Domestic Bliss

by Piper Rayne

  “I’ll survive.” I sit on the bed, looking down at my feet, not seeing any burns.

  He throws the towel into a hamper, grabs the coffees from the table by the door, and brings them over, handing one to me as he kisses me on the lips.

  “You had energy to swim after last night?” I ask with a chuckle.

  He shrugs. “You make it harder to get out of bed than usual, but I managed.” He brings the coffee mug to his lips and walks around the bed. “Do you have something to do today?”

  A vision of Wendy flashes before my eyes—her with a knife pointed at me Psycho fashion. “I have to work.”

  He stops mid-stride and then nods. “And here I was going to kidnap you for the day.”

  “I’m sorry.” I frown.

  “How about a shower then?” He drops his towel and hooks his fingers along the sides of his swim trunks, dropping them to the floor.

  I set my coffee down and spring to my feet, walking on top of the mattress over to him.

  “I suppose I could fit you in.” I flutter my eyelids.

  He swoops me up into his strong arms. “Oh, you’ll be fitting me in all right.”

  He carries me into his oversized shower and water cascades over us as our lips discover each other’s bodies all over again.

  “Thanks for coming. I hate seeing her sick.” Jagger squeezes my hand in his where they both rest on the console between us.

  He used that convincing charm on me after he brought me to orgasm twice in the shower. The man knows how to get what he wants. Instead of being in my own car, driving myself home to sit at my computer all day and get my chapters to Wendy, I’m in his car on the way to the hospital to visit Marisol.

  “Of course. I could have driven myself though.”

  A Cheshire grin splays across his face. “Then I can’t kidnap you tonight.”

  I roll my eyes, looking out at the busy L.A. sidewalks with people shuffling to and from work. “I should work tonight. My job doesn’t end at five.”

  “Neither does mine.” He shrugs. “I guess I’ll have to find out how entertaining it is to watch you type.”

  “No. You will not watch me work.” For more than one reason.

  “I bet you’re cute when you work. In your bootie shorts and tank top, hair up in a bun with a pen behind your ear.”

  “Am I wearing the thick-rimmed glasses in this fantasy, too? You are envisioning the complete opposite of what I usually look like, by the way.”

  He rounds the corner with his SUV, a little fast for my taste. Seriously, the man is car-crazy.

  “I bet you’re gorgeous either way.”

  “Bet your stock of cars on it?”

  He laughs, and the hospital signs appear as the big building looms in front of us. Jagger pulls his hand from mine to get the parking ticket and I’m wondering how today will go down. Will Marisol figure out something is going on between Jagger and me? Will he tell her himself and if so what will her reaction be?

  We park, head up to the automatic doors and, just like two weeks ago, we take the elevator up to her floor.

  Jagger hasn’t let go of my hand, but I’m not sure who’s leading whom. He’s quiet, his gaze pinned to the floor rather than where he’s heading.

  The elevator dings and he doesn’t inch toward the doors, impatient for them to open as I figured he’d be. Instead his feet are frozen in place until the doors open completely and then he finally steps out. We walk past the nurses’ station, and round the corner, but Jagger stops just outside the door to Marisol’s room.

  “Are you thirsty? I can run down to the cafeteria,” Jagger offers.

  I furrow my eyebrows. “No, I’m good.”

  He lets out a breath. “Okay. Then let’s go.” He releases my hand and holds his arm out, inviting me to go in first.

  I knock. “Marisol?”

  “Come in,” she says, but her voice sounds weak.

  Isa is crashed out on the couch, asleep with drool running down her chin. Marisol smiles when we cross the curtain, straightening herself in bed.

  “No. Stay put,” I say, rounding the other side and taking a seat on the bed. Pulling my phone out of my purse, I snap a picture of Isa and then look to Marisol. “Blackmail for later.”

  She laughs and then her eyes land on Jagger, who is standing at the edge of the curtain like he doesn’t want to go any further.

