switch off, and my view of her was gone.
Sweet hell.
As soon as she closed the door behind her, I locked myself in my bedroom and fumbled for the waist of my jeans. There were no clear thoughts, just hunger and lust. I ran to the window and watched her cross the street.
Get in the house, Callie. Go home. Go.
She looked back as she stepped up onto her porch, and my jeans were around my ankles, my dick rock hard in my hand. She looked up at my window. I didn’t pull back from the curtains—I was too far-gone—no care in the world if she watched me. Maybe I wanted her to see. Maybe I needed her to see. I needed everyone to see what this all was doing to me. I hadn’t been with a woman in almost a year. A year. I wanted to be inside her so bad, I could taste her. My thoughts were so all-encompassing about her, I could feel her when she wasn’t here.
I opened the top of my nightstand and pulled out some lube. I slathered it on as she walked into her house, and I watched as the lights shut on and off until a light glow from her bedroom flickered and her silhouette was standing in front of her window.
Was she watching me?
God forgive me, but I was so close to coming with the thought. I was instantly jacking myself hard and fast. My hand was warm and wet with lubrication. Was she inside her room, touching herself? Her fingers deep inside her, wet lips whispering my name. Was she thinking of me?
The shadow behind her curtain moved. What was she wearing? Was she standing naked, the swell of her round breasts, tight, taut nipples puckering at me, waiting for my mouth? My hand gripped the windowsill. I saw her legs, smooth, silky legs against the darkness. A small glimpse of her thighs. Was that the curve of her ass? Was she really there? Fuck, I was getting so close.
It was building frantically now, spiraling, surging electricity deep in my balls. I imagined her bent in front of me, spreading her wide with my hands and thrusting in deep with my cock. I tightened the grip on my dick and fucked harder.
I wished she stayed. I needed to be inside her. Anywhere. Her mouth, her pussy, her ass—I just needed her soft skin and her laugh.
Fuck, I needed everything from her.
I came hard, shooting hot cum into my hands and across the glass panes, calling out Callie’s name.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
I kept my eyes closed until my breathing slowed.
Fuck my life.
I thudded my forehead against the glass, hissing out a string of curses. I just had the best orgasm of my entire life, by myself, thinking of someone who wasn’t my wife. God help me.
I opened my eyes and looked across to her bedroom window. She stood there, watching me, her against the inside of the glass. Oh God. Our eyes locked, but I couldn’t look at her for more than a moment. What am I going to say to her? What did she see? I needed to go see her. I needed to know what she saw. Fuck, did I want her to see me? While I was doing it, yes, yes, I wanted her to see me, and...I don’t even know.
On the floor, my phone buzzed.
I dropped to my knees, welcoming the reprieve of seeing her beautiful face across the street as I stared like some perverted Peeping Tom out the window at her.
“Hello?” I said.
“What’s happening, Dylan?” Her voice was no more than a whisper.
“I don’t know what this is,” I said, not knowing how to answer. I wanted to fall apart. I wanted to do this night over. Do this life over. Choose other things.
“What? What is?” she asked hesitantly.
“This. This thing between us.” This live, breathing, thick thing I can’t shake.
I heard her swallow. Her breath was a lifeline for me. She sniffed and choked out a little gasp.
“We’re just a fleeting friendship, Dylan.” She sighed sadly. “You and Sheri will work things out, you love your wife, and I’ll just be the friendly neighbor. You’re going to make your marriage right again. And I’m not going to be called a mistake that happened when this is all over.”
I wasn’t happy with that as the outcome. Not by a long shot. But maybe she was right. I’ve been faithful for this long, through all Sheri’s mistakes, and I couldn’t mess up now. I wouldn’t. Too many people would get hurt.
Chapter 13
Callie
Early this morning, Dylan dropped the kids off at my house. His eyes looked swollen and red, his hair a wild mess.
