by Ashley Lyn
Shamus
Welcome to Spartan Series Book 3
By: Ashley Lyn
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Epilogue #2
Text copyright ©Ashley Lyn
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who many quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Kennedy Kelly, Cover Crush Designs
Editor: Dana Hook, Rebel Edit & Design
Formatting: Jaye Cox
Other works by Ashley Lyn
Welcome to Spartan Series
Love Crazy
Accidental Heiress
Dedication
To my girls, Ally Jean and Piper Mac
You’re both crazy, stubborn, beautiful girls, and I can’t wait to see the gorgeous women you’ll grow in to.
Remember to laugh, cry, and feel. Remember to love.
And, above all, treat others the way you want to be treated. The golden rule, girls, is that it means more than you could ever imagine.
Grief is a wicked bitch, one I have embraced with my whole heart. She keeps me warm on the nights I realize that I have forgotten the feel of my wife’s skin against mine. The days I sit in my closet and realize that her scent no longer lingers on her clothes. The nights I wake up from my nightmare and realize that this nightmare is real, that my children are gone. The mornings I wake and panic when I can’t remember where I’m at and start looking for them, only to realize they have never been in my arms.
She helps fan the flames of rage when that kernel of shameful anger finds its way to the forefront of my mind. I’m not talking about the unmitigated rage at the bastard who demolished my family, I’m talking about the insidious anger at my beloved wife. Everyone talks about the steps and the progression of grief, how you move and work through each step to eventually find peace and acceptance.
Those folks can kiss my fucking ass.
What they fail to tell you is that the anger that you work through isn't about the situation. In my case, it’s not only the anger at the asshole who murdered my wife, it’s anger toward my wife. I’m mad that she left me to pick up the pieces. Pissed that she didn’t fight, didn’t tell someone that he was making her uncomfortable. After everything he put her through, she let him into my fucking house, let him rip my children from her womb.
It’s completely fucking irrational, but I’m hurt that she didn’t hang on longer. That she didn’t even try to live for me. She died instantly, but that information doesn’t keep me warm at night. The emotions when they peek all smash together in a swirling ball of anger, shame, guilt, and confusion.
It’s that one single sliver of anger that has kept me stuck in perpetual hell. I had exhausted all my resources, trying to find my kids. Family and friends have—as gently as possible—tried to get me to hold a funeral or memorial service for my babies. That maybe if I say goodbye to them, that I can move on.
Fuck that! That is not what a father does. A father fights for his kids, working until he’s bleeding from skin to soul to give his kids everything. I refuse to just give up on my children.
I know in my heart that my children still live. I hit a point where my heart couldn’t take the ups and downs. Doors were being closed, offices locked up, and no one would help. But one woman, one small, irritating woman, gave me hope. I pulled myself together, one fragile piece at a time, and took that hope she gave me and used it to fuel my determination to meet with the man who flipped my world end over end.
With just one sentence, ten words, thirty-eight letters.
“We have a lead on the location of your children.
I’m holding on to Shamus’s hand as we sit at the terminal gate. I took a leave of absence from work so I could help him get stuff ready.
He hasn’t said a word since we left. He’s just sitting there, staring off into the abyss, while inside, I’m jumping around like a lunatic. I’m so freaking happy that they found them.
“Shamus, are you okay?”
His head turns and looks at me slowly, fresh tears in his eyes. I know it might sound fucked up, but I smile at him.
“They found them, Shamus! They’re alive, safe, and will be home before you know it. Smile, do a happy dance, let out a big old whoop.”
His lips twitch and I stand up do a little happy dance. His face cracks into a bigger grin and I start laughing.
“You’re nuts. People are watching.”
“Bah, let them watch.”
I sit down and pull out a notebook. “Okay, so we need to start making a list.”
“Savannah, I can’t think about all that right now.”
“Yes, you can, Shamus. You need to get out of your head and focus on moving forward right now.” Turning sideways, I pull my hair up into a messy bun. He looks at my favorite pair of Chuck Taylors, marked up with various colored sharpies, and shakes his head.
“Come on, Shamus, what’s first?”
He gives me an exasperated look. “Need to clean the house and figure out what needs to be replaced and shit. It was a mess when I bought it, and I haven’t done anything with it since then.”
I write down to clean the house and plan renovations. “What’s next.”
He looks at his hands. “Fix me.”
“You’re not broken, Shamus. Beat up a little, and bruised, but not broken.”
“I’m a god damn mess, Savannah. Drunk more than sober, I can’t sleep a full night. I just keep seeing Jenny’s thousand-yard stare and hearing my kids scream for help. I don’t have a freaking job.”