  I’m not going to lie, Marisol isn’t looking like her usual spunky, full-of-life self. Her skin has a tinge of yellow to it, she’s lost some weight and there are dark circles under her eyes. This is not the woman who used to threaten Jagger to shape up before she threw him into the ocean.

  “Jag,” I say, moving my eyes between him and Marisol.

  He glances at the television and then to Marisol and then to Isa. “Has she been here all night?” he asks, approaching the bed. He bends down, kisses her on the cheek and then rounds the bed to sit in the chair next to Isa.

  Marisol nods and gives me a small smile.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask, clenching her hand in mine.

  “Okay. They say it’s autoimmune.” Her eyes flick to Jagger and then to me. Clearly there’s more going on and I take the non-verbal hint.

  “Hey, Jag, on second thought, can you go grab me a drink? I’m kind of parched from that workout this morning.”

  His gaze leaves the morning show on the television and he springs to his feet. The fact he doesn’t respond to my comment by bragging about his skills tells me his mind is far away. “Sure. Marisol, you need anything?” He never makes direct eye contact with her.

  “No, sweetie.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  We hear the click of his dress shoes on the linoleum floor and Marisol pats my hand between hers.

  “Can someone please tell him to lower his voice?” Isa groans, hands over her ears, sitting up.

  “He only has two tones. Loud and sultry.”

  She sits up, rubbing her eyes, finding me next to her mom. “And from the way your cheeks are flushed, I’m thinking you’ve been hearing the sultry one since we saw you last.”

  My body heats remembering his declaration last night. “No.” My eyes roll like marbles.

  Isa glances to her mom and they share a look. “Whatever.” She stands, pats my shoulder. “If he hurts you again, I’ll nail him to the wall by his balls.”

  “Isa!” Marisol shakes her head a bit at her daughter.

  Isa disappears past the curtain and I hear the bathroom door shut a moment later.

  “She doesn’t mean it,” Marisol says.

  I hold my hand up in the air. “Oh, no, if he hurts me I’ll hold the nails.”

  Marisol smoothes her hair down with her hands. “You girls.”

  “Why did you want him to leave?” I ask, lowering my voice in case it’s something Isa can’t know either.

  Her old and thin fingers wrap around my forearm. “I need a transplant.”

  My body drains of the last reserve of energy I had after Jagger last night. “Oh, Marisol.” I place my hand over hers.

  “He won’t take it well. He’ll want to get tested to see if he’s a match.”

  “He’s a grown adult, he’ll be fine. And maybe he is a match.”

  She shakes her head. “No. I don’t want him doing it. I’ll stay on the donor list.”

  “And die?” Isa walks in, using a paper towel to dry her hands.

  “Stop it,” Marisol says in her authoritative tone.

  “Why? That’s what’s going to happen. She’s refusing to let me get tested too.” Isa sits on the couch again, stretching her legs and picking up her phone.

  “I will not put my children in danger.” Marisol’s voice is firm.

  “Not to make it all about me again, but I am your only child.” Isa points to herself, rolling her eyes.

  “Jagger is like a son, you know this.”

  My head volleys between them and I wonder when the tennis m
atch will end.

  Isa sets her eyes on me, ignoring her mother now. “She won’t even call her siblings. She might as well sign her own death certificate.”

  “Isa.” I lower my voice, but she’s not having it.

  “We’ve been over this.” Marisol shoots me her sweet ‘no worries’ expression, but this is serious, and Jagger is going to flip out.

  “I got you a water. Figured you’re already riding the rails after this morning.” Jagger walks in, seeming more like his regular self with his cocky sarcastic attitude.

  “Thanks.” I take it from his hands, the chill of the bottle doing nothing to cool my skin.

  I concentrate back on Marisol, but she shakes her head.

  “Oh, you’re both on a sex high, great. Don’t worry about me, Jagger, I’m not thirsty or anything.” Isa’s her regular sarcastic self and focuses back on the television.

  “You were drooling a river when I left so I didn’t think to get you anything.”