“Are you okay?” I asked, taking Ben from his arms and letting Addison shove her doll stroller inside. The damn thing was still broken and made the most annoying sound as soon as it hit my hardwood floors.
“Yeah.” Dylan nodded his head and looked away, wincing. “Callie, last night—”
“Stop.” Crap, I didn’t want to hear it. “Nothing is happening, stop feeling guilty. Nothing happened. Okay?”
He nodded again and shifted on his feet. Behind me, Addison put on the television as I taught her, and SpongeBob's laughter filled the house.
"Today's supposed to be Sheri's first day in rehab."
His ears turned bright red as he spoke, and he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. I just wanted to throw my arms around him. I hated that he felt guilty and worried about someone who wasn't worth his time. But it was his wife. I kept repeating the mantra in my head. For better or worse, in sickness and in health. I would just be a quick fuck. A release. But more so, he would see me as his infidelity, and all I’d amount to was a mistake. And for the first time since Craig, I cared about someone. I didn’t want to be someone’s regret, especially not Dylan’s. I’d want more after, and he wouldn’t be able to give it to me. And I’d never be able to see the kids again.
I stayed up most of last night, thinking about it. One night with Dylan Sanborn would be pretty hot—but when the dust settled and his wife was clean, I'd be thrown away. Unneeded, unwanted, and nothing more than a dirty, shameful secret. I may sometimes think of myself as that easy, but I didn’t want the kids ever to see me that way. I never want to hurt them. So, right now the only thing to do was focus on helping Dylan with the kids while he saved his wife.
Maybe Sheri and I could even one day be friends.
It was the most mature adult thing I think I’ve done in years. I even texted Ryan about it, feeling proud of myself.
His response: Tits up, Pop-Tart, you’ll find a freak just right for you soon enough. Vince from narcotics was asking about you.
Ugh. Narcotics guys were crazy.
I’d probably give him a call later.
I took a deep breath and gave Dylan an encouraging smile. "I'm glad she's getting help. That's the first step, and soon this will be all over. It'll be good again.
His brows pulled in, and he gave a sharp laugh. "Good. Again." He said the words individually, as if they didn’t belong together. Oh boy, he was acting like it had never been good to begin with.
Stop thinking and troubling yourself with it, Callie. It's his bed, and he's got to sleep in it. There's no room for you in there anywhere.
I clapped my hands together to snap us out of whatever the hell was going on between us in the doorway. He nodded and handed me the keys to his house. “I had an extra set. In case you need stuff.”
I pinched my lips together and nodded like a fool. That was a trusting thing to do, just give me the keys to his house. My cheeks heated, and I immediately turned away from him so he wouldn’t see.
“Oh, and tomorrow, my uh…mother-in-law asked if she could spend the day with the kids.”
I froze where I stood—happy I wasn't facing him so he couldn't see the blood completely drain from my face. See how quickly you're not needed. Because they're not your children, and they don't need you. He doesn't need you. My stomach clenched hard. This was all wrong. My thoughts scrambled around; maybe I misheard him? Plastering what I hoped was a bright smile on my face, I turned full around to face him head-on.
"Your mother-in-law?"
"Yeah. She wants to see them. And Sheri will
be somewhere safe; no one has to worry about her." He licked his lips like the words tasted funny on them.
"That's great," I said, maybe a tad too brightly. Whatever. I didn't want to deal with this. Pins and needles were dancing across my chest, I was confused and hurt, and there was no reason why I should be.
Fucking hell, that asshole Ryan Cage was right.
“And I have an appointment on my lunch break to visit Little Hands Daycare.”
Oh, fuck you, life.
I took a deep breath and smiled brighter. “That is just terrific.”
"Yeah, I can't keep bothering you every day. You need to get back to your life, and I need to get back to mine."
Dylan picked up the kids at eight o’clock sharp—devoid of all eye contact.
“Great news,” he said, looking past me over my shoulder. Why couldn’t he look at me?
