Falling for the Bad Boy

by Kennedy Fox

  “You okay?”

  “I can feel pressure, that’s all. It feels weird.”

  “Well, in just a minute, we’re going to have a daughter. Can you believe it?” I smiled so wide as I held her hand.

  “Okay, Mom and Dad. Are you ready?” the doctor announced. I was anxious but so excited to meet my daughter. “Here she is.” He lifted her up briefly giving us just a peek at her. “She’s beautiful, congratulations,” he said after handing her off to one of the nurses.

  “Oh my God,” Alana cried. I knew she was upset about not having a natural delivery, but having my two girls healthy and safe was the most important thing.

  “She looks just like you,” I said. “So beautiful.” I kissed her softly on the lips. “Thank you.”

  Tears poured from her eyes and fell down her face. “For what?”

  “For the greatest gift you could’ve ever given me.”

  I kissed her again.

  “Can you go with her? She’s going to be in the NICU, and I don’t want her to be alone.”

  “I don’t want to leave you, baby…” I was so damn torn. I needed to make sure Paris was okay, but at the same time, it felt like I was abandoning Alana.

  “I’ll be okay,” she promised with a hand squeeze. “They have to finish putting my stomach back together and then set me up in a room anyway.”

  “Are you sure?” I looked around the room as the doctor continued working on Alana and the nurses tended to Paris.

  “Yes. Go, please!”

  I kissed her once more. “I love you, baby. I’ll get an update on Paris as soon as I can, okay?”

  “I love you, too, E.” She smiled up at me, and we both stared into each other’s eyes as I walked toward the nurses.

  They cleaned Paris and were preparing to transfer her. She looked so small in the incubator, and I still couldn’t believe she was ours.

  “Is she okay?” I asked a nurse who was looking at her chart.

  “Her breathing is unsteady, and she looks jaundiced, but everything else looks okay so far.” She smiled up at me. “They’ll take good care of her up in the NICU. Don’t worry.”

  “Thank you.”

  Another nurse introduced herself as she arrived and explained she’d be the one bringing Paris down to the NICU. I followed her as she wheeled the little cart to the elevator and took us to the fifth floor. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t prepared for any of this, and I felt like a damn fool.

  As we walked the quiet path down the hallway, I could see in the other rooms. Tiny, helpless babies all in incubators. I’d never witnessed anything like it in my life.

  I was anxious to get back to Alana, but I knew she’d want me to stay with Paris until I had a solid update. My baby girl was covered in tubes. A breathing tube and feeding tube, along with a variety of monitors.

  The scene broke me.

  I felt incredibly helpless as I watched our newborn baby fighting to breathe. She was premature, weighing only four pounds, and I wanted nothing more than for her to stay strong and healthy.

  About an hour later, the doctor who did Alana’s C-section knocked on the door, and as soon as I saw his glum expression, I stood from my chair and walked toward him.

  I waited for him to speak, but his eyes flickered to Paris and back to mine before he finally did.

  “There were some complications with Alana,” he began, and I felt my entire world ripped out from under me.

  Those memories continue to haunt me in every aspect of my life. I blamed and beat myself over not being there for her when she needed me the most—completely vulnerable and exposed. To have to choose between being by my wife’s side or my newborn baby was a game I couldn’t win. I’d already felt guilty for leaving her in the operating room, but either choice would’ve been the wrong one. That’s something I know I’ll have to live with the rest of my life.

  Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, after planning my wife’s funeral and burying her, I watched helplessly as my baby girl fought for her life. Two weeks after I lost Alana, I lost Paris, too. She was too little, too sick, and I was heartbroken all over again.

  I lost more than my wife and daughter—I’d also lost myself—and it’s prevented me from ever wanting to fall in love again. At first, it was acceptable to grieve the way I did. I shut down, unable to step into the tower surrounded by her pottery and things, but when I heard a mouse up there one night, I went into a blind rage.

