It made me feel like shit.
I had been a constant buzzkill for them the past two months.
And I was sick of being an interloper. They had every right to be happy and proud. God knew they both deserved it.
“Hey, bro,” Mason said, slapping me on the back. He threw his jacket over the couch, grabbed a Coke out of the fridge, and plopped down in the chair across from me.
“Hey,” I replied. I tried not to sound glum, but I didn’t exactly have much of a reason to smile.
“I’m surprised to see you here at,” he looked down at his watch, “six fifteen. You haven’t been leaving the station before nine most nights. Everything okay?”
I nodded as I took a bite out of my hamburger. “I’m taking the kids out for ice cream tonight, so I made sure to leave at a decent time.”
He narrowed his eyes. When he looked at you like that he was damn difficult to ignore. Out of the three of us Cruz brothers, Mason had always been the most perceptive.
“Mickie going, too?” he asked pointedly.
I kept my focus on my pile of fries, avoiding his eye contact. “No,” I muttered. “I didn’t ask.”
He scoffed, and my head snapped up. “What?” I asked.
“You’re supposed to be fixing things with her,” he said, like I was the biggest moron on the planet. Lately, I was beginning to think I was. “It didn’t even occur to you to ask her to join you guys?”
I felt my cheeks get hot. “Didn’t think she’d want to. She did kick me out, after all.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but do you see her signing papers?” My jaw clenched. I hated the mere mention of that. “She kicked you out to make a point, man,” he continued. “She wants you to make an effort. There are obviously things she wants you to change. Maybe you should find out what those are and go get your wife back.”
I pursed my lips, tamping down my frustration. He was just being a good brother. Before he’d gotten clean years ago, I’d always been on his case about getting his addiction under control. We’d had so many fights about it, it was any wonder how we hadn’t beat the living piss out of each other. Now, he saw the problems I was having, and he was simply returning the favor.
I hated when either of my younger brothers showed me up, though.
Neither of them needed that ego boost.
“You just want me out of here, so you and Sage can have all the loud, kinky sex you want,” I joked.
He didn’t miss a beat. “And if you could schedule that exodus as soon as humanly possible, my dick would sure appreciate it.” I snorted. “Besides, we’re all used to regular brooding Dawson. But Brooding Dawson 2.0 has overstayed his welcome. He’s got to go.”
“Working on it,” I muttered.
Mason sighed. “I’ve been watching you clutch onto your stubborn pride for the past two months, brother. And it hasn’t done any good. I’d say you need to work on it a bit harder.”
I growled around a mouthful of greasy food. “And I can’t tell you how much these little chats of ours help with that.”
He put both of his hands up, acquiescing. “Just doing my familial duty.” He took a few gulps from his Coke before he spoke again. “Anything interesting happen at work today?”
Actually, yes. “Funny you ask.” I wiped my mouth and leaned back in my chair. “You know how Captain Johannsen is retiring in a couple months?”
“Yeah,” he replied, nodding. “You mentioned that.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Lieutenant Allen basically told me I’m a shoe-in for the job. It’s pretty much mine if I want it.”
Mason’s brow furrowed. “I thought you said Jed Lofton was in line for it.”
“His wife just got offered a tenured position at NYU, so he’s transferring to NYPD.” I shrugged, going for nonchalance but most likely failing. This news was kind of a big deal for me. “And the only reason he was ahead of me was because he’s been with the department one year longer than me. Even the Lieutenant said I was more qualified.”
Mason’s eyes were thoughtful and assessing. “So, you going to take it? Captain Cruz?”
I cringed. It sounded like the name of a cartoon character. “Don’t know yet,” I said. “It would mean fewer cases—at least in the field—but more paperwork. It could mean steadier hours. But with this job, you never know.”
Mason seemed to understand what I was saying. He knew that my irregular hours had been part of the recent problems between me and Mickie. In fact, since the twins were born, the topic had been a constant source of our arguments. It also didn’t help that Mickie’s hours at the hospital could be crazy. Though, it had gotten better since she’d been promoted to floor supervisor. Would the same be true for me if I took this promotion?
At this point, there was no way to be sure.
“I take it that Mickie doesn’t know about this yet,” he said.
I scrubbed my hand down my face. “No. I’d prefer to bring it up when we aren’t already in the middle of bickering about something else. And those moments have been few and far between as of late.”
“Seems like a smart idea,” he said in a quiet voice. “Deal with the pertinent issues at hand first.”
I laughed, though the sound was without humor. “Yeah, if she’d stop being pissed at me for two seconds and just tell me what those issues are.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “No offense, bro, but I have a feeling she probably already has. You just haven’t listened.” He must have seen the fire in my eyes because he rushed to add, “I’m just saying I know Mickie pretty well. And I’ve never known her to not tell you what’s on her mind. Especially if something is bothering her. Keeping things to oneself is usually your territory, not hers.”
