Christ, what was I thinking?

Goddamn hell. Today has just been too much for my fraying control, and it’s only eight in the fucking morning.

Another sleepless night steeped in nightmares.

Another morning of despair.

Mary’s scream and tears.

Cole’s soft weeping.

And then Octavia, quieting the noise in the house, in my head. Soothing the children, loving them.

Just… being here, in the fucking house, all pretty and bright and sexy, turning me on like I have no business being around her.

Checking me out as I came out of the shower, lower lip caught between white teeth, her tits rising and falling, her cheeks flushed.

So damn hot. Aroused. As I pinned her against me, I thought she’d have let me do anything I wanted to her, touch her, kiss her, fuck her.

I’m out of my fucking mind. She doesn’t want that.

She’s too young. Too innocent. I caught her by surprise, but it’s not me she wants. She has a boyfriend, for fuck’s sake. A guy her age, I’ll bet, a nice boy who will look at the stars with her and promise her nice things.

Not someone who wants to fuck her through the wall like me. Throw her to the floor and pound into her, rip her clothes and take her hard and dry, fill her up with my cum.

Motherfucking hell.

My dick is hard and heavy, an iron bar between my legs. Letting the towel fall, I grab it and squeeze, groaning between my teeth.

What is she doing to me, goddammit? After Emma passed I thought I’d never get hard for another woman, ever. But my body didn’t get the memo, apparently. It wants. It needs.

And Octavia is around the house every day, pretty and sweet. It’s only fucking natural that my dick likes her.

That I like her, but I kill that line of thinking right away.

Don’t, Matt. Just fucking don’t.

But I can’t stop the need that’s riding me. I’ve suppressed it for too long, and my hand moves of its own volition, squeezing, stroking until I know I’m about to come.

I brace one hand on my closed door, working my cock with the other. Imagining her on the other side, her legs spread, sweet pussy exposed, head thrown back as she touches herself. Sliding those slender fingers over her clit, into her opening, spreading herself wider.

Fucking herself with her fingers.

Oh shit… Dimly I know I should be getting dressed, that I should go check on my kids, talk to them and make sure they are all right, but my body is one pulsing ache of desire.

I’m a man, not just a dad. I’m human, even if I don’t feel like it most of the time.

And I’m so lost in sensation right now I couldn’t stop if my life depended on it.

This won’t take long anyway. My balls are drawn up tight, my dick is twitching in my hand, my stomach is clenched tight. I’m bent over, thrusting into my fist, grunting with every roll of my hips, picturing her ecstatic face as she comes, coating her fingers with her release, her legs trembling, her moans echoing in my ears…

And I come hard all over my chest and the closet door, groaning helplessly, the world around me growing hazy and distant.

Yeah, I’m screwed all right, and that’s a fact.

* * *

Just as my luck would have it, Octavia is still downstairs when I head down, Cole on my arm and Mary holding my hand.

Thank fuck I’m all jacked out, or my cock would be back up to attention the moment I see her.

How fast can your body—or mind?—get wired to react to a woman instantly? I got a hard-on the first time I saw her, but now all I need to do is know she’s there, smell her scent, or notice her as I enter a room and boom, my dick goes from zero to two hundred in a second.

Damn.

I settle the kids at the table, and she dishes out… pancakes?

Mary claps her hands, and Cole grins toothily as she slathers the pancakes with what looks like jam.

Octavia glances my way, smiling, and I mouth, “How?”

She shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”

Her smile fades. Her face turns unreadable.

I rub at my forehead, chasing at the headache beating inside my skull. I deserve that. Worse than that, though her cool politeness is a stab to my chest.

“I’ve got this,” she says, not looking at me. “You can go now.”

I stare at her. My kids are quietly eating their pancakes. Mary giggles at something Cole is doing. Cole grins, his mouth full of mushy pancake and jam. They look almost… happy. Nothing like the sobbing mess they were half an hour ago.

Cole reaches for Octavia, and she takes his small hand, smiling down at him.

