“And this makes you feel like a man to blackmail or strong-arm someone into being with you, Eric,” she asked in a low voice brimming with just a fraction of her anger.
“I’m fighting for my marriage and my vows. There’s no shame in that.”
Jaime felt choked with frustration and drowning in the lack of control. “Who told you where I lived?” she asked, having to get the answer to the question that was nudging her the most.
“Your mother only wants what’s best for us.”
Jaime could only shake her head. “And I only want what’s best for me,” she said. “And that’s not you.”
Eric sighed like he was bored. “You will be home. Choice is yours. Sooner? Or later?”
Click.
Jaime fought the urge to throw her cell phone against the wall as she clutched it so tightly that it hurt her palms. She paced. Back and forth. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking.
Insult on top of injury was an understatement for the crap Eric just pulled.
Without a penny to your name.
She paused for just a millisecond before she flipped her phone opened and dialed the toll free number for her bank. Her heart pounded and she was already denying it, as she entered her information.
“Your checking account balance is currently in a negative balance—”
Jaime stumbled backward as she felt the blood drain from her body. She felt chilled to the bone. It had to be Eric.
Without a penny to your name.
The thousands of dollars she had had that very morning was gone.
You will be home. Choice is yours. Sooner? Or later?
Renee sat inside her dark two-car garage, parked in her car, enjoying the taste and feel of the Firefly Sweet Tea in her decanter. Truth? She didn’t want to go in the house knowing she would be alone. Since she was supposed to fly to Denver this evening for work, the kids were both spending the night at friends.
After a long and lonely lunch in her office with way too many drinks, Renee had slept right through her three o’ clock flight out of Newark / New York International Airport. Without Darren working that day to keep her on her toes, Renee hadn’t awakened, and came from behind her locked office door well after nine. With a pounding headache and her breathe tasting—and probably smelling—like dog shit, she made a new flight for first thing in the morning. She would arrive just an hour before the charity event. Yet another fuckup.
Her cell phone softly played Etta James’s “At Last.” She reached and flipped the BlackBerry over. She was surprised to see Jackson’s number displayed.
They had already argued earlier because Renee hadn’t forced the children to spend the weekend with him. Hell, she was a grown-ass, educated woman still trying to process the bullshit of her husband fucking and getting another woman pregnant; how the hell did he expect the children to grasp it so quickly? They loved their father, but they had yet to forgive him.
Renee answered the call. “I don’t feel like arguing with you, Jackson. The kids are already at their friends’ so it’s a done deal,” she sighed, letting her head fall back against the soft leather of the headrest.
“Can I come over?” Jackson asked.
Renee’s eyes were heavy from the effects of the liquor, but they popped open at that. “Excuse me?” she asked, her grip tightening on the cool metal of the silver decanter.
“Can I come over, Renee?” he asked again.
Renee sat up. “For what, Jackson?”
“Listen, I want to make love to my wife,” he said, as if it was the most common thing in the world. As if he hadn’t crashed her world into a billion tiny pieces.
For one moment—one small moment—Renee allowed herself to remember the days when the very thought of Jackson had made her wet. They used to share everything. She was the epitome of a lady in the street and a freak in the bedroom. Nothing was off limits. All doors were opened and thoroughly explored.
And sometimes when the liquor wasn’t her lover for the night she missed and craved Jackson until her clit literally ached.
She shook her head, not letting the liquor, her memories, or her horniness nudge her into something she would regret. “Sorry, no baby mama drop-in sex here, Jackson. You made a choice, remember, you like white meat now?”
She thought her turn of words was clever and giggled. It turned to a hiccup.
“You know you want this dick, Renee,” he said calmly. Too calmly.
Renee sat up and looked behind her, expecting to find him sitting in his truck behind her. “No, I don’t,” she said, only half lying and sounding like it as she turned around feeling slightly disappointed.
“So my affair means I’m dirty now?” Jackson asked.
Renee fingered her flask at the sound of anger in his tone. “What?” she asked, frowning as she stroke the metal side like a pet.
Jackson laughed bitterly. “Look here, Mrs. Perfect,” he said, the coldness of his voice not veiled at all. “If I found out that your assistant almost fucked you the night of your awards banquet—if I had known that then—should I have left you? Should I think of my wife as dirty? Huh?”
Total shock. It sobered her.
“That’s a lie,” she said defensively. “Don’t you dare try and handle me like I’m the adulterer, Jackson. Don’t put your shit off on me.”
“So you’re denying you and Darren got a hotel room?” he asked calmly. Again, too calmly.
Renee flashed back to a scene of Darren chewing on her clit like gum. She shivered in repulsion. It was clear that man-child assistant knew NOTHING about the joys to be found in a pussy. N.O.T.H.I.N.G. He probably was a whiz with a dick, but pussy wasn’t his shtick.
“Since you think you know so damn much, why don’t you tell it and not ask it,” she snapped, unscrewing her decanter to take a healthy swig.
