All I Ever Wanted: Of Love and Madness, Book Three

by Cimms, Karen

  He laughed. It was a hard, angry sound. “I’m not sure if I should believe that either. How?”

  “All she said was that it happened in prison. I got the impression it may have been from a fight.”

  “Live by the sword, die by the sword,” he mumbled, following up with a weak smile. “So are you going to tell me how much you gave her?”

  “It was worth every penny,” she said defensively.

  “That much?”

  She winced.

  “Maybe I don’t want to know,” he said.

  “That’s probably for the best.”

  He kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For dealing with my mother. I’m sorry you had to do it, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  She nodded. “Me too.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Billy scanned the menu, and since Kate already knew what she would order, it gave her a better chance to get a good look at him. His hair was a little shorter than the last time she’d seen him, but still long, thick and blond. His goatee was a little grayer. And his body, a little bigger, beefier. Whatever weight he’d gained must have been all muscle.

  “So what’s good here?” Billy asked, flipping his menu over to read the other side.

  “If you want seafood, Tom says the mussels are good, and the lobster bisque. Although according to Harold, I make a damn good lobster bisque.”

  “I’m not surprised. You’re a great cook, although you never made fish or seafood.”

  She shrugged. “He kept bringing me lobsters. Then he started bringing recipes to go with them. I made soup, and I’d freeze some and give him the rest—that is, until I went over there one day and found him having an apparent heart attack.”

  Billy lowered his menu. “Seriously?”

  “Turns out he has pancreatitis and isn’t supposed to be eating all that rich food. Scared the daylights out of me. But on the plus side, it got me to step out of my comfort zone, which had shrunk to about a two-foot perimeter around me.”

  She was about to tell him about going to Portland and finding the resource center when a young woman approached.

  “Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you, but would you mind terribly?” she said nervously to Billy. “My boyfriend’s a huge fan, and he’ll just die when he finds out you were here.” She glanced at Kate, then swiveled back to Billy. “We just love the new CD.”

  She pushed a cocktail napkin toward him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t have a pen.”

  “I do.” Kate pulled a pen from her purse.

  “Are you Katie?” the woman asked, but before Kate could answer, she continued. “You must be thrilled.”

  After the woman returned to her seat, Billy encouraged Kate to continue, but before she had the chance, the waiter appeared. He read through the list of specials and took their drink orders. Billy ordered a club soda. Kate hesitated and then ordered the same.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said after the waiter walked away.

  “I don’t mind. It’s not like I need it.” She grimaced. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

  “It’s fine. I know what you meant.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you.” Another woman was standing next to their table. Kate guessed this one was in her mid- to late thirties. “Are you Billy McDonald?”

  He shot Kate an apologetic look, then nodded.

  The woman twisted back to her companions at a nearby table and squealed “I told you!” She was practically purring as she handed Billy a pen and a piece of paper. “Would you mind?”

  After he signed his name, she pulled out her cell phone and asked if she could take a selfie with him. By the time she returned to her table, the hum of conversation in the restaurant had become more of a loud buzz.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

  Kate shook her head. “It’s a little annoying, but you deserve it. I am a little worried, though. I don’t want Rhiannon finding out where I am by reading it on Just Jared or TMZ.”

  Billy tossed his napkin on the table. “Just a sec.”

  He approached the woman who’d asked for the selfie, spoke to her for a few moments, then pulled out his iPhone and keyed in something she was telling him.

  “What was that about?” Kate asked when he’d returned to their table.

  “I asked her not to share that photo on social media for the next few weeks, and if she agrees, I’ll have concert tickets waiting for her and her friends at will call.”

  Kate sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

  When the waiter returned with their drinks, Billy ordered a charcuterie board as an appetizer, since he still hadn’t had a chance to study the menu.

  “Congratulations on the new album,” Kate said when they were alone again. “It’s been a long time coming, and you deserve this. You’ve worked really hard.”

  “I’ve played pretty hard too. And there were other things working against me.” His jaw tightened, but when he looked up, he smiled. “Maybe I needed to do a bit of growing up as well.”

  “I’m proud of you. I don’t know if I still have the right to say that, but it’s how I feel.”

  He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. McDonald?” A polished young man stood beside their table. He had a hint of a French-Canadian accent. “My name is André Cloutier. I’m the manager here at The Channel Grill. I wish to apologize for all of the interruptions. If you would like, we can move you to another table where you might not be so visible.”

  Billy deferred to Kate.

  “I think at this point, it wouldn’t really make a difference,” she said.

  “If you’re sure,” he said. “I’m okay with just getting dinner to go.”

  “Please, Mr. McDonald, we would love for you to stay. We will do our best to see that you enjoy your dinner without any further distractions.”

  “That would be nice,” Billy said. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, sir. Again, my name is André, and if there is anything I can do to enhance your dining experience, please let me know.”

  “Wow.” Kate stifled a laugh after André backed away from their table. “I thought he was going to bow.”

  Billy dipped his head. “Now that would’ve been embarrassing.”

  “I guess you better get used to all this attention.”