I didn’t want to admit whether or not that was true. “You’re saying the answer’s been right in front of me the whole time, and I’ve just ignored it? I’ve been neglecting my wife?”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “No, I’m telling you to quit tip toeing around the situation. It’s been two months. Confront Mickie. Make her lay it all out for you, so you both know where you stand. Just do something. Because all you’ve been doing lately is a whole lot of nothing.”
“Thanks for the moral support,” I said flatly.
He saluted me with his Coke. “Happy to help.”
He made a good point, though.
I was the man here, and I needed to quit acting like such a pussy. If I wanted to make things right with Mickie—if I wanted to get my wife back—only I could make that happen. She may not have handled things very well by kicking me out, at least in my opinion. But I hadn’t exactly helped the situation by holding onto my anger and remaining distant.
Mason thought a confrontation was in order?
Well, that I could do.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mickie
What followed after my shift was a series of chaotic backwardness.
Thus was life with children.
Since having kids, I’d grown closer to my sister than ever before because I now understood her better than ever before. I’d quickly learned that kids really did stick inanimate objects up their noses, and try to light themselves on fire.
The first thing Leo said after I picked him and Gabby up from the babysitter’s house was, “Mommy, I poked a rhino in the butt today!”
I wasn’t even going to touch that one. There were some things best left alone.
Then over our dinner of grilled ham and cheese sandwiches—because I had absolutely no energy for anything fancier—Gabby asked, “Mommy, can I take pole dancing classes?”
I spit my wine out all over the place.
“What? Where did you hear that?”
She shrugged and took another bite of her sandwich, completely unaware that her mother was having a mini heart attack. “I heard Uncle Mason telling Daddy that Sage was taking pole dancing classes, and he made it sound really fun.”
Oh, I’d just bet he did. Mason and Sage we
ren’t exactly the shy sort of couple.
“He said he really liked when she danced for him,” Gabby cheerfully added.
Oh, my God.
I was going to kill Mason. And Dawson.
“No, sweetie,” I said as calmly as I could. “That kind of dancing is for big girls. Little girls like you take ballet classes.”
She slumped her shoulders and frowned. “I hate ballet.”
I poured another glass of wine. Or two.
Gabby’s head of curls may have come from me. And Leo may have had my eyes. They each had mixtures of mine and Dawson’s complexions. But I swear, both of them had somehow inherited their father’s personality.
When Dawson showed up after dinner, Gabby and Leo lit up like Christmas trees.
I won’t lie. I did, too.
He was still the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen, and I was still wildly attracted to him. If only he could see that.
They jumped into his arms and screamed their heads off when he spun them around. My heart clenched at the sight. I hated keeping them away from their dad. Every other weekend, they stayed with him at Mason’s apartment, where Dawson had been living the past two months.
But it just wasn’t the same.
He locked eyes with me across the yard, and my breath stuttered. If he would have just stomped across the grass, scooped me up in his arms, and kissed the hell out of me, I probably would have said all was forgotten.
Instead, he slowly approached, as if afraid he would spook me. This timid version of him stood in such contrast to the aggressive beast I’d known ten years ago.
“How was work?”
I lifted a shoulder, trying to mask my disappointment that he’d chosen to start our conversation with such an inane question. “Same craziness as ever. You?”
“Pretty much the same.”
Great. We’d been reduced to having the same awkward exchange every time we’d seen each other since I’d booted him out.
When he continued to stand there in silence, I said, “Don’t let them have too many scoops, or they’ll never go to sleep tonight.”
He nodded. “I know.”
Of course, he did. From day one, he’d always been the best father in the world. That was something I’d never had to worry about.
“Well, have fun.” I turned to head back inside when— “Mickie, wait.”
I shifted my attention back to him, and his expression had gone...dark. Intense. I hadn’t seen that look in a while. My physical reaction was swift and powerful.
“Can we talk when I bring them back?” he asked.
Now, we’re on the right track. “What about?”
“I think you know what about,” he replied in a much lower tone.
He also hadn’t used that voice in a while. All good signs, I thought.
Still, I wanted to test him.
“I have to get up really early for my morning shift,” I said. “Can it wait until tomorrow? Or maybe the day after?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. He took a purposeful step up the porch stairs, bringing his body closer to mine. Without breaking our eye contact, he leaned in and growled, “We’re fucking talking tonight when I get back. I’m tired of this hardly speaking to each other bullshit. It ends now.”
Finally.
He was showing some umph. Talking to me like I was a grown-ass woman who could give as good as she got.
Biting back my satisfied smile, I tipped my chin. “Fine. Tonight, then.”
He kept his hard expression in place for another moment before he turned and walked away.
Tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mickie
Okay, so maybe I’d indulged in a little bit more wine while Dawson and the kids were gone.
Maybe almost a full bottle’s worth.
And a hot shower, followed by a blow-out. But I’d felt pretty damn good after that look he’d sent me, and I wanted to make it last. So, when I saw his headlights flash in the driveway an hour or so later, I pulled up the tiny pajama shorts I was wearing and yanked down my low-cut tank top.