“Why don’t I tell you this, Renee? I fucked up because our marriage was fucked up. I apologize for everything that I put you through and that you’re going through, but everything . . . everything . . . I told you about that damn job was confirmed for me. I never wanted you to have that job, I was—I am—a damn good provider. It wasn’t money you were looking for. It was dick. I knew you weren’t any different. I knew it—”
Renee froze. Say what now? “Different from who? What the hell are you talking about?”
How in the hell had the tables gotten turned?
“Listen, Jackson, the damage to our marriage was done when you got Anga pregnant,” she said sarcastically. “Don’t put your shit on me because you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I knew it. I knew it,” he said.
“Knew what?” she snapped.
Click.
Renee couldn’t do a damn thing but lower her BlackBerry and stare at it. Jackson’s anger about Darren had been more about her job than the actual man. She shook her head as if that would clear it and make what he’d said make sense.
But Renee didn’t bother with it. She didn’t feel like fussing and fighting. In that moment she really didn’t give a fuck. Her thinking was too fuzzy and all she wanted to do was rest up for her early flight in the morning. “No more of you,” she said to the decanter, pushing it down into the side pocket of her Coach briefcase before she climbed out of her vehicle. She yawned as she made her way around the front of the car and up the few steps into the kitchen.
As soon as she entered her house she dropped her purse and briefcase onto the large island. She was a bit unsteady on her feet, but didn’t bother with the lights and regretted that decision before she even reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Shit,” she swore, looking up at what seemed like a thousand dimly lit stairs. She waved her hand like “fuck it” and made her way over to the living room to flop down onto one of the plush sofas, glad for the quiet and the darkness.
And soon she was just as glad for the sleep.
“Hmmmmmmmmm.”
Renee frowned as she lay somewhere in that zone between sleep and wakefulness. She s
hifted onto her side with a wince, trying to decide to which side of the zone she wanted to be in. Awake or asleep.
“Hmmmmmmmm.”
What the hell? Renee’s eyes opened, adjusting to the darkness of the living room. Is that moaning?
She rolled over onto her back and sat up straight. She gasped at the sudden sound of a harshly whispered voice and the steady squeak of some furniture.
“Fuck me harder, Daddy.”
Renee whirled toward the sound of the voices. She gasped in shock and horror at the sight of her son’s naked ass high in the air as he bent over the steps while Darren slid his hard inches in and out of him. “What the fuck is going on?” she roared.
They jumped apart, dicks flying like wailing arms. Naked brown bodies showing more than she wanted to see. Renee hated the image of her son’s anus still spread and open from the invasion of Darren’s dick.
Renee went from shocked to ballistic in less than three counts. She jumped over the sofa and flew dead at Darren where he stood, pushing him hard with both hands against his bare chest. “You bastard. I trusted you around my fucking kid, not offered him up to get your rocks off.”
Darren stumbled back a few steps, holding up his large masculine hands with his dick glistening and greasy.
Renee’s stomach lurched, knowing it was lubricant. “I’m calling the police, you pedophile,” she told him.
Aaron stepped forward, trying to cover his nakedness with a shirt as he reached for arm. “Ma, wait—”
Renee whirled on him, snatched her arm away, and slapped him across the mouth in one fluid motion that couldn’t have been choreographed better by Alvin Ailey. She raised her foot to snatch off her shoe and started whaling on him. Anywhere and everywhere she could get a lick in. Across his upraised arms. His thighs. His ass. His chest. He turned and tried to block the blows and Renee was dead on his ass.
“Ma! Stop!” he cried out.
Renee barely heard him. She barely knew what she was doing. There was a white noise like static building in her ears. Her tears flowed freely and she was losing focus on her target. A target that she loved. A target that was getting the brunt of all her frustration. Anger. Disappointment. Rage.
Darren grabbed her arms from behind, his flaccid dick grazing her behind as she struggled against his strength. She dropped the shoe. He released her as Aaron turned and raced up the stairs.
“Your ass is fired,” she told him coldly, punctuating her words with a finger to his chest. “Get your shit and get the fuck out!”
“I’m sorry, Renee, I never thought Aaron and I would like each other—”
Oh God, my son is gay. Renee closed her eyes at the image of their sex act.
“And I understand that having sex in your house was disrespectful. . . .”
Renee opened her eyes feeling like this motherfucker had a but coming....
“But I am good at my job and I will not be pushed out of it because your son and I have feelings for each other,” Darren said, still naked and holding his clothes in a bundle under his arm.
Renee frowned. “Your ass is fucking fired,” she said, her mind on the bar against the far wall of her living room.
“My job and my relationship with Aaron—”
“Relationship?”
“I’m sorry, Renee. If you fire me for this I will sue you for sexual harassment,” he said, his eyes boldly locking with hers.
Renee knew he was talking about the night of the awards banquet when they had tried like hell to fuck and failed miserably. Guess Aaron finished the job for me, she thought sarcastically as she stormed to the front door.
“Get. Out.”
Naked as he pleased, Darren strolled to the door. “I really am sorry you found out about us like this,” he said.
Renee stood behind him and shoved hard with both her hands to his back, pushing him out of her house. She raised her foot and nudged him hard square in the crack of his ass for good measure. He stumbled forward, recovered, and then quickly scurried to his car now parked in her drive.