“Okay, so next on the list is you’re on the “No Fly” list. I think it would be beneficial for you to see some kind of a grief counselor.”
“Fuck no. I’m not seeing some freaking quack, Savannah.”
“You want to be the dad those kids need?” He nods his head. “Then you’re seeing a counselor. Parker has the name of someone that he sees.”
“You’re so pushy!”
“Get over it. I’m going to be all over that fine ass like stink on shit for the next month, so suck it up, big boy.”
He growls at me and I blow him a kiss. “Next…job situation?”
“I liked your idea about starting a construction company. It would give me flexibility with my hours.” He runs his hands up the back of his head and over his face. “’Course, I have no fucking money to start a company. Also, I got no money for fucking renovations.”
“For that, we’ll talk to Amy.”
“I�
��m not taking fucking handouts from Amy, who used to live in a damn tent.”
“Amy already offered when I called Parker. She’s getting an inheritance from her mother’s family.”
“No.”
“Yup. Already taken care of, so get over it, big man.” I write it down, then look up to see him looking lost and freaking out again. “It will all work out.”
“I’m not a fucking charity case, Savannah!” He yells at me, making everyone look at us.
“Then work out a loan. We’ll get the house cleaned, figure out the renovations, then come up with a number and go from there. Get your panties out of a bunch, Shamus.”
“Can’t you be serious for five minutes?”
“I am serious about this. Don’t you see that I’m trying to help? Yes, we have a lot of work to do, but they know where the kids are, and there’s someone there in case of an emergency. One way or the other, you’re getting the kids back, so pull yourself together.”
Shamus gets up and starts pacing, then makes his way over to the window and puts his hands in his back pockets. I walk up behind him and hug him, just so that I can smell him, wanting to commit his scent to memory.
“You can do this, Shamus.”
He blows out a breath and pats my hands that are wrapped around his middle.
“We need to put a car on the list. My truck is a piece of shit.”
“How about a minivan?” He glares at me over his shoulder and I snuggle in closer, laughing.
“Like an SUV or something?” His squeezes my hands. “You’re always touching me,” he says, just above a whisper.
“I like touching you, Shamus.”
“I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“I can wait.”
He laughs and I kiss his back before making my way over to the chairs, where I begin filling out the list in more detail. Shamus sits back down and grabs my hand, presses a kiss to my knuckles, then crosses his arms over his stomach and puts his head back.
I want to smooth the wrinkle in-between his eyebrows and kiss his lips. Patience has never been a virtue of mine, but I’m going to have to dig deep and find it.
She’s fucking touching me, again. We’re cramped like sardines in a tin can on this fucking airplane, and the entire plane ride she’s done nothing but touch me. Casual touches, hugs, and her head on my shoulder. Every time she does that it makes my heart skip and my dick twitch. It’s been years since I’ve desired a woman.
I haven’t been with anyone since Jenny, and every time Savannah touches me, my brain floods with images of Savannah under me, on top of me, and tied to my fucking bed.
She’s resting her head on my shoulder, and I’m sitting as stiff as a board. I’m probably about as comfortable as a slab of concrete.
I get a taste of her perfume and inhale deep. “You okay? You sound like you’re doing some Lamaze breathing,” she asks, her tone laced with amusement.
“I’m not used to people touching me.” I wipe my damp hands on my thighs and thank the Lord that I’m wearing jeans. At this point, I have a full-blown erection. It’s painful as fuck, and I’ll probably have the imprint of my zipper on my dick, but at least it’s not obvious.
She smiles at me, looking happy as a little clam. She raises her hand. “I volunteer as tribute for the touching Shamus games.”
My lips twitch.
We finally taxi to the gate and start getting our stuff before making our way off the plane. She’s practically skipping out of the airport, and I’m watching her ass like a creeper. Jerking my eyes up, I see Parker, smiling at me, and all I can do is shrug my shoulders. I mean, damn, she has a sweet fucking ass.
We get up to Parker and he leans in to give me a hug, smacking me on the back. He pulls back and shoves something in my hand. “Call on the way home.”
I look at the card, then to Parker, and nod my head.
My mom has been trying to get me to see someone for years. Right after everything happened I lived with my parents, and my mom knows how bad my nights can get.
Savannah is sitting up front, chatting with Parker about his engagement and shit. I block them out, focusing on the fact that in just a few short weeks, my kids will be in my arms. Savannah laughs at something Parker says, and it shocks me again at how different Savannah and Jenny are, and how much I love it.
I loved Jenny, but there were days where she made it damn difficult to like her. I never told anyone what it was like living with her. She had a constant need for attention, was horribly selfish, and if she wanted something and I wouldn’t let her get it, her face would scrunch up and the bullshit would start pouring out of her mouth.