  “I’m not going to let it go to my head yet.”

  “Yet? So you will eventually?”

  He grinned, and her spine tingled. “Maybe.”

  The waiter brought the charcuterie board and took their order. Next they were interrupted by the sommelier with a bottle of white wine, compliments of Mr. Cloutier. Kate was going to refuse it, but Billy insisted.

  “None for me,” he instructed the waiter who followed close behind with two wine glasses. “But the lady will have some.”

  He was being too considerate at his own cost. When they were alone again, Kate insisted she didn’t want to drink in front of him.

  “Katie, please. I can handle it. I’ve been sober for ten months. It’s not easy, but I’m okay. And sitting across from you makes it all worthwhile.”

  There was a sad sort of desperation in his eyes that somehow made it easier to reach for the wine. She was no clearer on what she wanted for their marriage than she had been a day, a week, or even a year ago.

  The Sancerre was crisp and delicious, and in a very short time, or maybe because she was drinking too fast, she felt less jittery. By the time they left the restaurant, her nervousness had disappeared along with most of the bottle.

  When the valet brought the car around, Billy took the keys and held the passenger side door open for her. “I’ll drive.”

  “You don’t know where we’re going.”

  “I found you, didn’t I?”

  * * *

  Billy got Ka
te settled into the passenger seat, then climbed in behind the wheel and slipped the key into the ignition. She gave him a loopy smile that he felt down to his toes.

  “It’s beautiful tonight. Put the top down.”

  When he pointed out it might be a little too chilly, she told him to “blast the heat.”

  He recognized his way back to the house, but as they neared the turn toward Cousins Island, Kate directed him to take it.

  “You sure?”

  “This is the scenic route,” she insisted.

  They drove for a while before they came to the end of the road, looking out toward the ocean. Billy parked and cut the engine. The night smelled of wood smoke, ocean air, and the sweetness of oranges. Lights glowed on the distant horizon, and the stars overhead twinkled like diamonds on a field of black velvet.

  Kate’s sigh wrapped around him like a warm honey. She tilted her face up at the sky. “Isn’t it beaut—”

  He leaned across the console and kissed her. He’d taken her by surprise, but she didn’t stop him. Her lips were warm and tasted of wine. When she didn’t push him away, he kissed her again. His hand snaked up her arm and along her neck. Cradling her head, he pulled her closer, careful of the gearshift between them.

  When she ran her fingers along the side of his face, he thought he might cry. Her hand dropped to his chest and gripped his shirt. Then gently, she pushed him away. He tried to see her eyes, but it was too dark. All he could hear was the gentle lapping of water against the shore and the sound of Kate’s breathing.

  “Take me home.” Her voice was low and thick. “Please.”

  His heart sank. His fingers thrummed nervously on the steering wheel as he navigated back to the highway. Less than ten minutes later, he was nosing her Saab into the garage.

  They sat in the car as the garage door closed behind them.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, wanting to remind her that she’d kissed him back. But he didn’t, he just savored the taste of wine on his tongue, not because it was wine but because it was Kate. Just as the tang of salty air was now Kate, along with the familiar scent of oranges.

  He got out of the car, opened her door, and helped her to her feet. Her eyes were pink and glassy.

  Charlie was waiting in the laundry room. Kate gave him a quick scratch, then staggered slightly and braced herself against the wall before heading for her room.

  Jesus, all he’d done was kiss her, and he needed more. Just seeing her was enough to send him over the edge. He knew he shouldn’t overwhelm her, but that was exactly what he’d done. He needed to rein himself in. If he pushed her too hard, it could all blow up in his face, and then what?

  He led the dog through the garage, warned him not to run off again, and opened the door to let him out. Charlie nosed around the pines, then trotted over to the tall maple near the edge of the yard. He barked at something in the hedges, then moved on to mark several trees and nearby shrubs. When Billy felt he had pulled himself together enough to go back inside, he gave a sharp whistle. Charlie came charging back.

  “Good boy,” he said, hoping there were treats somewhere to reward Charlie for listening. There was nothing in the kitchen, so he searched the pantry, where he found not only a large glass canister with dog treats but Kate’s stash of alcohol.

  “Fuck.” He said it so softly he wasn’t certain if he’d actually spoken it aloud. In addition to a variety of liqueurs, there were bottles of Tanqueray, Ketel One, and a very pricey, unopened bourbon. Kate didn’t drink gin or bourbon. Was this stuff that had been left in the house before she moved in, or had she been entertaining someone else?

  The last thought made him want to grab one of the bottles—it didn’t matter which. Instead, he reached for the canister of dog treats and gave Charlie two, then set the jar on the kitchen counter so he wouldn’t have to go back in the pantry. He refilled the dog’s water dish, then took a peek down the hall.

  Kate’s door was closed.

  “Damn it,” he said aloud, his fist curling, wanting to hit something. He tried to focus on a calming image. The technique, learned while in rehab, had been a godsend in helping him manage his triggers.

  Although the night was dark, he stepped out onto the deck and tried to envision the water in the cove. It was a new image, but it worked as well as the others he had at his disposal.