“What?” I said breathlessly, shifting in front of his line of view, forcing him to notice me.
He moved his head, still staring at anything but me. “The kids start daycare the day after tomorrow. You could have your life back.” He brushed by me as if I wasn’t choking and drowning from his words. “How’s my little man?” he asked, scooping up Ben from his bouncy seat and unbuckling him gently. He nuzzled kisses into Ben’s cheeks and gave the top of my hair a wide grin. “You, Detective Ward, are now officially rid of me and my screwed up life.”
It was as if someone punched me right in the chest and pulled my life out from right under my feet.
I stood in the doorway, realizing how empty my life had been before that little girl rang my doorbell. Did Dylan realize that right at that very minute, everything I ever thought I wanted in my life, quiet, safe, solitude, was shattered from the squeal of a little giggle and the innocent giggles of his son?
I was never going to have this for myself.
No one would ever call me “Mom”.
Dylan would never want me. I wasn’t his wife. I wasn’t anything to him.
I had a moment. A moment of altered reality; it was never real.
Ryan was right.
Suddenly, the weight of wanting it, of the profound loss of it, had grown too heavy. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to be someone’s mom. I wanted to be someone’s love, someone’s life. I wanted a family to love.
I wanted to have a family to love me back.
Addison ran to her father, hugging his leg, squealing the bright sound of childish innocence. She was like my rainbow, both her and Ben were. Something I would see from far away and never be able to hold.
I made no sounds. I couldn’t even imagine what I looked like. What expression does one make when your soul feels like it’s being crushed and ripped out of one’s body? I didn’t want to know.
Dylan reached out and squeezed my arm. A sweet gesture. A simple, friendly touch—a last one—that tore my flesh to pieces and left me in nothing but a pile of dust.
“I’ll never be able to express how grateful I am for everything you did for my family.”
His family. His children and his wife. The words burned, contradictory to his calm, gorgeous smile. How could he not see I was bleeding out in front of him?
“Give Callie a big thank you hug for watching you, Addison.”
Her arms wrapped around my waist instantly, and when she let go, dancing out the door the way she always did, I felt something deep inside my chest break off, and the empty feeling it left behind almost consumed me with grief.
All I could do was raise my hand to wave goodbye.
I watched my fingers move as if they were someone else’s, some other woman whose heart was just shattered completely, not mine. Those hands were too old and too alive to be mine.
Never once in my life have I ever had a relationship of any kind that hasn’t left me with bruises. I felt cut open, and all the love and life seeped from my veins until I was nothing more than a husk.
The Sanborn family walked down my front porch, Addison skipping along next to her father, and straight across the street to their own home. I watched them through blurry eyes until their front door closed and everything was back to the way it was before. Before a scared little girl in need rang my doorbell and asked for the cops. It was good to remember that's all I was in this story, the responding officer to the call.
I pulled out my cell phone with trembling fingers and called Ryan.
“Yeah, Pop-Tart?” he answered.
“You were right.” I sniffled.
Thirty minutes later, there was an emergency poker game at my house. Whiskey, cigars, and chips littered my small kitchen as Ryan, Dean, and their girlfriends sat around my dining table, trying to get me drunk.
They even had the decency to bring Vince from narcotics, who was hot as fuck, just not as hot as Dylan.
As soon as I thought those words, I kissed Vince from narcotics. Dylan wasn’t available, and the reality was, we’d never be together and those kids would never know me as anything other than the neighbor. I would never make a difference in their lives or his. Never.
And that's the last thing I remember, because...well, whiskey neat filled the gaping hole where my heart used to be.
Chapter 14
Dylan
Today began the first day of Sheri’s detox.
Claudine picked up the kids before I left for work and begged me to let them stay with her overnight. She promised she’d take them to daycare the next morning, right after breakfast. I assumed it was because she wanted to scope the place out, which made me feel less worried. A second opinion, that’s what I needed.