I look at Savannah, who is always smiling at something, dancing, laughing, and is just a happy person all-around. It shocks me how much I want that in my life.
I look around his house in awe. It’s a bit rough around the edges, but the bones are fantastic. The entryway is to freaking die for. The grand staircase curves, and would make for a grand prom night entrance.
Everywhere I look I see wood—wood floors, wood paneling. About halfway up the wall is ugly as shit wallpaper, and popcorn ceilings.
It’s not as messy as I thought it would be. There’s a random beer bottle here and there, and the floors probably haven’t been mopped in a while, but it’s not bad.
“I love this house, Shamus!” The layout is a bit goofy with a weird wall separating the kitchen from the living area.
“I always wanted to take out this wall. Guess now that I’m doing the other renovations, I can. I already considered it and it’s not load bearing,” he says, as if reading my mind.
He’s dancing foot to foot, in obvious agitation.
“You okay?”
“Parker left you here!” he practically yells.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here alone.”
“I’m not a fucking child, Savannah!”
I lick my lips. “I know that.”
“Quit looking at me like that!”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m the last cupcake, and you’re starving.” This comment makes me burst out laughing.
He throws his hands up and stomps up the stairs. I’m picking up the trash in the living room and he literally chucks pillows and blankets at me from upstairs, landing all around and covering my head.
“The couch is a pullout.”
I finally get the blanket off my head and flip him off.
I make up the couch, then head to the half bath and get ready, putting on my smallest pair of silk jammies after washing my face and brushing my teeth.
Returning to the living room, I find Shamus standing there, looking like he just swallowed a bug when he gets a gander at my pajama’s.
“Something I can help you with, Shamus?”
He opens his mouth to say something, and I can feel my nipples harden when I look at his chest. His eyes dart down to my boobs and he turns around. “I’m sorry I threw the blankets at you.”
He makes a hasty getaway, and I laugh a bit.
I snuggle into the couch. Setting the alarm on my phone, I crash right the fuck out.
I’m hyperventilating.
There was very little to the light purple pajamas she had on. Her nipples perked right up, making my mouth water.
My cock is angry and weeping precum as I stand in the bathroom, debating on what to do. I look at myself in the mirror again, and the face that stares back at me looks tired, gaunt, and filled with lust.
Turning on the shower, I jump under the spray and grab the body wash. Bracing one hand on the shower wall, I take myself in hand.
I imagine pushing her up against the wall, sliding those tiny purple bottoms off and going down on my knees to bury my face in her pussy.
I groan when I imagine what she tastes like.
I give myself a rough pull, and let out a shaky breath.
In my head, her hands sink into my hair as she rides my face. Standing up, I hook her legs around my wai
st and sink into her depths.
The orgasm that rumbles from my body weakens my knees.
Getting out, I dry off and slide into bed. Having her in the house is going to be pure fucking torture. I pray she wears something with more coverage; otherwise, my fucking water bill is going to triple.
I wake up to banging.
I immediately sit up, heart pounding, then I hear Sublime playing on the Bose speaker, and remember that Savannah is in my house.
I pull on some black athletic shorts and a white T-shirt. Putting on some tennis shoes, I make my way downstairs.
Savannah is sweeping the floor in a pair of the smallest shorts in history, ending an inch below her butt cheeks.
I should have found the tightest pair of freaking underwear; going commando was a terrible idea.
I turn around and head back upstairs and change into some jeans.
When I get back downstairs, Bruce is there, and I burst out laughing.
He also has a pair of cut off jean shorts on, except he has work boots and knee-high socks on, as well as a white tank top, and a bright yellow hard hat. His tool belt is loaded with brand new tools: hammers, screwdrivers, and chocolate bars.
My jaw drops when I see the roll off dumpster in the driveway, where Luke and Parker are doing yard work, and when I turn around, I see Margo and Cleo in the kitchen.
“I have this level all clean. We just need you to tell us what you want or need done down here. I’ll go up and start cleaning the upstairs. By then, you guys should be able to go up and plan the upstairs.” Savannah is standing there with a clipboard and safety goggles on. They’re way too big for her face, and my lips twitch. I kind of want to kiss her.
“You wouldn’t be laughing at me, would you?
“No, ma’am.” She walks by me and I shit you not, smacks me on the ass. “You do that again, Savannah, and I will respond in kind.”
She just laughs. “Promises, promises.”
I let out an honest to God laugh. Everyone is looking at me like I’ve grown a second head. I start showing Luke and the boys what needs to be demoed and what is staying, all while whistling and praying that she spanks me again. My palm is itching with my need to get my hands on her ass.