Always Mickie (Cruz Brothers Book 3)

by Melanie Munton

  “God, baby…” I said on a loud moan.

  I snapped out of the spell for just a second when I thought I was being a little too rough and barely loosened my hold on her hair. But that’s when she slid both of her hands to my ass and pulled me forward, pushing my dick deeper down her throat.

  I exploded.

  And I swear, she moaned like she’d just been given the gift of life. She swallowed and kept on swallowing like she couldn’t get enough. I was lost in my climactic aftershocks and didn’t even notice when she tucked me back in and pulled my shorts up.

  I eased my eyes open to see a proud smile on her face. She should be proud. That was fucking amazing.

  “Better?” she asked.

  I grabbed her arm and yanked her to me. “You have no idea. But as incredible as that was, it’s still not as good as being inside you.”

  She rubbed her hands down my chest. “I know. And we’ll get there.”

  I crashed my lips against hers and plunged my tongue into her mouth. I felt her body go languid in my arms as she succumbed to the kiss. I made sure she felt every bit of my desire, stoking her own passions, hoping to leave her desperate and wanting.

  I wanted her to feel what she was holding out on.

  I was going to respect the way she wanted to play this out.

  But sure, if this kiss helped push that process along, you wouldn’t hear me complaining.

  When I pulled away, I could see I’d accomplished my goal. Her eyes were half-lidded, her breaths shallow.

  “We’ll wait however long you think we need to, Mick.”

  My goal was now to make her need me with such desperate intensity that she would come running to me, begging for my touch.

  She wanted to play this game?

  I could play, too.

  She seemed to have forgotten what a fierce competitor I could be.

  Game on, baby.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dawson

  The Forest Hill Rehabilitation Center was a two hour drive from Baltimore. I’d contemplated asking Mickie to come with me to visit my mom, but I didn’t want her to feel awkward given our situation. Plus, she’d gotten called into work this morning. I would have stayed home with the kids instead of having to call Sage, but the rehab center already had my visit scheduled and I didn’t want to cancel on Mom.

  To pass the time, I’d been making phone calls and chasing down leads on the burglary-homicide case. I was about to dial another number when my ringtone came over the car’s speakers through the Bluetooth device.

  Kyle.

  “Hey, what do you got?” I asked.

  “So, I followed the bread crumbs based on our witness’s description of the perp,” he said. “Or who we think could be the perp. Talked to other neighbors and city workers who were servicing the area at the time of the break-in.”

  “And?”

  He coughed in the background before his voice came back over the line. “The mailman is pretty positive he saw a guy matching the description working at the house next door to the Nettleman’s the week of the murder. He remembered seeing a van for a landscaping company parked in the street. Said he’s worked that neighborhood for five years and had never seen the van or the guy there before.”

  “How did he match the guy to the witness’s description?” I asked as I got off at the Forest Hill exit.

  “He said he distinctly recalled something up with the way he walked,” he replied. “He couldn’t say if it was an actual limp or not. All he said was that he remembered the guy ‘walked funny.’”

  “That’s good enough to contact the landscaping company and bring this guy in for questioning,” I said.

  I stopped at a red light, and had to shake my head at the bumper sticker on the car in front of me. It said, Guns don’t kill people. People kill people.

  Oh, the irony.

  There might have been a portion of the population who wouldn’t agree with that sentiment. But in my line of work, there were no truer words. Guns might be a tool with which people kill. But people themselves are the real killers. They wield the weapons, they make those decisions. Guns were inanimate objects that didn’t feel emotions like hate, greed, or jealousy.

  Objects couldn’t inherently be evil.

  But human beings could.

  I saw it every day.

  “Already making the calls,” he said. “Just wanted to update you. You on your way to Forrest Hill?”

  I opened a new pack of gum and stuck a fresh piece in my mouth. “Yeah, I’m almost there. I’ll have my phone on me if anything else comes up.”

  “Got it.” I could tell he was holding the receiver away from his mouth as he gave someone in the background his coffee order. “Don’t forget about the gala next week.”

  “Shit,” I hissed.

  He chuckled over the line. “And that’s why I thought it best to remind you. You haven’t talked to Mickie about it yet, have you?”

  “No,” I grumbled. “I’ll handle it.”

  “Good luck with that,” he said, amusement in his voice, and hung up.

  Great. I’d completely forgotten about the damn gala. I didn’t want to get all dressed up, let alone spend my night talking to a bunch of self-serving blowhards. Now, I had to pray that Mickie would be willing to come with me and hope she wasn’t too annoyed by me asking at the last minute.

  I listened to the dial tone as I waited for her to pick up. I was prepared to leave a message, since I knew she was probably busy at work.

  “You’re a cop,” she huffed in greeting. “So, remind why it’s wrong to murder another person.”

  A laugh burst from my mouth before I could contain it. “Bad day?”

  “Only from a sane person’s perspective,” she replied. “For me, I guess this is considered normal.”

  I turned down a street and saw the rehab center in the distance. I wasn’t sure why, but my heart rate picked up. I heard the hospital’s PA system in the background, along with beeping machines and murmured voices and knew she was probably exhausted.