No, what I needed was for their mother to be healthy enough to help me make decisions I didn’t want to make alone. I didn’t like that I was getting used to it—being the only one who did any of the important stuff—I wanted someone to share the responsibilities with, along with all its ups and downs.
All day at work, I snapped at everyone because I was feeling bitter and uncomfortable about everything. By the end of the shift, each person I lashed out at offered me their own asinine advice about my situation.
“You need to get laid,” Frank said, winking and gyrating his hips wildly.
Lena smirked. “You got any life insurance on her?”
“You need to get laid really good,” Frank explained again, this time using other pornographic movements that weren’t so pornographic when he demonstrated them.
“Don't let her use that junk they put right in their veins. That'll make all her hair fall out, and she's got beautiful hair," Vinny said gravely.
Frank talked about me getting laid a dozen more times. The last piece of guidance he bestowed on me was, “Hey, I know. Why don’t you have the hot cop arrest the wife and then have a threesome?”
I sometimes really wondered if this family did a ton of inbreeding at one time down its genetic line.
Miraculously, they let me end my shift at four o’clock so I could head straight to the rehabilitation center for a spousal interview. I felt sick the entire drive there. What would they ask me? What if all of this was my fault somehow? What if this didn’t help? What if it did? What if it did help and we still both felt miserable in this god-awful relationship? What if I was still unhappy?
Recovery, The Center for Alcohol and Drug Rehabilitation.
The place was pristine. Whiter than any building should be. My eyes hurt from standing in the front lobby, waiting for someone to call me in. People walked through the waiting area calmly, serenely speaking in awkwardly happy tones. Callie would get a kick out of this. Those were my first thoughts: how white the place was, and what Callie would think. Great.
"Mr. Sanborn?" The receptionist wiggled her fingers toward me as if she was asking to hold my hand. "Please follow me. It's just this way."
I was appalled when her icy fingers grasped solidly onto mine—not in a handshake—she was honest to God holding my hand, like she was my middle school girlfriend. Then she started to swing our arms.
“Okay, that’s enough,” I growled, yank
ing my hand back before she started making me compose a campfire song with a kazoo. “I’m sorry, but I’m here for Sheri Sanborn. She’s supposed to be in her first full day of detox—” The crazy woman went for my hand again. “And if you hold my hand again, I might flip the fuck out. Seriously.”
“Right.” She smiled tightly. “Mr. Sanborn, this is all a part of the atmosphere of this facility.”
"Look, I have two young children at home who need at least one of their parents there tonight." I lied. I didn't care. The crazy woman wasn't touching me again. "As far as I have seen, this place is a trash compactor for my money. I don't need any new age bullshit. I need you to help my wife. That's it. I don’t need my hand held. I'm all right."
She cleared her throat and bustled off ahead of me. “Right this way, Mr. Sanborn.”
She led me into a large cream-colored office. The walls were covered with soft pastel paintings of landscapes and gave off a tranquil feel. I instantly needed a drink.
“Mr. Sanborn, welcome.” Behind the desk stood a gangly man with a soft smile and shiny bald head. "I'm so glad we could have the chance to meet you tonight. Sheri is currently responding well to her first day."
"I'm sorry, I didn't get your name," I said, reaching out and offering him a firm handshake.
“Matthew. I’m the head counselor here.” He gestured to a seat in front of his desk. “Why don’t you have a seat, and we could get you up to speed on Sheri’s treatment plan. I know you have two small children to get back to.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. They must have cameras in the hallway. I looked around for evidence of listening devices or video monitors. I found none.
“So,” he began, clasping his hands together, “Sheri is a heroin addict.”
“Yes,” I said slowly, suddenly feeling a hot flash of guilt.
Matthew cleared his throat and smiled. “Okay. Sheri’s detoxification process will be determined by her unique body composition and metabolism, her choice of drugs, the duration of her drug use, and any other addictions that may apply to her.”
Finding Love (Behind Blue Lines Book 3) Page 9