See, no one could judge me because he was my husband.
And I could dress however the hell I wanted around my husband.
I met him at the door and found Gabby passed out in his arms, while Leo—ever the tough little guy—stood next to them, rubbing his tired eyes. He was always wanting to be big and strong like his daddy. Which meant that if his sister was sleepy, he could not be.
Dawson moved to walk through the door after Leo, but stopped cold when he got a good look at me. His eyes zoned in on the generous amount of cleavage I had on display. Then slid along my exposed waist, down to the considerable amount of leg I was showing.
He raised his eyes back to mine, mouth parted, body tense.
That had gotten his attention real quick. Why hadn’t I done this two months ago?
“Damn, Mick,” he whispered.
I tried to skirt past the comment, knowing there were things we had to discuss, but it was hard. “Why don’t you go put her to bed, and then we can talk?”
He blinked several times, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Um, right.” He walked up the stairs, mumbling under his breath, “But I don’t know how much talking I’m going to do with your tits bouncing around in my face.”
I was pretty sure he hadn’t meant for me to hear that.
And a thrill shot through me.
He took the stairs a little too fast on his way back down, and my body hummed with anticipation. I sat on the living room couch and watched as he stopped in the middle of the room, his eyes cast downward with his hands on his hips.
Look at me.
“So, what is it you wanted to talk about?”
“What is it going to take,” he said slowly, avoiding my gaze, “for you to let me back in?”
My enthusiasm faded a little. After all this time apart, did he really not know? Because I was hoping this little talk was going to be about the solution to all of our problems.
“You already know the answer to that,” I replied in a subdued voice.
“No,” he snapped. His eyes finally found mine. “I don’t. I know there are things I need to work on. But were they enough to kick me out?”
I shot up from the couch, needing to be on equal footing with him for this discussion. “If you don’t know, then you clearly haven’t been listening to me all these years.”
A fire lit up his dark eyes. The kind I used to see spark in them all the time, but had been snuffed out in recent years. “I can’t read your mind, Mickie.”
I flung hair out of my eyes, annoyed. “I don’t expect you to read my mind. I just want you to listen to me when I speak it.”
He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “I’ve been letting you in,” he said. “I’m not closed off like I used to be, and you know it.”
“Do I?” I asked haughtily. “Because when Sal died, I got nothing from you. You barely even spoke to me about it. Same thing when you admitted your mother to rehab. So, if letting me in is being indifferent, then yes, you’ve done a bang-up job of that.”
Realizing how loud I was being, I told myself to calm down. I had to remember the two five-year-olds with bat hearing who were supposed to be sound asleep upstairs.
He threw his arms up. “What was I supposed to do? Cry uncontrollably on your shoulder when my abusive bastard father—whom I hated—finally died? Would that have made you feel better?”
“Honestly? Yes.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “Great. I’ll make sure you’re right there beside me when I cry myself to sleep the next time a family member dies.”
“That would mean you’d have to actually be home before I fell asleep,” I muttered, hating the bitterness in my voice.
“Well, how many problems are there, Mick?” he asked sarcastically, which helped fuel my own anger. “Because I’m out of Narcotics and not undercover anymore. I’m not always home by six o’clock, but I’m not stumbli
ng through the door at midnight every night, either. I make it to most of the kids’ activities. What more do you want from me?”
The one crucial part of his speech that was missing.
“I want you to want me!” I shouted.
He reared back, his eyes widening as he digested those words. “What?” he whispered.
I paced the floor, running my fingers through my hair. But the curly mass of tangles I encountered only served to further piss me off. “You know what I really want?” I asked.
“That’s why I’m asking,” he retorted, his voice less harsh than it had been seconds before.
I placed my hands my hips. My eyes caught on the framed photographs hanging on the wall, most of which were of the kids. “I want us back.” I met his gaze. “I want the spontaneity we had when we first met. I want the unexpected dates, the freedom of not knowing where we were going or what we were doing next. I want the easy smiles and quick laughter back.”
His forehead creased. “Do you not laugh anymore?”
The hurt in the question pierced my heart, but I pressed on without answering him. “But more than anything, I want you.” I could tell the statement gave him pause. “I want to see the possession in your eyes when you look at me. I want to feel it, really feel it, when you tell me I belong to you and no one else. I want to know that after all these years, I can still make you crazy. That the passion is still there.”
He looked shell-shocked.
But I didn’t know what more to say.
He slowly shook his head, his face full of disbelief. “My God,” he said. “You haven’t felt any of that from me all these years? You don’t think it’s been there this whole time?”
I averted my eyes, simply to avoid breaking down into tears. “Not the way I used to. It’s…different now.”
“But nothing’s changed for me, Mick,” he said softly.
I swallowed. “Maybe not on the inside.”
Something seemed to register with him then, and he took a step back. My eyes shot to him. That lost expression I’d seen only moments before was now gone, replaced by a look of contemplation. As if he were considering something and planning.
Always Mickie (Cruz Brothers Book 3) Page 11