Chapter 14

Lucas

Madison’s room never seems farther away than it does when she’s crying my name. Even leaping up the stairs, the “Daddy!” seems to go on forever. I burst into her bedroom, scanning for anything that might be endangering her.

Madison sits up, clutching blankets to her chest, sobbing. Her arms fling wide for me to scoop her up, and I oblige.

“Shh,” I murmur against her precious head, swaying back and forth. “What happened, baby?” It’s OK that she’s splitting my eardrum with the occasional sob in my ear. It’s all part of being a solid parent: losing your hearing at an early age.

“It’s zombies.” Madison struggles to speak. She mops at her puffy pink eyelids and looks around the room, like someone is in here. Her bleary gaze—coffee dark, like mine—swings up to me and steals my heart all over again. “You and Mommy were zombies.” She sniffs hard.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, amazed at the darkness of her dream. I can only half-imagine that macabre scene through the imaginative lens of a child’s dream. Eesh. “I’m so sorry that you dreamed that, sugar, but Mom and I are just fine. No one is a zombie. Zombies aren’t real. I promise.”

My adult reasoning means little to this five-year-old newfound horror junkie, whose imagination makes things real to her. “You were so scary,” she sniffles, burrowing deeper against my chest, bowing her head onto my shoulder. “And there was nowhere I could go. There was no one to help me.”

My chest aches. She’s been so destabilized by the divorce. They both have. Damn it, it’s obvious. I wish there had been any way to protect them from it all. I press a kiss to the crown of her head and keep swaying her.

“I’m so sorry, sweet pea,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can say. Life is a mess. That’s the problem. “It was just a dream, honey. There are no zombies. Mom and I are both fine. We love you, and we are here to take care of you.”

“Are you sure you can’t turn into a zombie?” Madison asks, wide-eyed and genuine. I almost grin.

“Yes, baby, I’m sure. Zombies aren’t real. I’m going to lay you down and tell you a nice story about something that is real.”

“Spiders?” she asks as I settle her onto her Owl Girl mattress set.

“Even better. Ducks,” I reply.

“Hey, Lucas.” The husky voice that haunts my dreams is floating to me from my daughter’s doorway, and I twist to look at the woman to which it belongs.

Damn. Maggie’s hair is loose and wild, her face washed and her gray eyes tired yet warm. She’s already stripped off her smart casual outfit from Thanksgiving dinner and now wears dark green, satin boxers and a matching button-down shirt. Simple, casual, and yet incredibly sexy. I’m starting to think I’d follow her to the gates of Hell.

I never should have hired her. Cats don’t hire mice. Mice don’t hire cheese. I’m going to get myself sued for harassment.

“I’m going to head to bed,” Maggie announces. “I just wanted to say goodnight. So, goodnight.”

“Night,” I say, one hand still on Madison, silently begging for Maggie to wait up for me. Maddy will be asleep any minute. Her pink eyelids, all rubbery and bloated from crying, keep drifting together and apart, together and apart.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Maggie whispers. The glow in her eyes is conspiratorial. Happy Thanksgiving.

I swallow. This is a good thing. Some space to catch your breath. To straighten your thoughts. Remember the kids. Astrid. Graytech. You can’t try to juggle Maggie with all of that. You’re not the college playboy you used to be. You’re a dad now.

“You, too,” I force myself to say. I let her go, and the doorway darkens again. Her bedroom door closes across the hall. “OK.” I sigh deeply and try to coax my brain back into working order. Maggie always temporarily fries my neurons. “What were we talking about?”

“Ducks,” Madison pipes sleepily. I’m shocked she responded at all.

“Right, right. Once upon a time, there was a duck who forgot to fly south for the winter. The leaves on the trees changed and the little duck was scared. But a goose—from Canada—came to visit her pond and he said that there was a place where the leaves never changed…”

I work Madison slowly into a vivid dream about a duck trying to find California. Her eyelashes droop and settle together at long last, her slim neck relaxing and her breath deepening. For a few more minutes, I sit in the darkness and watch her, longing for a simpler life that I’m just not able to give her. Wishing that I could insulate her from all the pain, the things a five-year-old can’t hope to understand. Real nightmares.

I finally stand and creep through the dark, quiet room and into the dark, quiet hall. I’m not sure how long it’s been since Maggie told me goodnight, but there is no light filtering from beneath her door. I grimace, and then lightly shake myself. What the hell are you grimacing for? This is a good thing. Boundaries are a good thing.

I push into my own lonely room and flick on the light, reminded of the duck all alone, longing for the stability of California. Maybe I was projecting a little bit.

I can’t sleep, because the phone will be ringing nonstop once Black Friday officially begins. I stretch out on the bed and close my eyes and breathe deeply.

Maggie is on the other side of that bathroom, stretched out in dark green satin. Breathing with such calm, such peace. I bet that satin is so smooth.