She’s got this. I keep forgetting she’s not really a kid, no matter our age difference. She’s a woman. Pretty, capable, intelligent. Sexy.

Hell, at her age Emma had already had a few boyfriends, and we had sex on our second date.

And Jesus, why am I thinking of this now?

Giving Octavia a nod, I turn to go. I lean on the door frame for a long second, hit by a wave of dizziness—so damn tired—and then continue to the living room to grab my coat and keys.

“Matt.”

I stop. Look at her over my shoulder. Wait.

“You need to speak with them,” she says, and there it is, the mutinous lift of her chin that almost makes me smile. “Talk to them. Promise you’ll be here for them.”

“I did promise,” I tell her, turning around to face her. This isn’t what I thought she’d want to talk to me about.

The moment we had at the top of the stairs plays again in front of my eyes.

“Not to me. Not to your wife.” Octavia steps closer to me. “To them. Say it until they listen. Until they believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“That her death is not their fault. That the distance you keep, how cold you are with them, is not their fault. That you still love them.”

I freeze. “I’m not…” Distant. Cold.

Fuck.

“Yes, you are. And I get it, I do. You have your own nightmares. You should visit a therapist, in fact, but it’s not your kids’ fault, and they shouldn’t think it is.”

Hit by another wave of cold, feeling as if I’ve been punched in the gut, I struggle to catch my breath. “You serious right now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Her blue eyes flash with anger—or sadness? But maybe I’m seeing things.

I lick my dry lips. “You don’t know—”

“I’m not sure this will work out,” she interrupts me. “Me working for you.”

I put a hand out, slamming it into the wall to steady myself. “What the hell?” I chase after my thoughts. “I thought you needed a job.”

“I’ll figure something else out.”

Heat rolls through my chest. I take a step toward her, my hands in fists. “You’re not going back to the garage to ask fucking Jasper for a job.”

“Stop.”

I stop, my blood boiling at the thought of Jasper insulting her, Ross touching her. And then I realize she has tears in her eyes.

“Please…”

“No.” She shakes her head. “You have the best kids. And I totally love them. But I can’t do this with you anymore.” She steps around me and picks up her light coat.

I realize with horror that she’s about to walk out.

“Octavia.” I struggle for calm. “Wait.”

“For the record,” she says, her voice strained, “Adam is not my boyfriend, even though he did get a weird message, like you did. I don’t have a boyfriend, and if Ross has gone crazy and is threatening you both, then it’s better for you, better for your kids, if I quit now.”

Jesus Christ. “Octavia.” I run my hands through my hair. “Look… I’m sorry.”

She’s buttoning up her coat. Her fingers still.

“Don’t go,” I say. “The kids need you. I’ll…” I close my eyes, exhausted. “I’ll try harder. With them. With you, Tay. I swear I’ll try.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak for so long I’m sure I blew it. Didn’t manage to convince her to change her mind.

To give me another chance.

Not even sure what I’m promising her. To talk to the kids? To be more polite to her? Not to want her? Not to touch her?

Finally she turns around to face me. “You will come eat breakfast with us,” she says, and I frown. “And dinner. You will play with your kids. And you will tell me about Emma.”

Is she serious? “Look…”

“That’s the deal.” Her gaze is direct, determined. “And if it’s not enough, you’ll go see a therapist.”

God, she is serious.

And I have no choice. I can’t let her go. I can’t… can’t fucking think of anything, except that if she goes, I’ll sink somewhere so deep and dark I won’t ever find the way out—and I don’t care about myself, but what about my kids?

“Fine,” I say hoarsely, my head swimming. “It’s a deal.”

She nods once, holding my gaze, as if searching for a different confirmation.

Then she takes off her coat, hangs it on the hook again, and tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. A tiny golden earring glints there. “Have a nice day, Matt.”

And waits.

As if expecting something.

She has been saying this sort of thing every morning, as I left to work. Have a good day, Matt. Goodbye, Matt. Take care.

“Take care,” I say slowly, and see her shoulders relax, her gaze soften.

She nods again, and smiles.