With the house dark and her car in the garage, her son and his lover never knew she was home when they got there. That was clear.
Feeling her head spinning like crazy, Renee stepped back and slammed the front door closed.
WHAM!
Aaron was gay.
Maybe in a different time and place she could have handled the news. She could’ve talked to him. Tried to adjust to the idea. Be the good mother she knew she was.
But now?
Now it was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.
She arched her back and released a wail from her gut as if she were trying to free a million demons from her soul. It echoed against the wall as though she stood inside the Grand Canyon.
Still, it was nothing to the rage still building and burning deep within her.
“Why am I here, Dr. Matheson?”
Aria would always be known for being straight and to the point. She hardly ever had time for bullshit. Regardless of whom it was. Including their marriage counselor.
“To save your marriage.”
Dr. Matheson was pulling no punches either. Aria froze as she looked at him where he sat in his normal spot across from her. She had been crossing and uncrossing her legs in the dark skinny jeans she wore with sky-high alligator stilettos that added four inches to her height. But now she was as frozen in time as a statue.
“Then why isn’t Kingston here as well?” she asked, trying to ignore the deafening pounding of her heart.
Dr. Matheson opened his leather portfolio and removed the pen she recognized as a Caran d’Ache, a Swiss maker of luxury pens. As a writer she enjoyed the feel of pen to paper and had invested in several fine pens over the years. Kingston had surprised her with one of their 18-carat pens when she’d sold her first story as a freelancer.
Odd thought in that moment. Very odd. But Aria would love to focus on anything but the heavy words the doc dropped on her like boulders.
To save your marriage.
What the fuck was going on?
“Kingston will be here, but I suggested first talking with you.” He scribbled something on his pad with his five-hundred-dollar pen.
“So you’ve talked to my husband,” she said, her ire and attitude spiking like crazy. It was all starting to feel like a mystery he expected her to solve with all the double talk and vague answers.
Aria wasn’t in the fucking mood. Period. Point blank.
“Yes, he called me and I suggested meeting with you first.”
Aria crossed her legs again and settled back in her chair, stiffening her spine. “You seem to be running the show in our marriage. Kudos to you.”
Dr. Matheson leveled his eyes on her. Steady. Unwavering. Understanding. Concerned.
It was the concern that made her feel even more afraid at the sudden turn of events.
She and Kingston had awakened this morning, made love in the shower, and gotten dressed for the work day with eyes of love. He’d left for an early-morning surgery and she’d dressed to head into the city for lunch with the editor of Sessions magazine, who’d freelanced her to do the Nona King interview. They were going to dine and then she would personally turn in the completed interview.
That morning she had been focused on how proud she was of that interview. She was her own worst critic when it came to her writing . . . especially the interviews. It was more than just the right words, intonations, and plotting. It was all about the right conversation. Everything was invested in the direction of the questions. Her ability to get the answers no one else had. Nona King had given a million interviews during her career, but Aria wanted this one to be a class above the rest.
And she honestly felt like it was.
With Nona’s revelation of childhood abuse during her follow-up phone interview, Aria knew it was major. She felt that familiar excitement whenever a project was complete and there was nothing she could do to make the interview or her insights better.
&n
bsp; To make a living doing what she loved was way more than this little ghetto girl had ever dreamed of. She definitely felt blessed. A good career. A good marriage. Good family. Good friends. A damn good life.
The lunch went well. But then she got this call from Dr. Matheson and here she was questioning everything she thought was okay.
She eyed him in return, thinking of all the reconnecting she and Kingston had done in the days after finding out that Eric was Jessa’s lover. And not just sex. Communication. Intimacy. Love and affection.
No more counseling sessions.
No more arguing.
No more cold and angry silence that screamed of building resentment.
But here she was.
To save your marriage.
Something had changed.
“He knows the truth, doesn’t he?” she asked, uncrossing her legs and sitting forward to press her elbows into her thighs. “Jessa Bell told him, didn’t she?”
Dr. Matheson nodded as his eyes studied her carefully.
Aria’s stomach clenched like it had been pierced by a sharp blade. She wiped her face with her hands.
To save your marriage.
“When Kingston comes I will get into both of your feelings and try to work through what is undeniably a huge breach in the trust of your relationship.” Dr. Matheson closed his portfolio.
Aria leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to fight back the tears that filled them. Failure. They flooded her lids and raced down her cheeks. Kingston knows.
“So the temporary restraining order she has against me wasn’t enough, she had to destroy my marriage,” Aria said bitterly, thinking of the countless calls she’d made that Kingston hadn’t answered. Wouldn’t answer. “I’m gonna beat her ass.”
“And what would that change?” he asked calmly, as he scribbled furiously.
Aria shifted her hostile eyes to his face.
“You’re losing focus, Aria. This isn’t about Jessa Bell. Is it?”
Aria shifted her eyes to the beautiful landscape through the windows behind him. The summer skies might as well be overshadowed by dark, tumultuous clouds. “No, no, I know it isn’t. I lied to him. I betrayed him. I fucked up. I fucked up,” she finished softly, her eyes filling with more tears as pain tightened her chest.
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