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 stumbling 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.
“At least now I know,” he said.
I panicked at the finality I heard. What did he mean by that?
When he headed for the front door, my legs moved involuntarily. There was nothing I could have done in that moment except follow him. My body needed to be closer to his. It had been deprived far too long.
And judging from his actions, it was going to be deprived a little longer.
He was on the bottom porch step when he looked back up at me. “I hope you’re ready for what’s coming, baby.”
Baby. He hadn’t called me that in…quite some time. I’d missed hearing it. So much.
“Because now I know what you’ve been looking for,” he continued. “And I’m not going to stop until you have what you want. Until we both have what we want.”
My mouth twitched. “That a promise?”
He smiled darkly.
Holy shit.
I’d definitely missed that.
“For once it’s not,” he replied. He climbed the two stairs, and braced his hands on the banisters on either side of me. “Promises have the chance of being broken. What I’m saying to you now is going to happen. So, no more promises. This time, it’s a fucking fact.”
He left me standing there on that porch step.
My heart in my throat.
My panties in knots.
Then I went to take another shower.
A cold one this time.