  “Well, I don’t want to bother you at work, so I’ll make this quick.”

  “Sure,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “I know it’s really last minute, but things have been so crazy lately I completely forgot about it. The Boys in Blue Gala is next weekend and I was hoping you’d want to come with me.” I was prepared for the rejection that would result in me having to endure the entire night by myself.

  “I was wondering if I was going to be invited this year,” she said, sounding less distracted than seconds ago. “I was beginning to think you were taking Kyle as your date.”

  I sighed dreamily. “I tried but he’s way out of my league.” Her giggling brought a huge smile to my face. “What do you say, Mick?”

  She was silent for a moment, and my heart stuttered in my chest. “Lucky for you BCBG is having a sale right now.”

  “I assume that’s a store?”

  She laughed. “Yes. I’d love to go. Especially since I can tell you’re really looking forward to it. Pretty much like every other year.”

  I snorted. “I’m a creature of habit.”

  “No denying that.” The PA system sounded over the line again, and I heard some shuffling around. “I’m going to let you go, but…say hi to your mom for me.”

  My chest tightened. “I will.”

  “Let me know when you get back.” She paused. “But if you need to talk before that, like after you leave her, you can call me.”

  When I felt heavy emotions rising to the surface, I shoved them back down. “Thanks, Mick.”

  Talking to her helped calm my mind as I approached the gate to FHRC. I gave the security guard my name and he let me through. After parking my car, I went through another check-in process at the front desk where I had to fill out a visitor form and obtain a badge.

  “Sandra’s in the garden right now,” the nurse said. “She’s been spending most of her time there lately. It’s her favorite plac
e.”

  “Really?” That was news to me. For the first several weeks after she was admitted, she hardly left her room.

  The nurse smiled warmly and nodded. “She’s even been making arrangements for the dining room tables from the flowers she’s picked.”

  It felt like someone had just sucker punched me.

  Our mother used to be a florist. Many years ago, before the pills. And before Sal became too unbearable for her. I hadn’t seen her so much as touch a flower in over twenty years.

  And now she was making arrangements.

  For the first time since we’d brought her up here, I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. I never wanted to say anything to Mason or Parker. But in the beginning, I hadn’t been sure if this place was going to do much good. Mason came here to work through his drug addiction, and their program had been a miracle worker for him.

  But I’d been worried our mother was too far gone.

  I was afraid that after all the years of living in an abusive, loveless marriage, she may have given up on life itself. That she’d lost her will to survive.

  As I walked down hallways toward the gardens, I was reminded of how nice this place was. And how much Mason, Parker, and I were paying for it, since we were splitting it three ways. We could have sent her somewhere else, but we’d all agreed we wanted the best for her.

  When I stepped out into the garden, I immediately spotted her sitting by herself on a wooden bench. The sight made my throat constrict. I hated to think of her up here all alone. I hoped she was making friends. Then again, maybe after all these years, being alone was exactly what she needed to figure things out and get her life back in order.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said softly as I sat down beside her.

  Her head snapped up and she smiled a genuine smile. I was relieved to see her complexion had more color to it than the last time I visited. Her brown hair looked healthier. The color was more vibrant than the dull grayish brown I was expecting. And even her eyes seemed to have more color to them, a gleam to them I wasn’t used to seeing. Certainly not the lifeless, clouded ones that were usually there.

  “Hi, Dawson. It’s good to see you.”

  “You, too.” I took her in from head to toe. She still needed to gain a little more weight, but the few pounds she had put on made a difference. “You’re looking better.”

  “Such a charmer I raised.” She fiddled with the small bouquet of daises in her lap, tying a piece of twine around the middle. “You’re supposed to tell your mother she looks lovely. Like a vision.”

  I heard the humor in her words and a quick smile spread across my face.

  Wait.

  Had she just made a joke? Where had that come from? Mom didn’t joke. I assumed she’d lost her sense of humor years ago. She seemed to catch my expression out of the corner of her eye.

  “Yes, it’s possible for me to kid around,” she said. “This is me trying to be funny. And apparently, I’ve still got some work to do.”

  “Parker would be happy to tutor you,” I quipped.

  She chuckled. It sounded a little hoarse and rusty, like she hadn’t done it in a long time. Probably hadn’t. But it was still great to hear.

  “That boy’s head doesn’t need to get any bigger,” she said. “Besides, once upon a time—as hard as it might be to believe—I did have a quick wit and a clever sense of humor. Where do you think he gets it from?”

  I leaned back, watching this stranger with fascination. A conversation between the two of us hadn’t been this easy and relaxed in…probably ever. “You mean he wasn’t hatched from an egg?” I asked. “Well, there goes that theory.”

  She laughed out loud this time, and I immediately recognized the laugh as Mason’s. He’d gotten her eyes and lighter complexion, too. If Mason had that and Parker had her sense of humor, it made me wonder what parts of her I had in me.

  “How are Mickie and the kids?” she asked.

  And there was the guilt.