  All was not lost. It couldn’t be.

  But just to be safe, he took out his cell phone and dialed his sponsor.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes of talking with Reese saw him through his temptation, and the urge had passed. His fear of blowing it with Kate, however, had not. Guessing that sleep would evade him again, especially after the afternoon nap, he put the kettle on and took down two cups. He’d make one for Kate. He would knock on her door, and if she didn’t want it, she didn’t have to drink it.

  He was so lost in thought he didn’t realize she had come into the kitchen until he felt her standing behind him. She had changed into a simple cotton nightgown. Her eye makeup was smudged, and she was clearly more than a little drunk.

  “Do you want some tea?”

  She stared at the cups on the counter. Then she lifted her hands to his neck. She pressed her body against his and pulled his lips toward hers. He obeyed, stunned when her small tongue darted inside his mouth. He pulled her closer and wrapped her in his arms, ignoring the angry whistle of the kettle behind him.

  He was nearly out of breath when he finally forced himself to pull away. Her fingers curled around his belt and tugged clumsily at the buckle.

  “Katie.” Soon there would be no turning back. “Stop. Stop.” He reached for her hand. “Listen to me.”

  Her eyes were narrow with the effects of too much alcohol and too little self-control.

  “Babe, you’ve had a lot to drink. I don’t want you to do something you’re not sure you want.” Certain parts of him screamed silent obscenities. “I don’t want you to be sorry later.”

  Her nerves must have been on overdrive as well. She pulled her hands away and slid them under his shirt against his skin.

  He grabbed her wrists.

  “Katie, stop. I love you more than anything in this world, and I’d give anything to have you right now, but I can’t do this unless I know it’s for real. That it’s forever.” He pulled back. “If you can look at me right now and tell me for certain that you still want to be my wife and that you forgive me and will come home, then I’ll carry you into that bedroom right now and no one will see us for weeks. But if you can’t, if you still don’t know what you want and you’re not ready to commit to me—to us—one hundred percent, then I can’t do this. I won’t.”

  She gaped as if he had lost his mind. “Are you really turning me down?”

  “I don’t know.” He exhaled slowly. “Do you love me?”

  “Of course I love you, you jackass,” she spat. “It’s never been about whether or not I love you.”

  “Do you still want to be my wife?”

  She blinked up at him, her eyes going from hard and angry to wet. Her shoulders drooped.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice rising. “God, Billy! I’m still so hurt over some of the things you’ve done. All I know is that right now, I want you. Doesn’t that mean something?”

  “It means a lot.” He brushed the hair out of her eyes and ran his thumb along her cheek. “It’s more than I deserve, but it’s not enough. I know I’ve hurt you. I live with that every single day. But I’ve been hurt too. Losing you was the worst thing I’ve ever been through. I can’t have you back just to lose you again. I won’t survive it a second time, Katie. I’m not that strong.”

  She put her hands on either side of his face. “Kiss me good night.”

  He leaned down, slipped his arms around her waist, and touched his lips to hers. As he did, she slipped her hand between his legs and cupped him gently. He should’ve stopped her, but he didn’t. He moaned against her mouth, ready to deepen the kiss, when she stepped back. Weari
ng a smug look, she pulled the nightgown over her head and dropped it on the kitchen floor.

  “There. That’s what you’re missing.” Then she half flounced, half listed out of the room.

  “I know what I’m missing,” he called after her, his jeans uncomfortably tight. “Trust me.”

  “Ha!” she called from somewhere down the hall.

  Her bedroom door slammed with a bang loud enough to shake the pictures on the walls.

  The kettle was still screaming, and the tea bags mocked him from the bottom of the empty cups. If he had any hope of getting to sleep, he needed more than a hot cup of tea. What he needed was a very cold shower.

  Chapter Forty

  Kate pried one eye open and immediately shut it, trying to will away the sharp, stabbing pain in her temples. She grabbed the extra pillow beside her and sandwiched her aching head between the two, as if cushioning it would provide a shred of relief. She wanted—no, she needed—to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, a little pea-sized nugget of regret had woken as well.

  What the hell had come over her last night? Bad enough she’d practically thrown herself at Billy, but then the bastard had turned her away. Not once throughout their entire marriage had he ever rejected her.

  She slipped further under the covers, determined to stay there forever. Her bladder had something else in mind. She eased herself up and shimmied to the edge of the bed. When the room stopped spinning, she staggered to the bathroom.

  “What the hell?” she muttered, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Mascara trailed beneath her bloodshot eyes, and her hair practically stood straight up in the back. She scrubbed her face, mumbling and grousing under her breath. “Jesus, Billy. You’re here two days and I’m already talking to myself and getting drunk.”

  You’re going to blame him for this? How is your drinking too much his fault? How is his rejecting you, when you won’t let him know how you feel, his fault?

  She glared at her reflection. “Oh, shut up.”

  She squirted some drops into her red, swollen eyes and, after another mini-war with herself, swiped on a little mascara and eyeliner.