  Isa’s face twists into a ‘whatever, asshole’ look.

  Jagger looks at Marisol, and uses his thumb to point at his pseudo-sister, wanting her mom to tell him what the hell is going on with Isa.

  Isa catches the action and rises from the couch. “Fuck off!” she spits out before stomping out of the room.

  “Well, if I thought we were acting like two-year-olds again, I would’ve brought your pacifier.”

  The weight on my chest over Marisol’s news restricts the amount of oxygen in my lungs and I struggle to get in a deep breath. “Jag,” I sigh, trying to get him to clue into the solemn atmosphere he’s walked into.

  “What? She acts like a brat. It’s not my fault that Marisol loves me more.” He winks.

  Marisol laughs, shaking her head, the smile on her face tells me she’s proud he thinks so highly of her.

  “I’ll go get her,” I offer.

  Marisol grabs my hand before I can get up. “She just needs time. Tell me about you two.”

  Jagger steps up behind me, resting his hand on my shoulder. “We’re together. Quinn finally smartened up and realized she’d find no one better than me.”

  Marisol giggles and looks so pleased that I don’t bother putting his ego back in check. “I’m happy to hear that.”

  “So, what’s going on here? When can we spring you? Need me to talk to one of the nurses?” Jagger rambles the questions off because he’s not a moron and using humor in uncomfortable situations is what he does.

  “I should be home in a few days. No worries here.”

  “Who’s running the business?” I ask.

  “Isa’s taking care of it for me.”

  “About time she steps up, although if I didn’t head over to this woman’s house, I’d still be lost in a sea of women,” Jagger says. “Wait, I think I phrased that wrong.”

  I elbow him in the stomach.

  “Don’t you two have to get to work?” Marisol cuts us short.

  I silently plead to her with my eyes. Tell him. He needs to know. The hypocrisy of my thoughts hits me. Who am I to really tell someone not to keep a secret? I have my own information I haven’t shared with Jagger yet. I didn’t feel the need to before—when he was still just an ex trying to win me back—but now…now it feels different.

  I hear the jingling of his watch. “Yeah, we probably should. Dad will be lying next to you after a coronary if I continue being MIA.”

  I lean forward and kiss Marisol’s cheek, squeezing her hand and stepping away to give Jagger space.

  When we hit the hallway, Isa is slouched down on the floor, her head in her hands, crying. I fall to join her, putting my arm around her shoulders, giving her the comfort she needs.

  “What gives? She’s going home in a few days.” Jagger stands above us with his hands on his hips. His towering figure is almost intimidating if you didn’t know him.

  Isa picks her head up, swiping the tears from her eyes. “On dialysis.”

  “Why wouldn’t she have mentioned that?” Jagger asks.

  Isa stands, my hand dropping. She pokes Jagger in the chest. “She needs a kidney transplant, moron.”

  And there’s the look I dreaded seeing on his face because I’ve only ever seen it a handful of times before—heartbreak and vulnerability.

  18

  Jagger

  “What did you say?” I stomp past Isa back into the room.

  Marisol must see it in my face because she sighs and starts speaking rapid-fire Spanish.

  Isa comes in and rambles back, the two arguing like they’re in one of the Telemundo shows I’d catch Marisol watching when I was younger. All I ever cared about was when the sex scenes would come on the screen. Yeah, at thirteen there isn’t a lot that won’t give a boy a hard-on. But at this point I’m really wishing I’d paid more attention.

  “Stop!” I yell. Quinn comes alongside me, placing her hand on my shoulder. My gaze shoots to her, her tight lips and soft eyes silently asking me to go easy on them.

  The two women look over at me, both faces red with anger.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask Marisol and her gaze shoots back over to Isa.

  Isa plops down on the couch, bringing her knees to her chest.

  I’ve never seen Isa like this. Never witnessed her going off on Marisol. She has respect for her mother whereas I constantly challenge mine.

  “Because you’ll try to fix it. There’s nothing to be done. I’ll stay on the transplant list and God will take care of it.”