  Being around her things that were left as if she were coming back to me, set me off. It mocked me, taunting me of everything I’d lost. All her clay and supplies. Her bowls and mugs. The old radio we bought at a rummage sale she’d play while working. The room still smelled like her.

  The mouse squeaked as it ran across the room toward the other end, stealing my attention. Without thinking, I grabbed one of the empty buckets and threw it in his direction. I knew I’d miss, but the moment I released my grip, anger filled my body.

  I grabbed the next bucket and threw that, too. Then another. Picking up and throwing anything I could get my hands on. For a solid minute, I destroyed everything in my way. By the time I stopped, I was out of breath and silently cursing myself. But releasing the anger felt necessary and overdue.

  Aunt Millie found me sitting in the tower the next morning. She could see the mess I’d created and that I was self-destructing. She knew how much Alana meant to me and how her unexpected death derailed me.

  “Ethan, hon, I know you’re hurting. You have every right to be, but this isn’t the man Alana would want you to be.” Her voice was soft, but firm.

  “What’s it matter, Aunt Millie? My life is over. It’s nothing without her.”

  “I know it feels that way right now, but you need to grieve and give yourself permission to move on and be happy again. Alana would want you to,” she told me, although I’ve heard it all before. It’d be two years since her death and no matter what people said, time didn’t heal all wounds. Not at fucking all.

  “I’ll never be able to move on from this,” I said, confidently. “I lost my family, my entire world, and my only reason for living.”

  “Find a way to connect with her, Ethan. Instead of thinking about everything you lost, find a way to keep her spirit alive within you.” Her words were wise, and I appreciated them, but it wouldn’t change anything. She’d still be gone.

  “How?” I asked, defeated. Exhaustion was setting in, and nothing made sense.

  “Find something she loved,” she began, waving her hand around the mess I made and continuing, “like pottery.”

  “I can’t make what she did, Aunt Millie. Even if I did, it was her dream. It’d feel as if I were taking it away from her.” Emotions filled my throat, and I swallowed down a sob. I’d never felt that vulnerable in my life, and there I was sitting on the floor of the tower, my wife’s favorite place, surrounded by the destruction I created.

  “Quite the opposite.” She patted my leg, sympathetically. “You’ll feel what she felt while she was creating her bowls and cups and connect with her through that. It could help give you closure, even if right now it feels like you’ll never get it.”

  The only closure I could ever feel was knowing that Alana wasn’t alone. She and Paris had each other, and until I’d see them again, I’d be dead inside.

  “Healing is a process, and it takes time, but that doesn’t mean you stop living in the meantime.” I knew she was trying to comfort me, but I felt too empty inside to take her words to heart. I didn’t want to heal. Pain was the only comfort I had anymore. Pain was the only emotion I felt.

  “I don’t know how to live without her,” I explained. “It still feels like it all happened yesterday.”

  “Try it, honey.” She handed me a block of clay from the floor that was a victim of the destruction. “You don’t know till you try.”

  Aunt Millie’s words repeated in my head for weeks after that. I knew my family was still worried sick about me, but depression sucked me into its bla
ck hole, and I wasn’t looking for a way out.

  That’d been my life for years.

  Then came the anniversaries and birthdays.

  Those days I ended up blacking out completely. I couldn’t bare the pain anymore, so I drank until I was numb.

  Until I picked up that block of clay. It was like Alana was saving me from myself, from the personal hell I created. Somehow, she was still here with me, helping me get through the hard times just as she always did over the years. Learning her craft was hard, and I was terrible. Each day I made lopsided mugs and crooked sculptures, I wanted to quit but didn’t. It was almost as if Alana was pushing me to create, to live out the dream she always wanted for us. That day, I promised myself I’d never let her down. So I worked harder, hoping she’d be watching me from heaven with our baby girl in her arms.

  Aunt Millie was right after all—this time.

  I smile now when I think about Alana and the memories we shared all those years together. Though I’m completely disinterested in relationships in general, Aunt Millie likes to remind me of Alana and how she’d want me to be happy, even if that meant moving on. I’ve had no interest in anything more than a one-night stand or random fling, but for the first time in a long while, the woman sleeping in my bed right now has me rethinking everything.

