Dumpster Fire (Life Sucks Book 3)

by Elise Faber

  “Rob?” she whispered once he’d dropped his hand, turned back to the door, and thrown the lock.

  “Yes.”

  He moved into the bathroom, turned on the tub.

  “But how are you here?”

  After checking the water temperature and plugging the basin, he turned back to Soph and herded her to the bed. “I flew.” A beat as he nudged her down onto the mattress. “On a plane.” He bent and tugged off her heels, chucking the sexy torture devices to the far side of the room. Damned woman looked like she’d been dragged backward through a hedge, the least she could do was wear some fucking flats.

  He reached for the button on her jeans, flicked it open and yanked the zipper down then tugged the material from her legs.

  Ignoring the lace and the tempting way it cupped her, he reached for her shirt.

  She batted his hands away. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re exhausted,” he said. “You’re taking a bath, I’m ordering you room service, and then you’re getting twelve hours of sleep.”

  “I have a call time in nine hours.”

  “Fine,” he muttered. “You’re getting eight and a half hours of sleep.”

  She scowled. “Don’t give me orders.”

  “Then take care of yourself better.”

  Her scowl transformed into a glare. “I’m doing just fine, thank you.”

  He snorted.

  She shoved him back, pushed to her feet. “I am okay, and I don’t need . . .”

  Rob went deathly still. “Me?”

  She swallowed, eyes darting to the side then back to his. “No,” she said, and a bolt of pain shot through him. But then she kept talking and he felt hope, so much fucking hope. “No, I do need you.”

  His lungs unstuck.

  “I’m—” A shake of her head, her shoulders lifting and falling on an exhale. “I heard you in your kitchen talking to that woman about Carmella.”

  He closed his eyes, opened them slowly as clarity filled him. “I’m guessing you didn’t stick around to listen to me talking about you?”

  She shook her head. “No, baby, I didn’t. I was a fucking idiot to not stay, to not tell you.” A sigh. “But I think even without hearing that conversation, I would have run at some point anyway.”

  “Why?” he asked, brows drawn together.

  “Because . . . I don’t think I’m worthy of love.” She sighed, put her hand up when he immediately began protesting that bullshit. “No, I know I’m worthy . . . it’s just that sometimes I don’t believe it, sometimes I think I’m a burden and can’t give enough in return, and sometimes . . . I think it’s easier to run and hide from what I want because if I don’t have anything, then I can’t be disappointed when it goes away.”

  His throat went tight. “Soph,” he rasped.

  Her shoulders straightened. Her chin lifted. “But I don’t want that anymore.”

  He cupped her cheek.

  She covered his hand with her own. “I don’t want to be alone without any real friends, avoiding my family because they see too much, avoiding you because you make me feel too much.”

  She was killing him. “Soph, baby, stop.”

  “No,” she whispered, a tear trailing down her cheek. “I’ve spent the last week alone and miserable and thinking myself into circles, wanting what I thought I couldn’t have, needing more than I was willing to be open for, and . . .” She blinked, and he wiped the tear away.

  “And what, Tempest?”

  Her eyes opened, those pale-gray irises damp like an early morning storm.

  “And . . . I’m finally ready to fight for me, for you, for us.” Determination filled her gaze. “I love you. I want you. So I’m saying, begging, pleading, demanding”—her lips curved—“that you choose me. Love me.”

  Rob’s heart thudded in his chest. He opened his mouth to tell her that would never be an issue, that he would always love her.

  But she kept talking.

  “I know, I’m still a mess. I know I’m a total dumpster fire. I know, I still have things to work through, and I could very well run or push you away again—”

  “And I will come after you.” He rested his forehead against hers, cutting off her words with a brief kiss. “I will come after you again and again and again. Because I won’t let you go, Soph.”

  She released a shaky exhale. “But—”

  “No, buts. I’ve lost too much to ever go down without a fight.” He brushed his lips to hers. “Lucky I have a brand-new, not expired passport”—when her brows pulled down, he said, “I’ll explain later. Suffice to say, I would have been here sooner if not for having to get it reissued. The point is that I have my passport and a friend with a private jet.” He fixed her in place with a glare. “So, send me away. Run as far as you want. Just know that I’ll fight for you, too.”

  “Rob,” she whispered.

  “Soph,” he whispered back.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  He kissed her, long and slow and tender, holding her close and still gently, always gently, his fingers stroking through her hair, filling her heart with affection and hope and love for this man and their future.

  “I’m sorry I ran.”

  He rested his hand on the side of her neck. “I’m not sorry you found your fight.”

  She smiled. “You may regret that fight someday, especially when I’m making you watch Star Trek for the umpteenth time.”

  “Never,” he said. “And speaking of that”—he stepped back from her, moved to the small duffle bag he’d brought with him, and pulled out the DVD—“I wasn’t sure if this had traveled to Italy, yet.”

  Her lips parted, eyes warming, and he had to force himself to go back into the bathroom and turn off the water—or else risk flooding the hotel while kissing the woman he loved beyond reason again. But then the water was off, the flood avoided, and he could get back to her, could take her in his arms.

  They had a foundation to continue building, practical things to work out, schedules to finesse, baggage to still work through.