My dick twitches awake at the thought of smearing my hand against the crotch of her satin boxers, crushing it between my fingers and then ripping it away. Yes. Yes.

Graytech! Your mind needs to be on Graytech.

After GLOWORM.exe ravaged our latest app, thousands of customer phones were eternally bricked, and dozens of firewall coders got fired. Our stock only leveled out yesterday. We’re all praying that Black Friday might be our savior, releasing several new programs just in time for the Christmas season.

My cell vibrates at 12:03 and I check the screen: Rachel, my secretary in CA. I swipe to the right and lift my phone to my ear. “Be good news,” I command.

“Sorry,” Rachel’s bright, mousy voice titters. “It’s great news.”

My eyebrows perk. “Great news,” I repeat.

“You did watch the stocks today?”

“Not yet.”

“What are you, in the hospital or something?” Rachel asks with strong judgment in her tone.

“I pay you to relay the stocks to me,” I remind her.

“Well, they were up at the close before Thanksgiving,” she shrieks, unable to contain herself in spite of my surly tone. “I guess people want to buy low because they still trust us, and everyone snapped up before Thanksgiving. Black Friday starts tomorrow. It’s going to get even better. No one wants to miss out on this rate. We’re going to regain our old levels, at least. At least, Mr. Gray!”

I thank Rachel for the call and hang up. More calls will come in. It never ends.

Through the wall, a soft, familiar sound bleeds: a moan.

I jerk toward it. My entire demeanor changes, like a hound finding the scent of his rabbit. I tense and freeze and listen. It was so light, perhaps I was mistaken. But it was also the only sound in the house at that moment.

There it is again. “Oh,” Maggie’s voice sings in the darkness, too soft to wake the kids but loud enough to prick my ears. Is she masturbating? “Oh, Lucas.”

Blood rushes immediately down into my dick. She’s calling my name. Is she awake? I have to know. She sounds awake. She sounds like she needs me. Like she really needs me.

I push through the adjoining bathroom and into her bedroom, which is not locked. My heart squeezes. Did she want this? Is she waiting for me? My cock throbs with an intense curiosity that Maggie needs to answer. God, I bet she’s waiting for me, the vixen. I bet she’s wide awake, legs spread, pumping her clit underneath those satin boxers. Mice should never hire cheese.

Here comes Daddy.

But the room is dark and quiet when I cross the threshold. The only sound is her measured breathing. One bare leg has flung the blankets off it, creamy curves highlighted even in the darkness. She’s fast asleep. I gulp.

Is there a tiny devil settling on my shoulder?

Maggie’s full lips pout out, and she writhes on the bed, as if someone is right between her legs. The blanket slips further up the thigh of her exposed leg. Now the quilt is wedged between her thighs, bound there. “Mm,” she murmurs. Her ass gently rolls back against the mattress, pressing into it. She grinds into the blankets. “Lucas.”

I’m so hard that it’s painful. My pants go completely taut.

She needs me. I must go to her. I climb onto the bed and tug her blankets aside, moving quietly and slowly, not wanting to startle her. She’s like a wild animal in a glade. I want to coax her over.

It’s the smell that draws me to nestle down between her stretched thighs.

I can smell her through the satin. She’s musky and sweet, a perfect pussy, like a pastry fresh from the oven. I nip at her through the fabric and she bucks, arching her back.

That’s all I need. Blood charges through my system like this is a triathlon. I peel her boxers down and she whimpers, spreading her legs again as soon as they’re free. Her naked gash gleams in front of me.

I lap at her clit and she gasps, grinding down toward me without waking up. Her eyes are still closed, anyway.

Oh, this cunt. I have to have it. And she wants to give it to me.

I suck on her pink pearl until her thighs shake, and her body gives up that orgasm for me. Because she’s asleep, her muscles flutter, racked in their relaxed state. Her abdomen flutters. Her thighs quiver. I check her again to see if the full tsunami of that orgasm might have dragged her out of her dreams. Even though her breath is ragged and her nipples are taut and her pussy is soaked, she’s still fast asleep. Damn. I want her to wake up. I need to be inside her.

I flick open the top three buttons on her satin top, tugging the material to the side to reveal her sweet nipple. I lower my head and take it into my mouth, sucking hungrily, content to work her body until she finally wakes up enough to take my dick. She’ll be quivering for it and not even understand why, clawing for me in a fog of half-sleep, and I’ll plunge deep into her. I’ll fucking oblige. I just want to hear her say the word. I want to see her eyes glaring into mine.

I sink two fingers into her pussy and then hear the worst sound in the world: someone knocking at my bedroom door.

“Hey, man,” James’s voice hisses from the hallway. I can barely hear him. He was asleep downstairs. Can he hear us? Why is he knocking at my bedroom door at this hour? “I need to talk to you. Now. It’s important.”