  The thoughts in my head take me off guard, though I can’t deny they’re true. Vada came barreling into my life, so unexpected, and yet, it’s as if I’d been waiting for her all this time.

  These feelings scare the shit out of me because this all happened so quickly, but knowing she’s leaving in a few days has my mind spinning. I want to make the most out of our time together, but I can’t stop the guilt that continues to eat at me every time I look down at my left hand and see the ghost of the wedding ring I once wore.

  11

  VADA

  Waking up with my body against hard muscles shocks the shit out of me. Making sure I’m not still dreaming, I slowly peel open my eyes. I don’t recognize the room as the sun peeks through the windows, but I can tell it’s early morning. This isn’t the same room we started in last night. But I don’t have much time to analyze it because when memories start flooding in, my cheeks heat. All the things he did to me, all the ways he molded my body, and the way I responded to them. Holy shit. Yes, we did that. No, I don’t have any regrets.

  Nerves take over as I think about sneaking out and doing the walk of shame. I haven’t had to face a one-night stand since my early college days, so I feel completely disoriented. It’s not like I can just leave and avoid him anyway, but the anxiety of facing him has me overthinking everything.

  However, the weight of Ethan’s bicep holds me in place. There’s no way I can slip out of bed without waking him. As if he heard my thoughts, he hums against the shell of my ear and pulls me closer to him until my back presses against his warm, hard chest. Our bodies fit together like two jagged pieces of a puzzle that somehow line up perfectly. We both have our sharp edges, but somehow it works. His strong arms hold me like I’m his, and I can’t help but smile at the fantasy of it all—because that’s what it is—make believe. We’ve both agreed that this isn’t anything more than sex and a good time.

  Though I write sex scenes in descriptive detail in my novels, this morning, I have no words. That’s something that doesn’t happen often. Me, speechless? Yep. Being with him was exhilarating, to say the least. We’re adults who are obviously missing something in our lives. Last night, Ethan made me realize exactly what I’ve been missing, unadulterated sex with no attachments.

  One-night stands are not in my sexual repertoire. Too many times I’ve overly romanticized relationships, but the men I’ve dated were basically worthless, so there’s that. No man has been able to live up to the expectations as the ones I write—alpha males, smart, loyal, perfect. After all my failed relationships, I’m fairly certain my perfect real-life hero doesn’t exist, and if he does, I’m sure he’s taken.

  “Morning,” Ethan says in a husky, deep tone against the crook of my neck. Goose bumps travel along my skin as he slides his hand across my bare stomach. I turn my head as his honey-colored eyes flutter open.

  “Morning,” I say, happy it’s not as awkward as I imagined it’d be. Then again, knowing this is purely physical without any strings attached helps. I can open my heart for a few days then seal it back tight before I get back to Chicago as if nothing ever happened. My secret will stay in South Carolina, and Ethan will be my perfect sexspiration.

  “Coffee?” I ask, ready to get my day started. Just as I scoot away from him to place my feet on the floor, he pulls me back to face him.

  “Not so fast,” he says with a sexy smirk on his lips.

  My heart feels as if it will beat right out of my chest. Ethan rolls over, his face hovering above mine.

  “Don’t think I’m going to stop giving you shit just because I fucked your brains out.” He winks, and I know for certain nothing has changed.

  I laugh at his blunt confession and go along with it. “Honestly, I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I mock, just before he places a sweet, lingering kiss on my lips as his hand slides up my body and cups my breast. Folgers has nothing on Ethan Rochester. Morning sex is now the best part of waking up.

  I sink into the taste of him, his hands exploring my body as our legs intertwine together and a noise from the hallway has us parting.

  “Shit,” he whispers.