  But they had each other. They had their love.

  Rob knew it might not always be easy, but he also knew they would be okay. Because Soph and he had both found their fight. Because they could turn to each other in the darkness. They were two souls perfectly aligned because they’d come through that hurt and pain, and they found each other on the other side.

  Plus, he thought as he let his lips fall to hers again, he still had that friend with the private jet.

  Epilogue

  Screeching Brakes

  Soph, a year later

  She smiled as she drove along the darkened road, so happy to be back in Stoneybrook.

  It had been three months since she’d been home and nearly six weeks since she’d seen Rob—both because of the remote Iceland location her latest film, a modern adaptation of Peter Pan, with her playing the mischievous child who never wanted to grow up, but also because he’d been slammed with work.

  But now she was back, now she had a solid six months at her new home base, with only the odd break for publicity.

  She’d sold her L.A. home.

  She’d moved in with Rob.

  And . . . she was happy.

  Not perfectly happy all the time. Sometimes she still had dark moments, still had to consciously remind herself that she was worth all of the affection and love and joy that was brought into her life—by Rob, by Misty, by Ben and Martha and company, by Finn and Shann and Rylie.

  But her life, her little slice of family, had grown exponentially, and she was so damned thankful for that every day.

  Today, however, she wasn’t thinking about her family.

  She was thinking about Rob and the present she had for him.

  Six weeks was a long time. Six weeks was long enough for her to—

  “Shit!”

  She screeched to a halt on a familiar dark stretch of road, her tires loud on the asphalt, her brakes protesting, h
er heart beating a mile a minute as she watched the deer slowly meander in front of her, its large antlers sharp and gleaming in the moonlight.

  “Motherfucker,” she muttered, turning into the driveway that had become her home. It wasn’t fancy and didn’t have a huge gate—though they had installed a state-of-the-art security system after a fan had come too close. Luckily, those interactions were rare, and the town had her back, protecting her like they shielded Finn and Pepper from the hordes of paparazzi that plagued them in other towns.

  She still had her peace and quiet and this lovely house full of warmth and love and . . . Rob.

  The small craftsman wasn’t that gorgeous cottage she’d stayed at on the beach, she thought with a small pang of remorse. That home had gone on the market, and though she’d put in an offer, it had gone to someone else.

  Which was fine, because this was home.

  The garage door opened, and she pulled in, allowing it to close behind her before grabbing her purse and getting out of her car. But when she reached into the trunk for her suitcase, warm hands stopped her.

  “I’ve got it, Tempest.”

  She smiled and turned into Rob’s arms, noting the sleepy eyes, the mussed hair. He must have heard the heavy garage door sliding open.

  “Hi, baby,” she whispered, hugging him tight.

  “Hi, yourself.” He kissed her forehead. “You weren’t supposed to get in until tomorrow.”

  The bristle on his jaw caught her hair as he reached past her and pulled out her bag. “I got an earlier flight.”

  “Mmm.” His hand rested on her hip as he nudged her toward the house. “I missed you.”

  “Pish,” she said, flicking on the light when they walked into the kitchen and throwing herself into his embrace. “You know that you love my returning home kisses.” And to put her money where her mouth was, she slanted her lips across his, kissing him deeply.

  There was no hesitation, just love and happiness . . . and heat.

  Plenty of pent-up heat that had him lifting her up onto the counter, her purse falling to the floor, and he dropped to his knees and gave her her favorite returning home kiss. Then he stood, spread her thighs, slid in deep, and rocked them both slowly into oblivion.

  After, they sat on the kitchen floor—her in his T-shirt, him in just a pair of boxer briefs—and caught up on everything they hadn’t been able to talk about over the last six weeks. She heard how Misty’s bathroom remodel was finally completed—and Rob would be getting shit for an eternity about how he’d allowed his sister’s project to run a year over schedule. He heard how she’d had a frightening scare on the ice when it had creaked ominously below everyone’s feet and they all had made a quick exodus to the safety of solid ground. Then they talked about nothing—TV and movies that weren’t hers, a book she was developing for production, where they wanted to travel during her time off.

  It was everything she’d missed when away from him, and it still filled her heart to capacity, the love she had for this man.

  “We should get some sleep,” he said, much later, the sky beginning to lighten.

  Nodding, she started to push to her feet, but he swept her up into his arms, carried her upstairs, and tucked her under the covers of their bed.

  “Would you mind getting my purse?” she asked before he could settle in next to her. “I brought you something.”

  His face went soft, fingers brushing her cheek before he went back downstairs.

  A moment later, he’d returned with the black bag in one hand, her suitcase in the other.

  She took the purse while he stowed her luggage in the corner of the room then came over to the bed and snuggled close and she retrieved the small, wrapped box. “Present, please,” he said, kissing her neck.

  “Impatient?” she asked, arching her brow.

  “Presents are my favorite,” he teased, taking the box when she held it out. “But seriously”—he cupped her cheek—“I missed you, Tempest.”

  She smiled, pressed a kiss to his lips, before breaking away and nodding at the box. “Open it already.”

  Grinning, he tore off the paper, tossing it to the side, then opened the lid.