  She hadn’t seen the kids in person since right after they were born. What was supposed to have been a hopeful bridging of gaps had turned into an anger-infused incident spearheaded by Sal. Because of that, she hadn’t seen the kids in five years, aside from the pictures I’d given her.

  I knew it devastated her not being able to see her grandchildren. But I’d vowed after that first meeting that as long as she’d remained shackled to Sal, she wouldn’t be able to spend time with them. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t want my children around her when she was high on her pills.

  The deal was that if she got herself clean and sober, then and only then could she have a relationship with them. And I wanted that for Gabby and Leo. Since Mickie’s parents weren’t in the picture and they didn’t get to see their Uncle Frank and Aunt Hope enough, they’d never really had any grandparents to look up to. Not that we’d had any when the three of us were growing up, either.

  But I wanted them to experience what I hadn’t been able to.

  “The kids are great,” I said. “They start taking swim lessons next week. Leo started riding his bike without training wheels recently. Which made Gabby jealous, of course, so now she’s bound and determined to do it, too.”

  Mom laughed. “Sounds like siblings. You know, when Mason learned how to tie his shoes before you, you threw a fit and sat down on the floor for hours until you figured it out. That was my second clue you were going to be my most stubborn child.”

  “What was the first?” I asked, curious.

  She hadn’t told us many stories of when we were young. I could only remember so much before Sal started beating the crap out of us. And then I never wanted to relive old memories.

  “The first was me being in labor with you for almost forty-eight hours,” she replied, shaking her head. “You did not want to come out.”

  I grinned, trying to imagine her younger with a tiny baby in her arms. With a proud, loving father by her side. Even if it was a figment of my imagination, it was nice to think that was how it had looked for them once.

  “And Mickie?”

  I heard the underlying meaning in the question. It was as if she already knew the answer. But I hadn’t spoken to her about me and Mickie. I didn’t want to worry her by throwing our drama at her feet. She needed to concentrate on her own health.

  I sighed. “What do you know?”

  She shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “Mason may have let it slip that you’d been living with him for a little while. I didn’t have to ask why to figure it out. You want to talk about it?”

  I waved her off. “It’s just a rough patch. We’ll figure it out.”

  Her fingers paused their movements, and she dropped the bouquet to her lap. When she looked up at me, there was hurt in her eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say my words had wounded her.

  “Dawson, look,” she said, turning around to fully face me. “I know I’ve been a terrible mother, and you’ve never felt like you’ve been able to talk to me about anything. And I’m certainly no expert on love or marriage. But I know what it’s like to make mistakes and have to live with the regret. If there’s anything you can learn from my experiences, it’s what not to do. So, go ahead. Try me.”

  I thought about it for a minute. Seeing this new side of my mom did make me want to open up to her. Forget about all the anger toward her I’d held onto over the years, and just get to know the real Sandra none of us had ever met.

  So, I told her everything. About how Mickie had kicked me out and why. About how we were trying to work through the issues but that Mickie wanted to take it slow.

  And for some reason, even though I hadn’t sought her approval about anything regarding my life in a long, long time, I was ashamed to admit how I’d let my family fall apart. It was crazy, but even after all these years, I didn’t want her to be disappointed in me.

  She remained quiet after I finished. That was, until she dealt a powerful blow that about knocked me on my ass.

  “You’re not your fat
her, Dawson.”

  My entire body locked up.

  “What?” I asked. “I never said I was.”

  “Maybe not with your words.” She had once again paused her bouquet tying and was staring off at nothing. “But I heard it in your voice. I always have. You’ve always been afraid of screwing up and becoming like him. But you’re so different from him in more ways than you’ll ever know. You need to finally realize that and accept it.”

  “I have anger like him,” I confessed. “I have to control myself from lashing out all the time.”

  “Therein lies the difference,” she said.

  My brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  She turned back to me with a small smile. “You control yourself and your impulses. He never did. You work hard and take care of your family. You protect and love them. And you don’t use alcohol or pills to deal with whatever you’re struggling with inside.” Her smile turned sad. “So, I should rephrase that. You’re not like either one of us.”

  There was nothing I could say to that.

  I wasn’t going to hug her and tell her she’d been a great mom. Because she hadn’t been, and that was the sad truth.

  “It just sounds to me like you’re thinking about what you shouldn’t be doing more than about what you should be,” she added.

  I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Such as?”

  “Again, I’m no authority in the area,” she began, “but it seems like rather than focusing on making sure you don’t work too many hours or are away from the kids too much, you could be coming up with ways of how to make better use of your time when you are home.”

  I supposed that all made sense. It was true that our schedules had been so hectic lately that we usually ended up doing our own things when we were home together. I was normally on the computer going over case files or doing paperwork. Mickie was doing house stuff. And the kids were either playing in their rooms or in the backyard.

  We hadn’t been spending a lot of time as a family.

  “And the stuff with Mickie?” I asked.

  She chuckled. “That’s not as complicated as you’re making it out to be. Women get such a bad rap for being contrary and difficult to understand. But all we really want is attention.”