  Isa rolls her eyes.

  “But if we can find you a match then you can get a transplant right away, right?”

  “Yes.” Isa answers for her mother. I see through her pissy attitude now.

  “Have you been tested?” I ask Isa.

  She nods.

  “Isa! I told you no,” Marisol scolds.

  “Are you a match?” We talk over her, not really caring what her stance is on this issue. This is one time Isa and I will be on the same page and overrule whatever it is Marisol wants to do.

  She shakes her head and my heart plummets to the ground.

  “Okay.” I rub my hands together. “Where can I get tested? Who do I talk to?”

  They both look at me like I’m crazy to think we could be a match. “Hello, I’m her son,” I say in a ‘duh’ way, trying to lighten the mood.

  Isa rolls her eyes and Marisol pats my hand.

  “Seriously, where do I go?” I ask, my voice sterner.

  Isa picks up a card and tosses it at me. Pulling out my phone, I dial the number.

  “Jag.” Quinn says my name, but nothing is going to stop me from taking care of this and finding her a kidney. I’ll handle it. That’s what I do.

  I lean down and kiss Marisol on the cheek. “I’ll be back later.” Grabbing Quinn’s hand, I guide her out of the room, my phone to my ear.

  I drag her down the hall. She finally stops following me when we get to the waiting room.

  “Jagger!” she says, tugging her hand out of mine.

  “Yes, I’ll hold,” I say to the person who just answered on the other end of the phone, then stare at Quinn.

  Her face is red. She’s standing there like she doesn’t need to open her mouth to explain to me whatever she’s trying to get me to understand. Like I’m a mind-reader or some shit.

  “What?”

  “Just stop. Calm down and let’s take this one step at a time.”

  A nurse walks by, watching us the entire time she passes.

  I step closer. “She needs a kidney. So, I’m going to find her a goddamn kidney.”

  She places her hands up in the air. “Fine. Make it for two. I’ll get tested also.”

  I bring the phone back to my mouth, my eyes locked with hers. “I need to make an appointment to see if I’m a match for someone.”

  Quinn rises to her tiptoes to try to speak into the receiver. “Two appointments, please.”

  I shake my head. “One.”

  Quinn starts pacing, stops and looks do
wn the hall, beelining directly toward a doctor heading down the hall.

  What the fuck is she doing?

  The doctor never makes it into the room for Marisol because Quinn is too busy talking and pointing to me at the end of the hall. Of course, Marisol has to have a doctor who looks like he just stepped off the set of Grey’s Anatomy.

  “Sir.” The woman comes back on the line. “I can get you an appointment Friday of next week.”

  “Not good enough.” I hang up and head down the hall, my footsteps determined.

  “Can I help you?” A nurse approaches me, matching my pace.

  “No.” I stop short of Quinn.

  She’s talking about testing and where to go and what we can do to speed up the process.

  “I’m sorry, what’s your relation?” the McSteamy wannabe asks, a smile still on his face because I’m sure he’s imagining her naked.

  “Hi, I’m her son.”

  Quinn blows out a breath.

  “Oh, I’m Dr. Garfield. She didn’t mention a son.”

  “Because he’s not her real son. He’s more like a stray she took pity on,” Quinn adds, giving me a sassy smile.

  The doctor holds his clipboard down over his crotch and it better not be because he’s covering up a hard-on for my woman.

  “Well, you don’t have to be biologically related for you to be a match.” He digs into his front pocket, pulling out another card. “Go down to our transplant center, they’ll handle the testing. As far as anything else, I’m not really at liberty to say unless Marisol includes your name on the forms.”

  I stare straight at him and Quinn’s huffing is grating on my nerves. I’m not quite sure how she thinks I should handle this. Sit in a chair and not do anything? Not my style.

  I study the card, finding the address to the transplant center. “Thanks.”

  The doctor hesitates before giving Quinn the once-over.

  “Yeah, she’s mine.” I grab her hand and set us off toward the elevator again.