  And froze.

  She nibbled at her lip, waiting as he processed what was inside, since she’d had very much the same reaction when she’d found out.

  His eyes, warm tiger’s eyes came to hers. “Is this . . .”

  Soph nodded.

  He dropped the box and pulled her into his chest, his arms coming tightly around her. “You’re pregnant?” he asked.

  “Six weeks along,” she whispered. “So, it’s really early. But I missed my period a couple of weeks ago and I got the test yesterday, and . . . I had to tell you in person that we’re going to have a baby.”

  His hand came to her stomach, still flat, then to her cheek, cupping it so gently. “Baby, I’m so fucking happy. I-I—” He blinked. “We’re going to have a baby.”

  “I know.” She laughed, heart full. “I’m fucking terrified, but I’m also so happy.”

  “Me, too, Tempest. Me, too.” He pulled her close, hugging her tightly, stroking his fingers through her hair in that way of his he always did. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you.”

  He released her. “Lay down,” he said, coaxing her down on the mattress and pulling the blankets up to her chin. “How have you been feeling? Have you been sick? Do I need to go to the grocery store?”

  She sat up. “Rob.”

  He nudged her back down. “You need your rest.”

  She scowled. “Are you going to try to order me around this whole pregnancy?”

  “Nope.” He tucked the blankets tighter. “But I will take care of you.”

  “Is taking care of me another word for ordering me around?” she asked archly.

  His lips twitched. “Maybe.” A wave of his hand. “We can argue about it later.”

  God, she loved this man. Even when he was infuriating her.

  “For now.” He turned for his nightstand and pulled out an envelope, handing it to her.

  “What’s this?”

  “I had a present for you, too.”

  Brows pulling together, she asked, “What is it?”

  “You’ll find out,” he said and kissed her forehead. “If you open it.”

  Since he had a point, she didn’t argue. Instead, she peeled open the flap and pulled out the folded sheaf of papers inside, reading the legalese. Then processing the legalese.

  Her mouth dropped open.

  Her eyes flew to his.

  “You bought—” She shook her head. “You bought the cottage?”

  He nodded. “Turns out, I don’t mind having Finn as a neighbor.” His lips found hers, stealing her breath in a hot kiss. “And you wanted it, Tempest.”

  “Rob,” she breathed, eyes stinging.

  “I love you, sweetheart,” he said, “and I want you to have everything you ever wanted, everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

  Wrapping her arms around him and tugging him to her, she kissed him until her lungs burned, until she had to break away to suck in air.

  “I already have it,” she whispered, her forehead resting against his. “Everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and so much more.”

  Epilogue Part Two

  Clusterf*@k

  Misty

  She sat on the deck of Rob and Soph’s cottage, enjoying the breeze in her hair, the sun on her skin, and the brief quiet from the party on the sand.

  Soph had just announced she was pregnant.

  Misty was so happy for her and her brother, so glad they’d found each other and managed to carve out a slice of fulfillment.

  It was just . . . she was jealous.

  So freaking jealous.

  And add in a dash of guilt. Because her brother had barely survived the death of his first wife, had been a shell of a man for two full years until Sophie had come into the picture on her sexy little heels, with her Hollywood smile and her sweet personali
ty.

  Yup. She was a famous actress.

  And she was nice.

  Ugh.

  Sighing, she sat back and lifted her glass of wine to her lips, glugging down a large sip and looking out at the surf. Of all the places to live in town, her brother certainly had picked a good one.

  Even if she was a jealous, guilty asshole.

  She had her own business. She’d bought a house. She’d just paid off her car. She had a full life.

  A full, single, lonely life.

  Fun, fun.

  Resisting the urge to sigh again, she drained her glass then made her way over to say goodbye to her brother and Soph and the rest of the crew.

  “Oh,” Soph said, after she’d made her excuses. “I was hoping you might stay around. My dad and brothers are coming to visit.” She checked her watch. “They’re actually supposed to be here any minute.”

  “I have an early morning delivery,” Misty lied. “I’m sorry. I really need to get to bed.”

  “I understand.” Soph squeezed her hands. “I’ll make dinner this week on a night you can join us.”

  She forced a smile. “That sounds great.”

  She waved to Finn, cradling their newest addition, high-fived Rylie, and called a goodbye to Shannon, then she high-tailed it across the sand, determined to allow herself one more night of sulking before she got it together and stopped feeling so sorry for herself.

  Misty had a lot going for her.

  She just needed to remember that.

  Tomorrow. After she finished the bottle of wine in her fridge and the pint of ice cream in her freezer. After she’d lit her favorite candle and soaked in her tub, consuming bad reality TV right alongside all those extra calories.

  “See?” she whispered to herself as she got into her car and turned on the engine, slowly backing out of the driveway. “This will all be fi—”

  Crunch.

  Her sedan—her awesome, recently-paid off sedan—jerked to a halt.

  “Fuck,” she whispered, looking in her review and seeing that she’d run into a large black SUV. An SUV that currently had smoke coming from beneath the hood. She cursed again, dropping her head to the steering wheel for a moment, before sighing and pushing out of her car.