  He turns his body just as the door swings open. Scrambling, I quickly pull the sheet up to my chin as I stare at an older woman with salt and pepper hair, and a soft, sweet face. Her cheekbones are high, and I can tell she was really beautiful when she was younger, but time has been good to her. She makes eye contact with me then looks over at Ethan who gives no fucks that he’s naked. The sheet covers the lower half of his body and instead of trying to hide from her, he places his hands behind his head.

  “Well, good morning to you, too,” he says to her with a sly smile on his lips, and something about their expressions makes me think this isn’t the first time this woman has caught him in bed with someone.

  She crosses the room and smacks him across the head. “I know your mama taught you some manners. Now you gonna introduce us or what?”

  My cheeks burn, and I’m shocked as she reaches her arm across Ethan’s naked body to shake my hand.

  “Honey, my name is Millie. I’m Ethan’s favorite aunt.”

  “My only aunt.” Ethan snorts.

  I grab her hand in mine and shake it, making sure to keep my breasts covered. “I’m Vada.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Vada. Sorry, my inconsiderate nephew forgot his manners this morning. Must have had a late night.” She looks him up and down. “Get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs. Don’t keep me waitin’.”

  Millie turns and gives me a sweet smile before leaving the room. I can hear the stairs creak with each step she takes.

  “What the hell was that?” I ask with a nervous laugh, pulling the sheets tighter against my naked body.

  He turns toward me and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling my body to his. “Sorry, that’s Aunt Millie. She likes to come over unannounced sometimes. But usually there’s not a woman in my bed, so I’m sure I’ll have some explainin’ to do.” He grins, pressing a quick kiss against my cheek. “Get dressed and meet us downstairs. I’m pretty sure she’ll be cooking something, and Aunt Millie doesn’t like it when people let her food get cold. Don’t get on her bad side this early in the day. She’s a grudge holder.” Ethan winks at me before slipping on a pair of jogging pants and leaving me alone in his room.

  I sit quiet and still and can hear her muffled voice along with Ethan’s. Scanning the room, I search for my clothes and remember they were in the other room. Wrapping the sheet around my body, I hurry down the hall, open the door, and find them in a crumpled pile on the floor. I tiptoe across the worn wooden boards and glance over and see Wilma staring at me with her judgmental cat eyes. Each time I look
at her, I think of my Oliver at home. He’s a long-haired Siamese I rescued a few years ago. Most of the time, he’s the only thing I talk to during the day. He’s pretentious, but I think Wilma may have him beat on many other levels.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper-hiss at her. “I’m not peeing on your territory.”

  Her tail flicks a few times before she turns around and prances down the stairs. I can hear the bell on her collar ring out, almost mocking me.

  After I slip on my clothes, I find the bathroom and wash my face and freshen up. I’m sure more than enough time has passed beyond just getting dressed, but I try to work up the courage to face them both downstairs as if nothing happened between us. But considering his aunt now saw us naked in his bed, there’s no story that can cover up what happened last night. Oh, God. I wrinkle my nose. Does his room smell like sex and shame?

  I run my fingers through my hair until it’s halfway workable and throw it up into a messy knot before taking the stairs down and walking into the kitchen. Ethan’s leaning against the counter showcasing his bare chest and hard muscles with a cup of coffee in his hand. His hair is a mess, but he easily swipes a hand through it, making it look as desirable as always. His lips move, flashing his perfect white teeth, and soon he’s laughing at something and so is Millie.

  “So, Vada,” Millie drawls in a deeper accent than Ethan’s. She pours coffee into one of his beautiful mugs and hands it to me. “Ethan tells me you’re an author and write those romance books I like to read.”

  My cheeks heat and my eyes go wide. I met this woman ten minutes ago, naked in her nephew’s bed, and now the only thing she knows about me is that I write steamy romance. Worst first impression ever.

  “Actually, I told her you write smutty romance books,” Ethan corrects with a grin. “But she knew what I was talking about. Millie’s a dirty old woman, so don’t let her sweet face and southern drawl fool you,” he warns, teasing us both. “She probably even has one of those red rooms of pain in her house.”